Follow me here

Thursday, December 22, 2022

Troubadour shows "Grace"

The State News: November 1, 1994
Written and submitted by Chris Solari

  FERNDALE--The bag contains...a small room, a few people and good ol' fashioned rock 'n' roll.
  Of course, for those few people who did pile into The Magic Bag Theatre in Ferndale Saturday, the real sorcery and wizardry of the Halloween weekend was performed by Jeff Buckley.
  Buckley, who recently released his full-length debut "Grace" this fall, dazzled the crowd of about 250 people in the small movie theater-cabaret setting and lived up to his growing fame as a tremendously overwhelming live performer.
  Opening act Brenda Kahn, who will release a recording in February, warmed the crowd up with a great mix of eclectic alternative and beautiful rock numbers with her very intense voice-sometimes angelic, sometimes devilish.
  But the crowd grew extremely restless waiting for Buckley to take the stage. When his group came out after what seemed a lengthy intermission (even though it was only about 15 minutes), not a word was spoken, performer or audience.
  The theater grew dark, save for a ghastly orange glow set around Buckley and his guitar. What followed was five minutes of guitar play that would have made the devil himself cringe had the beast been there. Buckley used his extensive vocal range to emanate monk-like moans and wails from the gloomy light that haunted the small theater.
  Buckley strummed languidly through the very trippy intro before leading into the notes to his first song on "Grace," titled "Mojo Pin."
  He then followed up with another song from his debut LP-"So Real." The song started off with Buckley singing softly and serenely with his guitar and drums, then kicked in and out of tempo before the electric culmination. And Buckley's facial expressions while singing gave everything from angst to happiness to amusement to pain.
  Buckley did more tunes from "Grace," such as the title song and his version of the folk classic "Lilac Wine" while mixing playful banter with the audience. Those who paid the minimal $12 fee to see the show felt almost as one in the intimate atmosphere.
  Following "Lilac Wine," which showcased the tremendous voice of Buckley, a member of the audience shouted a request for him to sing "Sweet Surrender" by his late father, Tim Buckley. The woman even had the audacity to question Jeff Buckley's vocal range. The younger Buckley almost took offense to this, quipping back at the woman, who responded by saying she loved his music as well.
  "Do you see me up here? You see something that is no longer here," he politely, yet scornfully told the woman.
  With that, he launched into a number which he said was, "about love in any f**king generation." The opening chords sounded different, but the slide came out and Buckley tore into the third track on "Grace," "Last Goodbye." Tossing the slide aside, he hit a driving pace with his guitar and followed up with the song's touching lyrics.
  After hearing the conversation between Buckley and the woman in the crowd, I finally figured the song out. To me, the tune is almost a tribute to the father who died while his son was young. And the pain in the singer's eyes...the lyrics and his face emanated his sorrows.
  Most of the older crowd who were hoping for the performer to be his father left, leaving the true fans and music lovers.
  The only drawback to the show was technical problems. A low, annoying hum from the amps could not be corrected until almost the end of the show. But Buckley, who proved himself as a virile comedian as well as musical genius, joked about it and told the crowd there were problems- not trying to side-step the issue at all.
  Buckley went in to do some great numbers, like "Lover, You Should've Come Over" and the electrically powerful "Eternal Life" that showed Buckley's voice was more than that of a troubadour. He can rock with any musician and singer out today.
  He closed with a number that, of all things, included a cello. "Dream Brothers" was a perfect end to a great set, and the remaining crowd beckoned him back for an encore.
  In the future, watch for Jeff Buckley if he pops up around the area-his show is one that no man, woman, child, dog, cat, ect, should miss.

Grace review

The State News: September 14, 1994
Written and submitted by Chris Solari 

  In one of the most anticipated full-length debuts of the year, singer/songwriter Jeff Buckley comes out with a bang.
  After his live, four-song EP "Live at Sin-é" hit the streets last March, Buckley, son of folk-legend Tim Buckley, began to gain more critical success. He received rave reviews from Rolling Stone and Spin.
  Buckley put studio versions of two songs from "Live at Sin-é" on "Grace." But this tim, he puts a talented band behind his powerful guitar playing ability, making the lead track "Mojo Pin," and track nine, "Eternal Life," (both appeared on Live) a more complete reality than the man-and-guitar versions on the debut.
  The height of the release is "Last Goodbye," a powerful song that shows off a fabulous bass line, some tremendous riffs, and Buckley's powerful vocal magic.
  It's a touching song-actually giving the roller-coaster emotional feeling of saying farewell to a departing loved one.
  "Lilac Wine" is another strong  song, focusing primarily on Buckley's vocals and lyrics. It is a slow, quiet number that let's Buckley and his message take center stage.
  But the studio version of "Eternal Life" packs the biggest punch on the release. A hard-driving electric guitar opens the track, and rips apart the mellow feeling of the other songs-showing just how deep Buckley's music can go.
  "Grace" shows that Buckley can take many forms, and he can truly shine from behind his father's shadow.

