He had a vision of life that was cracked but elegant. Words are a rare gift it takes sheer courage to mold something new and whole out of blank paper or air. You could hear Linkous’ heart in his throat when he sang, drawing something beautiful and interconnected out of our messed-up little world. The instrumentation was raw and fuzzy, the lyrics were gorgeously surreal. There was something special about Sparklehorse, though, something difficult to ignore. And that disc came at a perfect time for me, when I was devouring music and falling in love every day with something new. His songs are like origami: delicate and lovely and creased, made up of layers and care. I discovered Sparklehorse in 2006 with Dreamt For Light Years In The Belly Of A Mountain, a record that is as stark and laid bare as it is rich and emotive. Wonders how such a beautiful mind could feel such pain. I’ve had friends for nearly a decade who have never said anything so intimate or striking to me as “Please don’t take my sunshine away” or “Someday I will treat you good.” I have no real claim to Linkous – I saw him live once but of course never knew him but there’s still a part of me that mourns his loss and wonders how it all could have been different. We connect with our favorite bands and singers in a way that’s sometimes impossible to do with other people: they let us immediately and entirely into their souls, into the hidden parts of themselves that we’re only lucky to share or even glimpse in our friends and loves. The loss of a musician is a strangely potent thing. Mark Linkous of Sparklehorse took his own life on March 6, 2010. Features Mark Linkous of Sparklehorse: An Appreciation by Melanie Love
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