Dead Crush #6

I’m kind of ashamed to admit it, but part of my attraction to the pre-husband boyfriend (in addition to his resemblance to Jarvis Cocker and his many horrible/fabulous habits), was the fact that he knew various famous people. He had lived in L.A. briefly, where he was the lead singer of a heavy metal band (one that he described as “ironic”). During this time, he knew and hung out with Beck, Rivers Cuomo, and other up-and-coming rockers. In fact, when he left L.A. to return to his native NH, the then-unfamous Beck moved into the apartment E. moved out of. The 23-year-old me was very impressed by this information, and was even more impressed with the music video of E.’s band that was filmed by someone-famous-that-I-now-forget. One of the highlights of the gritty, documentary-style video was a guy in a hot dog suit chasing a sexy waitress.

E.’s other main famous-connection was to Elliot Smith: the sad, sad singer-man who killed himself two years ago. Elliot was E.’s brother’s best friend, and E. knew him fairly well too, at least well enough for us to hang out with him every time he came to the Middle East in Cambridge to perform, which seemed like about twice a year when I lived out there. Elliot had briefly dated one of E.’s best friends, so she always came with us to see him too. What would usually happen is this: we would go backstage to see him and it was awkward and sort of awful, because Elliot, truth be told, seemed awkward and sort of awful. It would get better when we would then meet him at a bar after the show, because by then he would have consumed many, many drinks, and was actually a little bit witty. Then E. would consume many, many drinks, and HE was far from witty. In fact, some sort of fight with a stranger often happened on the nights after Elliot Smith shows—most likely E. dealing with his failed-rock-star jealousy. (Please let me never date another musician. Please.) Once there was no visible fight but E. disappeared for a really long time and came back with a huge unexplained gash on his hand. (I know you’re probably wondering what I was doing with this person, and if so I must ask you to reference Dead Crush #1.)

Elliot Smith’s mythology includes being totally ostracized and ridiculed in the horrible middle/high school years, and that is enough to make me have a crush on anyone. Anyone that can survive that and become famous gets many back-rubbings from me. (I missed 37 days of eighth grade due to the worst bully in the world. If you see him, make sure to gauge his eyes out for me, as I have not yet become famous.) Another reason for my undying love: the song "Pitseleh." And another reason: his covers of not-immediately-cool-seeming-songs that are actually amazing. Like “Supersonic” by Oasis? Who would have thought? And my favorite, which I saw him sing live: “Jealous Guy.” I cried.

I had a brief conversation with a friend this AM about whether or not Sylvia Plath was suited for this world. Was she never meant to be here? I can’t believe that, or believe it about anyone who kills him/herself. The shadow theory seems so much more likely to me. I do have to say that I kind of wish I hadn’t met ES, though I didn’t know him well at all, as I was much too awkward around him (and drunk) to try to have a one-on-one with him. My image of him now is of a very, very unhappy person. Nothing could save him. I can’t believe that music that beautiful couldn’t save someone.