Jeff, the laundry injury, and Sleepover

The Dispatch Sun: May 7, 1995

Laundry dangerous to Jeff Buckley's health

Los Angeles Daily News

  Jeff Buckley recently discovered that doing the laundry can be dangerous to your health.

  The flamboyant-voiced singer, whose "Last Goodbye" track is all over radio and MTV, was preparing for the spring leg of his tour at home in New York when he hoisted an overstuffed laundry bag and promptly threw out his back. As a result, Buckley has postponed the opening date of his tour.

***

Kenosha News: June 1, 1995

  Before his recent back injury, Jeff Buckley wrote and recorded a score for Sleepover, an independent teens-in-trouble flick currently being readied for the festival circuit.

***

The Los Angeles Times: December 24, 1995

  DISABLED LIST: Jeff Buckley had to cancel a show in the spring due to back strain caused by lifting an overstuffed laundry bag.

Nusrat after-show hang

Kenosha News: February 9, 1996

  Here we have JEFF BUCKLEY's synopsis of the after-gig hang as practiced by Pakistani qawwali master NUSRAT FATEH ALI KHAN (who recently collaborated with EDDIE VEDDER on two songs for the Dead Man Walking soundtrack): "We went to this greasy spoon Punjabi diner (after Nusrat's New York show at Town Hall) and just drank tea and talked. Nusrat's ensemble was watching low-budget Punjabi comedy shows and reading the news." Enamored of the Buddha-like singer, a wide-eyed Buckley couldn't get a hold of himself. "I love him, I'm in awe of him; what can I do?" What inspired this effusiveness, you ask? "They turned me on to this sweet, gummy tobacco wrapped in grape leaves. Your head spins-like smoking 12 packs of cigarettes at once."

Gambler runs out of luck

The Sydney Morning Herald: February 19, 1996

By Bruce Elder

Jeff Buckley, Enmore Theatre, February 15

  THE average rock concert is like an old poker machine in a suburban RSL club. You pay your money, you pull the handle, and God knows what's likely to come out. Every few pulls, you get a reasonable payout and, far too rarely, you amaze yourself when the aces come up and the machine disgorges pure gold.

  When Jeff Buckley toured Australia at the end of last August, he was like "The Man Who Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo." Every night the aces came up. He played both The Metro and the Phoenician Club and audiences staggered away amazed at the concentrated power and intensity of his performance. His voice was a wonder to behold-a great soaring instrument which could roar and whisper and bring tears to the eyes of those who listened. His songs were all so passionate and his guitar playing ranged from wild, fiery chunks of neo-punk agression to a delicacy and sensitivity worthy of his late father.

  So, one wondered about halfway through his rather tedious performance at the Enmore, what's happened in the past six months? Did the gambler run out of luck? You can offer many plausible explanations.

  1. The Enmore is always a crappy venue and not even Buckley could conquer its awful acoustics and its shabby ambience.

  2. Buckley and his band have been touring on the back of their debut Grace which they recorded two years ago and which contained 10 songs, two of which-Hallelujah and Corpus Christi Carol-they never perform live. They are just sick of playing the same old eight songs and throwing in a version of the MC5's Kick Out the Jams for good measure.

  3. They're in the middle of writing new songs for their second album and their collective mind isn't really on the task at hand, playing a halfway decent gig to a bunch of enthusiastic fans.

  4. They average a great performance about one time in five (reasonable odds for a gambler) and Sydney just got lucky last time they visited.

  Whatever the reason, this was not a great concert. There is little doubt that, when the circumstances are right, Jeff Buckley is amazing. At points during this concert, that wonderful voice soared and swirled and dived. At other points, the urgency and intensity was almost palpable.

  Grace was delivered with memorable feeling and there was an almost a capella version of Lilac Wine. But, for most of the night, this was a concert played by numbers. The bass player got to sing a song (who cares?). Buckley talked, or rather mumbled, at the audience a couple of times. In the end this was a performance without focus or commitment. The sub-Sonic Youth encore was a suitably forgettable ending to  a very forgettable night.

  I'll see him next time he comes to town but he better be much better. In the interim, those who can remember will have to live with memories of last August.

Forging old rock sounds into new

The Sydney Morning Herald: August 30, 1995

By Bruce Elder

Jeff Buckley, Metro Theatre, Aug 28

  It is likely that after 40 years, rock 'n' roll as a genre has played every card in its limited pack. All that is left for young musicians is to reshuffle the deck and try to win the game with interesting new strategies. Thus, Jeff Buckley, one of the hottest and most interesting of all the new talents to emerge in the past 18 months, doesn't offer anything particularly new. Rather he pulls together a combination of influences and comes up with a performance which, through sheer dint of his emotional commitment and on-stage charisma, establishes him as one of the most significant and innovative performers to have emerged in the past five years.

  Buckley's influences are both rich and incongruous. Not surprisingly, his primary influence comes from his late father, Tim Buckley. His father's music was strange, often unsuccessful but never uninteresting, mixture of  jazz, folk, and rock 'n' roll. In a very real sense Buckley junior has taken up this baton and pushed the possibilities further.

  But his influences are much more complex than just a family tradition. At times he swerves off in the direction of New York punk circa 1978. At one point he offered a sizzling, and highly eccentric, version of the MC5's punk classic Kick Out the Jams. At other times his approach to guitar playing-everything from barely touching the strings to forcing ear-bleeding feedback from the speakers-hovers in a world explored by guitarists as diverse as Robert Fripp and Fred Frith. At other times, when his band of Mick Grondahl (bass), Matt Johnson (drums) and Michael Tighe (guitar) unleash their fiery, pent-up energy, he is reminiscent of those forgotten avant-garde west coast bands who inhabited San Francisco in the late 1960s.

  Like his father, Buckley understands the importance of sonic textures. He whispers and wails. His guitar roars one minute and drops into silence the next.

  Songs build from almost folky introductions to become great walls of guitar intensity. At times, conventional shape and form dissolve. He has an instinctive understanding of light and shade and of the dynamics which will keep a performance interesting.

  Buckley's debut album Grace was a deeply flawed, love-it-or-hate-it, hotch-potch of experiments and sublime, emotional singing. Any reservations the album may have created are swept away by his live performance. His stength lies in the way he has brought together old rock elements and forged them into something something new, challenging and successfully experimental. The  result is a performance of great power and integrity from an immensely gifted performer who effortlessly seduces and mesmerises his audience his audience. Not surprisingly, 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.

The crowd was there, but Hatfield & Co. snoozed through show

Asbury Park Press: June 3, 1995

By Eric Deggans, PRESS MUSIC WRITER

  SEA BRIGHT-"This is the weirdest concert I've ever been to," said one exasperated onlooker, shaking his head for emphasis. "It's just really strange."

  I knew how he felt. Five minutes into Juliana Hatfield's Thursday night set at the Tradewinds, the signs of trouble were already there.

  The band members looked like they'd stoked up on Demerol before taking the stage, sleepwalking through the bombastic opener "What a Life" like they were trying to remember what movies were on pay-per-view back in their hotel room.

  The audience shifted uncomfortably, totally supportive of Hatfield and ready to explode into a frenzy of dance and moshing, if only the band would give them a reason. Unfortunately, they didn't, preferring to run through their set with detached cool and let the vibe slide downhill, like watching a disaster movie in slow motion.

  Thank god for opening act Jeff Buckley. Bouncing onstage midway through Hatfield's set to sing backup on the single "Universal Heartbeat," he concluded his backup duties by diving into the audience, crowd surfing his way to the side of the stage.

  Suddenly, the fans had the burst of energy they needed, and began to loosen up. "You guys are all right," Hatfield finally said after riffing through an earlier hit, "Spin the Bottle." "At first, I had my doubts."

  After that comment, it was obvious; the carrot-topped frontwoman just didn't get it. Earth to Juluana: It wasnt the audience that was sleepwalking on the job, honey-it was you.

  Nothing is more annoying than a band that wants something for nothing, especially when they're onstage. And Hatfield seemed to expect the 1,000 fans packed into the seaside club to explode the minute she picked up her guitar; never mind that they're the ones who actually paid to be there-don't they know who the star is here?

  To be sure, Hatfield's band-now expanded to a four-piece unit with a second guitarist and keyboardis-offered expert backing, roaring through energetic rockers like "Fleur de Lys" and "OK OK" with practiced ease.

  But Hatfield's pretentious vibe-combined with a sound system that chose the worst moments to fritz out-contributed to a tepid show that disappointed many in the crowd, this reviewer included.

  Buckley's set was equally obtuse, kicking off with the ethereal, textured "Mojo Pin," his vibrant voice warbling off the walls like Robert Plant on depressants. Offering a few harder-edge songs along with his current single "Last Goodbye" and a breathtaking version of the sideways groove "So Real," the singer/songwriter seemed to be trying a shot at the Modern Rock God pose.

  But, after a few minutes spent listening to the swirling guitars, tentative percussion and Buckley's trademark falsetto vocals, I found myself wondering where the songs were. No hooks, few consistent melodies and a wandering song structure contributed to the rootless, disconnected feeling his set brought.

  When the formula worked, it was exhilarating experience. But too many times, as with Hatfield's shoe-gazing onstage vibe, you found yourself wondering when the show was actually going to start.

Hatfield puts on full-throttle show in homecoming

The Boston Globe: May 30, 1995

By Steve Morse, GLOBE STAFF

  Juliana Hatfield wasn't joking. When she promised to rock more on this tour, she meant it. She headed in that direction on her new album, "Only Everything," and she steered down a similar high-decibel, guitar-rocking path last night at the sold-out Avalon club, where 1,500 fans caught a full-throttle show that cast aside any notion of her being a shy, innocent waif.

