Post by solveig7 on Nov 20, 2013 8:49:41 GMT -5
"The circumstances surrounding his death don’t sit well with me at all, but there was only other person there, so nobody will ever know. He wasn’t around the type of people where I could know for sure what would happen any more. He was surrounded by sycophants, so who knows what could have happened? He had talked about suicide for many years, but he was always such a chicken about getting hurt! And there had been times in the past where suicide seemed more likely."
Autumn de Wilde
"There was a lot of crassness and a lot of disappointing behavior from people who were supposedly his friends. But the interesting thing is: This is how history is written. The ones who were there aren’t always the ones who speak. But if people are going to go back and use this as a reference, then it should be truthful."
Rob Schnapf
"I've been fortunate to work with a lot of great artists in my career, but as a composer and a performer, Elliott was profoundly unique. The way he used harmonic structures. He could sit down to the piano and play Rachmaninoff. He could play almost any instrument. He could go from bluegrass to folk. He would go, literally, from Chopin to picking up the guitar and playing a Minutemen riff. When you have someone that's that deeply gifted and special, you're really just lucky to be in the room."
Luke Wood
"I didn't talk to anybody for like eight years. I couldn't do it. I just couldn't deal. The edge needed to wear off a little bit, because it was so raw. Elliott and I have mutual friends who talked a lot, right at the beginning. Now they're like, "I'm done, I never want to hear his name again." It's interesting. Recently, it's been kind of nice: People want to know, and I appreciate that as a music lover. Elliott was fantastic. He was a hilariously funny, super-fun person to be with, someone I absolutely adored with every microfiber of my body. It will always be a hard process, but I do feel some reconciliation in other people coming together."
JJ Gonson
"I remember one night we did karaoke with [Sleater-Kinney/Quasi's] Janet [Weiss] and [Smith bandmate] Sam [Coomes], and me and Janet did "Ride Captain Ride" together. Elliott might have done Rush."
Margaret Mittleman
"He actually did “Rock You Like a Hurricane†by the Scorpions. The look on Elliott’s face when he realized how high Klaus Meine’s voice is on that first note—the realization of having miscalculated in public with a microphone in your hand—oh, it was good."
Rob Schnapf
"We were huge Elvis Costello fans, too. I remember sitting with Neil and Elliott in the living room at their house with our heads down listening to Brutal Youth. Amazing record. When Elliott was on tour, I went to see Elvis Costello and he was fucking furious.
He would walk up behind me and put his arms around me and sing [the Carpenters'] "Close to You" to me. At one point when we were falling apart, he made me a beautiful cassette recording of the Cheap Trick song "If You Want My Love". I wish I knew where it was, but I don't."
JJ Gonson
"It was embarrassing to be doing acoustic music. Nobody did it. Everybody was rough. There was no pop going on at that time. Elliott and I used to play Peter Paul & Mary, Beatles, and Captain and Tennille covers together in the bedroom with the door closed, hoping nobody could hear us. I will never forget Neil laughing the first time Elliott played him a solo song, the part where his voice goes up on on “No Name #1â€. Laughing. It was just shocking."
JJ Gonson
"A couple of the shows we played on that Roman Candle tour in 1994 were really poorly promoted, so we'd goof off, and Elliott would play a lot of Hank Williams and stuff. There was one show that was in a sports bar in Santa Cruz where there was no one there except the regulars, who were really bummed that we were bogarting their dartboard area. And I had really bad gas—I was farting up a storm. Elliott was cracking jokes about the smell in between songs, to the amusement of no one but me."
Slim Moon
"Elliott’s first solo tour on the East Coast was painful because he was still becoming comfortable with performing alone—and not just alone, but alone to an empty room. He was nervous about it, and it used to make him… not feel good a lot. He dealt with a lot of stomach issues. So I'd always be the one telling him, “You can do it.†But whether it would be one person or five, somebody inevitably would discover him from that one experience, and the next time he went back, it was easier."
Margaret Mittleman
"The biggest bands that Kill Rock Stars ever put out each got their momentum in a different way. Sleater-Kinney's biggest momentum was from the press—that, second to Radiohead, they got more positive press than any other band in America in the 90s. With the Decemberists, it was the public: The indie rock record-buyers, the kids, went crazy for that band, but critics kind of shrugged at the time. When Elliott Smith came out, it was falling on deaf ears. But artists were reacting to it. So there was a Fugazi interview where they mentioned that they'd heard the record and liked it. And then John Doe took Elliott on tour, and Sebadoh took Elliott on tour, and in a Beastie Boys SPIN interview, they mentioned his record."
Slim Moon
"He opened solo for Sebadoh in ‘96, and it was at a time when no one really knew about him. We were at our peak at that point, and people just talked right through his set. It would make me really angry. I'd be like, "What the hell are you doing talking through his set? It's Elliott Smith! He's great!" I had that feeling like, “Someday you idiots will shut up and listen to him.†I remember telling him, "People won't shut up, it's making me so angry." And he's like, "I like it better this way. It makes me less self-conscious.""
Lou Barlow
"We toured together for [The Spinanes’] Strand in 1996. I would never really sit down and play, except for during soundcheck and shows, but when we showed up anywhere, Elliott would just start playing guitar, whether he was writing, or practicing, or just playing covers. It wasn't like, "Here I am, check me out!" It was just to himself. He was someone who was always thinking about songwriting
We were a pretty silly crew on tour. One time I was sitting shotgun in the van with my head in a book, and I heard all this snickering behind me. I turned around and [Elliott] had taken electric tape and made an Abe Lincoln beard on his face. And every time I kept turning around, more people had this electric tape facial hair."
