By Joel Hartse
It’s an old story—an old, stupid, tragic, useless story—and we hardly even notice to mourn any more when a long-dead artist is dredged up from the cut-out bins of out-of-print obscurity. We fetishize rather than mourn—look how unbelievably tragic this life was, the wheelchair, the drugs, the ex-wives, but at least before he cut his wrists or jumped off the Golden Gate bridge or passed out in a gutter, he made a really interesting psychedelic punk-funk record for an unknown vanity label from northern Canada. The tragedy is just part of the one-sheet from the record company, along with the press clips.
Judy (later Judee) Lynn Sill was born on October 7, 1944, and from there the details get a little sketchy. Her biography remains vague—she was never quite famous enough to warrant scrutiny during her lifetime, and was given to exaggeration in interviews. Did her first husband really die after shooting some rapids in a rubber raft on LSD? Was she really the church organist in reform school? Did she really dabble in occult religious practices and weird sex, as some who knew her claimed?
Two men have attempted biographies of Sill: the first, Bob Claster, a former DJ on Los Angeles’ KCRW, says he did about ten years of research for a radio documentary on Sill; what he found so disheartened him—a talented artist who spent most of her time pursuing unhealthy drugs, people, and other hobbies that dragged her down—that he shut Sill’s life up in a cupboard, deciding her story ought not to be told. He has in some ways appointed himself the guardian of her life.
Sill’s other would-be biographer is Patrick Roques, who has supervised the rerelease of her archival recordings during the past five years. He says he’s to be working on a book biography and a movie screenplay, and compares his relationship with Sill (whom he, like Claster, never met) to a “love affair.” (This to me seems a bit more heartening—I just hope the story is told, one way or another. My own proposal for a book Sill was rejected last year.)
An artist’s biography, strictly speaking, doesn’t need to be dragged in to an evaluation of their body of work, but we must note the stark contrast between the deliberately orchestrated melodic songs Sill recorded and her short, brutish, and nasty life, which ended at age 35 due to a cocaine and codeine overdose (the word “suicide” appears on her death certificate, though that’s doubtful). It seems Judee Sill achieved in her music what she could not in her life: some degree of symmetry, of control, of peace, of communion with God.
In some ways, Sill is the archetypal seeker-hippie-folkie of the mid-1970s, but something about her music transcends the musical and spiritual clichés of that time. The recent renaissance of interest in her work, which saw reissues of her studio records, an unfinished double album, and a collection of live BBC recordings, has reached its inevitable conclusion in Crayon Angel: A Tribute to the Music of Judee Sill, released last week by American Dust.
The collection is notable in that it features a number of contemporary indie-rock luminaries (Frida Hyvönen, Daniel Rossen of Grizzly Bear, Bill Callahan of Smog, and others) reverently remaking Sill’s songs, but also because every song retains Sill’s essentially hopeful, religious spark, from Meg Baird’s straightforward pop-baroque “When the Bridegroom Comes” to Final Fantasy’s ambitious deconstructing of Sill’s devotional masterpiece, “The Donor,” which she said was written “to musically induce God into giving us all a break.”
Which, I think, is something we will never not need.
I came of age during what I audaciously think of as the Golden Age of Christian rock, the 1990s, and since then I have been always on the lookout for musicians and bands of a certain stripe: those who can write about God, or faith, without trapping themselves in consumerist genres, without coming across as pious and preachy, with simple humility and honesty and grace.
It’s comforting to know that Judee Sill was making gorgeously sacramental music before all this, before “Contemporary Christian Music” existed, before Christian rock exploded, before those of us raised on it had our various crises of faith and left it behind. It’s also comforting to know that thirty years after her death, there are still those with ears to hear, and guitars to play, Sill’s quietly brilliant songs of love and devotion.
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Part 1: In 1975, I was a 24-year old aspiring apprentice studio engineer/producer living well below the poverty line in Seattle. One rainy night from my home on Bainbridge Island where I lived alone, I made a cold call to 411 in L.A. and asked if there was a Judee or letter "J" Sill and the operator said there was and, to my surprise, gave me her number.
I had seen her open for Crosby and Nash at the Paramount Theater in 1971 and had purchased both of her Asylum records in my couple of years at UW and always appreciated the depth of her arrangements, the highly unusual combination of country and classical shadings and, of course, the soulfulness in her voice. I believed every word she sang.
A woman answered the phone and I asked if she was Judee and she said yes and I told her that I loved her music, hadn't heard any from her in awhile and wanted to know if she was going to make any more records. She started to cry.
At this point, I thought "What an idiot - this is probably her 7th call of the night and she's probably regretting not having an unlisted number because of thoughtless fans like me.. What the hell was I thinking?!" (I felt a little like the dog that chases the car but then has no idea what to do with it once it actually stops.)
I apologized and said I would go and she stopped me and said "No, it's alright.. you see, you're only the 2nd person who's ever done that and I really needed to hear that tonight." She explained a little to me about her car accident (with the actor Danny Kaye if memory serves), her injuries and her difficulties financially, etc. Relieved that she wasn't mad, I then proceeded to go too far once again and said something that still makes me cringe, 35 years later: "Hey well listen, if you're ever in Seattle, be sure to look me up - we could, you know, hang out or something..". I gave her my number and hung up feeling more than a bit stupid.