Wednesday, December 21, 2022

Jeff Buckley: Knowing Not Knowing

Quotes from the book Inside The Music by Dimitri Ehrlich (interview done December 17, 1994 after the Tower Records show...you can also read his review of the show here)

"What I'd love is if a deejay had a lineup of songs, and he'd just use one of my songs as part of a really nice evening. But that's the way I would deejay, not the way they do it. They usually have playlists."

"If it happens it'd be great, but we just play to express. I want to live my life playing music, so that we can be immersed in it. In order to learn how deep it goes, you have to be in it." (About making a lot of money and selling records)

"The way I experience a performance is that there's an exchange going on. It's not just my ego being fed. It's thoughts and feelings. Raw expression has its own knowledge and wisdom. I've been in their position before and all I wanted to do was to show my appreciation for the performer. So I feel like it's kind of generous of them to even be asking me for an autograph.
  "It's true that there's also the people who want a piece of you, but it's pretty hard to keep feeling protected all the time, because there's really nothing to protect yourself against. Sometimes people shout at me on the street, and they feel they know me through my music. But that doesn't substitute for a real personal relationship. I don't feel like people know me, I just think we share a love for music in common, and for some reason they key into the way I play. I feel appreciative when people come up to me, and I feel good when we connect. Usually, it serves as a nice comedown after a performance. Any other conduct would bust the groove, because I'm buzzing when I get offstage, and I'm consciously protecting that connection because that's what got me through the performance in the first place. It's an invocation and worship of this certain feeling, this direct line to your heart, and somehow music dies that more powerfully than anything else. It's like a total, immediate elixir."

"Playing with a band is all about accepting a bond, accepting everything the way it is. It takes a lot patience and a lot of taking chances with each other. It takes seeing each other in weak and strong lights, and accepting both, and utilizing the high and low points of your relationship."

"It's not like music begins or ends. All kinds of sounds are working into each other. Sometimes I'll just stop on the street because there's a sequence of sirens going on; it's like a melody I'll never hear again. In performance, things can be meaningful or frivolous, but either way the musical experience is totally spontaneous, and new life comes out of it, meaning if you're open to hearing the way music interacts with ambient sound, performance never feels like a rote experience. It's pretty special sometimes, the way a song affects a room, the way you're in complete rhythm with the song. When you're emotionally overcome, and there's no filter between what you say and what you mean, your language becomes guttural, simple, emotional, and full of pictures and clarity. Were you to transcribe it, it might not make sense, but music is a totally different language."

"People talk all day in a practical way, but real language that penetrates and affects people and carries wisdom is something different. Maybe it's the middle of the afternoon and you see a child's moon up on the sky, and you feel like it's such a simple, pure, wonderful thing to look at. It just hits you in a certain way, and you point it out to a stranger, and he looks at you like you're weird and walks away. To speak that way, to point out a child's moon to a stranger, is original language, it's the way you originate yourself. And the cool thing is, if you catch people at the right moment, it's totally clear. Without knowing why, it's simply clear. That sort of connection is very empirical. It comes from the part of you that just understand immediately. All these types of things are gold, and yet they are dishonored or not paid attention to because that kind of tender communication is so alien in our culture except in performance. There's a wall up between people all day long, but performance transcends that convention. If pop music were really seen as fine art or if fine art were popular, I don't know what the hell would happen-this wouldn't be the same country, because if the masses of people began to respect and really open to fine art, it would bring about a huge shift in consciousness.
  "Music is so many things. It's not just the performer. It's the audience and the architecture of the song, and each builds off the other. Music is a setting for poignancy, anger, destruction, total disaster, total wrongness, and then-like a little speck of gold in the middle of it-excitement, but excitement in a way that matters. Excitement that is not just aesthetically pleasing but shoots some sort of understanding into you."

"Hearing a song is like meeting somebody. A song is something that took time to grow and once it's there, it's on its own. Every time you perform it, it's different. It has it's own structure, and you have to flow through it, and it has to come through you."