Rebecca Gates
"We were all kids, hanging out. There was a lot of Sonic the Hedgehog and sitting around. He and I had a very simpatico sense of humor and found a lot of similar interests in music; we'd just sit around and play together for hours and sing.
For a long time we were “just good friends,†and I remember seeing him leaning against an ex-girlfriend one time and thinking, "Why is that bothering me? That shouldn't be bothering me.†I'd already worked with the band for awhile, and he wrote songs about feeling like he shouldn't be dating me, wanting to, and knowing that it wasn't the right thing to do. Neither of us would deal with it for a long time. And when we finally did, all of our friends were like, "No! That's a really bad idea!" [laughs] Was it a bad idea? I don't know. He was the love of my life in a lot of ways. I'm enormously grateful to have had that emotional experience. I think that everybody should be that in love with somebody, even if it has to come to an end."
JJ Gonson
"At the Taylor Street house, he would sit upstairs playing for hours and hours and hours, working on the songs, and then he'd go downstairs for half an hour and put something down on tape. He didn't spend very much time in the "studio," which was the basement. It was gross down there; he was perched on a stool surrounded by garbage. It wasn't like it was a couch and cappuccinos. I don't even think we had a washing machine. He was welcome to be down there by himself, nobody wanted to be down there.
The whole sound quality of Roman Candle is entirely based on the fact that he's using a low-quality microphone right up against his fingers. He doesn't even have an acoustic pickup—he's playing an acoustic guitar into a microphone."
JJ Gonson
"Slim really liked this kid. We were all together on a bill; me, Slim, and Elliott. I was backstage, just talking to everybody, and Slim said, “Mary Lou, you really need to go out and watch that guy.†I wasn't very interested; I had heard a million acoustic guitar guys, you know? But Slim was like, “No, Mary Lou, you really need to go and watch him.†In other words, “Shut the fuck up and get out there.â€
The first thing I noticed was that his guitar was really crappy; I think it might have been the Le Domino he recorded Roman Candle on. I realized he was making that crappy guitar sound really good. By the third song, I had completely lost myself. I was sucked in. I immediately invited him on tour. And he mumbled, in his way, “OK, Mary Lou.â€"
Mary Lou Lord
"We both applied to South By Southwest around 1995 and we got turned down. So I said, "Elliott, who are those assholes to tell us we can't play?" I had this little busking amp I kept in my car at all times, just in case. So we drove down there and found a little place to play near the Driskill Hotel. I kind of wore the pants on that tour [laughs], and Elliott was like, "I don't know about this, Mary Lou." And I was like, "That's enough outta you. We're going to have our own little showcase out in front of this Kinko's."
We got a bunch of booze and started playing. I wish to god somebody had recorded this, because it was St. Patrick's Day, and Elliott was playing all kinds of Irish songs and Pogues songs. We'd take turns, and we played all night and got happily shit-faced. The people who actually had a showcase at Kill Rock Stars came by; Slim was there. It was one of the best nights of my life."
Mary Lou Lord
"I just wanted to do something with him, and between Either/Or and XO, he came down to my studio. I sat him in front of a binaural head, which is this grey foam sculpture of a human head with two specialized microphones in each ear hole that has this incredibly realistic stereo effect. So we sat down in front of this ludicrous device and he sang two songs, which became other songs later—one was "The record that plays over and over/ There's a kid in the story below" lines from "Bottle Up and Explode!" The other one ended up as "Going Nowhereâ€. I didn't have anything good to add to them, but I have these a cappella versions. I wish I knew where I put them."
Mike Doughty
"I remember he was soundchecking in Philadelphia at the Theatre of Living Arts. I would always watch his soundchecks, so I was sitting there, and he covered "Thirteen" by Big Star. It just brought me to tears. Music doesn't always bring me to tears; if I hear "Love" by John Lennon at a vulnerable moment it will bring me to tears. His version of "Thirteen" was devastating in that empty theater. I don’t think he even knew I was there."
Lou Barlow
"Because we were friends, he was able to tell me what he was and wasn't comfortable with. The more attention he got, the more troubled he got, and that’s when it got hard. The irony of it was that he was so open and honest with pretty much anybody who crossed his path, so it wasn't unlike him to tell a very personal, private story to a virtual stranger sitting next to him at a bar.
But it would infuriate him when people asked him what his lyrics were about. He really hated having to have an answer for what every character and every story was. Music was a way of channeling thoughts and feelings that were bigger than him into art, and he didn’t feel like he owed every single person an explanation of what everything was about.
I mean, “Needle in the Hay†is obviously about drugs and despair. But I when I got to know him better, I learned that song was more about what was going on in the Pacific Northwest in the small music community in the early 90s and how badly drugs were infiltrating it."
Dorien Garry
"Elliott's girl (Valerie.. is this confirmed? I DO want to start calling her by name) shimmied herself at their feet, on Elliott's left, and sat on the floor facing the audience smiling and mouthing lyrics. In her hands she held Elliott's cigarette box.
