The Automatik

2.27.05

Hi,

I feel sort of weird writing this, since I never even met you. And what should I say? That like thousands of others, I listened to your music for comfort when I felt like shit, like when yet another relationship failed miserably? That I knew it was the only thing that could make me feel better?

When I read about your death, I burst into tears at work, and cried so hard that my co-workers came over to ask what was wrong, but I felt too foolish to tell them. When I found out it was an alleged suicide I wasn’t even that surprised. Then I was pissed off, irritated that you could do such a horribly selfish thing, to abandon all the people that actually knew you and loved you. Fuck you for dying, and for cheating us all.

The thing is, I get it. I understand what that self-pitying loathing is like. If I didn’t, I don’t think I’d love your music even half as much as I do. It seems so small-minded to complain that I’ll never hear any more new albums, never see you perform a show again. But I can’t help it; I don’t want it to be true. It can’t be true.

How do you write a record review of an album released after the musician has killed himself? Everyone’s going to do what they did in 1994: go back and scrutinize the lyrics for clues. But with Cobain, it was different. EVERYONE knew who he was and that it was basically only a matter of time. And you know what? As sad as that was, it was nothing compared to this. It’s easy for rubberneckers to clutch their Kleenexes and toss flowers on a shrine for someone that sold millions of albums and who had an outspoken, unstable wife who was accused of being the ringmaster of the circus.

You were different. You were more talented, more able to pierce the hearts of the misfits who didn’t buy records produced by Steve Albini, but instead lived and died by the ones that were recorded in someone’s living room. The ones where your fragile voice and mournful guitar warbled out of the speakers. Music critics love to say that a song or an album is haunting, but in your case, it fits.

These latest songs are saturated with your little trademarks. All those incredible harmonies, so pretty and sweet that my heart aches every time I find a new piece I didn’t notice before. The tinkly piano bits and the guitar parts that make the Big Star fans swoon. For every tender acoustic song there’s a harder one, heavy with bombast and overwhelming emotion.

I hesitate to over-examine them, but the little glimpses I allow myself are sobering. Ugly reflections take on a whole new meaning when there are needles everywhere and sharp instruments on a silver tray. You can’t sleep or even tell the difference when you’re awake.

It wounds me to hear it all because I can only imagine what it felt like to create it. It’s just so tragic and beautiful all at once. And of course I’m going to love it, because it’s the last thing of yours I’ll ever hear.

Because your candle burns too bright
Well, I almost forgot it was twilight

Goodnight, Elliott. Sleep well.

XO,

Just a fan