Grim 2003 strikes again. Thoughts about the recent suicide of Elliot Smith: 1) What a fucking shame. He evidentally stabbed himself in the chest in an incomprehensible moment of rage and sadness after an argument with his girlfriend (spooky girlfriend, indeed). I would be lying if I didn't note that this is a pretty dramatic way to go out...if you found out, say, Baudelaire, offed himself like this you would nod to yourself and mutter "how poetic." Or something. 2) Death is a motherfucker, quoth the Raven nevermore, but Death really sucks when it takes such a fine artist as Elliot Smith. His voice had such a hushed, sweet quality that a song about lower back pain and insurance rates from him would probably sound compelling. I heard all of the same things most people did in his songs- fragility, longing and the romance and communion of a lived-in depression. I wish I could hear him again. 3) Just like you can't be fascist nowdays without reminding people of Hitler (damn it!), Rock and Roll Suicides can't escape the Looming Shadow of Kurt Cobain. It must be the passing of time and the hard outer shell of numb feelings one has to develop to deal with all of the sadness and bullshit of life, but I am not taking this one nearly as hard as I did when Kurt shot himself. Elliot is not much less of a musical hero to me and Chaka Khan, I feel for him, but something about Cobain's suicide seemed more horrible. It was like a giant fusion of generational and personal narcissism and preordained rock myth. Cobain was *our* tragic figure to lord over future generations and it felt like people hungered for that feeling, the death instinct, as much as they were mourning Cobain, himself. 4) Danielle just mentioned that Elliot's modus deatherondi was "like a Juliet way to die." We saw Zefferelli's "Romeo and Juliet" last night at a little theatre that a group of friends rented out and it was marvelous. Thinking about the little joys of life- being with people you love, a good film, Ellie, seeing men prance around in orange tights, the new Stereolab ep and Olivia Hussy's heaving 1967 cleavage- makes all of the miseries and mediocrities of life bearable to me. It's too bad Elliot Smith couldn't hold on a little longer.

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