Elliott Smith pissed me off royally on October 22, by killing himself.
But I’m over that now, at least enough to write about it. Or maybe just to acknowledge what a tragedy the whole sorry thing is. I mean, it was clear from listening to his work that he wasn’t the happiest person in the world, but I (you? we?) hoped he was working out some of his demons by penning what must have been some of the most beautiful, intelligent, aware and graceful songs (in English, at least) of the past decade. Perhaps in the past quarter century.
We’re talking about someone in the same league as Brian Wilson, Elvis Costello, Kurt Cobain, Paul Simon, Joni Mitchell…
And now he’s dead.
Goodbye Elliott Smith. So long and thanks for all the fish.