Vic Chesnutt, 1964-2009
I just learned that Vic Chesnutt died today, aged 45: a suicide. In the last few years, I got to know his music well, and I thought him the finest songwriter alive. He was the only musician in whom I still took an ongoing, non-nostalgic interest. I saw him play at the Great American Music Hall less than a month ago: extraordinary, impassioned, a born artist, the real thing.
In the most obvious way, his death is perfectly believable. Chesnutt was a paraplegic and had been in a wheelchair since he was eighteen. By his own account he had made four previous suicide attempts. His injuries had caused painful and costly medical complications, and, report has it, he could not pay for them.
In another, more self-centered way, I find it unbelievable. During this year I had need to cling to Chesnutt's music: especially to his second album, West of Rome . Every other music reminded me of something else; not West of Rome . (His finest other albums include Is the Actor Happy? [1995] and A...