Ever since he died, 10 years ago today, people have been clamoring to tell Elliott Smith's story for him: writers, poets, fellow musicians, his religiously devoted fans—anyone who felt the subliminal undertow of his songs. The urge is understandable. Smith’s music, with its forensic attention to mood, dredges some of our murkiest emotions to the surface and coaxes unnameable sensations into focus. When an artist has this gift, they stir powerful needs.
A buddy of mine who runs a small record label put together a tribute album of local Detroit artists. Give it a listen if you have a few, especially the tracks by Oliver Thompson. http://everybodycareseverybodyunderstands.bandcamp.com/