OOR: Dec., 94

OOR Magazine, December, 1994

by Bert van de Kamp

Submitted by Niella 

Translated by Moira de Kok

Jeff Buckley, the 28-year-old songwriter with the famous last name, has – thanks to his impressive [debut ] record Grace, and a few hugely impressive gigs – established himself in one fell swoop.

“Man, just dare to sing”, seems to be his motto, but you need the voice for it. The young Buckley’s voice cuts right through your soul. That he is “the son of…” is no more than a footnote.

A beautiful, sensitive guy, a little shy, but when he looks at you, he turns out to have especially intrusive eyes. He doesn’t have time for small talk. After speaking to each other on the phone we first meet each other at Lowlands festival. When I confess I want a meeting for a new interview, he reacts quite hesitantly at first: “Are you sure? I don’t want it to seem like a hype.”

 When our conversation continues, Jeff seems bothered by everyone bringing up his famous dead father Tim all the time. I think this will lessen in some time, especially when Jeff has proven unequivocally that he doesn’t need that leg-up.  He also seems to worry about the fact that he’s been signed by the most powerful music company in the world (Sony), but he has to admit that he got all the freedom he needed in making his debut album.

We meet again on a rainy afternoon in October, before he gave his memorable Melkweg show, where he eliminates all doubt about his talent with an extremely driven and inspired set. 

“This tour has been great for us. Not because we’re so successful, because that kind of differs night to night, but especially because we, as a group, seem to become more and more of a unit. It’s incredible!”

Jeff is a passionate guy, not just when singing, but also when talking. He doesn’t want to have a reputation of being politically engaged, but he is one of the most political artists I’ve met. You only have to speak a single word or his thoughts run wild. This time it was a name, Bill Clinton, the first rock & roll-president of the United States.

“He’s sucking up to MacDonald’s [sic], the grossest food on Earth. I support Bill Clinton though, okay, he’s a politician and every politician’s first priority is to win votes. Still, I’m glad he’s here. He has the most ungrateful job in the world and he’s surrounded by the old guard hoping he’ll fail. All sorts of smear campaigns are being set up against him. Sex, drugs and soul asylum [laughs]. He tries to live with it. Of course he gets his hands dirty, but I prefer seeing his dirty hands to former presidents’. Reagan called his wife mommy! That should’ve been the first sign we had to throw him out. Bill is the first president for whom I took the effort to vote. It could be that he eventually turns out to be no good, either, but I’m taking that risk. Anyway: politics are bullshit.

“Politics don’t occupy my time at all, or my songs. Most songs I write are love songs. I’m a romantic, not in a nostalgic sense and also not in the psychotic sense, but just someone with romance in his heart. It’s hope, on one side, and a disgusting kind of cynicism on the other. I love reality the way it is, but also reality as it should be: without human blood flowing through Africa’s rivers, without mentally ill people forced to live their lives on the street by an old imbecile like Reagan. Yet, I’ll take the world as it is, with all its misery, its diseases, its villains, heroes and saints. I wouldn’t want to live in another time. Hippies are boring as hell and nostalgia is only fun for a little while. I don’t like to fantasize, I do enjoy daydreaming. I don’t build castles in the sky.

“The heroes of the sixties witnessed a war right under their noses, which they didn’t want to partake in. They were pretty innocent in that sense. That kept that generation alive without really connecting to reality. To them, reality was: liars and cheaters on one side, and idealists on the other. Uncle Sam was swapped with Jimi Hendrix. It’s not that black and white anymore. America is incomplete. The war is on the inside. It has come closer. It has moved from Vietnam to the big city streets.

The war has come closer. It has moved from Vietnam to the big city streets. There is so much violence in the street. We’re all extremely confused.

“My worldview fuels my work. We’re living in a world of throwaway art and junk. I accept that I’m part of that. I originate from it. I profit off of it. I hate it. I eat it. Music isn’t a weapon used to change things. Music isn’t art. Music is a force of nature like the wind or the ocean. Music is everywhere, no matter what we do. The rhythm of our hearts, the blood rushing in our ears, a kiss, a slap on the ass, it’s all music. The way people talk. People who grow up by the sea are way different from people from the country, because they’ve been exposed to different music. Artists have a sense for it, but it’s not art. What people call art is based on the value judgments of a small elite, which is often wrong. Thelonious Monk was  ignored for years.

“You’re right in saying it rains a lot in my songs. When you’re talking about missing something, I can only say: that’s my life. It’s just the tip of the iceberg. I’m glad so many people appreciate this record, but I know I have a better one in me.

“My youth was sometimes happy, sometimes not. With a few horrible moments and a lot of sarcasm. But I know what it’s like to be loved. I was lucky in that sense. It was a desperate love. My mother was all I had and I was all she had. I view my teenage years as a slowly developing cancer. There’s no-one walking out before you with a red carpet and the line: “Welcome to the world of sex and drugs and adolescence. The only thing you’ll hear is: ‘When are you going to buy a new damn pair of shoes!’” It was all quite awkward. Just a couple moments of perfection and happiness. I was never in the right spot. We travelled a lot. I played football with other kids, but usually I was at home reading a book. I drew a lot as a kid. As a teen I drooled over pictures of Patti Smith, Lou Reed, Kiss, Zeppelin, MC5 and the Stooges in Creem magazine. I fantasized about that, but I knew it was a world that really existed. I was addicted to Saturday Night Live. I stayed up late for that. That gave even my very “liberal” parents the impression that I was very smart. That show represented a certain New York lifestyle. I was living in California at the time. Life is good there, but I prefer New York. When something authentic originates from Los Angeles, it’s imitated to death immediately. Where I grew up the metal heads drove me crazy. I remember falling asleep at Metallica’s show in the Woodstock Club. That was the best metal band at the time, but I never felt involved in that scene. I listened to Miles Davis, Siouxsie and the Banshees and The Smiths.

“I wrote my first song at thirteen. Kind of by accident. It stayed that way. With me, it’s not a process I can control. Sometimes it’s little clouds in my head, sometimes it’s cells in my stomach clumping together. Sometimes a title from ’82 fits lyrics from ’91. Sometimes I take fifteen minutes to write a song, sometimes I take six days. It’s fun. I don’t try to plan anything, because the future keeps exceeding all your wildest expectations. 

“My mother never warned me about a career in music. A lot of other people have. They’d talk to me in private: it’s a jungle, nobody loves you, you can fall deep, really deep, all that shit. I’d always thank them politely. Everything they said about the music business is true. Sex, drugs and rock & roll have claimed a lot of victims, but others like Lou Reed and Iggy turned out too strong or lucky. But look at their faces. They’re true survivors. They depended on drugs for a while, but now they radiate nothing but independence. It is possible, after all.”