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.
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