Jeff Buckley didn't think much of his performance Tuesday at the Green Mill.
But whereas most performers might keep such feelings to themselves, Buckley loudly proclaimed his dissatisfaction from the outset: "I'm drunk, and I (stink). . . . This is a total gyp. . . . I feel so cheap."
What started out as seemingly good-natured, self-deprecating humor became more twisted and spiteful as the night wore on, finally concluding with Buckley announcing, "Anybody who feels tonight has been a lie, I promise to play another show for you."
All this because of a bottle of tequila downed before the show, apparently in response to a phone call. The story involves a record company, a magazine story and MTV, and Buckley doubtlessly would have filled in all the details if pressed by an indulgent audience. Along the way, however, his music got lost.
Based on an extraordinary series of club and coffeehouse concerts in Chicago earlier this year, both solo and with a band, Buckley (the son of the late folk-jazz singer Tim Buckley) established himself as a riveting performer and daring vocalist. His music, at once rapturous and fragile, meanders like a stream rather than following the verse-chorus pipeline, the singer beholden to the moment.
As routinely as most performers clear their throats, Buckley puts his emotions on display for all to examine. He sings softly in a sobbing falsetto, seethes through gritted teeth and warbles like an Indian qawwali singer. A mixture of awkwardness and grace, Buckley seemed almost too sincere for his own good when he told the audience, "My whole night will be spent trying to feel it while I make love to you."
The best thing that could have happened was for Buckley to shut up and sing, and that he finally did midway through a performance marred by aborted songs and monologues. But with a tremulous solo version of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah," he crawled from the wreckage and rediscovered the music.
For the rest of the set, Buckley and his band set about transforming the tension and self-loathing into something rare and beautiful. If they didn't always succeed, it was fascinating to watch nonetheless.
Mick Grondahl's bass often played counterpoint melodies to the singer's voice, while the guitars of Buckley and Michael Tighe shimmered and spiraled, and drummer Matt Johnson navigated the surging tempos.
Buckley repeated "Grace," which he broke off early in the set, and then fused "The Way Young Lovers Do" with "Lover, You Should've Come Over" into a passionate, ebb-and-flow suite.
Pathetic one minute, galvanizing the next, Buckley refuses to hide behind the mask of professionalism. Even when he stumbles, he's something to see.
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