Elliott Smith
From A Basement On The Hill
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For $12.78

The first time I heard Elliott Smith was at Reckless Records in Chicago. The song "Needle In The Hay" was playing and I ran up to the counter to ask who it was. They handed me his debut and I utilized their listening station to absorb it. It was an imperfect record, like all of Smith's endeavors to follow. But there was something perfect about its imperfections, like hidden scars beneath a striking exterior. On the surface, it was melancholic folk, but obscured was this bruised optimism that there is a sunbeam at the end of the void.

Let's hope that Smith has found the peace that his songs longed for. A sort of quaint reward for enduring great pains. He should still be here along with Jeff Buckley, John Lennon, and Kurt Cobain, but the legacy speaks for itself and comes full circle with his last full-length record, From A Basement on the Hill. When I saw the film, The Royal Tenenbaums, at a screening, I had to contain myself when I heard the abovementioned song during an attempted suicide by one of the characters. Suffice to say, I had similiar visions of taking my own life during my darkest hour, but hearing Smith's music was the best therapy imaginable. It assured me that I wasn't alone. The song used in the film was later followed by a Nick Drake tune, another musician visionary taken from us too song. The parallels are uncanny and Smith will go down in history as a tortured soul with a lot to offer.

From A Basement on the Hill is his 2nd best record after Figure 8 (which some deem as overproduced but for my money, is the summation of what makes him a brilliant artist). “Passing Feeling” looks at a reversion into disabling drug dependence, something he undoubtedly struggled with. The anxiously spare “Last Hour” chronicles the end of a black-and-blue relationship. His lyrics of, “I'm through trying now / It's a big relief / I'll be staying down / Where no one else gonna give me grief / Mess me around / Just make it over,” seem especially bleak. A lot of Smith's lyrics have a "missing the comfort in being sad" quality that the overly sensitive cling to like warm, familiar static that resounds in the corridors of the mind. The tracks "Last Hour" and "A Fond Farewell" are beautiful, tear-kissing diamond gems that are akin to his earlier work, with him and his guitar gliding through an autumn breeze of calming acceptance. The melodies bleed like funeral eulogies for long-lost friends, which is all the more fitting seeing as how many feel like they've lost a close one. It's the kind of personal intimacy that very few artists can stir up in their work. It hurts to even consider Basement his swan song, because music should've been his way out, to ensure that longevity becomes a part of his agenda. Maybe he was tired of playing the role, or simply couldn't handle the breadth of his hurt. Either way, he will be more than missed, his soothing falsetto a reminder that the true source of gratifying catharsis comes from the gentle art of creation. It's hard to believe that his effortlessly orchestrated songs couldn't save him from his own demons, but the dark side of redemption has never been so magically captured than with his past two records. He may be gone, but thanks to all his extraordinary records, like many of his heroes, it's impossible to ever forget him.

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