If Elliott Smith were a fictional character, I would possibly accept that his death was the logical end point of his art. But, of course, he wasn't, and the reality of what went down still plain just sucks. No, he didn't invent the folk song and he didn't invent sincerity, but he put those things to great use in an era when they were the last things on anyone's mind.
As for Jana Hunter's "Restless," I hear the same promise: it's the end of the film, we've been through some shit, but the clouds, at long last, are parting.
Each song keeps it brief, and I will do likewise. These pair well with solitude, ideally near a window with a decent view, and with a cup of coffee, ideally in a well-worn, cherished mug.
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