10.22.2003
So sad to hear about Elliott Smith today. Sad to think that no one will get to see him play again, as he had an amazing gift, and sad for all the friends he left behind; by all accounts he had a lot more to share than his music.
We had a few friends in common, and so Rachel and I met Elliott once a few years back, when he played a show here in DC with Quasi, right around when XO came out. There weren’t more than six people in the room backstage before the show - I think Rachel and I may have been the only two people there that weren’t his close friends and bandmates - and yet, regardless of the love and awe everyone there had for him, he was the quietest guy in the room, sharing beer from a pitcher in plastic cups and making some polite small talk. Who knows what he thought of the packed room waiting for him outside - our impression was that he seemed a little stunned by everything, and just a little too nice for the place.
Rachel had introduced me to Elliott’s music not too long before - she had been listening to him for years - and my first gift to her had been a ticket to one of his shows, so meeting him was a pretty big deal, but you got the impression that to make a big deal of it would have made him uncomfortable, so we simply acted like any friends of friends, told him how nice it was to meet him, and tried to make him feel at ease. We were lucky enough to get to watch the show from the side of the stage - it was his first tour with a backing band, and one of the most amazing things either of us had ever heard - and we hadn’t had a chance to compose ourselves when, at one point, he rushed off the stage to take a break between sets, and literally ran right into us. For a second, he was looking at us, and we at him - this suddenly sheepish guy who had just played his heart out; our mouths probably still hanging open in amazement - and then we managed to give him a smile and tell him that he had been great. And then the moment was over: he seemed to take notice once again of the crowd cheering over his shoulder, gave a small, polite nod of thanks, and disappeared backstage.
comments 3This a poem for Elliott Smith I arranged using his own words, lyrics, song titles, etc. I didn’t know him but he touched me and I feel a tremendous loss. I wanted to do something. Thanks for everything, Elliott.
:
:
:
: Where Were You When Elliott Died?
:
:
: Lying here on the ground
: waiting for sleep to overtake me
: concrete hands pick up the telephone ring
: quiet terror news
: arrived too late
: he was sick of it all
: the endless stream of reminders
: wanted everything to stop
: acting under orders from above
:
: What’s the matter, man
: nothing’s wrong that wasn’t wrong before
: you found another audience
: why should you want any other
: when you’re a world within a world
: you can do what you want to
: there’s no one to stop you
: all your secret wishes
: could right now be coming true
:
: In my sleep tonight
: mute memories start talking
: I got a long way to go
: cuz I don’t know what I am
: grabbin’ on to whatever’s around
: the moon is a light bulb breaking
: every thought a ricochet
: about to implode
: nightmares become me
: it’s so fucking clear
: don’t think it’ll ever pass
:
: I was about to throw it all away
: make the same mistake twice
: you beat it in me
: that part of you
: give the people
: easy way out
: something they understand
: everything means nothing to me
:
: I don’t need a remedy
: won’t take your medicine
: I want to hurt him
: to give him pain
: I just told the biggest lie
: I’m so angry
: my head is full of flames
:
: I’ll go to the service
: to pray and I’ll sing
: follow me down
: to the rose parade
: here’s what you get
: praises of my maker’s name
: damaged bad at best
: getting further away
:
: What I used to be will pass
: away and then you’ll see
: I have become a silent movie
: looking out on the substitute scene
: for somebody’s arms
: to wave away past harms
: somebody that I used to know
: I don’t want nobody else
: throwing candy out to the crowd
:
: So come on night
: killing time won’t stop this crying
: let’s just forget all about it
: just walk away
: slip out quiet
: home to oblivion
: I’m in love with the world
: like the man in the moon
: brushing off the nightmare
:
: Whatever’s left of you
: buried below
: in the lost and found
: you’re coming up roses
: in a place meant to hide
: stay with me
: stay up all night
: I’ll protect you
: it’ll all be yesteryear soon
: you can’t ask for more
:
: Look at me
: I’m talking to you
: all I want now
: is happiness
: for you and me
: keep you apart
: separate from the rest
: deep in my heart
: where I like you the best
: do you know who you’re talking to
: say yes
:
: Wish you gave me your number
: wish I could call you today
: just to hear a voice
: riding high again
: high on the sound
: I’m never gonna know you now
: but I’m gonna love you anyhow
That which does not kill us makes us stranger.
Posted by Weinberg Gregg at January 20, 2004 09:16 PMmore shey.net
10.20.2003: wrong turn
For everyone coming here looking for Sara Stokes, we’d like to point you over to da band’s website, now open…
10.27.2003: happy birthday patrick
keep on rockin, my friend……
had a similar interaction with elliot smith, myself.
it was after the “kill rock stars’ album. a friend of a friend had heard that i was writing some acoustic songs and seemed to think that i would like smith’s music. he was too right. i was kind of paralyzed for a few months listening to the quiet, brilliance of that record. i had a little room in a loft with no windows. over and over i listened to that record in the dark, marvelling at how much rhythm this guy could get into an acoustic song, fingerpicking without being too rootsy.
i went to see him in nyc at the now defunct ‘brownies’ on ave. a. it was a small crowd, and people were shouting out requests. i could tell he was offput, and yet flattered.
a few months later, i ran into him at a bar. he was alone, as far as i could tell. i just went up to him to tell him thanks for the inspiration, thanks for making me almost put the guitar down for good, because he’d raised the bar so high. thanks for writing about my life. but, all i could get out was, ‘thanks for the music’ in a weak kind of way.
he looked at me, shyly, quizically, and said, ‘what’s your name?’
that wasn’t what i was expecting to hear.
i told him a fake name. i don’t know why.i think i thought it was detached and cool. then i looked down at the floor and when i looked up, there was an awkard moment and then he was gone.
years later, i wondered why i’d lied to someone that had been so honest.
i was kind of hoping to grow old with this guy. listening to him the way some parents listen to james taylor or joan baez record after record.
it’s a real shame.
mc
Posted by mike ciulla at October 24, 2003 06:35 PM