I came to Elliott Smith a little late in the game: after his success had already led to major label records, before his untimely death. Like so many others, my introduction to his work was Either/Or, still one of the single best records ever (admittedly, I would also say the same about XO and probably Figure 8). I was upset when I learned about Smith’s death, because it meant we wouldn’t be getting anymore albums from him.

Then they announced From a Basement on the Hill, and I was both excited and very, very nervous.

See, I think there’s something definitely dangerous about the posthumous album. Releasing an unfinished record after the artist’s death is, at best, a gamble, and at worst a crass cash grab. Hell, Tupac’s released more albums since he died than he did when he was still alive. Unfinished work either ends up sounding like exactly that (unfinished, skeletal demos) or some sort of elegiac, overproduced thing that tries to cover up the fact that there wasn’t more than a verse and a half and most of a chorus put together before the guy died.

So I was worried about Basement, and I’ll admit that for the longest time, I did not care for the record. I ranked it down at the bottom of Smith’s catalog. Compared to any other album in his oeuvre (yeah, that’s right, I’m bustin’ out the French), it just didn’t fit. Bits of it were rough and ramshackle, while other parts felt overproduced, and the whole thing felt completely unlike any other Elliott Smith album. It didn’t feel like it was his. The fact that there was a fair amount of controversy over the production and mastering of the album when it came out only served to confirm my fears.

But today, I decided to give it a second chance. It was, after all, a collection of songs written by Elliott Smith, so there had to be something worthwhile in there. And I was surprised to discover that, in fact, while there are a couple of odd missteps, this is actually an album that fits in with his catalog and manages to almost synthesize all the different stages of his career.

The album opens with the atypical rocker “Coast to Coast,” a song that doesn’t have a comparison in the rest of his solo work. With the heavily distorted drums and grungy guitar, it sounds more like an outtake from his previous band, Heatmiser. However, it quickly bounces to more familiar territory, with the softly-plucked acoustic and multi-tracked vocals of “Let’s Get Lost” and the fuller sound of “Pretty (Ugly Before),” which would have felt of a piece with Figure 8.

What’s particularly interesting about the album is that it feels rather like Smith’s attempt to synthesize the Beatles’ Revolver into his own work. Not that this record sounds anything like Revolver, just that the guitars in several places bear a striking resemblance in tone and style to the guitar work on Revolver. It does feel like Smith is also attempting to push the boundaries of his style the way the Beatles did on Revolver.

I do think that this album is still the weakest of Elliott Smith’s career. The songs just don’t feel as complete or as tightly-plotted as on his other records. The lyrics aren’t as sharp, and feel too much like retreads of topics and themes he’s already addressed in other songs to better effect. It is by no means a bad record, just not as great as his other stuff. I’ve reconciled myself to this being the final Elliott Smith album (even if not the final collection of Elliott Smith recordings, as the wonderful 2006 collection of odds and sods, New Moon, proved). While not the best album of his all-too-short career, it’s still worth a listen.