  Some songs needed more melody, and some would have profited from a better vocal mix, but Hatfield could not be accused of taking it easy in her homecoming appearance at the largest club in town. She'll do it again tonight (tickets still remain); and the openers will again be Jeff Buckley (son of famed 60s folkie Tim Buckley) and Bostonians Cold Water Flat, who each had moments of high, if not consistent, intensity.

  Hatfield, a Berklee College of Music graduate by way of Duxbury, has not sold as many records as expected with "Only Everything," which fell to no. 190 on the Billboard charts last week (after seven weeks of release). Acts such as Hatfield and Belly were supposed to be the next big modern-rock success stories (Belly even made the cover of Rolling Stone), but so far it hasn't happened.

  Still, there's no shame in selling out Avalon-and there was no shame in last night's performance. In an anti-fashion statement, Hatfield emerged wearing a basic white t-shirt and bluejeans (looking as if she'd just left an auto body shop), but she played with a slashing drive that prompted some frenzied moshing up front. She said little between songs, but the music said it for her-keenly high-pitched vocals amid dense slabs of her guitar. She was aided by her regular rhythm section-drummer Todd Phillips, bassist Dean Fisher and two fine new members in second guitarist Ed Slanker and keyboardist Lisa Mednick.

  The new musicians helped flesh out the sound, which had a hammer-down energy from the start with "Idols"and "What a Life." Hatfield's girlish voice was overwhelmed at times by the volume, but showed increased power from previous visits. She ignited the mosh pit with "Fleur de Lys" and "Congratulation," with its spat-out line: "I don't know what I like, only what I don't." Deadline pressure made it impossible to catch her entire show, but her continued improvement was obvious.

  Buckley's hour-long set with a four-piece band was filled with extremes; some positive, some not. At tines he sang with far too much arch solemnity, sounding pretentiously like a reedy, cut-rate version of the Doors' Jim Morrison. Buckley was much better when he picked up the tempo on a surprise, punky cover of the MC5's "Kick Out the Jams' and on the radio hit, "Last Goodbye," where he played tasty slide guitar.

  Boston trio Cold Water Flat had many strong moments, though not enough strong songs. Still, singer Paul Janovitz sang with mounting confidence. And the closing "Magnetic North Pole" (the band's radio single) suggested that high potential remains.

Hatfield's slim shoulders carry rock's weight

The Gazette: May 29, 1995

By Mark LePage, GAZETTE ROCK CRITIC

  Playing bigger than you are is as essential to electric rock 'n' roll as Les Pauls, Jack Daniels and making faces while you solo. Why make it a big deal in Juliana Hatfield's case?

  "It's not that big a deal," Hatfield said making reference to a blown cue a few songs into last night's show. The line downplayed her tougher rock direction, even while drawing attention to it.

  Her gender was an issue because ignoring it meant ignoring the voice. Hatfield sings sweetly and sadly, her eccentricity marking her more for a folkie than a rock frontwoman on the surface. Despite the depressive saggy jeans, slack posture and shy curtain of hair, though, her efforts to make a large noise were as obvious as the Les Pauls she slung over her shoulders.

  The opening of the set matched her posture. The house lights remained up for the first song, despite her pointed commentary. Some of the 650 fans had left after Jeff Buckley's emotional thunder-drum of a set, and Hatfield's drummer initially sounded as though he were beating on a ship's hull. Too big. She pushed her voice too hard in parts, reaching for raunch to match the crunch of the sound. Then some guy shouted, "You're beautiful!" and things fell into place.

  "Thank you...No I'm not...You don't know me..." Emotional instability established, Hatfield pulled off her black overshirt, strapped on her black Les Paul, and sang two very different songs about women.

  My Sister, about sibling rivalry, and Supermodel, about the superficiality of beauty, both inspired modest pogoing; more importantly, Hatfield found a space for her expression within the big fat sound. As for the Big Time her tougher direction would seem to point toward, she isn't ready and probably isn't that interested, either.

  Buckley had already exhausted most of the fans with an opening set that thought it was a headline gig. "It's artistic, but it still rocks."

  The manner in which he rode the volcanic dynamics of his music with his sensual purge, wail and caress of a voice indicated the comment was not in any way intended as an apology.

Buckley bucks the trend

The Cincinnati Enquirer: May 26, 1995

By Karen Bells, The Cincinnati Enquirer

 Singer's stunning performance overshadows headliner Hatfield

  Sometimes the appetizer is so scrumptious that even a fine main course tastes ordinary.

  Juliana Hatfield was that picked-at entree Wednesday night at Bogart's, pleasing but never quite filling an audience stuffed on opener Jeff Buckley.

  Hatfield knew what she was up against: As soon as she took the stage she acknowledged, "He's a tough act to follow."

  And so he is. You would have thought it was a dentist's office with all the mouths hanging open in the crowd. Buckley's voice is a stunner, a wonderous instrument-he takes a note, rolls it around in his mouth, makes it dance and hurt and perform a series of stunts.

  He served haunting versions of several cuts from his debut album, Grace. On "So Real," "Mojo Pin," the title track, and alterna-favorite "Last Goodbye," his guitar work was imppressive-but it's the voice that clutches you. For once, the hype is true: This is Van Morrison/Billie Holiday-size talent.

  A withering cover of the MC5 classic "Kick Out the Jams" showed the band's chops. But the showstopper was Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah," delivered as though salvation depended on it.

  Where to go after that? Hatfield laid down almost two hours of likeable licks-18 short, sweet rocker. Many of the songs from her latest, Only Everything-especially "Dying Proof" and "OK OK"-revealed a harder edge, and she wears her newfound love of distortion well.

  But Hatfield earned her reputation as a crafter of clever pop tunes, and she delivered the goods with catchy versions of "My Sister," "Supermodel" and "Spin the Bottle"-all from 1993's Become What You Are-and current hyper-rotation hit "Universal Heart-Beat." Her sugary voice serves such songs well, and Only Everything's "My Darling" and "Fleur de Lys" showcase that pretty, feathery quality.

  But the delicate voice at times was grating, and I occasionally wished it had the power and grit of the band's playing (which included former Juliana Hatfield Three members Dean Fisher on bass and Todd Philips on drums). I got my wish when she ripped through the dark "Nirvana," from Hatfield's 1992 Hey Babe as well as her old Blake Babies days.

  The capacity crowd of 1,400 thinned out a little by the end (dozens split after Buckley's performance), but Hatfield still got an enthusiastic encore call.

  The audience was rewarded: Her solo cover of the Jayhawks' "Blue" was an unusual treat and worth the wait.

Jeff Buckley leads; Juliana Hatfield follows

The Philadelphia Inquirer: May 22, 1995

By Dan DeLuca, INQUIRER STAFF WRITER

Bad career move, Ms. Hatfield.

  At the Trocadero Saturday, Jeff Buckley opened for Juliana Hatfield. The Chinatown theater was sold out, and though there were Buckley loyalists in the 21-and-over balcony, Hatfield was the draw. But if people came to see the alterna-tomboy most likely to succeed, they left talking about the waifish opener with the luminous voice and charisma out the wazoo.

  In terms of a supporting act blowing the headliner off the stage, this may not have been quite as extreme as, say, Bruce Springsteen opening for Anne Murray. But though Hatfield's squeaky-voiced performance would have cone across as mildly engaging under normal circumstances, her 80-minute set seemed pedestrian and too long by half after Buckley ravaged the room.

  Hatfield has a way with a gritty guitar riff and a slyly put-together pop tune that speaks well the language of adolescent angst. But neither of her major label albums-Only Everything  (Mammoth/Atlantic) is the latest-has delivered on the promise of her 1992 solo debut Hey Babe. And at the Troc, she knew she knew she was in trouble. "That Jeff Buckley Band is a tough act to follow."

  You can say that again. Buckley possesses a gloriously lush vocal attack and a gamin-like presence that's full of surprises (And humor: "Yeah, I know, I know: sit-ups," he said, standing at the mike with a shirt open to the waist.) But mostly, he's got a whole lot of nerve. He started off the ready-to-mosh crowd with a wordless, whispered incantation, then built ever so slowly to the bombast of "Dream Brother." And he controlled the ebb and flow masterfully, with a rip-roaring version of the MC5's "Kick Out the Jams" and the full now-hushed, now-raging range of last year's Grace (Columbia).

  By the time he left the crowd pleading for an encore that never came with "Last Goodbye," it was clear that Hatfield didn't have a prayer.

Rock meets funk-rap in adventurous double bill

Star Tribune: May 13, 1995

By Jim Meyer

  Romantic rocker Jeff Buckley and funk-rap foursome Soul Coughing tested the boundaries of modern rock in their own distinct fashions Friday night at First Avenue. The new acts from New York amazed a near capacity crowd in very different ways, pitting pomposity against the ultramodern in an action-packed double bill.

  In the end, it was clearly Jeff Buckley who had the greater reach in his 90-minute journey, but many patrons who left after Soul Coughing's opening set of rockin' rap may disagree.

  It's understandable that Soul Coughing (the name is a more colorful term for vomiting) would have the popular edge, because they have the look and sound of a commercial trend-spotter's dream band. They take a fat, jazzy upright bass groove and strengthen it with a tough kick-drum beat for added snap. They throw in an inscrutable social commentary by a geeky rapper who steals his delivery straight from the how-to book of basic hip-hop style. Once you add a keyboard player/sample manipulator for that modern edge, you've got a band with loads of hipster credibility.

  Unfortunately, you don't have a whole lot more. Though the group has cooked up something intriguing, the frustrations are many.

  Leader M. Doughty uses a monotonous whiny style to deliver fragmented lyrics that make almost no sense. Take "Casiotone Nation," a safe, snide, anticorporate mockery in which Doughty coaxes the audience to count to 100 by five. Absurd theater indeed, but like much of their material, it lacks for overpowering conviction. Further infuriating is that the bass-heavy groove on their album "Ruby Vroom" just doesn't move live. Instead, the rhythm section lays out for Doughty's limited and unilluminating rambles.