"There is a distinct separation of sensibility between art as commerce and art as a way of life. If you buy into one too heavily it eats up the other. If instead of having songs happen as your life happens, you're getting a song together because you need a certain number of songs on a release to be sold, the juice is sucked out immediately. That approach kills it."

"I just wanted to learn certain things. I wanted to explore like a kid with crayons. It took awhile for me to get a record contact, but it also took a tremendous amount of time for me to feel comfortable playing, and that's all I was concerned with. And I'm still concerned with that, mainly."
  "I don't think about my responsibility as a musician in terms of any kind of religious significance. I don't have any allegiance to an organized religion; I have an allegiance to the gifts that I find for myself in those religions. They seem to be saying the same thing, they just have different mythologies and expressions, but the dogma of religions and the way they're misused is all too much of a trap. I'd rather be non-denominational, except through music. I prefer to learn everything through music. If you want divinity, the music in every human being and their love for music is pretty much it. It's the big indication of their spirituality and their ability to love and make love, or feel pain or joy, and really manifest it, really be real. But I don't believe in a big guy with a beard on a throne, telling us that we're bad; I certainly don't believe in original sin. I believe in the opposite of that: you have an Eden immediately from the time you are born, but as you are conditioned by your caretakers and your surroundings, you may lose that original thing. Your task is to get back to it, so you can claim responsibility for your own perfection."

"I think of it as trying to get more aligned with the feeling of purity in music, however it sounds. I think music is prayer. Sometimes people make up prayers and they don't even know it. They just make up a song that has rhyme and meter, and once it's made, it can carry on a life of its own. It can have a lot of juice to it and a lot of meaning: there's no end to the different individual flavors that people can bring to the musical form.
  "In order to make the music actual, you have to enable it to be. And that takes facing some things inside you that constrict you, your own impurity and mistakes and blockages. As you open up yourself, the music opens up in different directions that lead you in yet other directions."

"The only valuable thing about selling records, the only thing that matters, is that people connect and that you keep on growing. You do make choices based on how many people you reach, meaning, now that I have a relationship with strangers worldwide, I have to try not to let it become too much of a factor and just accept it. The limited success we've had in the past is definitely a factor, it's just there. It just is. The whole thing is such crapshoot, you can't really control what your appeal is gonna be. My music ain't gonna make it into the malls, but it doesn't matter. I don't really care to make it into the malls.
  "Whether I sell a lot of records or not isn't up to me. You can sell a lot of records, but that's just a number sold-that's not understood, or loved, or cherished.
  "Take someone like Michael Jackson. Early on he sacrificed himself to be loved by all. His talent and his power were so great that he got what he wanted but he also got a direct, negative result, which is that he's not able to grow into an adult human being. And that's why his music sounds sort of empty and weird.
  "Being the kind of person I am, fame is really overwhelming. First of all, just being faced with the questions that everybody faces: Do I matter? Should I go on? Why am I here? Is this really that important? All that low self-esteem shit. You're constantly trying to make sure that your sense of self-worth doesn't depend on the writings or opinions of other people. You have to wean yourself off acclaim as the object of your work, by learning to depend on your own judgement and knowing what it is you that you enjoy. You have to realize what the difference is between being adored and being loved and understood. Big difference.
  "I don't really have super-pointed answers to the big questions. I'm in the middle of a mystery myself. I'm not even that developed at having a real psycho-religious epistemology about what I feel. All I can tell you is that that I feel. It's just the same old fight to constantly be aware. It's an ongoing thing. It'll never be a static perfect thing or a static mediocre thing, it just has its rise and fall."

Wednesday, October 19, 2022

Buckley's back

Burntwood Post: March 9, 1995
By Chris Evans

  It's been a good few years since anyone connected with the rock fraternity merited the once over-worked description "godlike genius", but Jeff Buckley comes close.
  Having conquered an audience at the Connaught Hotel armed with just an electric guitar last year, last Thursday he returned with his band and left a packed Wulfrun Hall gaping with awe.
  It's the Buckley voice that most beggars belief. Its range comfortably surpasses even top shouters like Robert Plant, its sensuousness brings to mind the great jazz vocalists.
  As ever Buckley's own songs were supplemented by some judicious covers. Old favorites like Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah and Elkie Brooks'Lilac Wine held the audience as rapt as ever, while ferocious versions of the MC5's Kick Out The Jams and Big Star's Kangaroo gave Buckley's excellent band a chance to let rip.
  If there's any justice Buckley will be a star of global proportions within 12 months.

