Elliott Smith: 1969-2003: Trying To Make Sense of That Which Makes No Sense

I pondered how I might approach the subject of the tragic suicide of Elliott Smith and part of me felt like saying nothing might be the best route. Whatever can be said is at best a cliche and trivializes a life lost too soon. Truly, the man left a legacy in his music that will never die. The few like Elliott, Chris Bell and Nick Drake will live forever in that way. At least, hopefully, for Elliott, the demons are finally silenced.

Many were touched by Elliott's music; many more seem to have opinions on the whys and the what ifs. We can't answer the whys. The what ifs are speculation. So, the best I felt I could do was compile some web links of those, including Beck and others, who have eloquently put into words their experience of Elliott both professionally and personally. I link to his biography. I link to a beautiful gallery of Elliott Smith photos compiled by a woman who summoned the strength to fight bone cancer because of the power of Smith's music. I link to an Elliott Smith message board in case you want to share how you feel about Elliott's passing. Finally, I link to internet resources on suicide and depression, in case any of you or a family member is affected by the insidious disease of depression, a disease whose grip slowly tightens around your neck unless you get some help. One of those links is to a site run by Bev Cobain, a cousin of the late Kurt Cobain.

As a fan, all one can contribute to the Elliott Smith aftermath is one's experience of his music. Simply, my opinion is that Smith's music was as important as masters such as Chris Bell and Nick Drake. I loved his music. It touched me because it was subtle, sophisticated and starkly real. Like Cobain, Elliott was a lone wolf on a major label, carrying for many the torch that seems to barely glimmer with hope that there are people still in power in the music business that will get behind real artists.

I, for one, will not try to make sense of that which makes no sense. Not even six more repeat plays of "Bled White" will help me figure it out.

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