“THIS WILL NOT BE about Elliott Smith’s death”, was the word preceding the release of Heaven Adores You — the title itself taken from an Earlimart song inspired by Smith, after his death. Hence, the expectation of a wider angled focus and a fresh perspective on the man’s life; and, of course, that other thing which matters foremost to the majority of Smith’s fans – his music.
What began as a glint on the lens of a fledgling director’s camera, and, an online Kickstarter campaign financed by fans, positioned itself a little over a week ago in a prestigious film festival line-up in a city where politics – not music – is religion.
Neophyte filmmakers Nickolas Rossi/director, and Kevin Moyer/producer and principal procurer were joined by Marc Smolowitz, veteran filmmaker and a producer of the Academy Award nominated documentary of 2003, The Weather Underground, andTrembling Before G-d (2001), The Power of Two, (2011) – in presenting their version of multi-faceted enigma/ singer /songwriter, Elliott Smith, to an apparently eager or curious AFI Docs [American Film Institute] Documentary Festival audience. Though Smith, an Indie music icon who himself was once up for an Academy award for “Best Original Song” included in the film Good Will Hunting, remains relatively unknown to many audiences, the film managed to snag an unofficial award as “most watched trailer in the AFI’s history”. Considering that a great majority of Elliott Smith’s audience over the past 10 years first came to his music via YouTube — and, that the film itself was financed largely by fans – the result isn’t surprising.
The opening shot, from a technical standpoint, is familiar territory. As the crow flies, it’s a standard bird’s eye view. A “National Geographic” styled rudimentary turn featuring the Pacific Northwest’s rain forest. The natural beauty of the wild territory is undeniable. Accompanying the brooding evergreens, a forlorn echo of a guitar drenched in reverb – and a haltingly thoughtful, measured voice moving across the damp landscape of Portland – cutting to a video revealing, at once – the brilliant son…that… guy with the dirty hair … the singular personal pronoun of the film’s title… I’m… the wrong kind of person… to be… really big and famous. It’s Elliott Smith – after the dye, the role – and the spell – were cast. Déjà vu.
And so began a reflection of and on that dirty head of hair we have come to know as Smith’s signature – as viewed through the rear view mirrors of some of those with whom he shared his time while grounded on earth.
As someone who has spent some years along with 2 other colleagues researching what is known of Elliott Smith’s passing, maybe I’m the wrong kind of person to review this film. Watching it felt a lot like a slow drive from a respectful distance past the remnants of a collision with the white sheet draped over the aftermath, far from hiding what remained beneath.
Instead of the expected detour from the obvious, Ross Harris, videographer for the songs Coming Up Roses and Miss Misery, and a friend of Smith’s, begins the litany of first person accounts with how he first encountered news of Smith’s passing; how, in shock, he rode the train back to his home in LA, and to keep his thoughts busy, he engaged the company of an elderly couple he had met on board who had just gotten married. While chatting with them, they bring up – out of the blue — the untimely demise of that musician who died from 2 stab wounds to the chest. “How could someone do that to himself?”
One by one, Elliott Smith’s relatives, colleagues and friends speak what amounts to a eulogy. Taking turns “sharing him”. Lifting his memory aloft over the wreckage of the last few years of his life, bringing him back “home”. Mostly to where many of them feel it all – if not began – coalesced for Smith. Portland, Oregon.
We view a series of stills within the moving pictures of some of the architecture of Smith’s life. Houses. Warehouses. Closed clubs. With the camera as tour guide, accompanied by the voice of whoever had been sharing time with Smith when he lived in each featured city – Portland, NYC, LA. Some of it IS familiar, such as the clip of Smith speaking to the Dutch interviewer for the television show, 2 Meter Sessies in 1998, known mainly to fans in PC format, now on an honest to goodness (AFI) Silver (Theatre) screen. And the recycled YouTube mainstay where his band is captured on tour, goofing off for the camera in an RV, a hotel, backstage. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, except, maybe the forest for the trees aspect of attempting to ignore the obvious. This is Elliott Smith under (a) glass. Protected safely from the prying eyes of outsiders, distilled by how the filmmakers chose to frame his life. Intermittently, we hear his voice, and, par for Smith’s course, it is his voice that makes him present.
We hear from another Steve…Pickering, about Smith’s budding musical promise, and ambition when they were teenagers. There are photos of Smith at the piano, his mother nearby; and, as a kid with his father instructing him on the guitar. He came by his talent honestly. His grandfather and grandmother – his mother – all played music and sang. How after starting a band, Steven Paul Smith absconded from Texas. Left. And how just like that, Smith’s talent was entrusted to Portland.
