|My Name Is Mark
Clever and uncatchable, Mark is the brave self-proclaimed commander of the musical patriots who defend their world against schlock-pushing corporate oppressors.
Drake the guitar, 4-track recorder, impeccably made boss pedals, the Alpha Male, harmonizers, malcontents, sit-ins, and whatever’s lying around.
North America at the dawn of the twenty-first century during the War of Independents, a civil war riddled with mergers, reprisals, and episodes of sabotage. Mark is currently stationed in the wintry Midwest’s artistic black hole of Rochester, Minnesota.
The Blackcoats, (Time Warner, Disney, Bertelsmann, Viacom, and Rupert Murdoch's News Corporation) and their five fiendish leaders who control the world’s media; but also their cruel spies.
Frequent raids against the NPR fortified stronghold that Mark’s parents had constructed left his childhood rife with confusion, distress, and late eighties pop ballads and tv jingles. At an early age he enlisted in the ranks of the oppressors, seeking comfort through the likes of Annie Lennox, Onyx, Jon Bon Jovi, and Bel Biv Devoe.
And yet, hope was not lost. Due almost entirely to the kindness of a handful of rebels (such as viola de gamba playing Ralph, Julie the coloratura, Mike and his Ledbelly records) Mark’s days of blind wanderings were numbered.
Arriving home from school one day Mark searched the house of his youth and emerged with his mother’s old nylon-string classical guitar. Sitting there, upstairs with a 12 dollar copy of “You Can Teach Yourself to Play Guitar” across his lap, Mark strummed the E minor chord for hours on end… until, slowly at first, and then resolutely (like the determined details of an almost forgotten story) that old guitar began to whisper its wild and transparent secrets.
Every song since, it seems, has been a retelling of those first faint whispers against the small bones of the inner ear.