I am an open wound tonight, like I said. Please forgive me, as I am not being my staid self (right, when does that ever happen) tonight. I got REALLY sad during "Somebody Else's Baby" and "Pretty Ugly Before"... my mind was tumbling... I wore white, as did Valerie... she reminds me of myself in some ways (for those who can read between the lines... she is NOT McBeal-ish... and she's not fat either... she's WAY NORMAL, as am I... I've been having issues with this lately though, as it seems everyone around me is losing sight of what normal is lately in the "women's weight issues department"), and it was actually beautiful to see that she could be HERSELF, totally uninhibited, facing the audience, BOTH her and Elliott... almost facing the world together, and yet not caring that a thousand eyes are staring back at them. They both seem very secure, yet very private.. its utterly beautiful and I only wish for that in my own life."
Courtney Nurell
"Something else funny: A friend dropped off a Casio guitar made out of rubber, and I was supposed to give it to someone but I kept it around. And Elliott loved that thing. He would always strap it on and play, like, Stevie Wonder's “Superstitionâ€. You can actually hear it on "Bled Whiteâ€; it makes a neener-wheeee sound. He decided he had to bring it to L.A. to show Jon Brion."
Larry Crane
"He's been turned into somewhat of an icon, but he was actually a total goofball most of the time. He would prank call me and leave me voicemails. This was before cell phones, so I'd come home and there'd be a message that was him basically doing a whole Jerky Boys skit on the answering machine.
We watched All That Jazz together once. It was the rare night where I convinced him to stay home with me and not go out. We both loved it. The main character, who's wreaking havoc on this dance community, is wearing this black leather armband. Halfway through the movie, Elliott's like, "I really like that huge bracelet thing." I'm like, "Yeah, it's pretty badass." And then the next day he's like, "Do you know where I can go get a scrap of leather?" So that's basically where the whole leather armband trend of the 90s came from—Elliott seeing All That Jazz."
Dorien Garry
"He recorded Either/Or partly at my studio, which was a funny thing because, at that point, we weren't actually speaking to each other. But for months, he was next door to where I worked, so I could hear all these songs being made because my office shared a wall with where he was recording. It was hell. Good songs, though. Really good songs."
JJ Gonson
"I’m getting over bronchitis. I was about to go to work for the first time in 5 days when I heard the news. Luckily, I was sitting down. Was it a surprise? Not really. He’d looked like death for years, sang the saddest songs ever and canceling shows because of “health reasons†didn’t leave much to the imagination anymore. It’d been going on for so many years and he’d been so out of the spotlight, I’d almost forgotten about him. Almost begun not to care. Kurt Cobain had NOTHING on Elliott when it came to how obvious it was that he didn’t want to be a big rockstar and how hard a time he was dealing with it. “Everybody wants me to ride into the sun but I ain’t gonna go down.â€
My introduction to Elliott was one of the saddest moments of my life. He’d been recommended to me by a lot of friends and he was close with many of my favorite LA singers but I’d never gotten around to checking him out. On the night of the Oscars in 1998, my girlfriend, Summer, was living her last days, suffering from kidney cancer and a terrible headache while a biker-neighbor across the alley that looked like he was born with a shotgun by his side was working a powersaw during primetime. We were both beyond miserable but cried tears of joy watching Elliott perform “Miss Misery†and then take a bow hand in hand with Celine Dion. It was the strangest sight but it seemed like such a huge victory for our little world. Of course, it put him into a place that he was never meant to be. With his talent, he DESERVED to be far more well-known, but this man was just not equipped to live that life. Didn’t seem to want it remotely.
It was only a few weeks later that Summer passed away and almost all music sounded awful or just reminded me too much… I decided to rent a movie one night to try to forget a little, thought of Elliott and grabbed Good Will Hunting, which I’d never bothered to see. I’ll never forget standing on my couch, screaming at the TV, “WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T ANYONE TELL ME WHAT THIS WAS ABOUT?!?!†Ok, maybe Robin Williams’ character (a man who can’t get over his wife dying of cancer) wasn’t the main focus of the movie but NO ONE told me to avoid it!? It reminded me how a few people recommended that I rent Titanic while Summer was sick, which made it all the more strange to see Elliott standing up there with Celine that night. The movie wrecked me but it also introduced me to other great Elliott songs.
I went out and bought Either/Or and the Good Will Hunting soundtrack right away and had all of his albums soon thereafter. I was always so happy that I’m so bad at remembering lyrics because I could enjoy his words over and over. It helped that he wrote hopelessly catchy melodies but rarely repeated choruses. I’d never really wanted to play albums repeatedly before this. I couldn’t stop listening to the point that I almost listened to nothing else for months. Then XO came out. The Beatles influence was more pronounced, the arrangements were much more lush and the songs were AMAZING. I remember visiting San Francisco and spending a rainy day listening to it on headphones but it was so hard to concentrate on anything but the piano riff from “Waltz 2″ that I had to keep going back to listen to it. I couldn’t get it out of my head. It might be the prettiest thing ever written and it’s so damn SIMPLE. A few weeks later, I was going through withdrawls in Seattle without any Elliott to listen to and feeling the most amazing wave of calmness come over me when I walked into a thrift store and XO was playing.
