Chris Whitley, 1960-2005

I leave Locus Online to read the obit of an SF writer I had never heard of, and see Chris Whitley’s name at the bottom of the list of obituaries.

He was only 45, and he died of lung cancer, and somehow, it’s exactly the right bluesy ending to another great bluesman, albeit one that most people don’t remember, or only know because of “Big Sky Country” playing in the background of a Chevy commercial.

Like most folks who even know who he was, I learned of Whitley from his first album, Living with the Law. It married astonishing technique on slide guitar and vocals with a pop-rock production that turned grim lyrics about wasteland lives into anthemic songs about wide open America. Whitley himself reportedly disliked the result, and it seemed like every follow-up album was yet another sound, another exploration.

I remember catching a TV airing of his House of Blues special. In it, the songs of Living with the Law were twisted and distorted into ten-minute unhummable odes to noise, akin to the sounds explored on his sophomore outing, Din of Ecstasy. They were extravagant outings to the farther reaches of the fretboard, and demanded listening; background music, this was not.

As his career proceeded, he returned a few times to his National steel guitar roots; the heavy stomp of his boot behind a solo track on Dirt Floor punctuated both his stunning work with a slide and his supple voice, which soared into falsetto and broke on blue notes exactly where it was supposed to, crossing Delta with some sort of lonesome country sound, or maybe even a hint of Appalachia.

His music may have circled ’round some of the same places repeatedly, but it never settled. He chose to follow a muse rather than keep his record label happy. It seems odd to say “rest in peace” about such a restless man with such restless songs. I know my wife’s reaction will be “what a waste,” and even though there’s something fitting about how this story ends, there’s still the music, the music and it won’t go away.

There’s a dirt floor underneath here
To receive us when changes fail
May this shovel loose your trouble
Let them fall away
Well the mist shall be your blanket
While the moss shall ease your head
As the future is soon forgotten
As the dirt shall be your bed
There’s a dirt floor underneath here
To receive us when changes fail
May this shovel loose your trouble
Let them fall away

Edit: his website has free downloads of his music, for those unfamiliar with his work.