Smith plays everything himself, recorded on four-tracks at various houses. His grungier band Heatmiser, had recently dissolved after their major label debut and this – the result of a purple patch of creativity – feels like a reaction to that. And then there’s Smith’s vocals – as if delivering hushed, bittersweet confidences the choirboy gone to seed, smoking behind the church.Įither/Or was Smith’s third solo LP and his last as a cult concern.
Like early Big Star or 1968 Beatles, here was a writer capable of perfect pop songs but allowing weirdness, melancholy and dissatisfaction to creep in, creating something markedly different and enormously appealing. Elliott Smith’s songs had that indefinable quality that makes those who fell for them believe that they were written for them and them only. It feels strange when albums that feel as personal as handwriting end up receiving the remastered, expanded treatment.
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