Elliott Smith is (was) the saddest man in music.
He’s one of those artists who seems to have been put on Earth to give voice to the deepest grief and insecurities of the rest of us, to project such exquisitely articulated sorrow that our problems seem minuscule in comparison.
His freakish suicide somehow seemed like the only possible end for a man who so personified despair. In a way, you could say he died for our sins.
Meet Me In Montauk 