Sun Sentinel: December 6, 1994
By Deborah Wilker
Submitted by Sai
The son of a late folk hero, Jeff Buckley may be the next up-and-coming star.
The tip-off was the sparkling new tour bus moored out front the Stephen Talkhouse on Sunday. Not just any bus. This was one of those $150,000-or- so jobs, with jet-black windows and a Park Avenue interior. Not the kind of traveling digs most struggling young punk-folk singers can afford.
Then again, if your name is Jeff Buckley, you're not like most of the other up-and-comers on the road.
Buckley-who's name will be everywhere next year as the Sony marketing assault coalesces-is the son of the late great folk hero Tim Buckley. The elder performer was one of rock's more intriguing "could have been" stories. A late-'60s staple pegged as the next Bob Dylan, he drew an avid following through the early '70s, then died of a drug overdose in 1975 at age 28.
The younger Buckley, who is now 28, has been honing his act on the cafe scene of New York's Lower East Side for the last four years. Last year there was a well-received EP, Live at Sin-e, named for the Irish pub where his weekly gigs drew raves. This year came the emotional debut set Grace, and a crafty Sony campaign designed to make Gen-Xers think the kid bubbled up out of nowhere.
Now the record label is bankrolling Buckley's first major tour (and his bus)-a two month schedule of clubs and cafes that brought him to the Talkhouse Sunday.
Sharing the bill was opening act Brenda Kahn, a less promising artist also popular in Manhattan's downtown clubs, and also freshly added to the Sony roster.
Like the revered beatniks of the past, Buckley projects the requisite disinterest, while mumbling detached non sequiturs about the people in his band and the inspiration for his tunes. He also plays down his looks (he's got Mel Gibson's eyes), cementing his unwashed hair into a center part, and sporting geek pants and a faded orange bowling shirt.
But when he sings, Buckley creates a sound so intriguing he can hold a room transfixed with just one whispered note. Rendered in a voice that somehow encapsulates all that was great about Roy Orbison, Robert Plant and even Tiny Tim.
There is a level of control and range in his singing that could never have been learned-an innate ability to go from wail to hushed sigh, maneuvering notes with uncommon confidence.
Though doused in an unusual Far Eastern exotica, several of the songs during Buckley's 70-minute set on Sunday still ran together, among them So Real, Eternal Life and Mojo Pin. Yet there were moments when you knew Buckley might well be the next star. He cast Lilac Wine with a soprano trill, nearly hypnotizing the crowd of about 200, many of whom were music industry decision-makers in town for an ASCAP powwow.
When a small group of football fans clustered in the back of the bar let out a sudden, loud groan over a Dolphins' interception, Buckley didn't waver-though the noise clearly upended the artistic moment. No question, the kid's a pro.
Still, if Sony wants to make money with him, he'll need more imaginative songwriting, melodies that will challenge his vocal talent while engaging public taste. While there is an argument to be made for keeping Buckley just as he is-offbeat, raggedly impassioned and firmly underground-there is also something to be said for asking a singer of this caliber to sink his chops into conventional stuff like Orbison's Pretty Woman. Oh, what he could do with it.
By Deborah Wilker
Submitted by Sai
The son of a late folk hero, Jeff Buckley may be the next up-and-coming star.
The tip-off was the sparkling new tour bus moored out front the Stephen Talkhouse on Sunday. Not just any bus. This was one of those $150,000-or- so jobs, with jet-black windows and a Park Avenue interior. Not the kind of traveling digs most struggling young punk-folk singers can afford.
Then again, if your name is Jeff Buckley, you're not like most of the other up-and-comers on the road.
Buckley-who's name will be everywhere next year as the Sony marketing assault coalesces-is the son of the late great folk hero Tim Buckley. The elder performer was one of rock's more intriguing "could have been" stories. A late-'60s staple pegged as the next Bob Dylan, he drew an avid following through the early '70s, then died of a drug overdose in 1975 at age 28.
The younger Buckley, who is now 28, has been honing his act on the cafe scene of New York's Lower East Side for the last four years. Last year there was a well-received EP, Live at Sin-e, named for the Irish pub where his weekly gigs drew raves. This year came the emotional debut set Grace, and a crafty Sony campaign designed to make Gen-Xers think the kid bubbled up out of nowhere.
Now the record label is bankrolling Buckley's first major tour (and his bus)-a two month schedule of clubs and cafes that brought him to the Talkhouse Sunday.
Sharing the bill was opening act Brenda Kahn, a less promising artist also popular in Manhattan's downtown clubs, and also freshly added to the Sony roster.
Like the revered beatniks of the past, Buckley projects the requisite disinterest, while mumbling detached non sequiturs about the people in his band and the inspiration for his tunes. He also plays down his looks (he's got Mel Gibson's eyes), cementing his unwashed hair into a center part, and sporting geek pants and a faded orange bowling shirt.
But when he sings, Buckley creates a sound so intriguing he can hold a room transfixed with just one whispered note. Rendered in a voice that somehow encapsulates all that was great about Roy Orbison, Robert Plant and even Tiny Tim.
There is a level of control and range in his singing that could never have been learned-an innate ability to go from wail to hushed sigh, maneuvering notes with uncommon confidence.
Though doused in an unusual Far Eastern exotica, several of the songs during Buckley's 70-minute set on Sunday still ran together, among them So Real, Eternal Life and Mojo Pin. Yet there were moments when you knew Buckley might well be the next star. He cast Lilac Wine with a soprano trill, nearly hypnotizing the crowd of about 200, many of whom were music industry decision-makers in town for an ASCAP powwow.
When a small group of football fans clustered in the back of the bar let out a sudden, loud groan over a Dolphins' interception, Buckley didn't waver-though the noise clearly upended the artistic moment. No question, the kid's a pro.
Still, if Sony wants to make money with him, he'll need more imaginative songwriting, melodies that will challenge his vocal talent while engaging public taste. While there is an argument to be made for keeping Buckley just as he is-offbeat, raggedly impassioned and firmly underground-there is also something to be said for asking a singer of this caliber to sink his chops into conventional stuff like Orbison's Pretty Woman. Oh, what he could do with it.
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