Jeff Buckley, Selinas, Friday March 1
By Sacha Molitorisz
In a very short time, Jeff Buckley has ascended to the heavens, deified by an appreciative Australian audience.
When the diminutive American singer-songwriter arrived here last August, the adulation was immediate; and not unexpected. On his debut record, 1994's Grace , Buckley exhibited a near-impossible combination of talents: the voice of an angel, the guitar-playing of a virtuoso, and 10 complex, beautiful songs that seemed to have been written by a man who carried the muses around in his shirt pocket.
And when he stepped on stage Buckley revealed a fourth element: a stupefying charisma born of his dangerous good looks and introverted vulnerability. On stage Buckley was the same but much more than on record: emotional, powerful, seductive, passionate, gentle. He proved a concussion of opposites - from the crashing, anthem-like wail of Eternal Life to the tenuous ache of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah - who seduced his audience with artistry.
Of Buckley's August concert at Metro, Bruce Elder wrote in the Herald: "[It was] a performance of great power and integrity from an immensely gifted performer. As the capacity audience drifted off into the night, there was a feeling that this was one of those performances that will be long remembered and treasured."
I was equally impressed by one of those August shows at the Phoenician Club - Buckley gave me goose bumps: the true sign of a touching show. After this debut, the hype snowballed, and by the time Buckley returned last month his three Enmore Theatre shows sold out promptly. Even there, despite inferior acoustics and a stifling sense of expectation, Buckley triumphed.
Throughout, he made it clear he was enjoying Australia as much as it was enjoying him. So when he announced one final date, for Selinas - a farewell concert - it would inevitably be a night tinged with sadness. Buckley was flying out the following day - ending his two-pronged introduction to Australia. And, heightening the melancholy, later in the evening Buckley announced his drummer, Matt Johnson, had decided that tonight would be his last show with the band.
But Buckley started by making light of it all. "So that's it," Buckley said before he had played a note. "Until the next time. Because there will be a next time." The crowd cheered. "The Reunion tour. Or Jeffapoolooza. Or Jeff's Addiction."
And, thankfully, when he started playing, the performance was tight and mesmerising. Buckley had become voracious, attacking his songs from Grace.
Between-song silences were punctuated by shouts of "We love you, Jeff," or, more to the point, "You're sex on a stick." "I love you too," he returned. He thanked his support acts throughout the tour. Earlier in the evening, Cactus Child had been polished and varied, warming up the audience's goose bumps for the headline act.
But now it was midnight and Buckley was playing with amazing energy. And, through Mojo Pin and Last Goodbye, he was revealing he was no rote performer. He was playing by feel, adapting as he progressed, with markedly different versions of the songs he had brought here six months earlier. The show built for an hour, until Eternal Life provided a frenetic climax: to finish it off, Buckley struck his final chord and let himself topple backwards into the crowd.
The second half of the show, unfortunately, was less focussed. Bassplayer Mick Grondahl sang a song, one of several less familiar tunes. And Buckley exhausted his repertoire: he wanted to keep playing, to keep entertaining for this last show.
Still, there were those precious moments. For his encore, Hallelujah, Buckley sat behind the kit and played the kick drum as he sang and strummed. It was ambitious, silly and beautiful all at once. Not taking himself too seriously, he managed an unusual and appealing improvisation.
Two songs later, after two hours on stage, Buckley departed, but only after he had created and revealed an ephemeral fragility in his songs and in himself. It had been a varied and beautiful show.
By Sacha Molitorisz
In a very short time, Jeff Buckley has ascended to the heavens, deified by an appreciative Australian audience.
When the diminutive American singer-songwriter arrived here last August, the adulation was immediate; and not unexpected. On his debut record, 1994's Grace , Buckley exhibited a near-impossible combination of talents: the voice of an angel, the guitar-playing of a virtuoso, and 10 complex, beautiful songs that seemed to have been written by a man who carried the muses around in his shirt pocket.
And when he stepped on stage Buckley revealed a fourth element: a stupefying charisma born of his dangerous good looks and introverted vulnerability. On stage Buckley was the same but much more than on record: emotional, powerful, seductive, passionate, gentle. He proved a concussion of opposites - from the crashing, anthem-like wail of Eternal Life to the tenuous ache of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah - who seduced his audience with artistry.
Of Buckley's August concert at Metro, Bruce Elder wrote in the Herald: "[It was] a performance of great power and integrity from an immensely gifted performer. As the capacity audience drifted off into the night, there was a feeling that this was one of those performances that will be long remembered and treasured."
I was equally impressed by one of those August shows at the Phoenician Club - Buckley gave me goose bumps: the true sign of a touching show. After this debut, the hype snowballed, and by the time Buckley returned last month his three Enmore Theatre shows sold out promptly. Even there, despite inferior acoustics and a stifling sense of expectation, Buckley triumphed.
Throughout, he made it clear he was enjoying Australia as much as it was enjoying him. So when he announced one final date, for Selinas - a farewell concert - it would inevitably be a night tinged with sadness. Buckley was flying out the following day - ending his two-pronged introduction to Australia. And, heightening the melancholy, later in the evening Buckley announced his drummer, Matt Johnson, had decided that tonight would be his last show with the band.
But Buckley started by making light of it all. "So that's it," Buckley said before he had played a note. "Until the next time. Because there will be a next time." The crowd cheered. "The Reunion tour. Or Jeffapoolooza. Or Jeff's Addiction."
And, thankfully, when he started playing, the performance was tight and mesmerising. Buckley had become voracious, attacking his songs from Grace.
Between-song silences were punctuated by shouts of "We love you, Jeff," or, more to the point, "You're sex on a stick." "I love you too," he returned. He thanked his support acts throughout the tour. Earlier in the evening, Cactus Child had been polished and varied, warming up the audience's goose bumps for the headline act.
But now it was midnight and Buckley was playing with amazing energy. And, through Mojo Pin and Last Goodbye, he was revealing he was no rote performer. He was playing by feel, adapting as he progressed, with markedly different versions of the songs he had brought here six months earlier. The show built for an hour, until Eternal Life provided a frenetic climax: to finish it off, Buckley struck his final chord and let himself topple backwards into the crowd.
The second half of the show, unfortunately, was less focussed. Bassplayer Mick Grondahl sang a song, one of several less familiar tunes. And Buckley exhausted his repertoire: he wanted to keep playing, to keep entertaining for this last show.
Still, there were those precious moments. For his encore, Hallelujah, Buckley sat behind the kit and played the kick drum as he sang and strummed. It was ambitious, silly and beautiful all at once. Not taking himself too seriously, he managed an unusual and appealing improvisation.
Two songs later, after two hours on stage, Buckley departed, but only after he had created and revealed an ephemeral fragility in his songs and in himself. It had been a varied and beautiful show.
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