Shawn Smith, one of the Seattle music community’s most respected and beloved figures, has died aged 53. Cause of death [has been reported as complications from diabetes.]
A solo artist for some years, the singer/songwriter made his bones in the 90s with the band Brad, and later, with Satchel and Pigeonhed. Smith’s music was featured several times in the HBO series the Sopranos, as well as other television shows.
I didn’t know Shawn, but like countless other veterans of the Jet City music scene, I do have a Shawn Smith story; the only time I met him was one of the most memorable nights of my time as a man about town.
In February 2001, I was writing a feature for a magazine on a new (and short-lived) supergroup called Unified Theory; they were to play the Showbox, with Mountain Con and Shawn Smith in support.
After interviewing guitarist Christopher Thorn (ex-Blind Melon) in a freezing tour RV out in the Showbox’s parking lot and a few words with Dave Krusen (Pearl Jam’s drummer for “10”), I witnessed incredible performances by all three acts. What a show. I was convinced that the headliner was soon going to be BIG.
As fans filed out and I was waiting to interview Unified Theory frontman Chris Shinn, I heard that it had started snowing out. With the post-concert euphoria, no one still in the Showbox seemed concerned; I wasn’t.
After a lengthy talk with Shinn, I joined those left in the club who had started to walk out the doors; it was decided that we were all going down to a bar/restaurant some blocks away; uptown. And lo and behold, there were inches of snow already on the ground! This is probably around 2am.
I recall that most piled into cars or miraculously hailed a cab; somehow, I wound up walking with Thorn. Bundled up, we talked as the new snow crunched under our feet.
We get to this joint (I can’t remember the name; near Mama’s, I believe), and the scene there was like something out of a flick about skiiers trapped in a mountain lodge with a lot of booze. People are trying to call for cabs, but no one was frantic about it.
Time ticks by, with me yakkin’ with people in a slowly diminishing crowd. The street outside is quiet.
And then it’s daylight. As I recall it, I went out and hailed a lonely cab. And there’s Shawn Smith and his girlfriend beside me. We decided to share it; there weren’t too many people left in the bar. It was still snowing.
One problem: Shawn was headed to West Seattle, me to the University District. We were basically in the middle of those destinations. Oh, boy; this was going to be expensive for one of us. We briefly argued, and Shawn won. We were going to my place first.
The cabdriver, a gent from some foreign land, said in a thick accent that he’d rarely ever seen snow, much less driven in it. But he didn’t need inexperience to have us sliding all over the damn road — down hills, up hills, around corners, through vacant intersections all the way to my pad. I pried my fingers off of the dashboard and paid the man, and said goodbye and thanks to Shawn. I was never in close proximity to him again.
My feature encompassed that whole night; “Surfing In A Winter Wonderland With Unified Theory.” The whole night, I believe, except for the ride home with Shawn Smith. I have to find that article; it’s somewhere.
I know many people who can tell you much, much better stories than this. Musicians who have played alongside him over the years. Fans. Friends. All three. Besides being awestruck (for decades now) by his talent, all of these people will tell you the same thing: Shawn was one of the nicest guys you’d ever want to meet.
I met him once, and I couldn’t agree more.
* * * * *
I had wonderful nights hanging out with Shawn Smith, having him school me on 80s RnB and Funk. He would kick me down music and stories of growing up in Bakersfield, as the only White kid in Bakersfield who was allowed and willing to buy music from the Black record store.
Because Shawn was the kid who disregarded Bakersfield’s backwards deep south of California social norms, and hung out with his Black friends and played Basketball; very competitive physical Basketball, against the best his town really had to offer. In famous Bakersfield, home of Buck Owens and Buckeroos, where he was horrified and scarred by seeing police brutality and segregation. But he kept crossing those literal tracks each day because he knew his friends were on the other side of that line. And so was his music.
He told me how such things he saw in Bakersfield still haunted him, such as the one proud family moved to the White side of town in the 80s and endured break ins and all sorts of abuse. But they stuck it out.
There was a deep funk and Soul side of Shawn that was deeper and funkier than most imagine. He was a genuine Soul singer, pure Soul train, poppin’ lockin’ West Coast, shoulda woulda got Linn drums instead of cheap ones; shoulda had hits on Kube 93 type fella.
He was a Rocker because his friends were Rockers when he moved to Seattle. That was the way the wind was blowing up from LA. Funk wasn’t getting signed. They weren’t looking for the next Prince.
But that’s who Shawn was. He told me how afraid he was that he was culturally appropriating or would be seen as such by the African American friends and musicians like Om Johari and Thaddeus Turner that he adored. The love in his eyes and the fear of being seen as an imposter for singing the music that was pouring out of him.
I looked at him one night, and I said,
“With all due respect Shawn Smith, you and Caine Coldnote are my favorite Soul singers in this town, and I give a damn what color your skin is man, I just want you to close your eyes and sing your damn music, because it is real Shawn. Incredibly authentic and painfully honest. You are an RnB singer man.”
We were working on developing some of his West Coast future Funk low rider anthems as a duo. We were talking about shooting a video in lowriders, the kind he remembered as a kid in Cali.
It was a little project just showing the world, what is, what it was, and what Shawn Smith will…and now sadly would have been,
…if he had the chance to shine as bright as his incredible light within.
Hanging out with him and having him weave stories of the Hood with stories he made me swear I would never retell about his friends Andrew Wood, and few others, was such a gift.