Ashley, his half sister on his mother’s side appears, beginning her remembrances by saying she couldn’t recall him leaving home, just that she waited for his return. But, then, she was only 7 years old at the time. We see photos of Elliott, smiling, as a baby, a toddler. A blond “tween”, a teen, piggy-backing his little sister, who summarizes his departure by saying that it was well known that he and his step-father – her biological father – didn’t get along. For anyone without much knowledge of Smith, it sounds as simple as adolescent angst. No one knows any more or any better.
There’s the refurbished “Elliott Smith” fostered by Hampshire College. We hear a familiar tale related by Smith himself where he was randomly called “dirt” by passing locals, as he walked to work wearing spotless baker’s whites. Hampshire brings Neil Gust into his circle. But, Gust isn’t present in the film.
After graduating, they traveled together to Portland (instead of Chicago) where they started the band Heatmiser. We meet drummer Tony Lash. A lot of time is spent regaling us with tales of a band that gave voice to a voice Smith wasn’t very happy impersonating. Mark Swanson is introduced as the ubiquitous dancing guy in the Heatmiser video, “Why Did I Decide To Stay?” Swanson (“like the dinners”) was a good friend — and comic relief when a clip of his dancing was shown to the audience. Though Heatmiser brought Elliott Smith recognition, it also brought to the fore chafing, clashing expectations. We hear about the tension between Smith and his band mates and Smith’s inevitable flight east, to NYC, taking the music with him, and not much else.
We don’t meet many of Smith’s NYC friends. But, we do meet the owner of the Luna Lounge (once located in the East Village), Rob Sacher, who makes an appearance and talks about Smith’s bar habit… writing. He penned a good bit of XO, his fourth album, in this establishment. In fact, Sacher thought he was a writer before he knew he was a musician. Roommate, “publicist” and friend, Dorien Garry, the most represented of Smith’s friends in the narrative of his life (interviewed for the SPIN 2004 article, the books, the other documentary of his life) also speaks. She has the task of broaching the divide. The rift between Smith and most of the people onscreen – a rift he was actively mending not long before his death in 2003 began with one word – intervention. Thus we are made privy to what might’ve driven him away.
Garry introduces the damage of Smith’s substance abuse, or maybe it was depression, or both; she doesn’t spell it out. Viewers assume depression, drinking. Drugs – dissatisfaction. Disappointment. I’ll throw in the pressure of being on constant display – touring — because he was on the road whenever he called her when he was at his lowest. Anyone who plays music with any regularity (and honesty) knows just how much one must give in order to receive from audiences. It’s a job unlike any other. But, those details aren’t dwelt upon here. However, according to Joanna Bolme, Smith’s former girlfriend and co-producer of his unfinished, posthumous album From A Basement on the Hill, the intervention was also the turning point for some of his lyrics. They became pointed at his friends.
We meet Rob Schnapf and Margaret Mittleman – a couple in real life – and interpersonally present in Smith’s life for the beginning of his soloing years and while he was with DreamWorks – both professionally and as friends. Schnapf, one of Smith’s producers – Either/Or, XO and Figure 8, From A Basement on the Hill – comes off rock solid – no nonsense – both in the technical department and observationally. He looks and sounds like someone who is tuned into what counts and not given to quibbling about what isn’t important. His stalwart image only magnifies the holes in this puzzle. We see that Mittleman, Smith’s manager of 6 years (before and after he moved to LA) is obviously hurt. But, as to what transpired between them that leads to their professional parting… well, there’s a more in depth interview about it in Pitchfork magazine.
Elliott Smith’s LA friends, Largo owner, Mark Flanagan, and fellow musical prodigy Jon Brion are featured in a frame together. Smith played Largo and was part of their tightly knit circle. In fact, Flanagan and Brion hosted the LA “No Name #1” celebration/benefit concert this past year on Smith’s birthday. Brion, both produced and recorded with Smith. Their working relationship – and friendship – ended tumultuously but we don’t hear exactly why. (At least, not that I recall.) When referring to the VH1 pilot for a TV show shot by Paul Thomas Anderson and Smith’s behavior during shooting…“some kind of substance”… was what I think I heard Brion say… and, “That was the beginning of the end.” It’s easy to see that it wasn’t only Smith’s music that blew Brion away. There’s no question they loved the man. There’s no answer here either.
Someone made the comment after the screening that the filmmakers could’ve exploited the tabloid aspects of Elliott Smith’s death, made a darker picture, but instead offered a “regular guy” view of Smith’s life. I’m not sure what choice the filmmakers had. Given that the 2009 film that came out about Smith did not have permission to access any of Smith’s music due to the content and inclusion of certain individuals, perhaps there was a caveat in play. And really, compared to Smith’s media persona, especially after the SPIN 2004 article “Mr. Misery”, and the book “Torment Saint” – most any version of Elliott Smith would appear “regular”. Smith wasn’t a conformist or a simple man. Highlighting the complicated aspects of his character might have added dimensions that seem lost in the effort to make him accessible. Elliott Smith was no less everyday and maybe even outwardly more accessible (to his fans) than any of us on the surface. But, what he did with his time when he wasn’t playing music – mudding walls, scraping ceilings – belies his extremely complex, curious mind.
