Ellliot Smith

Born on 8/6/69. He died from stab wounds on 10/21/03 - It was never resolved as to whether the wounds were self-inflicted or not ... respectfully and as it should be, I think. From what I can tell, he managed to remain untouched by "fame (for all that implies)." That is, his music gained recognition and accolades but he also managed somehow, to remain safe in a certain obscurity. I think that's safe to say. He played a bunch of instruments: piano, clarinet, bass, drums and harmonica, but his primary instrument was guitar.

His music was featured in the film "Good Will Hunting." He performed "Miss Misery" at the Oscars. This, he said was "...weird ... pretty fun but I don't know if it would be fun to live in that world, really ... (The other performers looked at me like) 'Who is that guy? The guy in the white suit with the dirty hair. What's he doing here?' I was wondering the same thing."

He was working on his sixth album "Basement on the Hill," at the time of his death. It was released posthumously.

I want to say something - more - about his music or music at large. It's tough because right now that seems diametrically opposed to what I'm feeling; "saying something," that is. In poetry and stories, ideally, the words and metaphors cause a sort of tension; stretch their own meanings - transcend themselves. Music is - or can be - transcendence, in and of itself, already. Effortless. It's just there. It effects the heartbeat and pulls up emotions we've not even conjured words for - just the music. Add beautiful lyrics to the mix and - well - there. Yes.

I have a friend who feels harmony is/can be our one connection/experience of/with Perfection. As human beings, resolute (or not so resolved) in our im-perfection, I suppose there may be an inherent longing to catch glimpses of this - we tend to think in opposites - duality. So from this, rises the 'idea' of perfection and something we seek outside ourselves for a sense of ... something. Something of spirit - towards wholeness ... perhaps.

When I go back over my posts here, I sometimes listen to the music video's I've included while I read. And it 'improves' them, I think. It adds an element; a 'layer' to the experience of reading that's important ... to me. Over the past week, the artist I talked about here - Elliot Smith ... I don't know. I've known his music for years but he just flashed back into my up front consciousness ... for some reason. And now, his story, his art, his death, his ability to keep himself 'in tact,' and not be pulled into "all that (whatever happens to people who have 'made it')." I've been a bit haunted by him.

This 'blog' thing has taken on a life of its own - I suspected it might and so I'm trying to be open and follow 'its' lead. I knew I'd write here, but it seems that music and images have become an inextricable part of this ... um - this project ... this process - and so, I'm honoring a need to pay a sort of homage to this musician who died when he was 34... I don't know what he thought of perfection - if he sought or even believed in it. But there are some, maybe even many (he still has fan sites), who feel he touched upon it in certain songs - at certain moments. He touched and still touches other's lives; added some beauty. As for myself, I'd not ask for more than that.

If you like the song included here, check out also Miss Misery, Angeles, Say Yes ... go from there.

Elliott Smith - Between The Bars

cities

life draped loose over
opium-faced skeletons rubbing against
themselves, passing through
each other. they are trying to, not
to. not to think about it
while going so too-hard toward
... nothing. it's
it's
nothing, really ...

below our business, below
the cities, heaven is
moaning from glass-shatter depths
giving off a color;
i can't call it,
just a color chanting over
everything it touches,
glossing surfaces, then gone
like a monk on its way to
evening vespers moving steady looking
down, no reason to
look forward - the path is there
towards nothing ever changing
except the cold's shifting
tempo; how fast it turns across
the stone's, cobbled and meant for
getting somewhere.
just step - then step
with purpose
the purpose of this;
to wait.
life's loose drape;
one realizes, and suffers.
one doesn't think about it
and anything near you,
suffers.