Dear Mr. Smith: Tupac Is More Frightening Than You.

Along with a chill in the air, mid-October also brings the tingle in your spine signifying the rise of witches, goblins and ghosts associated with the falling leaves. While your upcoming midterms may strike your heart with more fear than the supernatural of Halloween, there is still a version of the child left in some of us that still senses the mystery and magic in the autumn air, causing us to quicken our step when crossing College Street on our way back from the library at midnight. Despite the discerning mind my education is supposed to cultivate, I still believe in ghosts. And apparently not just murder victims come back from the dead with unfinished business — musicians do as well.

When I read that Elliot Smith was releasing his second posthumous album, my first response was skepticism. The first appearance of his ghost wandering around the CD racks took the form of From a Basement on the Hill — an album that lacked the heart-rending passion of the canonized Self Titled and Either/Or. Granted, Smith's songs were never the life of the party (the most common criticism of the Portland songwriter is that listening to his songs will lead fans to the same fate as the albums' composer), but with the exception of "Twilight," "Let's Get Lost" and "A Passing Feeling," most of the tracks on Basement should have remained buried in obscurity. Still, in devotion to the memory of perhaps one of the greatest acoustic artists of our generation, I paid my respects and fifteen dollars for the two-disc New Moon.

Released by Kill Rock Stars almost four years after his October 21st suicide, New Moon is a thorough and trembling monument to the troubled troubadour. A collection of songs recorded between the Self-Titled (1994) and Either/Or (1997) sessions, the double-disc compilation showcases Smith at his best — and unlike the Basement recordings, these tracks are about as polished as he gets, and play less like B-sides and more like apologetic afterthoughts. And even though New Moon suffers from the same stigma as other Smith releases in its tendency to run together — it is often difficult to distinguish one track from the next — this merely adds to a sense of nostalgic continuity.

Disc One features an assortment of standout tracks, including the memorably melancholy "Angel in the Snow," a song sung in Smith's typical clear vocal approach laid over the steady strumming of his guitar as simple as a heartbeat. "Talking to Mary" is a testament to the insecure indie hero's blue-collar storytelling style while "Looking Over My Shoulder" offers a captivatingly catchy hook. But perhaps the two greatest draws of the first disc is an early version of "Miss Misery" — the Academy Award nominated track from The Good Will Hunting Soundtrack that launched Smith somewhat unwillingly into the spotlight — and the concert favorite cover of "Thirteen" by Big Star. And while Disc Two pales in comparison to the intricacies of its predecessor, the intoxicating indignation of "Georgia, Georgia," the alternate version of "Pretty Mary K" and the mournful closer "Half Right" makes listening to the album from start to finish a necessity and a feasible feat as most tracks hover around the three-minute mark.

Despite its title, New Moon adds to the fullness of Elliot Smith's stunning and haunting career. Listening to the album's disconsolate discourse, harrowing honesty and apologetic acoustics, I am reminded that not all ghosts are vengeful. Some return to bring comfort and condolence.

Earbud Bards

As we slip out of seer-sucker and skirts and into corduroy and cable-knits, we also shrug off the sunshine-pop of summer and hit play on something more substantial. Maybe it's the shorter days, the crisper air or the falling leaves, but the autumn season lends itself to the poets and their accompanying introspection. And while I heart Heaney, adore Auden and revere Rilke, there can be just as much comfort between the chords of a boy's guitar as the landscaped lines of Cummings.

Iron & Wine's Sept. 25 release The Shepherd's Dog is more conducive to the brisker weather than hot apple cider — and equally as satisfying. While the solo acoustic strum and Sam Beam's whispery vocals on releases such The Creek Drank the Cradle and In the Reins may be more comparable to the winter wind whipping through barren branches, The Shepherd's Dog is lush and even colorful on some arrangements — the first single "Boy with a Coin," has a driving heartbeat while the Afro-pop "House by the Sea" is surprisingly danceable. Despite the shiny, more polished sound of the skin, Iron & Wine still stay true to their melancholy core. Beam's voice is still laced with its hauntingly nostalgic hue, while the structure of their songs is still supported by the minimalist, skeletal chords of the acoustic guitar. The masses were first exposed to the brilliant songwriting of the Florida native through the group's cover of The Postal Service's "Such Great Heights" featured on Zach Braff's mix-tape made public Garden State Soundtrack. On their third full-length release, Iron & Wine uses their ever-rising position as Indie idols to craft an album of note-perfect production without sacrificing the raw emotionality we have come to expect from Beam. "Carousel" veritably rips your ventricles apart while the waltz-like wandering melody of "Flightless Bird, American Mouth," will weave an irrevocable reverie. And even though some of the intimacy created by Beam's "one-guy in a bedroom" sound may be missing along with the scratchy lo-fi production value, The Shepherd's Dog languidly breezes into the living room, offering a record that breathes introspection and intricacy.

The turning leaves may also inspire personal transformation — unfortunately, change is not always a good thing. Tim Kasher of Cursive fame turned his side-project The Good Life into a veritable second career with the impressive 2004 release Album of the Year. A collection of remorseful romances, the follow-up to the Lovers Need Lawyers EP is epically earnest in its portrayal of past pain with simple arrangements and Kasher's ordinary vocals. It is this lack of adornment, however, that gives Album of the Year its truthfulness and subsequent charm. With its everyman lyrics and humble melody, the highlight track "Inmates," featuring guest vocalist Jiha Lee, is the quintessential walking-out-the-door anthem — that is, if you prefer to leave with a whimper instead of a bang. Sadly, in a misguided attempt to subscribe to the alt-country, folk vibe so prominent on the Saddle Creek label, Kasher takes the elementary approach too far. His Sept. 11 release, Help Wanted Nights, is not enlighteningly introspective in its simplicity, but unbearably boring. The record lacks an overall vision, and while Kasher's songwriting ability breaks through on such tracks as "Your Share of Men" and "Playing Dumb," The Good Life's fourth full-length release is ultimately more disappointing than all of Kasher's failed relationships combined.

So as you refurbish your wardrobe for the fall, don't forget to update your music collection — sincere songwriting will keep you warm in the evenings, and acoustic is always appropriate.