Dear Steven Paul "Elliott" Smith,
When I was 16 years old and had just purchased my first guitar, my cousin Jim came over to teach me some basic chords. After I showed him the style I wanted to play with my treasured albums by Neil Young, Pearl Jam and Bruce Springsteen, he took me to a record store, where he bought me your record, "XO."
For over five years now, that record has stood as a testament to honesty and touching storytelling that I only hoped to someday replicate.
Now, you've silenced the voice of an angel. Your brilliant mind rots, thoughtless. Your tortured body finally rests.
Your live-in girlfriend found you early Wednesday morning, a knife sticking out of your chest. Self-inflicted. You succumbed to the demons you lamented about so often.
Why do people connect so closely with musicians? For many people, it was your ability to articulate feelings into beautiful sentiments while most struggled to push out clich?(c). It was how close you came to giving up without letting go.
Elliott, you let go.
You were a unique artist in the stereotypical and often mundane genre of the singer/songwriter. Even the mainstream doled out respect for your work on the "Good Will Hunting" soundtrack, specifically "Miss Misery," which was nominated for an Academy Award.
Your words and melodies were real, honest and sincere. Your descriptions of self-deprecation were vivid, your indulgence in drugs and alcohol legendary, and your insecurity was troubling and, ultimately, insurmountable.
Still, amongst all these mental instabilities, your music had a resounding sense of hope. When you sang, it was with clear knowledge of your struggles and unbridled frustration. If you seemed to veer anywhere near the realm of conceding defeat, there was still a giant "f**k off" sitting in the background, laboring to steady you.
Many times, it steadied me.
So that's my predicament, Elliott. I spent many nights in bed, frustrated beyond frustration at the populace's overwhelming concern for money and their relentless self-absorption. Your voice came along and lent me understanding and hope, just for those nights when I needed it.
"It's always been wait and see/ a happy day and then you pay/ and feel like s**t the morning after/ but now I feel changed around and instead of falling down/ I'm standing up the morning after," you cried on "Say Yes."
Where was your Elliott Smith?
Your latest album, "From A Basement On The Hill," had been in the making since 2001 and was slated for a release on Dreamworks Records, possibly as a double-disc set. In between then and now, you had canceled multiple shows and muddled your way through others, often starting songs and stopping them before their completion. Your alcoholism and drug abuse were both rumored to be on the rise again.
On your last release, "Figure 8," you seemed to be slipping away from us. In "I Better Be Quiet Now," you sang, "I'm tired of wasting my breath/ carrying on and getting upset/ maybe I've got a problem/ but that's not what I wanted to say/ I'd prefer to say nothing/ I got a long way to go/ I'm getting further away."
From your birth in Omaha on Aug. 6, 1969, through five wonderful albums ("Elliott Smith," "Roman Candle," "Either/Or," "XO" and "Figure 8") and some punk moments with Heatmiser, to your incredible rendition of The Beatles' "Because" on the "American Beauty" soundtrack, every moment of your contribution to music was passionate. You are survived by legions of fans, friends and family.
Rest in peace, Elliott Smith. You will be dearly missed.
Photo: Courtesy of Laron Fomby
