BEST ROCK HARMONIES: Don't Call Him "Mr. Misery"

The death of a minor hero is sadder than the death of a great one. We expect our great heroes to go. We expect the pomp and tributes and superlatives. It's a part-- the last part-- of every great hero's journey.

But when a minor figure dies, one you especially admired, it's hard. Most will ignore the news, having never heard of the departed. But it affects you, and you wish others would appreciate how much so. This is how I felt when Elliott Smith died in 2003. I had just become a fan of his work a year earlier, and it was a blow. As a lonely college freshman, his moving music was a great comfort, even more so than other masters of heartbreak like Jackson Browne and Roy Orbison.

The reason, I think, may be Smith's voice. By itself, it wasn't anything special. A cracking whisper, it seemed to struggle through most songs, as if he were about to cry or pass out or otherwise break down. But in harmony, he was his own sad choir. He could multitrack his way to angelic grace like almost nobody else.

Some have dismissed Smith's music as "depressing." This makes no sense. To paraphrase Roger Ebert, good art is never depressing, no matter how sad it may be. Bad art is what's depressing. While it was still beating, Elliott Smith sang his heart out. There's nothing depressing about that.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "I Didn't Understand" by Elliott Smith
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