As somber as a lot of the songs were, there was a new melodic pop sheen that added more hope to the mix that was really comforting at a time that I really needed it. When he came to San Diego in October 1998 at Brick By Brick, I decided to write him a letter thanking him for getting me through my worst days. I figured I’d just give it to someone to give to him or just hand it to him because I didn’t think I’d even be able to talk without losing it but he was so incredibly nice that I ended up being able to tell him most of what I’d written. I mentioned the charity record I was doing and he actually told me I should contact his label about using one of his songs. We talked a little about Big Star (he’d heard me yell out for “13″ amidst a million requests and played it that night) and I actually walked away smiling. I went online today and read about a ton of really great fan exchanges that people wrote about. Just reassures me that deep down, he was a very nice guy.
The next time I saw him a few months later was amazing but a bit hard to watch at the same time. It was a last minute solo show at the Troubadour up in Los Angeles. I’d always wanted to see him play by himself and me & a friend lucked out with tickets. The show was completely packed but you could hear a pin drop while he played. To see and hear the fragility of those songs performed was unreal. The response after each song was like Beatlemania. People yelled out for all kinds of things in between songs and he just didn’t know what to say. He looked so scared and sad at the center of it all, playing a beat-up acoustic guitar on a folding chair. I wondered if I was the only one that was worried for him.
If that made me worried, the next time I saw him flat-out SCARED me. 15,000 screaming fans doing the wave before he came onstage at the fairly full Key Arena at Seattle’s Bumbershoot (holds 17,000 people). I almost left before he came out. This was more than a case of someone bitching about their favorite band getting too big. In a lot of ways, I couldn’t be happier that there was somewhere I could go where this many people wanted to listen to him. All I could see was a very fragile guy being forced out to rock in front of the masses. He was great but it just didn’t work and drunk idiots around me made me worry for his sanity, not mine. I almost wanted him to retire to avoid it all. I think it’d be fun as hell to play for that many people but I was worried the whole thing might scare him to death. He put out one last amazing record, Figure 8, and finally came back to San Diego to play. I’ve never seen so many friends at one show. We were all excited and planned to watch the new Elliott short film “Strange Parallel†afterwards. After the show, we weren’t really up for it. He’d looked pretty bad and kept apologizing for forgetting words and chords. A few of us went back to a nearby friend’s but even the beautiful rendition of “Waltz 2″ that he did on an acoustic guitar that he literally digs out of the ground in the film wasn’t enough to erase the memory of the night.
I wondered what his future would be. It seemed predictable that he’d only get worse. Every time I saw him in a magazine, he looked more gaunt and tragic. Talking about his drug use was a matter of fact instead of conjecture with fans and people who knew him. It was nice to hear that he was working on new material and had done a brilliant LA show (covering Oasis’ “Supersonic†even), but then he cancelled a San Diego show due to “health reasonsâ€. It was rescheduled and those who’d never seen him before thought it was great but most longtime fans said it was depressing to see. I needed a pick me up that night so I chose to go see Rhett Miller of the Old 97′s instead. I’d seen him share a stage with Elliott, Jon Brion and Fiona Apple one night at Elliott’s favorite LA club, Largo. There hadn’t really been any planned collaborating that night and everyone, including Rhett, was surprised to see Elliott whip out a harmonica and start playing on Rhett’s brand new song, “Rollerskate Skinnyâ€. Of course, it was fantastic.
Some of my friends didn’t know I was so close to his music. I guess it’s been awhile since he was on my mind so much. It reminds me of how mad I’d get every time I referred to him as my favorite singer and people would roll their eyes because they were sure I’d said it about countless others. I’d never been attracted to solo singer/songwriter types but the man was simply a genius, playing almost all of the instruments himself and going far beyond his last record with each one he put out. I couldn’t wait to see what he would do next.
His next move I could’ve done without but, again, it’s no huge surprise to anyone who knows of him. The way he did it is shocking but I can’t pretend to know what state of mind he was in when he did it. Probably fueled by any number of substances but DEFINITELY not himself. Would he have been too sad about himself to go on living even if he hadn’t gone through “a bout of overexposure� Quite possibly. I can’t begin to understand it. In some ways, I’m glad it’s over even though I was never close enough to him to pretend that I was constantly worrying about it. Some people’s lives become so sad that they really feel better off without life. I’m sure Elliott knew how much he meant to so many people but the man who wrote the beautiful song “Happiness†was singing about something he couldn’t find. It’s selfish, sad but totally understandable. I don’t judge him. I’m just sad that his life was so sad and hope he’s happy now.
Then again, without his sadness, would we love his music so much? Or Nick Drake’s? Or Morrissey? Or, um…Deborah Gibson? But seriously, that’s part of what made his music such a guilty pleasure. I’ve been listening nonstop for almost six hours. It’s bringing me the same comfort it did years ago.
I wrote this song shortly after, trying to use some of the things he’d taught me without actually sounding like him. I could not figure out what song the middle section reminded me of and it’s driven me crazy ever since. Out of nowhere, a few weeks ago, it hit me: the end of “Breathless†by Adorable. I wish I hadn’t made the Bon Jovi reference but I still like how it came out all these years later."
I sure like your untitled songs.
That’s sure one way to not get it wrong.
Shot through the heart & you’re to blame.
You should call all of your songs “No Nameâ€.
Repeating yourself just might bore us.
‘Specially in the chorus.
What are you wearing to the Oscars this year?
You look an angel in white, my dear.
Woe is you singin’ your favorite ditties.
“Don’t Fear The Reaper†& “Isn’t It A Pity�
Come over here, you big lug
I don’t want your fucking hug
You cut the power on me and yourself.
It came back on the clocks all flashed 12 12 12 12
Now everything here just screams your name.
