The unflinching self-criticism of Mark Lanegan

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Mark Lanegan's autobiography - Sing Backwards and Weep, charts the course of the tombstone-voiced singer's life, from his dismal, alcoholic upbringing in Ellensburg, Washington, up until the speedball-induced death of his close friend - the Alice in Chains frontman, Layne Staley, in 2002.

Lanegan portrays himself as a piece of shit, with very few redeeming qualities: A bona fide drug dealer, whose band (Screaming Trees) happen to be signed to a major record label. For much of the book he is in the grip of twin addictions to crack cocaine and heroin; the latter requiring constant maintenance. From there on, it's a relentless downhill grind, to the point where he is sleeping rough while working as a dealer's lackey, stealing small quantities of smack from his employer, while pawning his last remaining possession of any value - a pair of filthy leather trousers that he purchased in Paris with the aforementioned Staley.

This bleak downturn of events is sparsely seasoned with moments of Spinal Tap-esque humour: Following a Screaming Trees show in Italy, where Lanegan has performed while nursing badly swollen testicles, he staggers out of the club in agony, only to be carried back inside by his fans, who chastise him for behaving like Celine Dion and assuming that he can get away with only playing two encores.

Lanegan has a great eye for detail. He has produced a very well-written account of his life that mostly steers clear of self pity and pulls absolutely no punches, regardless of whether he is describing his own regrettable behaviour, or shining the spotlight upon people in his orbit who have incurred his displeasure. Among those to fall under his wilting scrutiny are the sexually degenerate Blackie - father of Anthony Kiedis (of Red Hot Chili Peppers fame) and Jason Finn - drummer with The Presidents of the United States of America, who spreads a rumour that Lanegan is HIV positive.

I have never read a rock memoir where the author is so hostile towards their own music. Lanegan despises the early Screaming Trees albums – cheaply recorded but energetic records, over which he had little creative control. He becomes increasingly combative with his bandmates, in particular, Gary Lee Conner, taking amusement when the guitarist electrocutes himself on the exposed filament of a stage mirror light. The displeasure of the overweight Conner, when he is mistaken for the singer, Meat Loaf, at a carnival, becomes a source of great mirth.

As the narrative progresses, the focus on music is all but abandoned in favour of junkie logistics, with Lanegan moving gracelessly and precariously from fix to fix. The difficulty of scoring dope while on the road leads to some of the book's darkest, rock bottom moments, where bad situations escalate wildly out of control. Even then, there are moments of black comedy: During an ill-fated tour in the company of Oasis, the Screaming Trees management team present Lanegan with an ultimatum: Either enter rehab, or they will book him on a 6 week solo tour of Canada where they know that he will struggle to source heroin.

Drug overdoses and suicides have decimated the ranks of the early-to-mid 90s US alternative rock scene to a horrifying extent. One of the depressing insights provided by this book is just how many people were using. There is next to no doubt that, were it not for (Hole lead singer) Courtney Love's intervention and financial support, Lanegan would have been added to the roll call of the dead.





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