a 'fond farewell' to one of this generations most poignant and gifted songwriters." Rolling Stone had some reservations, observing that "this is an album about the seductions of oblivion, and a few of the more densely arranged songs mimic the characters in the lyrics, stumbing around without quite connecting. More often though, Smith teases extraordinary wit and warmth from songs that float lazily toward happiness." In the UK the album was received even more enthusiastically than in Smith's home country. Q wrote, "Given that its backstory involves one of the grimmest deaths in music history, it's tempting to view this album darkly, but really, there's no denying the new twist here... Without wanting to second-guess his mindset, this music often sounds like the madness surrounding its creator – his heroin troubles, an allegedly turbulent relationship, his struggles against depression. So what dominates are these loud, wayward Los Angeles epics full of gothic grandeur, broken-glass emotions, bizarre soundscapes and heavy, early-'70s guitars." The review concluded, "All posthumous releases receive garlands of praise but this would take your breath away whatever the circumstances". Other critics, however, were cautious about viewing the album as a suicide note: Mojo felt that "to do so would be to miss the crucial point – that From a Basement on the Hill is of a piece within a body of work that stretches back to the mid-'90s. If Smith's lyrical themes were pretty much constant, the point was only underlined by the survival of his abiding aesthetic. In very crude terms, he took the spirit of such White Album songs as "Long, Long, Long", "Julia" and "While My Guitar Gently Weeps", and re-rooted them in a lovelorn, druggy demi-monde... Smith, however, was no mere pasticheur. As ever, his chord changes and arrangements betray an inventiveness seemingly borne of brilliant instinct. Moreover, the songs that form this album's spine find him striding away, not only from his own influences, but the approach that had defined his last couple of records. Those who found Figure 8 and parts of XO too in thrall to the musical ways of the West Coast – slightly over-airbrushed, maybe a little too lush – will be cheered by the fractured, frankly grungey likes of "Don't Go Down" and "Coast to Coast": in their own controlled way, as messy and imperfect as the experiences described therein. The contrast between their music and Smith's ever-tender