Someone in the audience asked how he “got to Portland from Texas” […] “did he have a sponsor”? After all, he was just 14. The filmmakers had to explain, briefly, that he had family there. If the film has any holes, just like the books about Smith, it’s the uneven study of the chronology of Smith’s life and what transpired. Smith did not live in a vacuum, no matter why or how diligently the details might have been cleaned up for this film.
Other reviewers point out that the film refrains from the salacious details of Elliott’s Smith’s life and death. Salacious, or just plain real, the fact that he became addicted to drugs and alcohol, worked to become sober – eschewing illicit substances and alcohol a year prior to his death – and died of 2 stab wounds to the chest under mysterious circumstances can’t be changed. The manner of his death was ruled undetermined and will likely never be resolved. No matter what anyone thinks about his death, it’s clear most people don’t care to know those details. Unfortunately, the details are what bring home the fact that there really is nothing clear about the circumstances surrounding Smith’s death. In fact, some reviewers continue to get facts confused. I recall reading one review before I even saw the film that mentions he was found bleeding to death “in his bathroom”.
Heaven Adores You was not an investigative piece, or even in-depth biographical journalism. No one expected the former. But, given the amount of erroneous information that has been assimilated as fact into the Smith narrative – even by otherwise credible sources – the details of Smith’s life (forget his death) don’t seem to be proving any more accessible. With a collective wave of the hand – whatever the details – it’s the music that matters now. How Smith made us feel. For many who tried to bury their feelings, this film is acknowledgement that, in reality, something more than the music mattered – and still matters. But, it seems to those in the film, and others viewing it, that nothing could’ve been or can be done about it. First and foremost – he’s gone, but his music lingers.
Perhaps the film is a go at setting the record straight. But, no matter: the crooked spin won’t come to rest. Steven Paul Smith’s loss stands, center circle – still.
Portland lost its patron saint in baker’s whites to his wandering… wondering… unrest. Ambition? No one knows why exactly. Apparently the city didn’t contain all of what was missing from Smith’s Pandora’s box. His leaving “home”, we’re told, was about a girl. He wrote “Say Yes” for Joanna Bolme, the girlfriend he met in Portland. As a musician, Bolme, worked closely with Smith in the studio, and the two seemed to be viewed locally as a kind of “golden couple”. He got the girl for a while – an on again off again relationship – then moved away. By the end, one realizes that Smith got a lot of people, but nobody ever really got Elliott Smith. The impact of regret and consternation is palpable. There’s no swerving to avoid his ever-present absence on the road from Portland to LA.
Beyond Joanna Bolme, the other women in his life are presumed. We know they existed, but they are not mentioned, much less included. If I recall correctly, JJ Gonson is not the presence she is in the recent bio that is out about Smith. In this context, she’s the roommate of the person whose 4-track Smith used when he began recording his own material for Roman Candle. Slim Moon of Kill Rock Stars is the one who talks about how Portland already adored Smith long before the world crushed on the guy with dirty hair and darting eyes.
Also absent and unaccounted for in the Portland crush: Smith’s time in Paris in 1999. Hence, missing again from an official narrative is the woman who was his inspiration for “Place Pigalle” (the working title of his fifth album, Figure 8, as well as the title of an unreleased song). Valerie Deerin, who was his girlfriend as well as his tour manager during a time when he was battling drugs, is also MIA. Most glaring, however, is the absence of the woman who was present the day he died. Especially considering that she’s made an appearance in most major media offerings about Smith since his death.
Heaven Adores You might be a “proper” tribute, an “appropriate” pyre with all the reverential ceremony and clannish devotion befitting a brilliant Prodigal son, but, in reel life, just as in Smith’s real life, not everyone was invited to “sit shiva”.
If you know anything about Elliott Smith, Heaven Adores You is not a revelatory offering. However, it “feels” relevant to the grieving process. Grief with propriety. There’s nothing necessarily wrong with that. Still, it isn’t easy to watch inevitable loss, even 10 years afterward, without wanting to ask why his loss felt inevitable to some of these people. We hear the music. We watch snow falling gracefully to the tune of “Waltz #1”. We hear the “oblivion” in “No Name #3”. We see hearts breaking and know there’s no such thing as “closure” no matter the mantra, no matter the musical legacy. Smith is a memory who lives in his music.
