Two songs into Morphine's set during a show in Palestrina, Italy, Mark Sandman had just told a joke in Italian, which he'd been learning for just such an ocassion. So when he fell onto the stage, the crowd thought for a moment that he was still joking. But the moment passed and Mark didn't get up... and that show, those songs, that joke would be his last. A super hard worker who eschewed hard drugs in favor of a constant diet of recording, rehearsing, writing and refining great songs, Mark left this world as a result of a heart attack. It was July 3rd, 1999. Sandman was only 46 years old.

Back home in Cambridge, Massachusetts, once the rumors had turned to confirmed news reports, stunned friends and family were joined by the local community of fans and musicians to mourn the loss of a major talent, a hometown hero who never turned his back on the clubs and crowds who gave him his start. When I heard about it, I opened my digital camera, seeking the last few shots I had taken on a recent trip to Boston, when I'd run into Mark arriving outside the Green Street Grille just as I was leaving. He'd sat on Billy Ruane's motorbike and grinned that familiar Mona Lisa grin. For some reason, that last picture was gone, though all the others were intact. I sat down on the sofa and waited for the phone to start ringing, old friends calling to ask- or confirm -what happened. It rang all day.