![]() Hollis, who died this week aged 64, was always a reluctant pop star and by the time we met he was deep into a long journey into silence. It had been made, I discovered later, to fulfil a contractual obligation with Polydor. Hollis, who had longish hair and a sharp angular face, was guarded but courteous: he was there to talk about his first solo album, Mark Hollis, which comprised eight songs or pieces, each exploring his fascination with, as he explained enigmatically, the “geography of sound within which all the instruments exist”. A bored mid-afternoon drinker took a seat close by and leaned in, listening to every word of our conversation. ![]() We ordered a couple of pints and sat together at a small table. One spring afternoon in 1998 I met Mark Hollis in a bland pub close to Wimbledon train station in south-west London. ![]()
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