Since his untimely death, Elliott Smith’s music has buoyed and entranced listeners, leaving them greedy for more. In fact, one of the focuses of those who have yet to see the film continues to be lost material –songs unheard, no matter how undone. They want more. The soundtrack carries early versions of “Coast to Coast”, “King’s Crossing” and a kooky ditty performed by a teenaged Smith called “I Love My Room” – which plays as the credits roll. During the Q & A after the film, an audience member asked if all of the music (and more) in the film would be included on a DVD. The goal, it seems was to spark enough interest in such a DVD soundtrack – if we helped the film place in the festival – to bring attention to his music so that Universal (currently in possession of much of Smith’s material) will release more music for distribution… because, it’s the music that matters.
Silence has, for the most part, been the Elliott Smith narrative. It wasn’t until the anniversary of his death approached that the mainstream media began digging into the vault again. As an answer to some hardcore fans’ prayers, Heaven Adores You features a coterie of colleagues and friends who have chosen to speak about him through a medium that first brought his prodigious career to the proverbial world stage – film. No Good Will Hunting ending. Guy gets girl, goes away to meet fate. We know the ending. By the way, Gus Van Sant is not present in this telling as he was in the last “documentary” featuring a smattering of the same tellers. One of the filmmakers opined that he might not want to be the omnipresent Elliott Smith guy. However, Pete Krebs and Sean Croghan, friends of Smith’s, are again featured. Two other friends and band mates who remain notably absent – Sam Coomes and Janet Weiss of Quasi. But, then they generally tend to refrain from speaking to the media about Smith at all.
So close, and yet so far – no matter how much of an “every day” part of their lives Smith was, he is not remembered in strict chronological terms, or with much detail that fans “in the know” don’t already know. As voyeurs, we hear about the relative distance between Smith and everything else– but it doesn’t translate into much fresh, concrete data. One still feels distance, however close the featured speakers might’ve been to the Smith. There’s not a lot of new information. Autumn de Wilde, who shot both Smith’s “Son of Sam” video and the cover for Figure 8, and who has authored a book of photography featuring him, relates how Smith once put 40.00 into a jukebox. He “owned the jukebox”, forever earning and owning her admiration. The music mattered to him. Music – not fame, not money.
For Smith’s part, it seems whatever honed him, owned him. Whatever he shared with his friends and colleagues beyond the music isn’t really shared in this film. Except that Smith’s passing hit so many so hard; yet, in his lifetime, he remained, and still remains, elusive. These considerations make the “collisions” all the more perplexing – and poignant. “Saudade” was the name of an interlude piece included in the score. Kevin Moyer provided it as transitional filler for the musical “gaps” in the film [licensing Smith’s own music was expensive]. Saudade — in Portuguese – is a deep, nostalgic melancholy – the phantom pain that comes with absence. The loss of a part of yourself – to someone, some thing, some place.
We just have to take their word for it. In the exchange for our attention, we hear stories. Most rock nyc readers know Smith’s story. After all, this blog is probably the only candid media outlet open to delving into the information about Smith’s life and death which most would classify only as salacious, that is, if one doesn’t stop to weigh the discrepancies and details which cloud truth.
In the film, we hear that Elliott wasn’t going to remain in LA. He was supposed to have been living there temporarily. He had plans, evidently, to return to NYC. At least, that’s the word from Dorien Garry. If only…
If you are an enraptured Smith fan, be aware that you will hear oft-repeated stories. If you are an Elliott Smith aficionado, you’ll know them well. When Smith tells his own story, when he says he disliked his Heatmiser voice – that it sounded like “Joe Strummer with a cold”… he’s right. When the interviewer pressed him and his Heatmiser band mates for information about where they were “hanging out” in Portland so the fans could run into them – he said, “Indoors.” Can’t get any plainer (or drier) than that. The filmmakers pointed out during their Q & A, “I’ll bet you were surprised at how funny he was.” But, one only need listen to Smith or read his interviews to gather that.
As Chris Douridas – or, was it Corey duBrowa? Both media personalities once interviewed Smith and are featured in the film. But, I think it was Douridas (former host of Morning Becomes Eclectic) who pointed out that Elliott Smith was honest. Before listeners start hearing that as proof that Smith’s lyrics foreshadowed his death, consider what Larry Crane, official archivist for the Smith musical catalogue, and Autumn de Wilde have to say about this: they state that his lyrics weren’t strictly autobiographical. He told stories. Elements of his reality combined with equal parts listener imagination and references to ideas much bigger than himself.
From what I gathered from the film, Smith knew he was done with the Portland scene. It didn’t feel right anymore. So, he left. A pensive voice over at the end of the film (Ross Harris maybe?) makes a similar statement, to the effect that Smith did the same thing about his life… he didn’t want to be “Elliott Smith” anymore… so he left, and (if I understood correctly) in the Eastern Philosophical tradition, maybe to return.
Nicely shot and edited. Respectful of the feelings of those involved in the making, Heaven Adores You, was not a revelatory piece, but a reliquary of Smith’s broken promise – an “Ode On A Portland Urn” – 10 years after his passing.