Heir Born

Melody Maker: September 10, 1994

by Dave Simpson

JEFF BUCKLEY

WHELAN'S BAR, DUBLIN

  IT'S an epic tale: one of drama and passion; of man's capacity for struggle and the desire to conquer everything that the elements, destiny and his fellow men can throw at him. And it's taking place hundreds of miles away as Leeds take on Arsenal, while I'm here in a crowded Dublin bar-room reviewing the only performer alive who could cause me to miss the first home game of the soccer season.

  You should know (t)his story by now: son of legendary avant-garde folk singer releases uncontestable debut of the year ("Grace"), an album which emerges from the shadow of the father he never knew. Artist, prodigy, Great White Hope, maybe Jeff Buckley is the boy who has everything. The film star looks and That Voice, the unmistakable, howling falsetto that sprays magic and emotional confrontation and leaves awe in it's wake.

  Tonight, grown men are reduced to quivering jelly. One guy shakes his head uncontrollably as if undergoing extreme primal scream therapy and one beautiful, chestnut-haired girl is visibly moved to tears. Jeff has the songs, too, songs that will nag at your memories and eventually tear them apart. There's the terrifying, near-blackmail wonder of "So Real" ("I love you/But I'm afraid to love you") or his shattered, superior rendition of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah".

  But Jeff has something else and it's the reason why, for him, all the aforementioned counts for everything and nothing. He's carrying a Hurt, a painful longing that can never be resolved. Imagine the deepest burden of unrequited love and still you're getting nowhere near. The Hurt all but cripples Jeff and yet it drives him, as if an alchemical transference has taken place between that Hurt and the singer to make magic in the songs. Some sell their soul to Satan; Jeff never had a choice. The Hurt follows him, haunts him, it's there in every vocal swoop, each anguished, beautiful wail and in the relentless, purifying heartbreak of "Eternal Life" and "Dream Brother": "I'm waiting for mine/And nobody ever came."

  We've got things in common, me and Jeff; we've both got two dads. Sometimes, he'd love to kill the one who's already dead and I spent years wanting to do for mine who's still alive. You can't can't understand that. We just plug into bitter, almost alienated songs like "Lover, You Should've Come" ("It's never over/My kingdom for a kiss upon the shoulder") where the performer's prayer for release is the listener's treasure.

  I flew so high tonight.

  I heard music I've scarcely dreamed of. If I were critical of the band's occasional heavy-handedness and Jeff's slight tendency towards indulgence, I'd be spotting cracks in Michelangelo's ceiling. He isn't the new Dylan or Van Morrison and he's certainly not the new Tim Buckley.

  He's just the first Jeff Buckley and, right now, we can be very, very excited about that.