  Perhaps Soul Coughing doesn't need to comment explicitly. The group's existence and growing popularity is its own ingenious statement on hiw a soul-starved mass audience will gravitate and even devour reconstituted funk, if it's in a language it can understand, or at least comfortably ignore.

  If Friday's audience was looking for more genuine soulfulness, they could find it in the classic rock reinventions of the Jeff Buckley quartet, which brings back visions of such innovators as Led Zeppelin and the Doors. They even performed the MC5's anthem "Kick out the Jams," and Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" in their spiraling set.

  Buckley carries a heavy burden as the son of jazz-folk legend Tim Buckley. Whether he accepts it or not, he has inherited a few of his father's traits: a clear, soaring voice and expansive, uncompromising musical vision. That helped make Buckkey's debut album "Grace" a critics' delight.

  In soothing contrast to Soul Coughing's jerky jams, Buckley opened his show by calmly strumming the opening chords of the Indian-influenced "Dream Brother." It's the last song on Buckley's album full of mini-epics-a collection unlike anything else among the current crop of new acts.

  Buckley may have overstayed his welcome by encoring with a new instrumental and "Kanga Roo" by Big Star, but it is apparent that he doesn't do anything halfway. And whereas Soul Coughing may have trouble withstanding the next trend, Buckley looks like an artist who won't be leaving the scene anytime soon.

Jim Meyer is a music columnist for City Pages.

Jeff Buckley, Astoria 2

The Guardian: January 21, 1995

By Caroline Sullivan

  WHEN Jeff Buckley's debut album, Grace, was released last year, it received ferocious acclaim and spawned a resurgence of interest in Jeff's folk-singing father Tim. Had the elder Buckley not overdosed on drugs in 1975, aged 28, he might have been glumly amused that his progeny is already more commercially successful than he ever was. Touring Britain for the second time in four months, Jeff pulled a full house that screamed as if he were Take That.

  Mind you, the fans were almost as enthusiastic about support band Bettie Serveert, an ascending Dutch indie act of no great distinction. Buckley's music actually isn't all that different from Serveert's melodic, unfussy pop-rock, though Buckley also has blues and Led Zeppeloid heavy metal in his repertoire. But where Serveert are mousy, Jeff is a natural whose every quaver emanates star quality.

  In checked flannel shirt and pensionable jeans, he looked like Everyslacker, but after a bashful, "Gee, uh, glad to be back with you guys," he was transformed into a Bronte-like romantic troubadour. His eyes closed, his high volume ululated in its unique way and his entire body quivered. "I was so real! REAL!" he wailed, hacking at a guitar to keep his hands occuppied during this outpouring of emotion. It was as if Jim Morrison and Iggy Pop had met in the detox ward.

  Buckley was at fever pitch for over an hour, building songs slowly to explosive crescendos. During a power-chord jamboree called Eternal Life, he threw his malfunctioning guitar to the floor in rage, grabbed another and shoved onward. It was spellbinding. By the time he got to a simmering a cappella blues, What Will You Say When You See My Face?, the crowd was virtually silent with awe.

  If Buckley were to change one thing, it should be his habit of howling at the climax of every song. It's just a bit too much of a good thing, the last thing this lily needs is gilding.

Electric Lounge review

Austin American Statesman: December 8, 1994

By Don McLeese, music

  TUESDAY: After Jeff Buckley's previous visits to the Cactus Cafe and Chicago House, his performance at the Electric Lounge was his first at an Austin rock club and first since the release of his amazing Grace album. His opening was a stunner, a sensual tone poem of atmospheric drone and butterfly vocal swoops, offered as extended foreplay for the multiorgasmic crescendos of Mojo Pin. Rapturously romantic, Buckley plainly aspires to a transcendence beyond words, riffs or musical progression.

  For all the boundless ambition of his artistry, the material that he borrows on Grace (from Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah to the seductive standard Lilac Wine) is generally stronger than his own. While he's likely to develop more craft in his writing-and push beyond the Zeppelin homage of so much of his band's dynamics-he'll have trouble matching the intensity of these formative performances in the close confines of clubs such as the Electric Lounge.

  The slow build and soft sell through which Columbia Records is marketing Buckley suggests a career commitment, a recognition of a popular potential that is as impressive as his vocal range. When he gets where he's going, those who saw an early show such as this will remember it as a blessed event.

In concert, Buckley falls from "Grace"

Fort Worth Star Telegram: December 2, 1994

By Dave Ferman FORT WORTH STAR TELEGRAM 

  DALLAS-As a recording artist, Jeff Buckley is a young man to watch.

  His songs, which alternately shimmer and slam while mixing folk, hard rock and psychedelia, are are led by a voice that can go from delicate expressiveness to a yowl worthy of Robert Plant to keening operatic falsetto.

  His full-length debut, Grace, seduces and suggests, invites the listener in, leaves one to wonder where this odd, vulnerable little guy came from.

  As a live performer, though, Buckley (son of '60s folkie Tim Buckley) still has a long way to go. His Wednesday show before a small crowd at the Deep Ellum bar 21st Ammendment contained some of the allure of Grace-but not nearly enough.

  The trouble lies with both the material-which frequently goes from a delicate opening  (often with Buckley moaning wordlessly) to a steady hard rock and then back down to mellowness again-and with Buckley's rather introverted stage persona. He mumbles. Or tunes up endlessly. Or says nothing. Or tries to do a Don Kirshner impression but quickly gives up.

  The live interpretations  of his material were often indistinct and a bit shapeless. The evening started out promisingly enough, with Mojo Pin, but things quickly went flat. Not only does much of Buckley's stuff sound pressed from the same mold, but his voice, so intriguing on CD, was just not up to the size of even the rather intimate club, and the songs lost their lyrical punch.

  Also, Buckley and his nondescript backing band (bassist Mick Grondahl, drummer Matt Johnson, second guitarist Michael Tighe) often could not match the nuances and dynamics achieved on CD; one notable exception was a long, evocative version of Last Goodbye.

  What we were usually left with, basically, was a lot of songs that sounded similar performed by a guy who appears distinctly distracted and ill-at-ease. Buckley is a promising perfomer, but unless things change radically, it's preferable to stay home and listen to Grace-and whatever else he'll release-rather than going to see him live.

Jeff Buckley Brings Greatness To Sheldon

St. Louis Post Dispatch: November 6, 1994

By Brian Q. Newcomb

  Occasionally, one encounters an artist so fresh and unusual that even a less than completely satisfying performance leaves one with the strong conviction that you were in the presence of greatness. Such a voice is Jeff Buckley's; such a night was Friday at the Sheldon Ballroom.

  The Sheldon's top floor was set up with tables and chairs to give Buckley's performance more of a cabaret vibe. But technical difficulties, a dissatisfying mix and long lulls between songs diminished the desired effect.

  Buckley and his able backing band, especially on the opening pair from his Columbia Records debut, "Mojo Pin" and "So Real," came across with power and finesse.

  While technical difficulties persisted, the band muscled through "Last Goodbye" and "Dream Brother," but cranked up "Eternal Life" beyond the album version to a full-on tribute to Led Zeppelin. Buckley's high vocals moved beyond imitation of Robert Plant into territory heretofore unchronicled.

  In contrast, the quiet "Lilac Wine" was served up next drawing the audience into the intricacies and depth of Buckley's pseudo-falsetto vocalese. That was followed with a longish a cappella rendering that had the house leaning forward to hear him in the hush. At once spellbinding, yet mildly pretentious, Buckley was deeply affecting.

  "Lover You Should've Come Over" closed the set, and Buckley was eventually coaxed back by the applause to play the title track of his debut, "Grace." Here, as often before, the guitar parts were insinuating and effective, laying the grounding for even the most ethereal exploration of Buckley's voice.

  One walked away, not wanting more, but wanting another, altogether different opportunity to hear this uniquely talented singer.

  Brenda Kahn's abbreviated opening set was similarly affecting. Her lyrics held the key to the meaning of her music. The hard rocking "Reconcile" came across well, but a spoken word rant with the oft-repeated phrase "I wanted the apple in his mouth," ended up being far more humorous than intended.

Jeff Buckley mesmerizes with audacious style

The Boston Globe: October 25, 1994

By Paul Robicheau SPECIAL TO THE GLOBE

Music Review: Jeff Buckley with Brenda Kahn 

At: The Charles Playhouse, last night

  "His songs are exquisitely controlled: quiet, complex mosaics of powerful, electric sound...The voice-crisp, full of strength and character-can soar, yet remain tender and delicate." So read the jacket to Tim Buckley's 1966 debut. The same could be said of "Grace," the first album from his son Jeff. The younger Buckley doesn't sound very much like his father, but he shares his eccentric spirit, and isn't looking back.

  Jeff Buckley mesmerized an an audience of 350 at the Charles Playhouse last night, opening a national tour with a stunning set that proved just how audacious, fragile and original he is. Stylistically, it comes as no surprise that the first album Buckley owned was Led Zeppelin's "Physical Graffiti." But from that base, he wove visceral dynamics with a grunge-like passion and tightrope control, not only in luminous guitar timbres, but a quavering falsetto that was only more commanding in concert.

  Looking a bit disheveled in an untucked flannel shirt with dangling key ring, Buckley wasted no time in reaching powerful extremes with opener "Mojo Pin" (which exploded out of a Hare Kirshna-like moan) and "So Real," the one song for which he chose an acoustic guitar-only to rub it into his amp for a feedback solo.

