A good Sunday morning coffee song. Quiet, airy, barely anything to the sound except the errant f-bomb whining out here or there. These are oddly aggressive lyrics from our man Elliott.

I'll tell you what I'm listening to. The opening guitar is beautifully abstract, running this cool escalating pattern of six chords that seem incapable of resolving until they do. The chord progressions in this song, in general - these are not your usual, taken-for-granted changes. This song will not just give you the comforting ear routines.

There are at least two guitars playing here, I think, but they all seem to be playing about 20 feet from the microphone. The sound of Elliott Smith at this early point was so tiny; it's all about what can happen within that minimalism. Other than the guitar, there is a drum set consisting of snare and cymbal.

The verse is a simple pattern between singing with a cool little descending guitar part and a folksy little guitar lead. It's all carried by the voice. Then the short passage that bridges down into the chorus is an arresting, dark little moment.

That chorus singing melody - at once such a John Lennon idea and something I loved about Elliott Smith's music, this cooing voice on a long, delicate phrase.

Pure extravagance is a 12-string guitar solo.