Rolling Stone: February, 1994
By Daina Darzin
Submitted by Niella
"PLUG IN THE bass!" a sound guy yelled repeatedly, frantically signalling the stage where Jeff Buckley and band had just begun their set. It was that kind of night. But Buckley's insanely expressive, ridiculously compelling voice carried him through the most unfortunate of circumstances.
An industry-heavy crowd ("I wanna thank everybody for being on the ticket-buy list" Buckley quipped) was gathered to see the coffeehouse circuit's great hope.
For this gig only, Buckley elected to add bass and drums to his usual solo electric guitar (as he did on his upcoming studio album but not on his current EP, Live at Sin-e). This was surely an ill-advised move that only compounded the multiple sound problems.
Still, there's the voice-a big, soaring, passionate critter that swooshes and trembles. A voice that's a brilliant and disquieting cross between Bob Dylan's and Diamanda Galas', with a little Siouxsie Sioux thrown in for good measure. A voice that manages to be both angelic and metal edged, pretty yet eager to travel strange, atonal regions where the buses don't run.
At first, Buckley barely acknowledged his audience, performing with eyes closed, zoning out in his parallel sonic universe. But just as he was in danger of becoming annoyingly introspective, he flashed exuberant, with turns like a 78-rpm mini-version of "Surfin' USA" and a riff that threatened to become "Stairway to Heaven"-but didn't.
Though the offspring of '60s folkie Tim Buckley, Jeff more often quotes Led Zeppelin, an influence manifested in ethereal, climbing melodies. But Buckley makes his own guidelines. "Lover You Should've Come Over", for instance, can't decide whether to be Zep-like or country tinged, so it decides to be both, inventing it's own skewed genre in the process.
The punch line is, Jeff Buckley can get away with anything.
Submitted by Niella
"PLUG IN THE bass!" a sound guy yelled repeatedly, frantically signalling the stage where Jeff Buckley and band had just begun their set. It was that kind of night. But Buckley's insanely expressive, ridiculously compelling voice carried him through the most unfortunate of circumstances.
An industry-heavy crowd ("I wanna thank everybody for being on the ticket-buy list" Buckley quipped) was gathered to see the coffeehouse circuit's great hope.
For this gig only, Buckley elected to add bass and drums to his usual solo electric guitar (as he did on his upcoming studio album but not on his current EP, Live at Sin-e). This was surely an ill-advised move that only compounded the multiple sound problems.
Still, there's the voice-a big, soaring, passionate critter that swooshes and trembles. A voice that's a brilliant and disquieting cross between Bob Dylan's and Diamanda Galas', with a little Siouxsie Sioux thrown in for good measure. A voice that manages to be both angelic and metal edged, pretty yet eager to travel strange, atonal regions where the buses don't run.
At first, Buckley barely acknowledged his audience, performing with eyes closed, zoning out in his parallel sonic universe. But just as he was in danger of becoming annoyingly introspective, he flashed exuberant, with turns like a 78-rpm mini-version of "Surfin' USA" and a riff that threatened to become "Stairway to Heaven"-but didn't.
Though the offspring of '60s folkie Tim Buckley, Jeff more often quotes Led Zeppelin, an influence manifested in ethereal, climbing melodies. But Buckley makes his own guidelines. "Lover You Should've Come Over", for instance, can't decide whether to be Zep-like or country tinged, so it decides to be both, inventing it's own skewed genre in the process.
The punch line is, Jeff Buckley can get away with anything.
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