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• Elliott Smith Either/or Vinyl
• Elliott Smith Either/or

Elliott Smith Either/or Vinyl

Is a column in which Tyler Wilcox scours the internet for the best (and strangest) bootlegs, rarities, outtakes, and live clips. Like, the singer-songwriter he’s most often compared to,’s tragic death inevitably casts a pall over his music. Smith’s songs were already dark, but his passing at the age of 34 in 2003 (perhaps a suicide, perhaps not) turned them pitch black. Next week’s reissue of Either/Or is surely a different listen now than it was in 1997, and not just because of a few. It can be difficult to hear his work—as masterfully written, performed, and produced as it is—without a gloomy specter creeping into one’s mind. But another way back into Elliott Smith’s music awaits on Archive.org, that hosts several dozen live recordings of the songwriter, uploaded by fans and collectors with the permission of Smith’s estate. These tapes, stretching from his first solo forays to his final appearance in 2003, give an alternate view of the musician.

The darkness lingers, of course, but the songs have room to breathe a bit more in a live setting, allowing us to appreciate Smith’s craft afresh. We even get to hear him crack a joke or two.

Club Congo // Scottsdale, Arizona // late 1994 or early 1995 In 2017, with Smith's legend firmly in place, it’s easy to say that the songwriter's early solo shows should have been met with a hushed, respectful silence. But in the mid-’90s, some audience members just didn't give a shit. This tape, one of the oldest known documents of Smith as a solo acoustic performer, is a battle between a chatty Club Congo crowd and Elliott's early repertoire. “You guys always pay $7.50 to come and talk?” he complains half-heartedly at one point. But if anything, the distracted crowd—which, to be fair, does seem to include plenty of fans—seems to intensify Smith's delivery.

Of special interest is the skewed remake of the old folkie number, “Little Maggie,” with Smith locating the harrowing heartbreak lurking in the timeworn lyrics. Morning Becomes Eclectic // May 6, 1997 Promoting in the cozy confines of KCRW's studio a few years later, Smith didn't have inattentive bar patrons to deal with. But he did have Morning Becomes Eclectic’s inquisitive host Chris Douridas’ questions to deflect, whether about his influences (“I was really into Kiss and the Beatles”) or his upbringing (“let’s not get into that”). Awkward interview segments aside, the music here is captivating, a crystal clear example of Smith’s growing power as a live performer.

His whisper-thin vocals cut to the quick with every phrase, while his elegant-yet-urgent guitar playing is note-perfect—check out the bone-chilling rendition of “Needle in the Hay” or the deceptively breezy “Say Yes” for proof. As uncomfortable as Smith sounds when not singing his songs, this was just the start of his time in the spotlight.

Less than a year later, he’d be performing at the Oscars, thanks to the inclusion of “Miss Misery” on the Good Will Hunting soundtrack. Le Pavillon Lion // Bourges, France // April 17, 1999 Smith came to prominence as an acoustic troubadour, but he had his sights set on a bigger sound.

To support the more lushly produced XO, the songwriter toured with a lean trio made up of Quasi’s Sam Coomes on bass and backing vocals and Paul Pulvirenti on drums. This tape of the band in France is a high-energy thrill ride, with Smith leading his cohorts through hopped-up versions of XO’s highlights and rearranged older favorites, as well as a few previews of Figure 8. Any fans expecting a mellow night must’ve been surprised by the explosive readings of “Son of Sam” and “Baby Britain,” among others, showcasing Smith’s scratchy, urgent electric guitar.

Elliott Smith Either/or

He could switch gears effortlessly, though: check out the solo mini-set here, including a hauntingly gorgeous “Easy Way Out.” This is Smith at his most confident, his most dynamic, his most accessible.  The Wiltern // L.A. // November 9, 2001 In 2001, Smith began working on what would become, released posthumously in 2004. Though these prolonged sessions with an array of collaborators stretched on until Smith’s death, he began previewing songs early on in the creative process. This mini set from a Los Angeles benefit show is all new material, and it offers skeletal portraits of despair in songs like “Let’s Get Lost,” “Strung Out Again,” and “Twilight.” The Wiltern’s natural echo lends a ghostly vibe to the set, with Smith’s vocals sounding even more vulnerable than usual and a frayed edge creeping into his typically fastidious guitar work.  Henry Fonda Theatre // L.A. // February 1, 2003 “The songs came from Elliott,” his friend Sean Croghan wrote in the liners for rarities collection.

