Mark Eitzel: Klamath
Rob Hughes, Uncut, December 2009
YOU COULD never accuse Mark Eitzel of having an inflated sense of self. He recently claimed to have no idea how to write a song, decent or otherwise, and that most of his fans probably hate him and wish he could be more like Tom Waits. Scrolling through his latest website blogs, you're liable to find garrulous entries of almost tortured candour. Things like, "I know to say that I'm followed by a feeling of doom is comical, but it's there like dust. It's quiet and sometimes I can't speak because of it." Or, posted after a clearly joyous night out with friends: "Does every man at my age assume everything from now on is a gradual defeat? Or is it just me?"
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