Part 2: Against all odds, and to my complete surprise, a few months later and actually did call and asked if she could stay with me for a bit.
I was dumbfounded but having nothing really going in my life but my singular all-consuming studio apprenticeship, I said "sure, I'll pick you up at the airport" and later that week I did. She unpacked her bags and lived in the spare bedroom that my new roommate and I had and, seeming to have the flu, spent most of her time in this room, so we'd pretty much just see her at dinner, after which she would usually play a little on my upright piano, thank us and go back to bed. I don't believe she ever changed out of her flannel nightgown. She was kind, quiet, friendly and reserved. In retrospect, it was all admittedly a bit weird but it was still on the cusp of the 60's (I always thought the "60's" were really '64-'74) and unusual, unexpected things happened a lot in that era.
At the end of the week, The Association's lead singer Russ Giguere, of all people, just showed up at my door, also completely out of the blue (all quite amazing as I, this wholly unknown kid from the then unheard of Seattle earning $100/wk., had two admired celebrities in my little hippy home). He was very friendly, took Judee away and I went back to my normal life. I didn't know he was coming nor that she was leaving but, again, it all was fine and I just sort of accepted this odd reality without much afterthought.
Part 3: Enter 5 years later to 1980 and, after my apprenticeship in Seattle actually earned me a decent reputation and some financial success, I was now in L.A. actually building and opening my own studio facility. As we were building our very first room, one of the carpenters who worked on framing it was, again to my utter amazement, the same Russ Giguere who was at my house and who sang "Wendy" and had been part of one of the 60's biggest American acts. I said "Russ, what the hell are you doing with a tool belt on?" and he explained that he'd blown through most of his money, but that he did carpentry before the Association and loved it.
I welcomed him and we commented on how oddly our societal roles has kind of reversed over the short period of time - me as the studio owner hiring him as a carpenter. I asked how Judee was and he said in almost a light tone, though not disrespectfully, "Oh Judee's gone - she died last Thanksgiving."
I was stunned, truly saddened and actually kind of amazed that I wouldn't have known this, given that I read trades pretty regularly back then. On the other hand, Judee kind of disappeared to the music industry after Heart Food died on the charts some 7 years earlier and had never really ingratiated herself with the record business execs nor press. I asked what she died of and he just said "an overdose". Seeing my look of surprise, he, equally surprised then said "Didn't you know that Judee came to your house to go cold turkey?" I asked why my house and said something to the effect that I was perhaps the only untainted person in the world she could think of in her desperate bid to get and stay clean.
I'd truly not had a clue in the world and have since wondered many times if I could have helped her more effectively had I known. I don't know - maybe my naivete was what attracted her to call me in the first place. I am producing a young singer/songwriter's album next month and she's going to put "The Kiss" on as a cover and I will produce and arrange strings. I think Judee would have liked that.
Thanks very much for taking the time to respond. After going back to several sources where I thought I got the "ten years" thing, I can see where I made my mistake. In a post a Judee SIll e-mail discussion list, Bob answered some questions about Judee's life and said that his information was "based on 10-year-old research". Carelessly, I turned this into "ten years of research." I apologize for that.
I also think that saying that Bob "appointed himself the guardian of her life" sounds harsh, and I don't want to be harsh. I do want to point out the distinction between Mr. Claster's and Mr. Roques' approaches to Sill's story. I hedged, but I don't think I hedged enough, when I described this. Bob's actual take on Sill's life is much less dramatic than I made it out to be. On the same e-mail list, he wrote "while I certainly understand and identify with the thirst for knowledge about her life... in many ways, I wish I hadn't." I think many who knew about the bad choices she was making during her life would agree.
Finally, on the last point -- I couldn't agree more. Some people can't help but see Sill's religious symbolism as nothing but symbolism, while others (like me) see it as something akin to sacramental. One thing I'm glad we can agree on is the beauty of her music.
I don't know what gave you the idea that I "appointed" myself "the guardian of her life." All I've done is try to emphasize her songs over the lurid details of her life. I don't believe that knowing those details adds anything to the appreciation of her songs. Also, I didn't do anywhere near "ten years of research." I have no idea where on earth you got that. I spent about 3 or 4 months, on and off, working on the project before abandoning it. Years later, I realized that some of the obscure recordings I'd accumulated might be of interest to others, and so I posted them on the web.
My motive for beginning the project was to tell her story so that more people would hear her music, which at that point was almost entirely forgotten. I abandoned it when I came to the realization that I liked the art more than the artist. I found that it just wasn't a story I wanted to tell. If someone else wants to tell it, more power to them. I just hope they get their facts more straight than you did.
Also, though this is certainly debatable, I believe that very few of Judee's songs could be considered "religious" or "sacramental." Though she was fascinated by Christian imagery (specifically the Rosicrucian stuff, which she found "hilariously gory,") and considered herself "spiritual," she wasn't what anyone could call "religious" by any means. Many of her songs utilize religious metaphors to address secular subjects. "Jesus Was a Crossmaker," for instance, is about a failed love affair. But Judee's a bit of a Rorschach test, and people will see what they want to see.
Sincerely,
Bob Claster
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