As uncomfortable as Smith sounds when not singing his songs, this was just the start of his time in the spotlight. 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. Awkward interview segments aside, the music here is captivating, a crystal clear example of Smith’s growing power as a live performer. 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”). Morning Becomes Eclectic // Promoting in the cozy confines of KCRW's studio a few years later, Smith didn't have inattentive bar patrons to deal with. 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. But if anything, the distracted crowd-which, to be fair, does seem to include plenty of fans-seems to intensify Smith's delivery. “You guys always pay $7.50 to come and talk?” he complains half-heartedly at one point. 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. But in the mid-’90s, some audience members just didn't give a shit.
We even get to hear him crack a joke or two.Ĭlub 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. 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. These tapes, stretching from his first solo forays to his final appearance in 2003, give an alternate view of the musician. But another way back into Elliott Smith’s music awaits on, that hosts several dozen live recordings of the songwriter, uploaded by fans and collectors with the permission of Smith’s estate. 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. 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. Like, the singer-songwriter he’s most often compared to,’s tragic death inevitably casts a pall over his music. Is a column in which Tyler Wilcox scours the internet for the best (and strangest) bootlegs, rarities, outtakes, and live clips.