A figure 8 is formed by a single line of indefinite origin and infinite length, always heading somewhere but endlessly retracing its own steps. Similarly, Elliott Smith has made much of his music’s continuing evolution but still clutches close a particularly dog-eared scrap of emotional territory in his lyrics.
Whether in the Portland grunge-punk combo Heatmiser, on his own in the spare settings that yielded his first three solo albums, or more recently as a moody pop visionary a la Brian Wilson, Smith has consistently found new and engaging ways to sing his self-doubts.
But Figure 8 breaks little new ground. Musically, there’s something here for fans of each stage of Smith’s career, including the echo of Art Garfunkel’s ghost (“Somebody That I Used To Know”), various pages torn from the Beatles fakebook (“Junk Bond Trader”), and even a dose of the crunchy guitars he once said he was sick of shouting over (“LA”).
Apparently, Smith’s swap of the Pacific Northwest’s grim pallor for brighter SoCal skies (he moved to Los Angeles last summer) hasn’t changed his psychological forecast for the sunnier. That’s obvious from track one: “Son Of Sam”, Smith’s opening ode to the 1977 “couple-killer,” is sparklingly tuneful, but its lyric won’t go down easy. “I’m a little like you,” Smith confesses to the listener, “[but] more like Son of Sam.”
Smith’s latest likely won’t win him new fans; Figure 8 can’t match XO (on which Smith first played at being Van Dyke Parks, John Lennon and Phil & Don Everly all at once) for memorable audacity, or Either/Or for wire-to-wire excellence. And at 16 songs (plus two instrumental piano sketches), it’s dauntingly lengthy; oh, for the days of double-LPs with four bite-sized sides. But neither will it alienate his legion of sad-sack sentimentalists, satisfied to retrace an infinite line.