I wish that it could be quiet again.
This is the last waltz of the year.
These things happen in 3′s so I hear.
Sorry you wanted to leave so fast.
This waltz is the last.
Adam Gimbel
Autumn de Wilde
"There was a lot of crassness and a lot of disappointing behavior from people who were supposedly his friends. But the interesting thing is: This is how history is written. The ones who were there aren’t always the ones who speak. But if people are going to go back and use this as a reference, then it should be truthful."
Rob Schnapf
"I've been fortunate to work with a lot of great artists in my career, but as a composer and a performer, Elliott was profoundly unique. The way he used harmonic structures. He could sit down to the piano and play Rachmaninoff. He could play almost any instrument. He could go from bluegrass to folk. He would go, literally, from Chopin to picking up the guitar and playing a Minutemen riff. When you have someone that's that deeply gifted and special, you're really just lucky to be in the room."
Luke Wood
"I didn't talk to anybody for like eight years. I couldn't do it. I just couldn't deal. The edge needed to wear off a little bit, because it was so raw. Elliott and I have mutual friends who talked a lot, right at the beginning. Now they're like, "I'm done, I never want to hear his name again." It's interesting. Recently, it's been kind of nice: People want to know, and I appreciate that as a music lover. Elliott was fantastic. He was a hilariously funny, super-fun person to be with, someone I absolutely adored with every microfiber of my body. It will always be a hard process, but I do feel some reconciliation in other people coming together."
JJ Gonson
"I remember one night we did karaoke with [Sleater-Kinney/Quasi's] Janet [Weiss] and [Smith bandmate] Sam [Coomes], and me and Janet did "Ride Captain Ride" together. Elliott might have done Rush."
Margaret Mittleman
"He actually did “Rock You Like a Hurricane†by the Scorpions. The look on Elliott’s face when he realized how high Klaus Meine’s voice is on that first note—the realization of having miscalculated in public with a microphone in your hand—oh, it was good."
Rob Schnapf
"We were huge Elvis Costello fans, too. I remember sitting with Neil and Elliott in the living room at their house with our heads down listening to Brutal Youth. Amazing record. When Elliott was on tour, I went to see Elvis Costello and he was fucking furious.
He would walk up behind me and put his arms around me and sing [the Carpenters'] "Close to You" to me. At one point when we were falling apart, he made me a beautiful cassette recording of the Cheap Trick song "If You Want My Love". I wish I knew where it was, but I don't."
JJ Gonson
"It was embarrassing to be doing acoustic music. Nobody did it. Everybody was rough. There was no pop going on at that time. Elliott and I used to play Peter Paul & Mary, Beatles, and Captain and Tennille covers together in the bedroom with the door closed, hoping nobody could hear us. I will never forget Neil laughing the first time Elliott played him a solo song, the part where his voice goes up on on “No Name #1â€. Laughing. It was just shocking."
JJ Gonson
"A couple of the shows we played on that Roman Candle tour in 1994 were really poorly promoted, so we'd goof off, and Elliott would play a lot of Hank Williams and stuff. There was one show that was in a sports bar in Santa Cruz where there was no one there except the regulars, who were really bummed that we were bogarting their dartboard area. And I had really bad gas—I was farting up a storm. Elliott was cracking jokes about the smell in between songs, to the amusement of no one but me."
Slim Moon
"Elliott’s first solo tour on the East Coast was painful because he was still becoming comfortable with performing alone—and not just alone, but alone to an empty room. He was nervous about it, and it used to make him… not feel good a lot. He dealt with a lot of stomach issues. So I'd always be the one telling him, “You can do it.†But whether it would be one person or five, somebody inevitably would discover him from that one experience, and the next time he went back, it was easier."
Margaret Mittleman
"The biggest bands that Kill Rock Stars ever put out each got their momentum in a different way. Sleater-Kinney's biggest momentum was from the press—that, second to Radiohead, they got more positive press than any other band in America in the 90s. With the Decemberists, it was the public: The indie rock record-buyers, the kids, went crazy for that band, but critics kind of shrugged at the time. When Elliott Smith came out, it was falling on deaf ears. But artists were reacting to it. So there was a Fugazi interview where they mentioned that they'd heard the record and liked it. And then John Doe took Elliott on tour, and Sebadoh took Elliott on tour, and in a Beastie Boys SPIN interview, they mentioned his record."
Slim Moon
"He opened solo for Sebadoh in ‘96, and it was at a time when no one really knew about him. We were at our peak at that point, and people just talked right through his set. It would make me really angry. I'd be like, "What the hell are you doing talking through his set? It's Elliott Smith! He's great!" I had that feeling like, “Someday you idiots will shut up and listen to him.†I remember telling him, "People won't shut up, it's making me so angry." And he's like, "I like it better this way. It makes me less self-conscious.""
Lou Barlow
"We toured together for [The Spinanes’] Strand in 1996. I would never really sit down and play, except for during soundcheck and shows, but when we showed up anywhere, Elliott would just start playing guitar, whether he was writing, or practicing, or just playing covers. It wasn't like, "Here I am, check me out!" It was just to himself. He was someone who was always thinking about songwriting
We were a pretty silly crew on tour. One time I was sitting shotgun in the van with my head in a book, and I heard all this snickering behind me. I turned around and [Elliott] had taken electric tape and made an Abe Lincoln beard on his face. And every time I kept turning around, more people had this electric tape facial hair."