  But it was the New York-based artist's malleable voice that impressed most. At times Buckley suggested Freddie Mercury as an avant-garde garage rocker, his falsetto weaving like a dragonfly in Nina Simone's "Lilac Tree," Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" (a solo final encore where one could hear a pin drop) and a daring a cappella ad-lib where he lived a lifetime alone in the line "Nobody knows how deep my love for you really goes."

  Buckley's arrangements had an eerie sliding quality with a raw punch around the corner in songs like "Last Goodbye," and both were expertly shadowed by his three-piece band. "Dream Brother" began with drummer Matt Johnson tapping his snare like a tabla before bursting into a full-bore release, with Buckley rearing his head and flourishing through power chords.

  But just as Buckley could build a song to a banshee wail (as he did in "Grace," displaying angst when he dropped his pick and lashed into the chords with his thumb, breaking a string), he could caress a tender thought like those in "Lover, You Should've Come Over." This night showed the growth of a talent.

  Brenda Kahn, another streetwise New Yorker, also tested a new band and songs from an upcoming second album. She came off like a female Lou Reed in "She's A Yellow Sun," and engaged in a street poem which kept pausing on the line "I don't want the apple in his mouth." But her singing had an annoying quality; she was overmatched in voice and originality on this night.

Club Soda Review

The Gazette: October 27, 1994

By Mark LePage, Rock Talk

  Even in pop music, there are rules. Jeff Buckley broke a lot of them Tuesday night.

  The New York singer introduced himself to the Club Soda curious with a shimmering guitar figure and a wordless, undulating moan of a vocal, instantly confronting the crowd with two options: sit in enraptured fascination, or burst out laughing.

  They chose one from column A. Buckley dared the crowd to be embarrassed by his performance, so intimate he should wear a condom when he sings. Lifting freely and citing everything from Robert Plant and Billie Holiday to arabic music and the Doors, he showed off a fearless falsetto guaranteed to moisten most in attendance.

  Halfway through the spiralling melismas of Grace, patrons had made their choice. Most wanted to bed him, female or male. A few wanted to smack him one.

  Buckley's heroic vulnerability, his band's open-ended dramalogues and the emotional ornamentation of his singing did challenge the conventions of performance, the wall between performer and audience. His sensitivity, the fan would charge, is what will put off the flint-hearted. Maybe...but there are rules to performance, and one of them is discipline.

  Buckley's gushing presence communicates powerfully, but his lack of boundaries set off a few Pretension Police alarms. Undeniably, he got people talking, and will be back. Then he'll be a star. Hopefully he will indulge himself less; his talent doesn't need it.

Jeff Buckley: The Garage, London

The Gaurdian: September 5, 1994

By Andrew Smith

  As Jeff Buckley ambled lugubriously on to the stage, the faces of pretty much everyone in the capacity crowd betrayed the same thought-"How much he looks like his father!"

  Dad was Tim Buckley, who, although never rising above cult status in his lifetime, has, since his his death from a drug overdose in 1975, come to assume a mythic status in the annals of pop. His greatest legacy, the achingly beautiful Song To The Siren, which was introduced to a new generation by the Cocteau Twins in 1984 and has been covered by many others since, is widely regarded as one of the finest pop songs ever written.

  For a young singer and song writer such as Jeff, having to live with the Buckley name must at times seem a terrible burden. The surprise is that he appears able to pull the performing off so comfortably. His debut LP, the aptly titled Grace, is a consummate work, evincing a maturity and poise that Jeff's tender years really give him no right to possess.

  In a live setting, though, it is his extraordinary voice that impresses you first. It's reminiscent of Doors singer Jim Morrison in the lower registers, and it rises to the kind of liquid, slightly tremulous, falsetto that made Billie Holiday famous. The truth is that you don't get many of these to the pound. Backed by a traditional bass-drums-guitar line-up, Buckley makes good use of this God-given voice.

  Most of the songs are love songs, reflective and melancholic in tone, often rising to impassioned, Piafesque climaxes-the kind of thing that generally seems crude in the hands of rock performers. But there is nothing crude in the way Buckley sings. Only once, during the encore, an excessively long, free-form reading of the Big Star classic, Kangaroo, was there any hint of indulgence. Even here, if one stuck with it, there were pearls to be plucked. Anyway you listen to it, Jeff Buckley is an exciting and unexpected find.

Reading Reviews

Melody Maker: September 3, 1994

Something's gotta give and Jeff Buckley gives it in loads. "Grace" is much rawer than usual, "Kangaroo" is simply lust-crazed. "When I first saw you"-he sounds almost disgusted with himself-"you had on blue jeans." He spits out the line as if blue jeans were the utmost in degradation. I swear the sky's turning red and molten electricity is swirling around our ears. And is that really Liz Fraser jumping up and down in the front row or am I finally succumbing to Festivalitis? I dunno, my hangover's turned into nervous exhaustion, someone's given me a strange pill and there's a champagne cork popping inside my stomach.

***

The Observer: September 4, 1994

By Sam Taylor

  The highlight of the weekend was, by some distance, Jeff Buckley, a 23-year-old New Yorker, whose father was cult icon Tim Buckley. Buckley Sr is remembered for his wonderous voice, angelic looks and premature death (at 28, of a drug overdose); as a result of the latter, Jeff barely knew him and is understandably tight-lipped about the astonishing genetic inheritance of That Voice.

  Buckley Jr's talent is still raw, and he and his accomplished three-piece band have an occasional tendency to over-indulge, but it's a minor criticism of a hugely impressive performance. His songs are structurally complex but harrowingly direct in terms of mood, combining the blues-rock drive of Led Zeppelin with the free-flowing emotionalism of Van Morrison's early masterpiece Astral Weeks. His lyrics are less amazing than Morrison's, but it hardly matters as they are carried above all meaning on his incredible heartbreaking wail.

Buckley the Younger

The Philadelphia Inquirer: March 1, 1994

By Dan DeLuca

  Jeff Buckley, son of the late singer-songwriter Tim Buckley, was in town last Wednesday for a couple of intimate solo gigs to promote his four-song EP, Live at Sin-e (Columbia). First Buckley, whose ecstatic singing voice is equal parts his father and Robert Plant, did 20 minutes at a Sony Artists Forum at J.C. Dobbs. Later, he played a full, free show at a packed Grape Street Pub in Manayunk.

  Chris Dowd-a member of the ska/funk/thrash band Fishbone and a former roomate of Buckley's-dropped in to see his pal at Dobbs, left to play with his own band at the Trocadero, and later joined Buckley on stage at Grape Street.

Jeff Buckley Glimpsed

The Boston Globe: February 25, 1994
By Steve Morse: GLOBE STAFF

  Highly touted singer-songwriter Jeff Buckley-the son of noted '60s folk-poet Tim Buckley-played three local club shows last week. I caught him at the Plough & Stars and was impressed only in parts. He sings with raw, untrammeled emotion, but many of his songs meander indulgently and suffered from a generic tortured-artist syndrome.

Buckley's Exotic, Tasty Brew

New York Daily News: December 19, 1994

By Jim Farber, Daily News Staff Writer

  ROCK 'N' ROLL HAS never been big on improvisational singing. When it comes to free-form soloing, the guitar largely commands center stage.

  Not so in the music of Jeff Buckley. At his Irving Plaza show Saturday, Buckley let his voice roam over notes, and dance up scales, with the exploration of a jazz singer.

  During elaborate passages, Buckley brought his three-piece band to a halt while he ventured down a cappella alleys, gracefully taking the listener further and further out there.

  You couldn't blame some listeners for not wanting to follow. Live, as on record, Buckley proved to be an aquired taste. He's the musical equivalent of anchovies-either you crave them or run from their very mention.

  In Buckley's case, his music contains several ingredients that can trip listeners up: wild tempo changes, unusual keys, and his intensely dramatic vibrato. When Buckley sings, his voice shivers with emotion, fluttering into a falsetto you can find either overwrought or enchanting.

  Live, Buckley pushed his instrument to its limit. Many songs from his debut LP, "Grace," stretched on for 8-10 minutes; his encore lasted 15. Still, in both haunting songs like "Lilac Wine," and raging ones like "Eternal Life," Buckley gave his improvisations momentum.

  It worked best in "Mojo Pin." Here Buckley's vocal flourishes alluded to a remarkable range of singers-from Billie Holiday to the late avant-garde vocalist Klaus Nomi. True, at his most affected Buckley could sound like Tiny Tim, but more often he came closer to Robert Plant, while retaining his own style.

  Like Plant, Buckley's music draws heavily on folk-rock and Arabic influences. But his most striking live piece anchored itself on the blues. In "Lover, You Should Have Come Over," the performer showed his greatest talents, to combine operatic vocals with firm songwriting hooks. The result may not be the easiest thing to get into. But once you do, you may have trouble getting back out.

Austin American Statesman

February 8, 1994

By Don McLeese

  Three songs into Friday's set, the man leaned over the bar at the Cactus Cafe (a guy who sees more singer-songwriters in a year than I'd wish on anyone in a lifetime) and said, "I don't get it." Jeff Buckley was in the midst of another out-of-body vocal progression-wordless transport, in which the sound of his keening tenor seemed to have a soul of its own-which would soon resolve itself into one of his impressionistic, off-kilter, out-of-focus songs.

  While the performance made plenty of converts among the curious full house at the Cactus-where Buckley made his Austin debut opening for Alejandro Escovedo-there were predictable pockets of resistance. First off, his arrival in town was preceded by some glowing national raves: "Very few young musicians have arrived on the New York scene with the impact of Jeff Buckley," says a five-page feature in the new Musician, while a live review in the current Rolling Stone gushes, "Jeff Buckley can get away with anything."

