His first two albums, 1994’s promising Roman Candle and 1995’s awe-inspiring self-titled effort, had amassed a sizable cult following, to the point that his solo career had completely overshadowed Heatmiser. On “Angeles,” he can already be heard grappling with the prospect of signing to a big LA record label, a leap of faith he’d take within the next year (to put it in terms Smith’s favorite philosopher would approve). Not that Smith was completely obscure at the time of Either/Or’s release. And it represented the absolute zenith of his pre-fame approach to recording, so thoroughly excellent that he probably never would have topped it even if he’d kept on living. It was the pivot point in Smith’s career, his last gasp of lo-fi anonymity before competing with Céline Dion at the Oscars and venturing into the ornate chamber-pop pastures of XO and Figure 8. Either/Or, which turns 20 years old this Saturday, arrived just after Smith’s tenure in the marginally successful indie rock band Heatmiser and just before Gus Van Sant rocketed Smith to international acclaim by peppering the Good Will Hunting soundtrack with his music.
Neither history nor tragedy was necessary to elevate Smith’s third solo album into the pantheon. Yet that’s how Either/Or existed for six years or so, and even back then it scanned as a humble triumph by a generation-defining talent. Our cultural understanding of the legendary singer-songwriter has become so defined by his suicide that it’s now weird to imagine living with Smith’s music when Smith himself was still living. His music is so fragile, so biting yet subtly sweet, that he fits especially well into the tortured genius narrative often imposed on musicians who take their own lives.
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