“Elliott was not a creation of his songs.” He’s right, of course, but it would take a healthy dose of denial to not hear a man nearing the end of his rope on this tape of an early 2003 gig. Still playing a wealth of new material destined for inclusion on From a Basement on the Hill, the laser focus of previous years is gone, in its place a ragged desperation. The pure self-loathing on the opening “King’s Crossing” is almost tangible. But there are flashes of the old brilliance, including a precisely rendered “Between the Bars,” and even “Miss Misery,” a song Smith rarely returned to after its Oscar nomination. There’s even some welcome humor in his occasionally rambling between-song banter, and a loose cover of’ “Supersonic,” with’s Robin Heringer joining in on drums.

“This is probably going to piss some people off,” Smith says by way of introduction, before launching into Noel Gallagher’s cocksure lyrics and swaggering melody—a million miles away from his own approach. But you can tell that, for at least a few minutes, Smith is enjoying a temporary escape from his demons.

About two minutes into Either/Or opener “Speed Trials,” ’s seamlessly double-tracked lead vocal splits into a two-part harmony. It’s a very subtle gesture, and only lasts for a few seconds—but contrasted with the tight, hushed unison of Smith’s prior solo output, it feels as dramatic as The Wizard of Oz shifting from sepia to technicolor. This moment plays out like a microcosm of Either/Or at large, the sound of Smith conjuring something far bigger than himself and coming into his own as a songwriter, arranger, and performer. The final album in Smith’s catalog before the major label-backed XO and Figure 8,.Either/Or.marks the last time Smith’s instincts would outpace the studio resources to execute them. It's extraordinary how he embodies a magical, alchemical mix of intimacy and bombast. By the time.Either/Or.was released in 1997, Smith was no stranger to the cynical machinations of the post-grunge major label gold rush.

A year prior, his former band had been put through that very ringer, an experience captured in Either/Or standouts “Pictures of Me” and “Angeles.” Either/Or sounds like the work of somebody who has zero interest in either conforming to or directly transgressing the “commercial” sounds of the day. It’s too ambitious to read as “lo-fi” and too gritty to read as straightforward pop classicism. Thankfully, this 20th anniversary remaster doesn't smooth out too many of those rough edges—if anything, it brings the unique sound of the record into even clearer focus. The sounds and words of Either/Or often conjure very specific images, textures, and situations.

And yet, Smith—as with many truly great songwriters—used this specificity as a way to explore emotional themes that resonate both deeply and broadly. Nowhere is this clearer than “Between the Bars,” the closest thing to a modern-day standard Smith ever wrote and covered by everyone from to. It’s not a love song, exactly, and it’s not a song about addiction, exactly. “Between the Bars” is about the ways in which protecting somebody you love turns into the need to control that person. The fact that Smith was able to build this much emotional complexity into a song that sounds at home in a stadium or at a Starbucks speaks to his irreplaceable gift as a songwriter.

Elsewhere, Smith amplifies his well-honed songwriting chops with more fleshed-out arrangements. “Ballad of Big Nothing” propels itself forward with bubbly -esque bass lines and background vocals that sound like they might have been string arrangements if there were an orchestra handy. “Angeles” and “Cupid’s Trick” provide a back-to-back study in Smith’s versatility as a guitarist, going from intricate fingerpicked pattern to lopey electric riffs. By the time album closer “Say Yes” rolls around, it’s clear that the solo acoustic approach is a specific and purposeful choice, and no longer Smith’s default mode. This reissue is framed as an “expanded” edition, and the bonus materials included fit the bill nicely. Rather than aiming for comprehensiveness or definitiveness, the bonus tracks provide interesting glimpses into Smith’s growing strength as a live solo performer (some excellent live recordings of album and non-album cuts), sense of humor (a sketch of track “New Monkey” that sounds like it was played on a baseball organ), and where he would go with his next record (a formative version of XO cut “Bottle Up and Explode!” that shows just how much thoughtful editing and revision went into the final version).

And then there’s a longtime fan favorite that Smith gave to his friend Mary Lou Lord to record because it “sounds like the fuckin’ Eagles.” “I Figured You Out” would have been the most straightforward and polished song on Either/Or, and its omission speaks volumes about how determined Smith was to find his own voice and chart his own path. In the years that followed the release of.Either/.

Or, Smith managed to do just that, performing “Miss Misery” at the Academy Awards and releasing an uncompromising major label debut. For some of his fans, Either/Or marked the end of Smith’s career as a direct and intimate folk singer-songwriter. For others, Either/Or marked the beginning of Smith’s career as a one-man classic pop band. In truth, Either/Or marks the one moment in Smith’s career when he was truly both.