This came out in 2000 — or at least that’s when I got it. Here’s what I said about it back then (with some minor editing):
“I’m a little like you … more like Son of Sam.” Well, you can’t accuse Elliott Smith of playing coy.
Any doubts about whether indie-pop’s most beloved misanthrope has cheered up since becoming a big-league, Oscar-nominated recording artist are pretty much erased the second he delivers those choice lyrics from the opening, serial killer-titled track from his new magnificent and touching sixth album Figure 8. But even if Smith is still Mr. Misery, trust me, you’ll love his company. Half the album consists of bittersweet, Beatles-meets-Ben Folds-style ’70s pop ditties with rock-band instrumentation (mostly played by Smith himself) and endearingly loose vocal harmonies. The other half features just plain bitter, solo-acoustic-guitar-and-piano ruminations on relationships that went off the rails. But whether he’s flipping the verbal bird to an ex on Easy Way Out (“I heard you found another audience to bore”) or wallowing luxuriantly in a pool of his own self-pity on the back-to-back heartsqueezers Everything Reminds Me of Her and Everything Means Nothing To Me, these hard little gems of gloom make for one beautiful set of worry beads.