  Such notice is heady stuff for an artist who has yet to release a full-length album, but it also suggests the sort of flavor-of-the-month fashionability to which Austin is so determinedly resistant. Beyond that, Buckley (who also played Chicago House on Saturday) comes from a very different strain than the Austin school of singer-songwriting, where a certain amount of verbal agility and deadpan cleverness can excuse a lack of musical innovation. Working within tight, traditional strictures, few Austin wordsmiths pay much attention to melodic invention when it's so easy to borrow a tune. The results are as durable and comfortable as a flannel shirt, but too rarely do they startle in the manner that Buckley's performance did.

  In Buckley's music, the risks demand a leap of faith, an immersion into that stream of subconsciousness where whatever the songs mean is less important than how they feel. With his vocal tremble and corrosively metal-edged guitar, he offered bracing contrasts, brittle juxtapositions, a rapturous romanticism that was as nakedly vulnerable as open-heart surgery.

  Though the 26-year-old son of the late Tim Buckley has the intensity and acrobatic vocal range of his father, he has more often drawn comparison with the Van Morrison of Astral Weeks (whose Sweet Thing climaxed Buckley's Cactus performance) and the Robert Plant of Led Zeppelin III. The crucial difference is that where the young Plant always sounded so full of himself, Buckley seems to lose himself when he sings, while pushing his music into areas where he isn't quite sure what he'll find. 

Jeff Buckley: Without Tears Or Irony

The Space Age Bachelor: Issue 4, Winter/Spring 1995 (released Dec. 94)

By Jason Anderson

Submitted by Steven

  All of the press has been written (well, almost all of it) and the Jeff Buckley Hype Machine has settled down after a year of frenzied activity. And although it's been rightly acclaimed, Jeff Buckley's Grace (Columbia/Sony) doesn't quite reach the heights it promised, largely because it was recorded prematurely, when Jeff Buckley's band was just weeks old. As anyone who's seen Jeff with his full rock warrior ensemble since (even if the other guys seem to have drafted in order to pump up the collective cute factor), that inexperience is nowhere to be found onstage. The swoops from angelic ecstasies to monstous guitar damage that sometimes sound strained on Grace are now pure magic. The guy's so golden it's scary.

  The glazed eyes and expressions of reverence among the largely college-aged audience at a late October gig in a church in Toronto proved the point. Clearly, Buckley's becoming the object of the attentions of all the youths who feel cheated over missing the '60s, for better or worse.

  I envy his talent but I don't envy his position. Jeff Buckley has had to grow up in public over a year of other people's expectations, of journalists either mentioning or not mentioning the legacy of his space-folkie dad Tim (thereby heaping the hopes of Buckley Sr.'s audience on poor Jeff's shoulders), of the prerequisite Rolling Stone piece that reeked of condescension. But Buckley has gained something-an understanding of how NOT to become just another product.

  In a phone interview from New York, he says he's reacted to the big Jeff Buckley Sell with "equal parts apprehension and the most sophisticated humor that I can dredge up. For one thing, it's not a good time to be asleep about it. I have to ask myself, 'How do you deal with this and still be honest?'"

  It's a sediment I recently heard echoed by director John Waters-he claimed to be done with kitch since his trash is now mainstream. The burning question for both Waters and Buckley is now that everything's hip, how do you convince people you're being honest? How do you say, "This is what it is," and have them believe you?

  "That's an act of defiance now, to say 'I'm not kidding,'" says Buckley. "What I love about John Waters' films is that he he's just being honest, I think he's got the most unfortunate existence now. People say, 'Oh well, he's just doing established trash circa Russ Meyers, ect.,' or, 'Oh, he's got the death angle now. That's genius.' Rather than this being an honest expression. We're spoiled on this because we're the TV generation.

  "Did you see Natural Born Killers?" Buckley asks. "Eloquent, that's the only word for it. I don't own a TV, but Monique, my good friend's wife, does and I wanted to throw it out the window after seeing it. It's about people in the world who live their lives according to pure fiction. And TV is fiction, even the news. But what you don't taste, you don't know-you have no real experience of anything. That's the deficit. People say that our culture is wack, and why is is that? Because you don't do anything yourself."

  And one reason why Buckley has stirred up such excitement is because he is doing it himself, in the tradition of the musical ARTIST. And onstage, he's at his most beautiful when he isn't something someone down the line can drop into a high-concept project-he's beautiful when he just IS.

  "I do try to be things sometimes," Buckley says. "I try to be a hero or a lover or some impenetrable jewel boy or even ugly. But most times, I wanna speak my heart, just like John Waters does," he says. "John Waters' heart just happened to be vinyl."

At Dobbs, Jeff Buckley fulfills expectations

 The Philadelphia Inquirer: December 15, 1994

Review: Music
By Sam Wood FOR THE INQUIRER

  Not since Nirvana and Pearl Jam played their first Philadelphia gigs has the local buzz for a rock act been as strong as it was for Jeff Buckley, who made his area debut at J.C. Dobbs on Tuesday.

  He's a rare alternative-rocker with an appreciation for pop history-both distant and recent. During his riveting, hour-long set at Dobbs (the same venue that brought Nirvana to town), the sound of the classics collided with the contemporary as echoes of Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin merged with those of the Smiths and the Cocteau Twins.

  Rather than sink into the quagmire of doubt, cynicism and nihilism that has come to define "modern rock" lyrics, Buckley reaches heavenward in search of a mystical union with the divine through rock and roll. The themes of grace, love, faith and redemption run through his debut Grace (Columbia), and all were apparent during his show.

  Backed by an exceptionally complimentary band, Buckley built his songs slowly and with care, beginning each with a subterranean whisper, raising his tenor to a gruff, earthy shout, then taking it into the realm of otherworldly falsetto. He conjured up Robert Plant in the throes of ecstasy-stretching out quavering syllables and repeating phrases as if they were his mantra.

  His treatment of Morgana King's "Lilac Wine" made the blues ballad sound as if it had been retrieved from a velvety dream. And "Have You Seen My Face," co-written by Fishbone's Chris Dowd, and Buckley's own "Eternal Life" erupted into passionate epics that rival the best work of Pearl Jam.

  Buckley is one intense guy. But with side-splitting impersonations of GWAR and Rush's Geddy Lee, he showed that he has a sense of humor to go with his thematic gravity.

Jeffrey Charmer

Select: March, 1995

By Gina Morris

Submitted by Ananula

Jeff Buckley, Bristol Fleece & Firkin: son-of-who-cares materializes as a celestial whore...

  At a glance, this could easily be 1969. There are several large, old, bearded hippies standing at the bar, mumbling and smoking fat roll-ups. Some five feet away, two long-haired women in flowing, floral-patterned smocks quaff lively halves of cider. Onstage, a lithe young man with a chiseled face, thick eyebrows and long ruffled wavy hair is attempting to play his own style of folk-rock music...it isn't quite going to plan.

  "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." Stroppily, the youth picks up yet another guitar, which eventually slides out of tune like the others. He loses patience, throws it back and grabs another. Catching sight of the hundreds of anxious, horrified faces before him, he presses his lips to the microphone, smiles wryly and turns on his best Beavis and Butthead voice. "Y'know, this sucks in a way it's never sucked before...so it's still kinda cool."

  Aside from those drawn here to ascertain if the fruits of Tim Buckley's loins are as brilliant as his cruelly curtailed career was, the majority have come to watch Jeff Buckley, son-of-who-cares. He's now in the middle of his first proper average-sized UK tour, and every night is sold out. You can forget your Julian Lennons and Ziggy Marleys, Jeff Buckley is a marketing man's wet dream in his own right; with undeniable good looks, a perky sense of humor, genius guitar playing (often simultaneous lead and rhythm, widdly fans) and a screeching voice like some celestial whore.

  Tonight, tthough, he's up against appalling sound, unbearable slow-bake heat and an un-rock-worthy 10:30 pm curfew. Worse, there are rumors that he's losing his voice. Any half-pelt untogetherness would be understandable, but his years spent touring ruthless, seedy New York backstreet clubs as a solo artist, make his current afflictions trifling in comparison. It makes you wonder how the barflies reacted to his passionate, 20-minute freeform falsetto warbling (something he does much less of these days). No doubt his boundless charm spared him too many beatings. Now, with a proper, steely band behind him, he's less unnervingly intense-bordering-on-uncomfortable. He rocks. In fact, the once spectacularly grungy "Eternal Life" is now a thrash/punk onslaught worthy, almost, of Black Sabbath. The fairly funky "Grace" has also been given a rather severe haircut and a pair of skin-tight leather strides.

  Although apparently not as frantic as last night's Dublin gig, when even the oldsters at the bar were screaming "we love you, we fucking love you" and Jeff ended the set by stagediving and disappearing for several hours, people are still shouting for the song that has him at his very best. Saved, of course, for last, he encores with his acoustic, solo and completely overwhelming cover of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah."

  All over and and finally spent, Jeff Buckley stands before the shrieking mass, removes his shirt and hurls it into the crowd, eyeing it as it's ripped to pieces. He gently, reassuringly, strokes his unscathed naked torso and strolls offstage.

