Some albums are just too good to let slip away beneath the sands of time, so each week Bill Melville pulls one out, dusts it off and offers it up for your renewed consideration ...
The loss of singer-songwriter Elliott Smith five years ago still stings. With his death never confirmed as either a murder or a suicide, unanswered questions linger about the tortured genius.
But little murkiness surrounds his production of spare yet potent songs. Smith's oeuvre stretches well beyond his Good Will Hunting breakout, his Beatles-influenced later albums and the sparse acoustic music that drove his early solo work.
His previous band, Heatmiser, rates even less of a mention. Their final long player, Mic City Sons, shifts through a spectrum of moods, even some not associated with Smith. But this band was the magic 8-ball with all signs pointing to "Yes" for Smith's future songwriting successes. Sharing songwriting and vocal duties with guitarist Neil Gust, they go out on a high note of stripped-down, melodic alt-rock.
Heavier than any Smith solo material outside of Basement on a Hill, it rumbles to life on Get Lucky, a bottom-heavy groove reminiscent of Morphine minus the saxophone. Plainclothes Man could fit comfortably among Smith's later material with its restless, pained melodies.
When Low Flying Jets kicks in, don't dare turn away -- the album's centerpiece, it undoubtedly deserves renown. Heatmiser goes low-key after that bold declaration with Rest My Head Against the Wall. It might sound generic coming from another band, but Smith's lyric resuscitate it.
Gust sweeps in for lead vocals on Eagle Eye, which could pass for a Sebadoh outtake, and Cruel Reminder, with guitar and bass lockstep, goes in new directions thanks to Smith's backing vocals.
Ironically, Smith sounds almost joyous on Pop in G, which would devolve into generic indie pop in lesser hands. He goes for two in a row on Blue Highway, a fuzzy rocker that owes a debt to Hüsker Dü.
While the album closes on gentle, fragile Half Right, the hard-hitting moment comes on the bouncy See You Later. Its chorus line, "See you later, if I see you at all," stings harder coming from an artist taken too soon.
Looking at how drug addiction dragged down someone as potent as Smith is always difficult. But Heatmiser's last album with him opens new doors on his immense, troubled talent.
Got memories of your own from this hidden gem? Share them in the comments section below ...





Though he's been an underground hero to the New York avante-garde as leader of the freak folk outfit, Wooden Wand and The Vanishing Voice, and his solo album, Waiting in Vain, was released several months ago, James Jackson Toth was unfamiliar to me until I saw an ad for him in the latest issue of Mojo. Intrigued by the Joe Jackson-meets-Nick Drake look of the photo, I jumped into Waiting in Vain to see what was happening.
This week in 1939, Grace Slick was born in suburban Chicago. After a brief career as a model and a stint in a band called the Great Society, she became one of the first full-fledged female rock star with the Jefferson Airplane. She retired from the music business in the late 1980s, although she does appear on the Airplane's 2008 album Tree of Liberty. 


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