elliott

i just finished reading autumn dewilde's book, elliott smith, and boy howdy is it a doozy. the photography, tho not without gems, is generally pretty tedious. or maybe i just can't bring myself to look at picture after picture of elliott. the interviews, many with folks who've remained rather hushed over the years, make the book worth it's cover price, and really drive home the point that nobody really knew elliott.

i am of the camp where i don't feel comfortable latching on to his legacy, or trying to align myself with him in order to make myself look better, or feel important, or whatever it is that drives people to those acts of parasitism. that said, the anecdotes in the book brought back a few fond memories of my own. i should reiterate, i barely knew elliott, we were two (listing) ships that sometimes crossed in the nite.

one such nite was at one of the many monumental parties that broke out at this house where i used to live in silver lake. we called it the filthy whore. it was already late when i had arrived, as i had to retrieve a couple of the grandaddy guys from their hotel in hollywood. instantly, i knew it would be one of "those" nites. there was a flaming lip in our makeshift backyard bar and elliott was having a heart to heart with fairchild in the hallway. they pulled me in and asked if we could go down to my room to listen to some mixes elliott had been working on. we escaped the party and were treated to early versions of songs that would become elliott's final record, years before that record would ever see the lite. as the nite progressed toward morning, the songs became less and less finished. he would play a song that was without vocals, and add the parts live, karaoke-style, for jim and i and a few others who had caught wind of the happenings. then elliott reached for my guitar and more drunks quietly stumbled into the room. i found out later that the rest of the party was huddled around the laundry shoot upstairs. the songs were so quiet and fragile, and the audience so tired and inebriated, that many had begun to drift off. i distinctly remember snoring and then snickers from those still hanging on. elliott's girlfriend was also beat and wanting to leave but i got the feeling elliott was relishing the scene. my guess was that he didn't find himself in those intimate situations as often as he maybe used to. they argued a little bit and, sensing discomfort, a few people encouraged him to call it a nite, while a few others boo'd under their breath.

it wasn't until after elliott died and i was retelling this story that it hit me... "i was living in this basement up on a hill..." i froze. no way, i thought, chills down my spine. i listened to the song for clues, "...dragged against your will from a basement on the hill..." could it be? a few folks who were there that nite emailed me later, but i could neither confirm nor deny. by all other accounts, it was a reference to a recording studio in malibu. and to be absolutely honest, that would be just fine by me. i just feel lucky that i still have that little house on memory lane.