Guitarist Buckley And Band Mesmerize S.L. Crowd

Deseret News: November 14, 1994
By Scott Iwasaki

Submitted by Steven

  Jeff Buckley brought 11/2 hours of mesmerizing emotional fire to the Zephyr Club Sunday night.
  During the show, Buckley pulled a kaleidoscope of sounds from his guitar as his band, guitarist Michael Tighe, bassist Mick Grondahl and drummer Matt Johnson, created an outline to the sometimes formless, but spellbinding music. Beginning the set with "Mojo Pin," Buckley thoughtfully strummed his guitar with which he blended his rich, soothing tenor. The song blossomed into a Led Zeppelin-esque arrangement with sporadic pops, chords and basslines.
  The free-rocking beat of "Grace," the title of Buckley's debut, highlighted his voice, which occasionally exploded into sweet bursts of intensities.
  Dreamlike images of the afterlife came alive with "So Real" as the band, playing to the audience's inner soul, shot out dynamic power chords juxtaposed to Buckley's nearly soundless strumming.
  And before the concert slipped into monotony, Buckley craftily chugged out some spine-tingling friction chords and managed to intertwine his voice with the arrangement's most obscure notes, highlighting them as he did.
  He serenaded the audience with the ambling voiceline of "Lilac Wine," which featured Tighe's violin-like slide guitar. Each note was precisely set within the arrangement and corralled the moving sounds.
  Buckley then strummed the sitar-sounding introduction to "Dream Brother." During this song, the shaman in Buckley appeared. He led his band into dynamic climaxes and brought it down to slow-motion chords with every step and beat of the song.
  Buckley rested and allowed the audience to gather its senses before pouring out his soul into another creative musical essay, "Eternal Life." The song's groovy beat had people dancing on the floor and moving in their seats. Buckley, looking like a frail puppy, closed his eyes and seemed to drift with the music.
  He stopped abruptly during the introduction to the heartbreaking ballad "Lover, You Should've Come Over" when a fan, standing too close to the stage, fell into the microphone almost spilling his drink.
  "If that spilled on the electrical equipment, I would've fried, become a legend and then a genius," he laughed. "But it's OK."
  With that he restarted "Lover" and serenaded the audience once more with his soaring clear voice. Each time he began to play, a hush fell over the crowd. And he awarded it with dramatic dynamics and splendid musicianship.
  Opening for Buckley was guitarist/singer Brenda Khan. Her moody, guitar-enchanced set featured beatlike philosophies spotlighted in the songs "Lie" and "Happy New Year's Day."
  Buckley's and Khan's shyness emerged during the song breaks. They talked uneasily to the audience and occasionally stumbled as they did. But when they performed, the shyness died and their artistical spirits awoke.

Barrister's Reviews, Part 2

 

Submitted by Steven

Subject: JBEL: last night's show at barristers'

Date: Tue, 29 Apr 1997 19:31:14 -0400

From: audreyroofeh<ar5331a@american.edu>

Organization:American University

To: jeff-buckley-eternal-life@mail.usyd.edu.au

  to put it simply-go. there are a million details (if you go-take note that barristers' is not on jefferson and second, but on the alley behind 147 jefferson) but i'll say that the show was unbelievable.

  JB showed up around 9:30, i think, and at the time there were maybe 50/60 something people there. it's a small dive, and i think it could hold 100 people. the opening band, and the band that followed were both poor, and it was too bad that JB's show was short because of them.

  i don't know what time he went on, but it was simply arranged. small stage, jeff stood out of the path of the lights, completely in the shadows, just his guitar and a glass of wine. his presence is strong but he's a small man-maybe 5'9". he spoke a little in our general direction, and i don't know all he played. he looked sad. one song he performed, i don't know the title but it had lines like "don't tell her that i miss her...if she's in town, tell her to look me up, i'm not a hard man to find..." when he was finished, he stepped back into the shine of the lights, and you could see his tears. there was So Real, Last Goodbye, (even better than you could imagine) The Sky Is A Landfill, Morning Theft, a couple others, and then he attempted to say that his set was over. we screamed for him to stay, so he asked what we wanted to hear. some of us yelled "Lover You Should Have Come Over!" and he said "you got it." it was a loooong intro, but when he began it was mesmerizing. every line pulled at my heartstrings, and it easily made me dizzy. it's a twisted thing to "appreciate" his music, when it so obviously was excruciating for him to write it (i asked, and he said that it doesn't make him sad anymore). someone hurt this man-bad. his eyes were clamped shut and it looked as if he was PURGING the song from his soul. i cried at it, and i felt weak during it. i have never seen a more moving performance of any sort than this rendition of lover. when it was over, there was a streak down his cheeks. he continued to play, some song, i don't know which. then it was over.

  i am sure i am missing details, and i know that efia has a story, once she get's back to georgia, and i know there are others.

  there were some rumors that this wasn't to be the last show, and i asked jeff if he was playing in may and he said yes. then some more details...margaux and i stayed for the last band...weird. on our way out, i ran into  a  guy, sam, who works at barristers', and, looking like a little kid who GOT the bike for christmas, he said to me "Do you know what jeff just did?!" obviously, i didn't. he said "well, we thanked him for his month at our bar, and he said 'i don't really want to go, i like the monday shows', so jeff is playing every monday night in may and june." i'm outta school in two weeks. see me in memphis. audrey

***

JBEL: Barristers'-4/28

Date: Wed, 30 Apr 1997 17:13:44 -0400 (EDT)

From: Efia Ruth Miles<gs01erm@panther.Gsu.EDU>

To: Jeff Buckley<jeff-buckley-eternal-life@mail.usyd.edu.au>

  Audrey's just about explained everything about the songs and the other bands, but I experienced something this past Monday night that I never imagined could happen to me.

  This was the most intimate I've ever felt at a concert/performance. I don't know how I did it, but I managed to hold back tears while Jeff sang some of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard in my life; including sweet renditions of "Mojo Pin", "So Real", "Lover,..." and "Last Goodbye." Besides being mesmerized and overwhelmed by his voice and that heavenly sound coming from his guitar, Jeff was even greater after the set. He was walking around and signing CD sleeves and shaking hands, and I just watched until he was in a corner with just a few people around. He was sitting on the stage and I walked over, stood there in a sort of a line and this jerk came up with his girlfriend and started talking to him as if I wasn't even there. But Jeff held out a reassuring hand to me and I placed mine there on his soft palm. He just held my hand until the guy was gone. I asked him when he might be coming back to Atlanta and he said it would be after the new album is released and he and the band go on tour again--then he emphasized that it would be a LONG time. I wasn't too happy to hear that, but I told him I would be happy to  wait.

  I asked him later about something the woman in the last band was using on her guitar and he told me it was an e-bow and that U2 used it in "With or Without You." And on the way out of the door, he was standing there talking to someone and we all said goodbye to him individually. I told him my name and that it was good to see him and he said the same back. I heard him say that this month at Barristers' has been one of the best places he's ever played and that it would not be his last Monday. I'm so glad Audrey talked to someone to find out that it's not over!! Needless to say, I left that place in another dimension all my own. It still feels like I dreamed the whole thing.

  When I was driving the 200 miles home on a dark and lonely two-lane highway from taking my friend back to school, when it was just me, God and Jeff, I played Grace in its entirety and cried while I sang with him. Efia

***

JBEL: Memphis-Jeff dirt

Date: Thu, 1 May 1997 15:32:30 CST

From: "michelle"<mbod9867@iunlab1.iun.indiana.edu>

Organization: Indiana University Northwest

To: jeff-buckley-eternal-life@mail.usyd.edu.au

  Well, I finally made it to Barrister's. I never thought I would. Well, here's my Jeff story....(Sorry it's a little long) I'm sitting anxiously, waiting for Jeff to arrive. I go to the bathroom and when I get back, my best friend is talking to some guy. He seemed pretty nice, 42 years old, named Steve. He was pretty cool and he really liked Jeff. So we all talked for probably 20 minutes to a half hour and Jeff walks in. Steve waves and Jeff waves back. I'm thinking to myself "Hmmmmm. What is this?" I ask Steve what his last name is and what he does.  His name was Steve Berkowitz (sp?) and if you look inside the Grace and Sine CD's you'll see his name under executive producer. OK. So at this point I'm ready to die. I've been talking to Jeff's producer without even knowing it. So throughout I got a bunch of little Jeff tidbits....(Sorry if any of it is old news, it was all new to me)

  Jeff is in Memphis because they are recording in a studio down there. (Well, they're supposed to be recording) I guess Jeff is rewriting and perfecting a lot of his songs before they record. Steve said Jeff really likes playing Barrister's because it gives him a chance to test out some of his stuff and stay in touch with what he's doing. He also likes Memphis because he can just chill and relax there.

  Jeff was not aware that so many people are traveling from so far away to see him there. He also kept going on about how wonderful of a musician and man Jeff is.  I thought that was really great cuz I wonder how many producers are really huge fans of the people they are producing. He did sound a little frustrated that the album wasn't finished yet. I can't really remember everything we talked about because I was sort of in an excited daze and we kept getting interupted because Steve kept getting up and correcting the sound guys controls. I guess Jeff wasn't sounding as good as he could. Well, I left Steve then to get closer to the stage. Of course, as everyone knows the show was wonderful.

  When it was over I wanted to go up to Jeff and say something, but I just froze. I've met him before and it wasn't a problem then. I guess I was just obsessing over what to say (or not say). Well, Steve pulled me out of my post-Jeff daze and pulled me over to Jeff. I really wanted to go up to him on my own, but I guess being introduced by his producer is OK too. Steve said, "Jeff, this is Michelle and Trisha. They rode a Greyhound bus all the way from Chicago to see you here tonite. Jeff looked at us like we were crazy. Like, who in the hell would drive 12 hours to see him? He took my hand and bowed down. I fumbled out a "You were really great". Steve left and left me standing awkwardly next to Jeff. We talked for a little while about his Chicago show a couple years ago and then I went off to buy him the beer he wanted.

  Later, he came up to me and asked, "Did you really ride a Greyhound?" I said "yeah".  He asked why we would do that just to come to Memphis. I said that I just wanted to see the show that badly.  He couldn't believe it. He looked at me sort of like I was crazy or something. So throughout the rest of the night he stopped by a couple of times, once to ask how we knew his producer and once to ask what we were doing after the show.

