Whitley was an artist with little need for mainstream recognition, turning away from the critical acclaim that greeted his softly-brushed and plaintive Living with the Law in 1991 and producing the squallingly epic and grungey Din of Ecstasy. Since that time, he basically did whatever he wanted, whether it was the intimate and immediate acoustic tones of Dirt Floor or the electronica and pop-influenced Rocket House. Through it all, what endures is his deep connection with the heart of human experience: the hope that comes with intimacy, the desolation and abandonment that comes with its loss and the entirely momentary and ephemeral moments when we feel these things. I remember sitting in my car overlooking the river in Norwalk, Conn., and listening to “Firefighter,” from his Live at Martyr’s album, over and over again. “But they’re never gonna let you get away/ The world will follow always …” The bizarre open tunings he used and his commitment to the dobro as an instrument were admirable and his albums always had a handful of songs with lyrics that would get you right in the gut. “Loco Girl” from Dirt Floor: “I sensed the memories on her skin/ Like broken glass had broke her in/ And I, in exile,/ Recognize a friend.” “Living with the Law” from the album of the same name: “In the hours after washing/ I do my dreaming with a gun.” And where most cover albums fall flat, his sublime Perfect Day (recorded with Chris Wood and Billy Martin of Medeski, Martin and Wood) reinvented the source material and accomplished the outstanding feat of bettering Dylan’s original on “Spanish Harlem Incident.”

Live, he was a force to be reckoned with, his performances made all the more amazing by the fact that he was a largely solo performer, stomping on a mic’ed wooden board and slamming and wringing everything he could from his steel guitar. He was a real maverick who did as he pleased, and a great songwriter who will be sorely missed. || –S.M.