Rebecca Gates
"We were all kids, hanging out. There was a lot of Sonic the Hedgehog and sitting around. He and I had a very simpatico sense of humor and found a lot of similar interests in music; we'd just sit around and play together for hours and sing.
For a long time we were “just good friends,†and I remember seeing him leaning against an ex-girlfriend one time and thinking, "Why is that bothering me? That shouldn't be bothering me.†I'd already worked with the band for awhile, and he wrote songs about feeling like he shouldn't be dating me, wanting to, and knowing that it wasn't the right thing to do. Neither of us would deal with it for a long time. And when we finally did, all of our friends were like, "No! That's a really bad idea!" [laughs] Was it a bad idea? I don't know. He was the love of my life in a lot of ways. I'm enormously grateful to have had that emotional experience. I think that everybody should be that in love with somebody, even if it has to come to an end."
JJ Gonson
"At the Taylor Street house, he would sit upstairs playing for hours and hours and hours, working on the songs, and then he'd go downstairs for half an hour and put something down on tape. He didn't spend very much time in the "studio," which was the basement. It was gross down there; he was perched on a stool surrounded by garbage. It wasn't like it was a couch and cappuccinos. I don't even think we had a washing machine. He was welcome to be down there by himself, nobody wanted to be down there.
The whole sound quality of Roman Candle is entirely based on the fact that he's using a low-quality microphone right up against his fingers. He doesn't even have an acoustic pickup—he's playing an acoustic guitar into a microphone."
JJ Gonson
"Slim really liked this kid. We were all together on a bill; me, Slim, and Elliott. I was backstage, just talking to everybody, and Slim said, “Mary Lou, you really need to go out and watch that guy.†I wasn't very interested; I had heard a million acoustic guitar guys, you know? But Slim was like, “No, Mary Lou, you really need to go and watch him.†In other words, “Shut the fuck up and get out there.â€
The first thing I noticed was that his guitar was really crappy; I think it might have been the Le Domino he recorded Roman Candle on. I realized he was making that crappy guitar sound really good. By the third song, I had completely lost myself. I was sucked in. I immediately invited him on tour. And he mumbled, in his way, “OK, Mary Lou.â€"
Mary Lou Lord
"We both applied to South By Southwest around 1995 and we got turned down. So I said, "Elliott, who are those assholes to tell us we can't play?" I had this little busking amp I kept in my car at all times, just in case. So we drove down there and found a little place to play near the Driskill Hotel. I kind of wore the pants on that tour [laughs], and Elliott was like, "I don't know about this, Mary Lou." And I was like, "That's enough outta you. We're going to have our own little showcase out in front of this Kinko's."
We got a bunch of booze and started playing. I wish to god somebody had recorded this, because it was St. Patrick's Day, and Elliott was playing all kinds of Irish songs and Pogues songs. We'd take turns, and we played all night and got happily shit-faced. The people who actually had a showcase at Kill Rock Stars came by; Slim was there. It was one of the best nights of my life."
Mary Lou Lord
"I just wanted to do something with him, and between Either/Or and XO, he came down to my studio. I sat him in front of a binaural head, which is this grey foam sculpture of a human head with two specialized microphones in each ear hole that has this incredibly realistic stereo effect. So we sat down in front of this ludicrous device and he sang two songs, which became other songs later—one was "The record that plays over and over/ There's a kid in the story below" lines from "Bottle Up and Explode!" The other one ended up as "Going Nowhereâ€. I didn't have anything good to add to them, but I have these a cappella versions. I wish I knew where I put them."
Mike Doughty
"I remember he was soundchecking in Philadelphia at the Theatre of Living Arts. I would always watch his soundchecks, so I was sitting there, and he covered "Thirteen" by Big Star. It just brought me to tears. Music doesn't always bring me to tears; if I hear "Love" by John Lennon at a vulnerable moment it will bring me to tears. His version of "Thirteen" was devastating in that empty theater. I don’t think he even knew I was there."
Lou Barlow
"Because we were friends, he was able to tell me what he was and wasn't comfortable with. The more attention he got, the more troubled he got, and that’s when it got hard. The irony of it was that he was so open and honest with pretty much anybody who crossed his path, so it wasn't unlike him to tell a very personal, private story to a virtual stranger sitting next to him at a bar.
But it would infuriate him when people asked him what his lyrics were about. He really hated having to have an answer for what every character and every story was. Music was a way of channeling thoughts and feelings that were bigger than him into art, and he didn’t feel like he owed every single person an explanation of what everything was about.
I mean, “Needle in the Hay†is obviously about drugs and despair. But I when I got to know him better, I learned that song was more about what was going on in the Pacific Northwest in the small music community in the early 90s and how badly drugs were infiltrating it."
Dorien Garry
"Elliott's girl (Valerie.. is this confirmed? I DO want to start calling her by name) shimmied herself at their feet, on Elliott's left, and sat on the floor facing the audience smiling and mouthing lyrics. In her hands she held Elliott's cigarette box.