  Well, I must say that this meeting definitely beat the last time I met him, even though I acted like a awkward 16 year old at times. I only wish I could have met some of the people on the list. michelle

mbod9867@iunlab1.iun.indiana.edu

Barrister's Reviews, part 1

  Submitted by Niella

Date sent: Thu, 10 Apr 1997 12:02:43 +1000

Subject: JBEL: jeff in memphis

I was working in the lab at school on Monday and decided to check my mail (I had signed up for this mailing list only last week) and much to my surprise found out that Jeff Buckley was playing in Memphis that night. It was 4 pm, and I had no idea what time he was going to play, but I called my friend Jimmie, and he and I decided to take the risk of driving to Memphis and getting there before he quit playing. We thought it would be worth it even if we only got to hear the last chorus of his last song. We left Birmingham at 5:11 pm and got to Barrister's at 9:30 pm, and luckily there was an opening band who hadn't even started playing. Jimmie and I sat at the bar right in front of the stage. When we got there, only about 8 people were there. The opening act was different but pretty good-they seemed to be heavily influenced by King Crimson. I think the name of the band was Seven Four Slide. I talked to their guitarist Ben and his ex-girlfriend Melanie. They were very nice. I think Jeff started playing around 11:30. I had never heard him before live. He was incredible. His voice is so amazing. He played Grace, Mojo Pin, Last Goodbye, and some new songs. I was completely mesmerized throughout the entire show, and only came out of my trance when he would joke about something. He sang a bit from the song "Nicky" from Purple Rain. We were yelling the lyrics out to him because he couldn't remember them all. It was great. He played for about an hour and a half. After the show he hung out talking to everyone. Jimmie and I stayed at the bar until it closed at three. Jimmie, Jeff, one other guy, and I were the only ones left at the bar besides Kevin, the owner, and Andy, the bartender (both are really nice guys). We listened to Led Zeppelin on the juke box, and I watched while the guys played pool. Jeff beat Jimmie twice. As a prize for winning, Jimmie gave Jeff a copy of his band's tape (the suburban love junkies). Jeff seemed sincerely appreciative about receiving it. Then Kevin and Andy kindly kicked the four of us out of the bar, and we followed Jeff in his white Dodge Neon to the lamplighter where he was supposed to meet some friends. The lamplighter was closed, so we said goodnight to Jeff and went to find a place to stay the night. We were so wide awake that instead we ended up driving back to Birmingham. We are going back next week, and I highly recommend that anyone in the vicinity of Memphis make it to one, if not all, of the rest of his shows at Barrister's. If I were a millionaire, I would send all of you plane tickets (NY, Connecticut, Japan, Australia, New Zealand, etc.), but unfortunately all I can send you are brief descriptions of the shows. Until next week...

Julie

gene004@uabdpo.dpo.uab.edu (juliej@uab.edu)

***

  

It was not a dream.
  After borrowing a car and a microcassette recorder; after packing the camera and the CDs; after rounding up my friends--we left for Memphis yesterday at 4:30 PM. We weren't sure that we would be able to get into the bar, but we came anyway. Even if I couldn't get in, standing outside and listening would suffice, right?
  We got to Memphis at around 7:30 and finally found the place ( Barristers') in a dark alley off of Second and Jefferson. When we approached the place, I saw a thin guy with a guitar walking in, and my heart started to race. I approached the figure, and to my dismay I discovered that the figure was just some guy named Jake of John or some other "J" name. Anyway, I introduced myself, and we talked for a minute. I was surprised when he said, "My band goes on at nine o'clock, and that other guy, Jeff, goes on at ten thirty."
  "That other guy, Jeff?"
  The man did not even know who Jeff was. It was really odd to hear him say "Jeff" with no "Buckley" attached. Yes, odd.
  We went inside, and the owner just asked us for five dollars. No ID check, nothing like that at all. Nobody at all was there. The place had maybe four other people in it. I was hoping it would stay that way, too. We hung around for about five minutes, then we went to Beale Street and ate some barbeque, and then we came back at nine to find that the opening band had already started.
  I didn't like the opening band, so I went outside to get some air. I saw the owner of the place, and I must've talked to him for an hour and a half. We talked about the internet (he posted the announcement on AOL) and how effective it was for this sort of thing, and we talked about Jeff a whole lot. It was really neat to talk to someone who seemed to know Jeff personally, I must say.
  Barristers' advertised this show, so people started flowing in at about ten o'clock. I'd say there were about 75 people there altogether, though I'm not sure how accurate that estimate is. Anyway, the owner and I were the only ones standing outside when Jeff pulled up. He drove up in a white Neon at about ten-thirty, and got his guitar and amp out of his trunk. I asked him if he needed a hand, and he said no. I was disappointed, but I knew I'd see him again. He threw his things onstage and then came back outside to move his car. When he came back in, I introduced myself, and we talked for about five minutes. I asked him if I could tape the show, and he said "No, no, no, please don't...well, okay." We talked for just a few more minutes, and I asked if I could get some autographs after the show. He said "Sure, Doug," and then went inside. A few seconds later, he came outside and asked me not to tape the show, but said that it was lovely for me to ask. He said that it was just too dangerous, and started telling some story about the British mafia and bootlegging. I was disappointed that he didn't want me to tape the show, but I just couldn't find it in my heart to press the record button afterward. He asked me not to--I wasn't going to.
  He went inside, and even though the place was relatively crowded, no one approached him at all. Either no one knew who he was (that wasn't the case), or nobody had the guts to approach him. He went over to the pool table and began to play pool with a guy I had met earlier in the night, so I followed and watched. The guy he was playing was really bad, so about halfway through the game, I asked Jeff if I could have next game. He said an emphatic "Yes," I guess because the other guy was just so bad. They finished up (Jeff won), I put in 50 cents and Jeff the remaining 25, and Jeff racked the balls up. I won't tell you the play by play, but I won the first game, Jeff the second, and I the third. I didn't quite know what to do. I beat Jeff Buckley in pool. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Who knows. Anyway, we talked some more and then he went onstage. I was really the only one to talk to him, strangely enough. I didn't hover or anything, I was just friendly. He is really very approachable.
  He popped onstage at about 11:15, tuned up, and launched into the most amazing version of "Grace" that I have ever heard. It was just him and his guitar, of course, so that made it even better. He cracked a few notes (not the really high ones, though), and afterward told us all about how smoking will make your voice "suck." He proceeded to play (I don't know about the titles of the new songs, but I'll take a guess) "The Sky is a Landfill," "Witch's (????something)," and a GORGEOUS version of "Morning Theft." That song was by far the best of the night.
  After that, it was time for "Last Goodbye," and then he went into a really long Prince (back when he was Prince) imitation, and he talked about "Purple Rain" a whole lot. It was quite funny, but then he brought us back into our trance with "Mojo Pin." He finished off the set with a song I hadn't heard before, but I think it might have been called "Wild is the Wind." It was wonderful...the whole show was beautiful and it was my first.
  After the show, one or two people approached him asking for pictures , but he asked them not to photograph him. After they left, I asked him for one autograph, but he signed (defaced is the word) the covers of "Grace," "Live at Sin-e," and "Live at the Bataclan." On "Bataclan," he signed it "Le AAARGH!" He drew sunglasses on his picture on "Grace," and signed "Take me with u!" I was thrilled. We talked for just a second more; about the book I was keeping my CD covers in--Hume's "Dialogues on Natural Religion," and then I left. He had remembered my name, thank goodness, and as I left he said, "Catch you later, Doug." He will. Next week, hopefully.
  You need to come to this place. There's no carding for entrance or at the bar, and though it may be quite a trip; it will be worth the mileage. He only played about an hour and a half, but I would have driven three times as far as I did just to hear him. I would have driven 10 times as far if someone had told me that I would get to meet him and to play pool with him. The show was short but beautiful, and I'd love to get it on tape next time, or at least get some pictures if he'll allow them. If you're going to boot the show, ask him first. Don't boot it if he doesn't want you to--don't take what isn't yours to take.
  I hope to see some of you there next Monday. Let me know if you plan on coming, and maybe we can meet up there. Come. It's more than worth the gas money.
  If there's anything I left out (I doubt it, considering the length of this post), just mail me and I'll fill you in. Rock on, etc.

-Doug "I beat Jeff in pool" Jennings

Doug Jennings <jenninda@ctrvax.Vanderbilt.Edu

*  *  *

Submitted by Steven

JBEL: barristers show 5/26/97

Date: Wed, 28 May 1997 10:59:22 -0700

From: gaylekelemen<gkelemen@goodnet.com>

To: jeff-buckley-eternal-life@mail.usyd.edu.au 

  ok, here's my barristers post. i know that others that were at the show won't be able to get online till later this week (starting tomorrow) and/or next week, so i hope everybody tells us what they thought! set list (this is probably 95% correct, always giving for the standard deviation of .05 hahaha):

  1. a song with the words "terminal cancer" in it. i think this was a cover. julie said that he played a neil young song, i believe, but i don't know neil as well as i oughtta....this song was pretty aggressive, and when jeff stopped playing it, he said, "this is how the guy from brainiac must have felt" or something like that. :( somebody from memphis says that jeff has been playing a lot of bad brains lately as well, so.... 2. hallelujah 3. morning theft 4. corpus christi carol---what a shocker, eh, to see this on a recent setlist!?!?! i was pleasantly surprised! don't know if he's playing this to get the voice ready for the studio or if he just wanted to play it. it wasn't quite exactly like the album, but it was damn good! 5. unknown--hadn't heard this before 6. grace 7. the sky is a landfill 8. a rockin' instrumental (neil young?)...i'd heard the song before, but i don't know where from... 9. an aggressive aggressive song with the words "your flesh is so nice" in it. ;) 10. a new song i didn't recognize...

  i believe that's the entire setlist...the show was way over an hour...jeff talked a lot...surprisingly (with hallelujah and ccc in the set), the show hit me as very aggressive. not surprisingly, it was extremely intense.

  just for the notetakers ;): my memphis friend was surprised (how many times can i use that word in one post?) that jeff was wearing a suit (with jacket, with tie) and fancy shoes (what do you call those black and white shoes with the big tongue?), as he's been dressed down (comparatively) for the other barristers shows he'd seen.

