The 34-year-old Los Angeles-based singer-songwriter then collapsed and died, bringing to a close a brief but brilliant career in emotionally charged indie-pop.
A coroner's inquiry left unresolved the question of whether Smith's wounds were self-inflicted. Despite his history of depression, suicide threats, alcoholism and drug dependency, many believe Smith's trajectory was on the up at the time of his death.
Fresh out of rehab, the Grammy nominee had been working on tracks for a sixth studio album, an expansive project he'd intended to release as a double CD.
It was left to former girlfriend Joanna Bolme, and Rob Schnapf, producer of Smith's earlier albums Either/Or, XO and Figure 8, to round off the mission. From the more than 30 songs in varying stages of completion, they settled on the 15 that would be released in 2004 as From A Basement On The Hill.
Anyone looking for signposts of impending demise can easily spot them scattered among the album tracks like a cluster of half-completed suicide notes. In The Last Hour, Smith sings:" I'm through trying now/It's a big relief/I'll be staying down/Where no-one else gonna give me grief." And, spookily, A Fond Farewell refers to a dying man in a living room.
But introspective, self-critical lyrics had long been Smith's staple, and it's fair to say he had made an art of mining dirt for gold. What's more noteworthy is the strength of the material here.
Whatever his state of mind, Smith's valediction is couched in the language of blissful, fragile, melodic music that breaks out into strident power pop - a sumptuous mix of Beatles and Big Star. Far from being a downer, Basement is an enlivening celebration of the power of song.
Perhaps, then, it was for the best that Smith's final work was taken out of his unsteady hands. He might have dropped the ball.