I am an open wound tonight, like I said. Please forgive me, as I am not being my staid self (right, when does that ever happen) tonight. I got REALLY sad during "Somebody Else's Baby" and "Pretty Ugly Before"... my mind was tumbling... I wore white, as did Valerie... she reminds me of myself in some ways (for those who can read between the lines... she is NOT McBeal-ish... and she's not fat either... she's WAY NORMAL, as am I... I've been having issues with this lately though, as it seems everyone around me is losing sight of what normal is lately in the "women's weight issues department"), and it was actually beautiful to see that she could be HERSELF, totally uninhibited, facing the audience, BOTH her and Elliott... almost facing the world together, and yet not caring that a thousand eyes are staring back at them. They both seem very secure, yet very private.. its utterly beautiful and I only wish for that in my own life."
Courtney Nurell
"Something else funny: A friend dropped off a Casio guitar made out of rubber, and I was supposed to give it to someone but I kept it around. And Elliott loved that thing. He would always strap it on and play, like, Stevie Wonder's “Superstitionâ€. You can actually hear it on "Bled Whiteâ€; it makes a neener-wheeee sound. He decided he had to bring it to L.A. to show Jon Brion."
Larry Crane
"He's been turned into somewhat of an icon, but he was actually a total goofball most of the time. He would prank call me and leave me voicemails. This was before cell phones, so I'd come home and there'd be a message that was him basically doing a whole Jerky Boys skit on the answering machine.
We watched All That Jazz together once. It was the rare night where I convinced him to stay home with me and not go out. We both loved it. The main character, who's wreaking havoc on this dance community, is wearing this black leather armband. Halfway through the movie, Elliott's like, "I really like that huge bracelet thing." I'm like, "Yeah, it's pretty badass." And then the next day he's like, "Do you know where I can go get a scrap of leather?" So that's basically where the whole leather armband trend of the 90s came from—Elliott seeing All That Jazz."
Dorien Garry
"He recorded Either/Or partly at my studio, which was a funny thing because, at that point, we weren't actually speaking to each other. But for months, he was next door to where I worked, so I could hear all these songs being made because my office shared a wall with where he was recording. It was hell. Good songs, though. Really good songs."
JJ Gonson
"I’m getting over bronchitis. I was about to go to work for the first time in 5 days when I heard the news. Luckily, I was sitting down. Was it a surprise? Not really. He’d looked like death for years, sang the saddest songs ever and canceling shows because of “health reasons†didn’t leave much to the imagination anymore. It’d been going on for so many years and he’d been so out of the spotlight, I’d almost forgotten about him. Almost begun not to care. Kurt Cobain had NOTHING on Elliott when it came to how obvious it was that he didn’t want to be a big rockstar and how hard a time he was dealing with it. “Everybody wants me to ride into the sun but I ain’t gonna go down.â€
My introduction to Elliott was one of the saddest moments of my life. He’d been recommended to me by a lot of friends and he was close with many of my favorite LA singers but I’d never gotten around to checking him out. On the night of the Oscars in 1998, my girlfriend, Summer, was living her last days, suffering from kidney cancer and a terrible headache while a biker-neighbor across the alley that looked like he was born with a shotgun by his side was working a powersaw during primetime. We were both beyond miserable but cried tears of joy watching Elliott perform “Miss Misery†and then take a bow hand in hand with Celine Dion. It was the strangest sight but it seemed like such a huge victory for our little world. Of course, it put him into a place that he was never meant to be. With his talent, he DESERVED to be far more well-known, but this man was just not equipped to live that life. Didn’t seem to want it remotely.
It was only a few weeks later that Summer passed away and almost all music sounded awful or just reminded me too much… I decided to rent a movie one night to try to forget a little, thought of Elliott and grabbed Good Will Hunting, which I’d never bothered to see. I’ll never forget standing on my couch, screaming at the TV, “WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T ANYONE TELL ME WHAT THIS WAS ABOUT?!?!†Ok, maybe Robin Williams’ character (a man who can’t get over his wife dying of cancer) wasn’t the main focus of the movie but NO ONE told me to avoid it!? It reminded me how a few people recommended that I rent Titanic while Summer was sick, which made it all the more strange to see Elliott standing up there with Celine that night. The movie wrecked me but it also introduced me to other great Elliott songs.
I went out and bought Either/Or and the Good Will Hunting soundtrack right away and had all of his albums soon thereafter. I was always so happy that I’m so bad at remembering lyrics because I could enjoy his words over and over. It helped that he wrote hopelessly catchy melodies but rarely repeated choruses. I’d never really wanted to play albums repeatedly before this. I couldn’t stop listening to the point that I almost listened to nothing else for months. Then XO came out. The Beatles influence was more pronounced, the arrangements were much more lush and the songs were AMAZING. I remember visiting San Francisco and spending a rainy day listening to it on headphones but it was so hard to concentrate on anything but the piano riff from “Waltz 2″ that I had to keep going back to listen to it. I couldn’t get it out of my head. It might be the prettiest thing ever written and it’s so damn SIMPLE. A few weeks later, I was going through withdrawls in Seattle without any Elliott to listen to and feeling the most amazing wave of calmness come over me when I walked into a thrift store and XO was playing.
As somber as a lot of the songs were, there was a new melodic pop sheen that added more hope to the mix that was really comforting at a time that I really needed it. When he came to San Diego in October 1998 at Brick By Brick, I decided to write him a letter thanking him for getting me through my worst days. I figured I’d just give it to someone to give to him or just hand it to him because I didn’t think I’d even be able to talk without losing it but he was so incredibly nice that I ended up being able to tell him most of what I’d written. I mentioned the charity record I was doing and he actually told me I should contact his label about using one of his songs. We talked a little about Big Star (he’d heard me yell out for “13″ amidst a million requests and played it that night) and I actually walked away smiling. I went online today and read about a ton of really great fan exchanges that people wrote about. Just reassures me that deep down, he was a very nice guy.
