Originally published in Hot Press in 2003:

Elliott Smith was my favourite songwriter. He was a genius lyricist and a stupidly brilliant guitar player. The first time I ever heard his music it stopped my heart. I had never heard anything so honest and so beautiful.

That was his record Either/Or. He had three records out at that time and over the next two weeks I bought the other two [1994's Roman Candle and 1995's Elliott Smith]. He became the bar for me, the songwriter I most envied and admired. He made me rethink how I wrote and why I wrote.

I have seen him play live a few times and I couldn’t help but notice the way everyone mouthed every word, and felt every note. People who listen to Elliott Smith listen, because if you don’t you will miss the beauty of it. You can understand his music without knowing what it’s about – he puts a bit of his soul into each song.

It’s Sunday morning music. It’s for you, it’s not for sharing. It’s to sing along to when you’re alone. It’s for listening to with a hangover, the booklet of the CD in your hand, reading every lyric.

I have heard people say they found him depressing. I never found him depressing. I found his songs intelligent, loving and enlightening. He wrote about what he knew, and he knew hard times. He didn’t write for you or me or for MTV, but for himself like some sort of healing process – and I understand that.

I met him once and I really hoped I could meet him again someday. I wanted to play him my version of one of his songs, or just sit and talk and play music with him. It probably wouldn’t have worked – he was a weird dude. Maybe he said it best himself when he compared himself to a spinning top hitting the ground as it spins in ‘Say Yes’: “Crooked spin can’t come to rest, I’m damaged bad at best.”

He felt too much. That’s what made his songs so beautiful and his life so hard.

Revisit Roman Candle below: