Some retouches do improve upon the original tracks. The irony is thick here too, as “Pictures of Me” is about how stilted and foreign misrepresentations of self can seem. As well, “Pictures of Me” pushes Smith’s vocals just a little too forward-which feels like someone separating mud into water and dirt, when the mixture was the point in the first place. On “Alameda,”-the sad, wandering track that Beck chose to play for Smith at his funeral-the volume of the floor tom is cranked way up, transformed into a maddening metronome. As if Smith’s shaggy hair’s been gelled and kempt, many of the retouches add only the smoothness of modern technology and take away from the subtle dynamics of his guitar and iconic lo-fi mumble.Ĭertain tracks are like an overcorrected pair of glasses-clearer, but too clear. Unfortunately, much of the remastering feels frivolous, reframing or hyper-clarifying an album that is supposed to remain in the grainy, muted past. The Mastering Engineer has the unenviable job of being bound both by the risk of vandalizing something sacred and the obligation to give the listener a fresh experience. Overall, it’s wise to be skeptical, especially when a remaster is done posthumously. Who will narrate our restless lives now? When the only option available is to learn every crack and whine on his recordings, die-hard Elliott Smith fans will find it hard to part with the original Either/Or upon first listen to Either/Or: Expanded Edition. Like with John Lennon, Smith’s death left us all in a vacuum.
That was true when he was alive, when listeners sat possessed by his effortless melancholy. As is true of all great songwriters who write from a personal place, to love Elliott Smith’s music is to relate to him.
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