The next time I saw him a few months later was amazing but a bit hard to watch at the same time. It was a last minute solo show at the Troubadour up in Los Angeles. I’d always wanted to see him play by himself and me & a friend lucked out with tickets. The show was completely packed but you could hear a pin drop while he played. To see and hear the fragility of those songs performed was unreal. The response after each song was like Beatlemania. People yelled out for all kinds of things in between songs and he just didn’t know what to say. He looked so scared and sad at the center of it all, playing a beat-up acoustic guitar on a folding chair. I wondered if I was the only one that was worried for him.
If that made me worried, the next time I saw him flat-out SCARED me. 15,000 screaming fans doing the wave before he came onstage at the fairly full Key Arena at Seattle’s Bumbershoot (holds 17,000 people). I almost left before he came out. This was more than a case of someone bitching about their favorite band getting too big. In a lot of ways, I couldn’t be happier that there was somewhere I could go where this many people wanted to listen to him. All I could see was a very fragile guy being forced out to rock in front of the masses. He was great but it just didn’t work and drunk idiots around me made me worry for his sanity, not mine. I almost wanted him to retire to avoid it all. I think it’d be fun as hell to play for that many people but I was worried the whole thing might scare him to death. He put out one last amazing record, Figure 8, and finally came back to San Diego to play. I’ve never seen so many friends at one show. We were all excited and planned to watch the new Elliott short film “Strange Parallel†afterwards. After the show, we weren’t really up for it. He’d looked pretty bad and kept apologizing for forgetting words and chords. A few of us went back to a nearby friend’s but even the beautiful rendition of “Waltz 2″ that he did on an acoustic guitar that he literally digs out of the ground in the film wasn’t enough to erase the memory of the night.
I wondered what his future would be. It seemed predictable that he’d only get worse. Every time I saw him in a magazine, he looked more gaunt and tragic. Talking about his drug use was a matter of fact instead of conjecture with fans and people who knew him. It was nice to hear that he was working on new material and had done a brilliant LA show (covering Oasis’ “Supersonic†even), but then he cancelled a San Diego show due to “health reasonsâ€. It was rescheduled and those who’d never seen him before thought it was great but most longtime fans said it was depressing to see. I needed a pick me up that night so I chose to go see Rhett Miller of the Old 97′s instead. I’d seen him share a stage with Elliott, Jon Brion and Fiona Apple one night at Elliott’s favorite LA club, Largo. There hadn’t really been any planned collaborating that night and everyone, including Rhett, was surprised to see Elliott whip out a harmonica and start playing on Rhett’s brand new song, “Rollerskate Skinnyâ€. Of course, it was fantastic.
Some of my friends didn’t know I was so close to his music. I guess it’s been awhile since he was on my mind so much. It reminds me of how mad I’d get every time I referred to him as my favorite singer and people would roll their eyes because they were sure I’d said it about countless others. I’d never been attracted to solo singer/songwriter types but the man was simply a genius, playing almost all of the instruments himself and going far beyond his last record with each one he put out. I couldn’t wait to see what he would do next.
His next move I could’ve done without but, again, it’s no huge surprise to anyone who knows of him. The way he did it is shocking but I can’t pretend to know what state of mind he was in when he did it. Probably fueled by any number of substances but DEFINITELY not himself. Would he have been too sad about himself to go on living even if he hadn’t gone through “a bout of overexposure� Quite possibly. I can’t begin to understand it. In some ways, I’m glad it’s over even though I was never close enough to him to pretend that I was constantly worrying about it. Some people’s lives become so sad that they really feel better off without life. I’m sure Elliott knew how much he meant to so many people but the man who wrote the beautiful song “Happiness†was singing about something he couldn’t find. It’s selfish, sad but totally understandable. I don’t judge him. I’m just sad that his life was so sad and hope he’s happy now.
Then again, without his sadness, would we love his music so much? Or Nick Drake’s? Or Morrissey? Or, um…Deborah Gibson? But seriously, that’s part of what made his music such a guilty pleasure. I’ve been listening nonstop for almost six hours. It’s bringing me the same comfort it did years ago.
I wrote this song shortly after, trying to use some of the things he’d taught me without actually sounding like him. I could not figure out what song the middle section reminded me of and it’s driven me crazy ever since. Out of nowhere, a few weeks ago, it hit me: the end of “Breathless†by Adorable. I wish I hadn’t made the Bon Jovi reference but I still like how it came out all these years later."
I sure like your untitled songs.
That’s sure one way to not get it wrong.
Shot through the heart & you’re to blame.
You should call all of your songs “No Nameâ€.
Repeating yourself just might bore us.
‘Specially in the chorus.
What are you wearing to the Oscars this year?
You look an angel in white, my dear.
Woe is you singin’ your favorite ditties.
“Don’t Fear The Reaper†& “Isn’t It A Pity�
Come over here, you big lug
I don’t want your fucking hug
You cut the power on me and yourself.
It came back on the clocks all flashed 12 12 12 12
Now everything here just screams your name.
I wish that it could be quiet again.
This is the last waltz of the year.
These things happen in 3′s so I hear.
Sorry you wanted to leave so fast.
This waltz is the last.
Adam Gimbel