  barristers was pretty crowded, but not packed per say. most of the people (including me) from the list sat in the first few rows in front of the stage. a lot of sitting at this show, with the standing people over at the bar. as i said before, jeff talked a lot before and after songs. at ten to 1am, he said that he'd play one more (to be done at/before 1am), and he finished that song at 1:10am or something like that. mash-o-matic, the opening band, was pretty good. the band after jeff played for a brief time...i don't know what happened, but i was standing outside, and the drummer ran out. ??? (perhaps due to the sound system...i don't know) the sound system was pretty off. at one point during his set, jeff asked the soundperson to sit the set out and go do something else. this was followed by about 10 minutes of jeff making the microphone feed  back-both with his mouth and with his head. ??? jeff commented that his head fed back a lot and that he was used to it. ;)

  jeff offered the audience free red wine at the bar, so we all got a free drink. :) there's  lots more to tell, but i'll let the others tell us (most probably have a better memory of the show than me as well). it was a "different" kind of jb solo set than i've seen. parts of it were off-kilter due to the sound problem...and probably due to my intake, fatigue from the long weekend, etc. as always, though, worth the effort to get to the  show. :) "intense" could be a key word...and my memphis friend thought the show was very different than previous barristers shows.

  it was definately great hanging out with and meeting the others from the list. huey's (is that the name of the restaurant some of us went to pre-show and post-beale st. tap room?) was a riot, as i've never had the experience of trying to blow toothpicks into the ceiling via a straw. ! :0 (it's a "huey's thing") efia, your absence was noted, and you were missed. :( most of the memphis crowd was pretty mellow, with the exception of a few people at the side/front of the stage, who rocked out during the instrumental and other rocking moments. pretty young crowd as well. i asked my memphis friend what kind of crowd it was for memphis, and he said it was huge for a monday night and that it was the "hipper" crowd. not that it was new york city hip (ugh)...a different kind of hip. i was pretty bummed that jeff didn't play dylan's "if you see her, say hello" or the smiths' "i know it's over". or "so real", for that matter...but there are new songs that are new within the last few months (at least not performed at his january and february shows). special thanks from me to patti (for trying to find out how timmy died so i would shut up about it), jenny (sera) for kindly getting me some wine (very polite, eh?), julie for the beer, and kim for doing "the pose" even though i never got the chance to be there with you. ;) :0

  barristers said that this monday was the show with the most online people there (ie: with reservations), so that's pretty cool. lots of people from new york. it was a very surreal evening for me, and that seems to fit with the surreal aspects of the trip that were woven throughout. the barristers guys (john!) are very nice. :) if i think of more, i'll post it, but i'm looking forward to hearing everybody else's thoughts and comments (and recollections)!

***

  Hi all, so I dragged myself into work this morning after having been on a bus for 26 hours returning from Memphis, for 2 reasons only: to not waste a vacation day that could be put to better use in Memphis ;-), and to post about the show ASAP before my memory goes fuzzy--and mind you, it was pretty fuzzy to begin with considering I was quite sloshed for the majority of the evening...since Gayle did most of the hard work on transcribing the setlist, I’ll just quote her post and add my bits here and there.

  The show was about 1-1/2 hours long, but Jeff spent ALOT of time in the beginning tuning and futzing around... <<1. a song with the words "terminal cancer" in it. i think this was a cover. julie said that he  played a neil young song, i believe, but i don't know neil as well as i oughtta....>> Yeah, the lyrics kept repeating the line “the world has terminal cancer” but I thought  this was a new original Buckley tune because the opening chords were very similar to parts of Eternal Life (live versions). <<2. hallelujah 3. morning theft>> actually, he did a short song between these two, which I think was a cover but I’m not sure. His phrasing on this song was very Joni Mitchell-ish, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a Joni song...He also stopped in the middle of Morning Theft (my fave new song, BTW) to berate the sound guy quite harshly and then started the song over again...Then Corpus Christi Carol absolutely floored me. (good thing we were sitting down!) <<5. unknown>> I couldn’t even understand the words to this one <<6. grace 7. the sky is a landfill 8. a rockin' instrumental (neil young?)...i'd heard the song before, but i don't know where from...>> #8 was most definitely an instrumental cover of Smoke on the Water, which is not by Neil Young but by, um, not sure but I think it’s a Deep Purple song? (the extent of my familiarity with this song is from late-night 70’s rock compilation CD commercials, but I also think the guitar intro of Smoke has been referenced on Beavis & Butthead...) <<9. an aggressive song with the words "your flesh is so nice" in it. ;)>> This one sounded familiar too, the lyrics were full of double entendres of the cat/woman variety. the song might be called “pussy”, since that was in the lyrics alot, and some more bits are: “gonna tell you a story”, “you’re flesh is so nice, gonna take a bite” and “take off my belt, go up the staircase”. Does anyone have a clue what song this might be? It seemed just a little too rude to be an original Jeff song... <<10. a new song i didn't recognize>> Actually, he did 2 different songs to close the set. The first one had lyrics that kept mentioning the word “politician”, and something about “I was mesmerized” and “stars was insane(?)”. The second song kept repeating the lyric “I’m not with you but of you”, and also had bits about “the special one” and “some other love becomes you”. And I have to agree with Gayle that there was a very aggressive vibe in the air throughout the set, though Jeff did mellow out afterwards...the only other solo Jeff set I've ever seen was the Mercury Lounge New Year's show, and the difference in atmosphere between that show and this one was like night and day.

  Now for some non-setlist-related observations: The shoes were b&w wingtips with fringed tongues/flaps. For the sartorially curious, Jeff was wearin a dark gray suit with a powder blue tuxedo shirt and red tie, and was sporting a black hat as well. He was playing a big black guitar and at one point you could see there were lots of butterfly stickers plastered on the back of it. So I yelled out between songs “what’s with the butterflies?” At which point he looked at me, played a couple of chords and then Jeff (who I shall now refer to as 'Mr. Cryptic') replied: “what’s with the porcelain skin?”, ignoring my question and then started the next song...so you all can call me Porcelain Skin Girl now if you’d like ;-) Much later on in the evening (after the show) Jeff was saying  something about having two jobs(?) in Memphis, one of which had to do with butterflies (catching them, I think), but I was so inebriated at that point that I don’t really remember what he said exactly or even how it came up in the conversation...I’m hoping Audrey can save my ass on this one, or else we’ll never solve the butterfly mystery! <<the sound system was pretty off. at one point during his set, jeff asked the soundperson to sit the set out and go do something else. this was followed by about 10 minutes of jeff making the microphone feed back-both with his mouth and with his head. ??? jeff commented that his head fed back a lot and that he was used to  it. ;)>> like I said before, this was during Morning Theft, and he was really, really harsh towards the poor soundguy...it was funny but the tone in Jeff’s voice was also very disturbing, at least it seemed to me. Hey, at least we got to hear Morning Theft twice because of it! The mouth-induced feedback was quite amusing--think Madonna circa Truth or Dare with the water bottle and you’ll get the idea. I don’t remember any head-induced feedback/comments though, Gayle...was he rubbing his head against the microphone too?

  The whole cop/paranoia tip that Jeff has been on lately in his recent show/posts banter was continued at this show as well: at one point he was raging on about cop shows on TV, and how he would film all of us and turn us into a TV show, I think. Just more grist for the aggression mill, I suppose. <<jeff offered the audience free red wine at the bar, so we all got a free drink. :)>> Yeah, and a free beer+wine hangover to boot! <<there's lots more to tell, but i'll let the others tell us (most probably have a better memory of the show than me as well). it was a "different" kind of jb solo set than i've seen. parts of it were off-kilter due to the sound problem...and probably due to my intake, fatigue from the long weekend, etc.>> Well, I think a few of us had the same alcohol intake problem ;-)...but here are some more moments that I can sort of recall from the post-show scene: Jeff displayed *lots* of aggression and evasiveness when I prodded about the Brainiac situation, which included him throwing a beer bottle against the wall (he didn’t break it though) but he cooled down soon afterwards and even graciously signed my LP jacket. He spent most of the rest of the evening shooting pool (kudos to Julie, the coolest aunt in the universe, who came all the way over from the UK with her niece *and* trounced Jeff’s butt at the pool table--you go girl!) and prancing around when he was moved by the selections playing on the jukebox. Especially when a Zeppelin song came on, and he climbed onstage and straddled one of the speakers while singing along. It was a sight to see, wish I hadn’t been so drunk that it didn’t even occur to me to take out my camera and document the scene...the booze was cut off around 3am, and we all ended up leaving Barristers around 3:30 (they were actually locking the doors as we left!) and going our separate ways... <<as always, though, worth the effort to get to the show. :) "intense" could be a key word...and my memphis friend thought the show was very different than previous barristers shows.>> I second both of those points wholeheartedly! I wonder if this intensity was a one-night thing...In fact, late June or maybe July 4th weekend might be a good time for another Memphis trek so we can find out! (I sure as hell am not doing the bus thing again, though ;-)) <<it was definately great hanging out with and meeting the others from the list. huey's (is that the name of the restaurant some of us went to pre-show and post-beale st. tap room?) was a riot, as i've never had the experience of trying to blow toothpicks into the ceiling via a straw. ! :0 (it's a "huey's thing")>> Yeah, it was Huey’s, and your honorary toothpick is up there as well! And I loved meeting all the other listees too--it made the show that much more special. I hope we can all do it again soon! A special thank-you to Audrey for putting up with my drunken incoherence after the show and for being a wonderful travelling companion throughout...And now I’ll shut up and maybe get some work done (yeah, right) Thank God the owner of my company is computer-illiterate: as long as I'm typing, he thinks I'm working!