There have been hundreds of singer/songwriters that have put out stripped-down songs armed primarily with an acoustic guitar and their own voice. But even among such a crowded throng, Elliott Smith is celebrated as a truly unique voice.

And while Either/Or may be the album most people point to as his opus, the self-titled album that preceded it showcases a raw aesthetic, free of the baroque and powerpop leanings of later albums. And stripped down as it is, it maybe hits a little closer to the heart of Smith’s legacy.

While I had heard Elliott Smith’s many times—often around conversations about Jeff Buckley, oddly, considering that they are probably as different as two alternative-leaning, male singer/songwriters in the 90s can get—but if memory serves, the first time I actually heard him was when “Needle In the Hay” played in The Royal Tenenbaums. I was instantly hooked on the track—the acoustic guitar strumming with a quiet punk energy, the nearly whispered vocals cracking as they delivered lyrics that painted a clear emotional picture despite its fragmented ambiguity.

And then…it kind of stopped there. I remember picking up New Moon, a posthumous compilation of unreleased material, from the library, but nothing hit me the way “Needle in the Hay” did. Some years later, I spent some time with Either/Or and XO, and while they are certainly both fine records, they also failed to capture me in the same way.

A couple of months ago though, I realized what a travesty it is that my collection had zero Elliott Smith records, and I sought to change that. While there were several records readily available, I needed to find one with “Needle” on it. I stopped short of picking up the retrospective Introduction to Elliott Smith in favor of the long-delayed reissue of his self-titled. I saw the desired track, hit the preorder button, and waited.

And while there can only be one “Needle in the Hay,” the rest of the tracks here capture the same elements that hooked me far better than anything else I’ve heard. Smith was still playing in the punk band Heatmiser at the time, and so there is that same sort of urgency to many of the songs. However, you can almost sense a tension to strip the songs down as far as possible to differentiate his solo output from the louder project. The lone exception is “Christian Brothers,” which includes the lone drum set on the album. Notably, the song was recorded by Heatmiser as well, but was never officially released.

Besides that single drum set, there are the occasional instances of cello, air organ, some subtle electric guitar, and other assorted instruments. But the primary focus is always on Smith’s acoustic guitar and his voice. And in this album, you can hear the blueprint for dozens of other artists: Connor Oberst’s shaking voice was unmistakably influenced by Smith’s. Sufjan Stevens’ more stripped albums have a stunning family resemblance. Iron & Wine might not have been able to find any sort of audience without Elliott Smith clearing the way for him.

But even with huge crowds of artists he inspired, no one has been able to top Smith at his own game. And for my money, this album finds him at his most undiluted. And now that I’ve gotten hold of it, I have years of listening to make up for.