It’s hard to imagine, after three records with Portland’s Heatmiser (the newest and perhaps last of which, incidentally, is quite good), and what with two fine solo records under his Texas-born belt, that Elliott Smith should still drift so far below the radar. Some of that has to do with the diffidence with which he goes about his work: This is his second self-titled disc, and he’s prone to adorning songs with titles like “No Name #5″ (the suite extends to #7 here).
Whatever he wants to call things, Smith has a wonderfully soft voice given to Margo Timmins-style delicacy, and writes singular songs of understated beauty. Recorded in a variety of settings, this disc is, like its predecessors, mostly Smith alone with his acoustic guitar, though he adds drums and a few other instruments along the way. It is, like Mark Lanegan’s solo records, an entirely private affair (this may, in part, explain his disinterest in naming things), and smart, and sad.
Smith seems slowly to have grown comfortable with the process of making these solo records, and approaches the microphone (if not the spotlight) with greater ease than on previous outings. Yes, there’s no “Needle in the Hay”, as bittersweet a junk masterpiece as you could wish for, in this set of songs (and maybe, given the subject, that’s a blessing). But here, again, is a truly original and gifted voice, and another welcome companion for the fire in a dark room on a cold night.
