Across four albums spanning nine years, the late Mark Linkous produced a body of work that made any announcement of posthumous Sparklehorse material a cause for trepidation. Some of those initial fears were allayed when it was revealed that Linkous’s little brother Matt and sister-in-law Melissa Moore-Linkous — confidants who were valued friends and fans alike — would be bringing them to light.
And then the singles from ‘Bird Machine’ emerged. It Will Never Stop and Evening Star Supercharger didn’t sound like cast-offs, or half hearted ideas that shouldn’t have been committed to tape, they sounded like Linkous at full throttle. The rest of the album does not disappoint.
After all, it is the record Linkous was making and would more than likely have released before he died in 2010. As such, it bears the same meticulously crafted moments of genius that lived in all of his work.
Linkous had named the album and passed a track-listing to his brother, so when Matt decided to embark on this project he at least knew where to start.
With some of the songs having been recorded with Steve Albini in Chicago and others at his home studio, the bulk of the material was there to mine. Some loose ends have been tidied up by Matt, Melissa and a small group of musicians close to Linkous but the heart and soul of the record very much belongs to him.
From the vocals seemingly emitting from a busted tannoy on It Will Never Stop, we are immediately placed back in the unique Sparklehorse universe where scuzzy punk rockers (I Fucked It Up) hold equal footing with otherworldly lullabies (O Child).
Unsurprisingly, it is the simple and weird moments that make for the most heartbreakingly beautiful songs. On Kind Ghosts, hovering above a delicate bed of electronic glitches, Linkous sings, “How could I’ve not noticed the hammers that did me in,” before setting sail into an ethereal chorus. It's a quiet reminder of the harm we can inflict when we stop taking care of ourselves, and a track that might grace even the most die-hard fan’s best of lists.
It can be easy to idolise artists no longer with us, and it is a cruel fate that so much praise can go unheard. But for Linkous it is hard to hold him in high enough regard. Possessing a unique knack for exposing both the playful innocence and brutal suffering of life, ‘Bird Machine’ only highlights how he was able to tap into the human experience through his own DIY mass of cables. “O Child I know it can be bad / O Child sometimes you’ll be sad,” he sings simply on O Child. It is a line that is as sad as it is reassuring, and demonstrates the simple way that Linkous made listeners feel less alone.
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