I’m not sure how Kara came across Elliott Smith. But the punk edge to the lyrics, and a willful nonchalance to Smith’s voice, made it not your mother’s folk. Its sound reminded me of my mom’s ’60s folk records, which I’d sit and listen to for hours on Saturdays growing up, my mother’s maiden name written in loopy teenage scrawl on each record jacket, giving me a glimpse into the girl she once was. I liked how the song was about a city, but, through Smith’s direct address, could also be construed as being about a love interest, with “Angeles” sounding almost like “Angela” if you weren’t listening with perked ears.
The English major in me appreciated the poetic shock of that first line, how it evoked sheer, vicious survival in contrast with Smith’s quiet, understated vocals and intricate fingerpicking. There were no doubt many good songs on that compilation, but the song that really stuck out was Elliott Smith’s “Angeles” from his album Either/Or. The tape, too, was handwritten-the pre-printed grid, delineating sides A and B, crammed with Kara’s messy handwriting. It was the mid-to-late ‘90s, I was in college in Pennsylvania, and the tape came in the mail with a handwritten letter from my friend Kara. I first became aware of Elliott Smith from a mixed tape, which is-or was-probably one of the more intimate ways you can learn of a song, or an artist.
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