Summer has winded down.The leaves are changing. The air feels crisper. The evenings come sooner. And with these things, one album that comes out of the autumnal woodwork is the late Elliott Smith’s 1997 record Either/Or. As the seasonal depression kicks in, this album might offer some solace. Let’s do a song-by-song breakdown of Smith’s third (and, in my opinion, best) album.
Either/Or is the exploration into one man’s struggle with the balancing act the world offers us: self-loathing/resilience, solitude/human connection, and despair/fleeting joy. Named for Søren Kierkegaard’s first 1843 book of the same title, the philosophical work dives into the tension between self-pleasuring
indulgence and ethical responsibility — between a life of self-destructive, short-lived rewards,
and one of commitment, meaning, and morality. In just under 37 minutes, Smith provides insight
of just how dark the middle ground can be – and how all these things can coexist.
“Speed Trials” is the opening number to the album. It’s immediately low, haunting, a simple
percussion backing Smith’s vocals over light guitar. The thin consistency of his muttered singing
makes it difficult to make out half of the words. The lyrics describe the codependent patterns
developed while on drugs: “It's just a brief smile crossing your face / I'm running speed trials,
standing in place,” coupled with the self-hatred that comes with it. “When the socket's not a
shock enough / You little child, what makes you think you're tough?”
This is the first time Smith describes all the narrators in his songs as “you” – as if this is a letter
to someone else, not to himself. You/me, us/them. What’s the difference, really?
Smith’s self-hatred continues in “Alameda,” which he describes the bleak mindset that plagues
him daily, all the way down Portland’s Alameda Street. The way Smith talks down to himself, or
“you,” shows just how deep the disdain for himself permeates. Any relationship – platonic or
romantic – is so easily sabotaged, all due to “your” own behavior: “Nobody broke your heart /
You broke your own, 'cause you can't finish what you start.” He can’t help but crave emotional
intimacy yet avoids it entirely, just like so many of our personal relationships that don’t make it –
“For one or two minutes she liked you / But the fix is in.”A break from the gloom, depending on how you read it, is “Ballad of Big Nothing.” It’s breezy,
more upbeat than the others, and truly shows that balancing act of Either/Or. “You can do what
you want to / Whenever you want to.”
Is that comforting? Is that horrifying? Could it be both? The latter seems to be what Smith
thought, following the chorus with the idea “You can do what you want to / There's no one to
stop you,” reminding us that we are the masters of our own fate. But by finishing the song with
the words “Though it doesn’t mean a thing / Big nothing,” Smith illuminates the Kierkegaardian
philosophy that permeates the record.
Is it freedom liberating, or does it limit us to a life of excess? With no desire for structure,
freedom becomes hollow, our own actions meaningless, everything a desperate reach into the
void... Or perhaps the freedom to do as we please allows us to break free from the patterns that
Smith highlights. We can alter our lives at any time. We have the power to do so, it just takes the
will. That’s one of the greatest joys of life – it’s never too late to make a change. In the end, the
whole song feels like one big shrug.
Afterwards, Smith takes us into another of his balancing acts: “Between the Bars.” I once heard
Smith’s voice described as “spidery” and this song evokes that image better than any on the
record. It’s his most popular and certainly one of his darkest, referring to Smith’s struggle with
alcoholism, and, like his issues with drug addiction, the codependent patterns and self-hatred that
come with it. “Drink up, baby, stay up all night / With the things you could do, you won't but you
might / The potential you'll be that you'll never see.”
It’s a simple track, fingerpicked guitar under those signature hushed vocals, yet one that
encapsulates the balancing act that he’s trying to maintain with the help of his addiction. It
allows him to forget. “The people you've been before / That you don't want around anymore /
That push and shove and won't bend to your will / I'll keep them still.”
Next, “Pictures of Me” expresses the frustration and anger towards media and tabloids in an
upbeat, jangly manner, describing a person’s distortion to fit into a mold that others have made. It
shows the listener that despair can be both external and internal.
“No Name No. 5” is instantly bitter. It’s ghostly, emotionally empty; it describes the isolation
Smith feels. It’s the least polished song on the album and feels the most incomplete, in both
sound and lyricism: “Got bitten fingernails and a head full of the past / And everybody's gone at
last.”
Both “Rose Parade” and “Punch and Judy” offer tonal shifts. “Rose Parade” is another high point
– it’s sweeter, more melodic, describing a parade scene unfolding in front of Smith. There can be
some peace between the bars of struggle, even if he feels out of place. “Ridiculous marching
band started playing / Got me singing along with some half-hearted victory song / Won't you
follow me down to the Rose Parade?”“Punch and Judy” is much less peaceful. Referencing iconic British puppet theater, the song
discusses the internal violence one feels when a relationship has met its fated end, one filled with
resentment. “Can’t you ever treat anyone nice? / Think I’m gonna make the same mistake twice.”
Like the outward despair found in “Pictures of Me,” “Angeles” discusses the false appearances
in L.A., and how impactful this can be on an artist. It’s one of his more layered songs; his
fingerpicking is much more intricate and fast-paced than the rest of the album. L.A. is seductive,
intoxicating, it tells you that you can make it big and live to tell the tale. Smith shows us that it’s
not always the case. Usually, it’s a losing game: “All your secret wishes / Could right now be
coming true / And be forever / With my poison arms around you.”
Despite Smith’s dedication to profound lyricism, “Cupid’s Trick” is an example of having some
fun. “I made them up when I was in a state and they didn’t make any sense later. They also
weren’t there because that song isn’t about the words; it’s about the way it sounds,” Smith
reportedly said in a lost interview with Spin Magazine, “I have no idea what I meant by it. At the
time it made perfect sense but now I just don’t want anybody to know.”
Following the lively, tumultuous sound of “Cupid’s Trick,” Smith slows things down once more
with “2:45 A.M.” which is a cut that sounds exactly like its title. It’s quiet and reflective, a
simple, building guitar over whispered vocals that detail the early-morning anxieties and regrets
that keep us awake at night. It serves as the final low point before another hopeful track to finish
out the record.
“Say Yes” is Smith’s most uncharacteristically optimistic song on the album, and my number one
song on Spotify Wrapped last year... So yes, it had an impact on me. It’s tender, still a little
cautious; but ultimately tells us that things can turn out okay: “I'm in love with the world /
Through the eyes of a girl / Who's still around the morning after.” The music is gentle,
understated, which makes it feels personal, a confessional of the fears that come with new
connections – but reminds us that change can come: “Situations get f*cked up / And turned
around sooner or later.”
The song reminds us that even if we’re utterly alone, there is always potential for change and
connection. “Crooked spin can't come to rest / I'm damaged bad at best / She'll decide what she
wants... No one says until it shows, see how it is / They want you or they don't / Say yes.”
Where earlier tracks show self-destructive patterns and avoidance, Smith gestures toward
affirmation, choice, and openness – all anyone wants is for that one person to Say Yes. And there
is always hope that they will.
It's the perfect end to an excellent album – it does not claim to erase despair, nor does it offer a
simple answer to the problems we often encounter throughout our lives, the low points that he so
profoundly explores. Instead, the end of the record provides a glimpse of possibility: that even
along repeated failures and total, complete alienation, one can choose connection, love, and
peace amidst the chaos.