On the sixth anniversary of his death, Dimi Taslim considers the conflicting beauty and sadness inherent in Elliott Smith's XO.

"Haven't laughed this hard in a long time, Better stop now before I start crying."

- Elliott Smith, 'Twilight'

This sums it up best - my smile when his songs come on shuffle and the unbearable grief (the sort that I feel when listening to Buckley) from knowing that it's the last original I'll hear from him. It's like a Dylan fan walking home in the rain without 'Shelter From The Storm'.

Could Smith eventually have touched Dylan? Probably not. But the saddest part is how the question will remain unanswered.

One of the most difficult aspects of listening to one of Smith's seven albums is that amidst his angry self-loathing, fueled by ridiculous substance abuse (he reportedly had a $1500-a-day heroin-habit) and hints of harakiri, he had never sounded more alive on record.

He confesses with brevity and candor on 'Bled White': "Doctor orders drinks to take away this curse, It makes me feel much worse."

Smith sings to anyone dazed and confused (adapted from Lewis Carroll's Through The Looking Glass): "I'm running speed trials/still standing in place."

In 'Independence Day', Smith's subtle use of drums and gentle strumming almost allow me to feel the stones of the bridges before they ruthlessly crash down to distant xylophone chimes and actual 3/4-waltz time in 'Waltz #1'.

He was wilting and desperate; yet acutely aware of the terrible glamour inherent in the mythology of the junkie-musician.

Producers Rothrock and Schnapf (Foo Fighters, Beck) crafted Smith's sixties-vibe. XO's acoustic baroque landscape seeps with the work of West Coast luminaries (Stephen Stills, The Byrds) and the towering edifices of Neil Young and The Beatles. Its authenticity takes me back. It makes me dream in Technicolor.

Smith cleverly exploited DreamWorks' lavish resources without sacrificing his hushed, morose universality, which sings my sorrow at every disappointment.

It's Smith's transition album. It's his Rubber Soul, his Highway 61 Revisited. It's like Jeff Buckley going from the little amp of the former ramshackle New York venue, Sin-É to the grandiosity of Grace. It's not what I expected; yet I end up loving it.

The antithesis of Oregon's celebrated grunge scene, Smith survived the onslaught of the Cobain kids, purring heart-wrenching acoustic ditties with unerring melodic sense. His response when the success of XO symbolically signaled the fall of grunge in 1998?

"Uhmm... It's just... I'm the wrong kind to be really big and famous."