Mark Knopfler a Musical Magpie

So the post-mortem of Mark Knopflers musical abilities has been started by the die hard few at Amarkintime, who due to the lack of news from the Knopfler press core, have had time to dissect and scrutinize the music the guitarist has played on his solo albums. And like Vultures that need fed after the feasting has left their belly’s empty, their hunger is so strong that they look for some kind of satisfaction gnawing on the bones of the silent victim, who if by some miracle rose from the grave and plucked a D note from his red guitar would scatter his underfed fans back into the music stores to buy his new album, whether it had the semblances of Clapton Pink Floyd, Bill Hayley or Bob Dylan, within the chord structure, and when you have so little notes to work with, your obviously going to trespass into some other musicians music, that did the same to another’s work style.

What I resented of this attack on Knopfler, was that some of those who made comments on What Song Would You Skip, were being asked to make a judgement on Mark’s songs since he went solo, and since he’s written more songs than he ever did with Dire straits, there was plenty to choose from, and since most of those who did comment were the ones who made it clear they didn’t and probably still don’t believe I wrote the lyrics on the D.S. album, their loyalty to M.K. is as thin on a water dish left out in winter for the birds. One of them wrote a book about M.K. and Dire Straits, and said he got a interview with John Illsley, if that was the case he’d have included my part in Dire Straits, for if I’m not in it, then its fiction and not fact. Of course he was the person who suggested that they should get a hacker to erase my blog from the Web, and his co conspirator was a person who has numerous accounts on Amarkintime, that he appears with a new one and no one seems to notice, even though he answers and questions himself. So if Mark is slumbering like a old grandfather on the couch and its his red guitar that slides to the floor, lets be thankful that its not a joint for the house we want him to burn down is the Albert Hall, and though he’s seventy bringing the real Dire Straits together again, would be the finale that the real fans are waiting for, and the sham dissectors could put away their scalpels, and listen to the four musicians that started a band that doesn’t want the Vultures coming down from the trees. Robert Marshal

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