Reflecting on a Friendship, and Amber Mark

Written by Rebecca Louisell

I live in Los Angeles and I’m a filmmaker, so it is doubly certain that I listen to KCRW. One day I was driving as one often does in Los Angeles, and this brilliantly original voice came on the air. I didn’t know at first that the artist was Amber Mark and the song was “Monsoon”. I burst into tears, as I sometimes do, as the lyrics “…I knew it would always end this way…” and “knocked you out and dragged you there myself…” washed over the airwaves. Late the previous year, my friend “T” passed away of cancer. My wife and I had been involved in her care along with a handful of other close friends, an effort led by a few family members, and the song reminded me of her.

About the song

At very first listen, one might think “Monsoon” is a romantic love song, but as the lyrics progress one understands it is a deep platonic love song to a close friend or family member. I later heard Mark in an interview on KCRW explain that she wrote the song about her mother Mia’s death of a long illness. In the song, she relates the story of begging her mother to go get a health problem checked out, her mom’s stubbornness in not going to the doctor until it was too late for anything to be done, watching her mother in hospice, and the pain of losing her. Musically, the song is eclectic and layered and includes trip hop beats, piano, reverse piano, clapping, sitar, the sound of rain, meditative chanting, and recordings of her mother’s voice. 

About Amber Mark

Amber Mark began her recording career by producing her own music in her own apartment. This DIY spirit appeals to me, the idea that she was going to do it whether or not it took off sooner or later is inspiring. Thinking about it now, this also reminds me of T packaging chocolates in her apartment (see below). Her mother gave her a guitar in high school and she taught herself how to play, quickly realizing she loved singing and creating music. Growing up, she lived in several places from Berlin and New York to India. These influences show up in her work as she incorporates hip hop, trance, R&B and Afro-Latin influences for a truly global sound. 

Debuting on her own SoundCloud page in 2016, Mark released her first album 3:33 am in 2017. She has since released three EP’s, Conexao in 2018, What If in 2019, and 1894 in 2020. During the pandemic, she has released five singles under the “Covered-19” moniker. Three were covers and two were original demos. One of these, a cover of Eddie Kendrick’s single “My People” coincided with protests related to the killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis. Mark is apparently working on another album, date of release and name TBD. 

About T

T was a fun, intelligent, hardworking, always creative, living many lives, community minded, artistic soul. A visual artist and art therapist, she had also for several years produced absolutely delicious vegan chocolates (manufactured according to her recipe and specs, she also packaged them and sent them out with the occasional help of friends, from her apartment). Music and dancing were important to her, as was her appearance. We met through the Co-op we were both living in, which is centered around ecology. She had gone car-free about ten years earlier and was vegan for health reasons. We bonded over both being artists, and wanting to increase the “social glue” component of the Co-op (those who party together get along better, was our thinking!). Our joint birthday party one year was well attended with a DJ and dancing into the night. But as well as I knew her, I always felt that I didn’t really know her. There were always more layers. A past relationship, a new project. She was outgoing, but a private, mysterious person. How old was she, really? When she was in the hospital while holding her hand I learned her actual age as I happened to glance at her plastic bracelet. 

I think of T often this time of year as she passed in December four years ago. That was after an eight month battle with cancer. Observing her struggle, I came to a better understanding that to be without a lot of money and to be Black doesn’t lead one to top notch health care in this country. T had two degrees. She had been divorced and had a sick mother so she had for a few years been strategizing as to how to make more money based on her skills as an artist and a therapist. Things had been going better, she went to Beirut to do art therapy with refugee children, had a couple of exhibitions, and had just started a new job doing therapy at a rehab center. I hadn’t heard from her in a while, and started to wonder why. I called and a bit later got a response from her that she was in the hospital. I visited her in a small facility in Hollywood that didn’t seem to be helping her. She was hopped up on pain meds and I had the impression that they were collecting her payments from MediCal without too much concern as to what actually happened to her. A family member arrived in LA and helped her get out of there and back home. She was living with another, younger family member, who was a main source of support, and friends helped out delivering meals on a semi regular schedule. She was having trouble eating. That summer, I took her to an appointment to consult with a surgeon, and he seemed angry at her, which I didn't think was appropriate, he had just met her. Maybe he was stressed and taking it out on her? Again, didn’t seem right to me. It was hard to get an answer from him as to what she should do next. I think it was the same day after that rocky appointment that she wanted to go back to pick something up at a different medical office across town. I drove her. As I was driving us back, I was trying to bring up the matter of her not eating. She started getting irritated. We were both a bit on edge. I was afraid to say that I thought she was going to die if she didn’t eat. But she knew what I meant without my saying.

“Don’t you think I want to stay here and be your friend?” We both burst into tears. 

Medical marijuana helped her regain some appetite and I believe gave her more time. With help from family and friends, she got set up with better care through Cedars Sinai. However, she never did get to have surgery, she wasn’t stable enough. She was up and down, in and out of Cedars. She seemed to be getting better in November, then worse again in December. Old friends came to visit her and organized what we all knew was a goodbye party with music, dancing, cupcakes and non alcoholic sparkling cider in her hospital room (she had requested champagne!). A few days later, she went.  

It was just a few months later that I was driving and heard Mark’s “Monsoon” on the radio. I was overcome with emotion in much the same way as when I drove T back from the appointment with the surgeon. In processing and putting her pain into her music, Mark has given me and others who have lost someone to a terminal illness the gift of recognition.