I have been listening to this album for 20 years and the more I listen to it the farther away I will be from ever having answers to any of these questions. And this is daunting because the answers seem to be all there in the album, while at the same time, they're obviously not. And it's one of those Shroedinger's albums, one where the author is simoultaneously both dead and alive, plus a few more twists to the mind, the heart, and the soul.
Just like Jeff Buckley's Grace and Blind Melon's Soup, and countless others, from the first chords, first words, you are reminded how epic the whole experience of listening to the album is going to be. Like it's suddenly so obvious what it means to say these people will never really die.
And at the same time, from the first chord until the last note reverbs out, you can't avoid knowing how gone they are, and how so forever they are gone. And that this form, the interpretation, the mix, the whole form, is so final.
And yet, whatever is on that record, existed before, and it's timeless, and eternal. It might even occur, materialise, in these diferant instances, incarnations, album after album, one tragic loss at a time.
And of course there is a but in here. Grace and Soup, even if they revolve entirely and lyrically around the author's impending tragedy, there's also a brilliant band. And there's Andy Wallace. And that is an imense proportion of other human beings. Their skills, technique, and own passion, surrounding, supporting and completing the author, with instruments and voices, interpretation and arrangements, engineering and production.
In Figure 8, Elliott Smith alone, was jumping from instrument to instrument, who really knows for how many takes, how many loops, how much time, seaking perfection in lyrics, arrangements. All for the sake of it, "of doing it", round and round like a figure 8. There must have been some joy.
And so do I, when I listen to this album back to back. Round and round, Standing up to sit back down, deeper and deeper into the intimate world within a world? of this genius that was King for a day but bored and depressed for all eternity.
"Now I'm a policeman directing traffic Keeping everything moving, everything static I'm the hitchhiker you'll recognize passing On your way to some everlasting"
A long way to go, getting further away. Can't make a sound. And then a wordless Bye.
Interviewer: Do you have any favorite tracks?
Elliott Smith: I like the ones that are kind of weird, more idiosyncratic,... this one called "Everything means nothing to me"?
Interviewer: You are going on tour with the full band?
Elliott Smith: Yes, for the rest of my life.
Figure 8 is the fifth studio album by American singer-songwriter Elliott Smith, and the final album he completed before his death. Wikipedia.
This happens 3 years later, while he is recording his next album. The autopsy evidence was inconclusive as to whether the wounds were self-inflicted or the result of homicide. A Schrodinger tragedy in itself, Elliott both stabbed himself in the heart and was murdered by who knows who. This ultimate mistery of Elliott's life, adds up to the album, forever going like a figure 8, going all four ways, forever lapping onto itself.