An analogous experience to the last 15 tracks we will ever hear from Elliott Smith:

"Does this sound OK?" I ask. Writing a review for a new record. Numerous attempts. Not one legible thought. "Those aren’t even sentences," the reply. Dull pencil. Scrawled structure. I am sweaty. Nerves afire. Then, I wake. 4:43 a.m. Burning up the sheets. Confusion. Dream writing. Awake, I pen it out in my head: "Written, performed, produced, and recorded by Elliott Smith." That speaks for itself. "This record is dark, lethal, heavy, sarcastic, and very honest." This is how he felt. "Write it down," I say. 4:50 a.m. Standing in the cold kitchen. Dirty dishes. Garish fluorescence. If you’ve never heard Elliott Smith before, go buy Either/Or. Listen with intention. Don’t answer the phone. Sink into yourself. Now buy From a Basement on the Hill. Sink deeper. During your first listen you’ll realize you like this record. Then, the third or fourth listen, you’ll find its soul -- the theme of aloneness. OK, this is how desolate it is -- on "Let’s Get Lost," he sings with quiet accomplishment. "Burning every bridge that I cross / So I can find some beautiful place to get lost." Destructive. Peaceful. Ultimately frightening.

The record builds and burns with layers of pounding drums and distorted guitar on some tracks, entices you with clean, unaccompanied acoustic chords on others. Overall, his music has progressed into a more surreal sound, a twisting of noise, an echoing hum of empty space, though, as always, Smith’s soft, higher-pitched vocals are present. There’s quiet clarity and pleasant harmony. The music is a reflection of Smith’s chaotic mind, his lyrics a complete understanding of the tragedy of being human. It can be overwhelming. Too emotional. On the subtle ballad "A Fond Farewell," he sings, "I can deal with some psychic pain / If it’ll slow down my higher brain / Disconnecting from the missing link / This is not my life / It’s not what I’m like / Couldn’t get things right"

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