Yesterday was the ten year anniversary of Elliott Smith's death. Bullett Magazine, one of my favorite online publications, did a list of "The Essential Elliott Smith Songs on the 10th Anniversary of His Death," with songs like "Angeles" and "Ballad of Big Nothing" making the cut, as well as brief write-ups of the songs. Rolling Stone Magazine reported this morning that a "DIY" tribute concert was held at Glasslands in Brooklyn, NY, last night, with acts like Sky Ferreira (who I'm still confused by), Sadie Dupuis (no idea), and Chan Marshall (basically over her) doing covers of his most beloved songs. Read that here. But all this talk about Elliott got me thinking about my own relationship with the man, a relationship forged in high school, during the brink of my musical renaissance. 

Good Will Hunting, the Gus Van Sant film "written" by Ben Afleck and Matt Damon (I use quotes because, let's face it, does anyone really believe that?) hit theaters in 1998, when I was in the eighth grade. I never saw the movie that year, but my friend in middle school bought the soundtrack, and we'd while away the hours listening to the compact disc over and over and over again. 

Although Danny Elfman scored Good Will Hunting, the soundtrack featured 6 songs by Elliott Smith, including the original song "Miss Misery," which was specifically written and recorded for the film and received an Oscar Nomination for Best Original Song at the 70th Academy Awards. My friend and I eventually memorized all of Smith's songs on the album, and would record each other doing our own renditions of "Between the Bars" and "Angeles," my favorite, on my Walkman. 

Elliott Smith was 32 years old when I fell in love with him for the first time. It was the summer of 2001. I was about to be a senior in high school, a momentous year. I spent the majority of that summer learning how to drive my dad's Toyota 4Runner, an inappropriate practice vehicle for a girl only five feet tall. My dad made a deal with me: every time I didn't hit something or break a rule, I was allowed to listen to the radio as reward. I owned few albums at that age, not counting the ones my brother gave me as hand-me-downs, but I carried Either/Or around with me like a security blanket. My dad cringed every time he heard "fuck" and kept the volume at an ignorable level, but he still let me learn how to drive while under the musical influence of Elliott Smith. 

Either/Or was released by Kill Rock Stars, an independent record label based in Olympia and Portland, on February 25 in 1997. The album never charted in the US, but critics all over praised its brilliance. The album would become the theme of my senior year, with songs like "Rose Bowl" and "Alameda" and "Angeles" exposing my limited valley-girl mentality to a more brutal, run-down, skinned and gutted Los Angeles. Whether or not those songs are actually about the city of lost dreams is arguable, but the interesting note is that Elliott was living in Portland at the time. 

Elliott Smith killed himself two years later by inflicting multiple stab wounds into his own chest. At the time, he was living on Lemoyne Street in Echo Park, just two blocks from where I currently live. How curious that he would influence my impression of a city I was from, and I would eventually migrate towards the house where he died. 

The end.