Hots On For Nowhere #1: Elliott Smith's New Moon

Though he was clean and playing well as late as May of that year (a friend of mine saw him at the old Steamboat club and found him in fine form), there were many accounts of Smith’s rapidly deteriorating condition that summer. The image of this consummate musician unraveling through his final sets like a post-grunge Fat Elvis, unwashed, forgetting his lyrics, arms lined with bruises, casts an ugly pall over the records that won’t lighten without conscious effort. The squalid nature of his downward spiral sold a few magazines and, sadly, lent cold legitimacy to his pitch-black repertoire, but if nothing else, the circumstances of Smith's death finally succeeded in turning the indie-rock scene off to opiates, at least for this generation. The latest tabloid snaps of Pete Doherty throwing syringes at flight attendants provoke, at best, pained eye-rolling these days, and could you imagine the Arcade Fire imbibing anything stronger than a single-malt scotch?

In New Moon’s liner notes, songwriter Sean Coghan, one of Elliott’s Portland drinking buddies, remembers him as an "alchemist turning emotional lead into gold." Indeed, Smith’s capacity for spinning heavy girls-and-junk narratives into whisper-thin pop beauties remains unchallenged by most any artist living or dead. New Moon provides some welcome additions to Smith's canon: the spare "Angel In The Snow," the snarly rocker "Fear City," the lost title track to "Either/Or," the Cobain-esque rasp of “High Times.” "Big Decision," one of a handful of songs deserving the distinction “folk-punk,” achieves a fierce intensity primarily through its impression of weightlessness; while a double-timed E-string riff ascends a fluttery melodic minor scale, Smith delivers the line "why do you want what I cannot be? / You know I won't stay sooooooo-ber," drawing out the “oh” into a sneer capable of melting an engine block. The full-band slow-build "My Monkey" showcases his mastery of vocal double-tracking, creating Radio City-sized production from a pawn-shop eight track. "Almost Over" showcases Smith's nimble finger-picking style, and disc one closes with an excruciatingly delicate cover of Big Star's "Thirteen," which joins the super-exclusive club of covers that eclipse the original song (speaking as a giant Alex Chilton fan, his rendition on #1 Record sounds utterly stilted in comparison).

Still, New Moon basically exists as a double-disc scrapyard, as artfully compiled and emotionally exhausting as Elliott Smith or Either/Or but, at twice the length, half as strong. (An unfortunate casualty of the album’s label-centric POV is the Division Day/No Name #6 single, released on Suicide Squeeze in early 2000.) Perhaps a testament to Smith’s judicious track selections, a few songs here are marred by awkward turns of phrase. Smith was capable of using his self-described "heavy metal mouth" to blisteringly profane effect, especially in the context of hushed bedroom folk, but even Conor Oberst would have trouble selling an overcooked line like "wiped out on the city slick / another sick rock n roller actin like a dick."

The most fascinating thing about the set is the insight it provides into Smith’s writing process. A few songs in, you start catching the outlines of later songs: "Go By" resembles "The Biggest Lie" in its jaunty, major-scale-tripping-down-the-stairs melody. Likewise, one can hear the echo of "Coming Up Roses" in the country-ish licks of "First Timer." Those are exceptions; the majority of the songs on New Moon inhabit their own skin as if they were standards.

Listening back to Elliott’s final release, From A Basement On A Hill, it's impossible not to hear a dulled cry for help, hidden in plain sight in the resigned paens to addiction like "Let's Get Lost," the colorless album cover, the smeared, airless atmosphere of the production. "Give me one good reason not to do it," he sang on "King's Crossing," and though in that instance he was singing about heroin, he seemed to have given up trying to find a comfortable place in the world. It’s amazing how hopeful and empathetic the 90s songs sound in comparison; by the time of Basement’s recording, the walls were already raised. That the product of a typical middle-class broken home could reach such tremendous highs, and sink to such desperate lows, maybe proves or at least legitimizes the notion that damage is the root cause of ambition. And yet, judging by the testimonials of those closest to him, the "real" Elliott Smith was most present in moments like this.

A portion of the proceeds from New Moon benefit the Portland-based social services agency Outside In.