He was friends with everybody man. He saw it rise and he saw it fall.
He just saw me as this singer that was a lot like him, following in his footsteps I could never fill, but just unafraid enough to give the zero f☆cks enough to sing my own songs, my own way.
He would just walk on stage at Staxx Brothers shows, give me this look like he was Dr John, then I would smile and give him my mic and the band.
Pure Godfather sh☆t. I love Shawn Smith, and the reason I got a job and work all these hours is because the tips and the money I can spare were going into my dreams of getting songs DONE with these artists I admire like Bunny Brown and Shawn that wanted to work with me. Bunny and Shawn singing together would have been perfect. Those falsettos. C’mon.
But time is harder to come by than even money. And I am forever proud that Shawn Smith gave me so much of his.
“I gotta go Shawn, the sun is coming up, but thanks for all the music man. Lets try to get in the studio this Summer and bang out these songs.”
I called Shawn Smith when Eric Struthers came to town, the guitar player for Dr John. I wanted him to meet the real soul cats in my mind, like Jimmy James and Shawn. Those three jamming, oh Lord.
But I couldn’t get him on the line. We talked about having Scott Rowe and English friends backing us up on a European tour. It didn’t happen, but Steven Mack and I tried to make some things happen.
That’s Shawn Smith to me. The world sees him branded as one of the last great Grunge singers. Well he was so good, he could be a lot of things. He probably could have sang Opera in 1788 in Vienna. He would have been a Griot in Benin or a Shaman in the Great Plains.
That’s who Shawn Smith was. And I’ll never forget him.
The last things I said to Shawn?
Well, I promised Shawn that if we did these songs the way he really wanted to produce them, I would defend him to the Death. I would stand up beside him 100%.
Straight up: Shawn should have been singing hooks for Dr Dre.
The last thing he said to me before his charmingly awkward goodbyes, when I knew he was still a long way from sleep, was that he was proud of me for losing all that weight. He told me that he knew it wasn’t easy.
For Shawn, singing was the easy part. Life and getting old is hard, and I wish Shawn was the artist that got really old and really rediscovered, like that Light In The Attic Records treatment that he deserves. The man was signed to Mercury and Sub Pop at the same time.
…in lieu of this, and in lieu of that, just please spend some time with him this year.
Take a look at his catalog. He lamented that he had more music than his fanbase could even absorb commercially, in a frightening age of streaming fractions of imaginary pennies.
But they are ready now Shawn. I hope someone close to Shawn has access to all of it, because he was truly prolific.
If Cobain was our fallen King, Shawn Smith was our Prince.
Goodnight my friend.
* * * * *
Shawn Smith sings Andrew Wood; this will blow your mind if you’ve never heard it. Smith, who passed away on April 5, joins a list (going back 5-6 decades), of departed local legends who should’ve been stars. Then again, I wouldn’t wish that burden on Smith or any of them. But Shawn Smith should’ve been heard in every home, because that man could SING. And like those before him, Shawn should’ve been financially set for life, on merits alone.
How can an insipid Khardasian kid or an excruciating P Diddy be worth a billion bucks, and an extraordinary man like this struggle?
As another aside, I’m probably not the only one who thinks that Seattle’s “grunge” scene peaked with Mother Love Bone, not started. We didn’t have a word for it then; just rock ‘n roll. Everything after MLB was receding waves and echoes. Shawn was uniquely qualified to sing this masterpiece, in more ways than one.
If anyone hasn’t read it yet, earlier (in the wee hours, up with a toothache) I wrote a remembrance of meeting Shawn once – during one of Seattle’s brutal blizzards.
Hearts are so heavy today; reading others’ stories on FB has been and will be a tough, but necessary experience.
When I first caught this performance some years ago, it set me on a jag for days. And then I didn’t watch it again; got a time and place out of my system. And here with Shawn’s passing just gutting everyone, I’m here again. Mother Love Bone. One of the more incredible songs and bands of my youthful salad days.
And this rendition is outrageously awesome; it is an experience watching an absolute master at work; watching his face as he’s mentally surfing the emotions of a song. And his backup… holy shit. If there was a Grammy category for “Best One-Off Live Performance On Video,” it would’ve been a lock that year. Actually, that category should exist.
* * * * *
*Seattle rockers Kurt Cobain, Layne Staley and Shawn Smith all died on the same day, April 5.
Here’s my story – listen right
tell him, ain’t nobody home tonite
you’re telling me how this water’s not been fallen down faster
and it seems like there is never gonna be,
and this water it keeps risin faster
i can’t be so shy
hah – my eyes can’t see the day when carrying on will be the norm
and i say there’s no way we’re gonna weather this storm
so what you gonna do, find your head in the sand
so what you gonna do, take your hand in hand
might just? as well
and dance til you no can tell
fire’s rushing down
yeah yeah hey hey heyand there’s never been another in this twice so sordid affair
in the depths of creepin water, i have found a purpose there
so don’t waste your time thinkin
there’s another reason to cry
and since I my friend forsaken
and these? go floating by
hey hey hey hey (x4)Heart, you don’t need to find no water
and Heart, you got to be lead to fresh water
cause in the end?
the fire’s coming down
ain’t no where you (you’ve?) found
the fire’s coming down
hey hey hey hey (x4)
do do do do (x4)– Thanks to the great Steven Henry Fisk for this last Pigeonhed song, lyrics and photo.
