Rants

Sad news

I was walking to school on Wednesday when Emily called to tell me that Elliott Smith had died. Stabbed himself in the heart. A psychology exam required that I put this news out of my mind for the time being, but on the way home, it dawned on me how sad I felt.

When Jaco Pastorius died, I was still playing bass and trying to copy his licks, listening to his records over and over. The nasty circumstances — drunk out of his mind, beaten to death by a bouncer — made me angry more than anything else. I was sad that Jaco wouldn’t play again or make any more records, but it wasn’t as if I had lost a friend.

I don’t claim to have known Elliott Smith, and I don’t try to imagine what went on in his head. But he revealed through his music a soul so tender that it was prone to injury and pain. He plumbed depths of the spirit that most of us would rather not explore. He faced and documented the darkest moments of life for the rest of us. By fighting the demons and emerging victorious, he became something of a hero. It’s painful to see him lose the last fight.

If you’ve never heard the man, take a listen to the song on the right.

A quote from Elliott turned up in an old article I read, and I’m going to have to pin it up by my desk:

I don’t really think of time off as writing blocks. I think that’s a Western notion of demonizing inactivity. When your imagination decides it needs to take a nap, then maybe that’s what it needs to do.