Drifting away with the grace of genius

Chelsea News: March 2, 1995
By Chris Folley

LIKE father, like son-or not, as New York rock enigma Jeff Buckley would insist we believe.

  It's a thankless task, particularly in a music industry where hereditary influences crop up so regularly through writers seeking their definitive angle.
  This well-worn theme will inevitably dominate the pre-gig chatter down Shepherd's Bush way on Saturday. Buckley, son of the cult '60s blues-folk singer Tim Buckley, plays at the Empire in a show likely to induce "spirituality" among the audience as any straightforward musical appreciation.
  Yet this "parental guidance" is something of an albatross hanging around young Jeff, now 28, lapping up the acclaim for his debut LP Grace.

Annoys

  What so annoys Buckley Jr is that having only briefly met his wayward father when he was eight, we probably know Tim-whose eight LPs enjoyed little commercial success-better than he does.
  But the comparisons will always linger when you hear this brief encounter in mind, because the resemblances are spookily uncanny; genetic similarities are easy enough to explain, but a similar taste in experimentation, mixing everything from Led Zeppelin-style anthems (Mojo Pin) to mournful ballads (Corpus Christi) and blues takes some believing.
  And then there is THAT voice: a trembling falsetto so eerie and unlike anything you've heard before-unless you were a fan of Tim's too. Its effortless drifting seems so appropriate for a maverick character who has spent most of his life wandering aimlessly from town to town.
  Jeff now has roots in New York's trendy East Side and not surprisingly, his influences are diverse-from Hendrix, Dylan and Patti Smith to Nina Simone...even Benjamin Britten.
  A misfit? 200,000 buyers of Grace obviously think not. This is one show not to be missed.

Jeff Buckley plays at the Shepherd's Bush Empire on Saturday March 4, doors open at 7.30pm. "Grace", out on Columbia Records, is available at most retail outlets.

Tuesday, October 18, 2022

Glastonbury autograph

"A beautiful guy inside and out Jeff Buckley. He signed this in the beer tent on that day. Yes, that is 27 year old Glastonbury mud still on that ;-)"-@HashtagMotion on Twitter

Wednesday, September 28, 2022

Rocking Horse Records autographs





  “Jeff came into the shop in, I think ‘96 and he bought a whole stack of CDs. You know, up to (shows hands from low stomach and up to his neck). This was when the CDs came in little sleeves so it would have taken ages to input them. I said, “This will take a while, how about you sign this?” Then Jeff started to graffiti on his own album cover, drawing a moustache and eyebrows, as well as signing it.
  Later that night before he went on stage in Brisbane, music was playing in the club. It was a black satanic, devil music CD. People were quite freaked out and probably thinking why on earth he was listening to it but I knew exactly what it was. I thought with a smile, ‘Yeah, I know what that is. He bought it from the shop today.’
  There was a black out that night and I think he sang ‘Hallelujah’ without any lights or instruments.”- Rocking Horse Records owner, Brisbane, Australia


Via IG


Wednesday, September 21, 2022

Linda's autograph

Courtesy of Linda Longdar on FB: "Newcastle Workers Club. Don't remember the date but do remember meeting him in the carpark afterwards. He was so gracious to the fans and spoke to everyone waiting there.  He wrote this autograph after first writing 2 for my friends. He joked that we must be planning to sell them but they wouldn't be worth much."

Sunday, September 11, 2022

Caution: big footsteps!

By Jörg Feyer
September 13, 1994
Submitted by Wil Gielen
Translated by me

In the Knust today Tim Buckley's offspring Jeff introduces himself

  When sons want to follow in the huge footsteps of prominent fathers, they regularly fall short, and not just in the pop business. Here in particular, however, Julian Lennon and Jakob Dylan are not the only ones who can sing a (lamentation) song about this. There must be a few exceptions to this rule.
  If all is not mistaken, Jeff Buckley could become one. The songwriter met his biological father Tim only once a few months before his overdose end in 1975. Previously, Buckley the elder had secured pop history books with five-octave vocals and convention-free compositions.
  Buckley, the younger, shares his producer's sense of drama, but otherwise sees himself more influenced by his stepfather, who was heavily into Led Zeppelin. On the album "Grace" Jeff, the singer, sounds like Robert Plant from the time machine. While his songs, for all their force, never slip into raw excess and always retain a fragile elegance. Hopefully also today (21.00) in the Knust.

Thursday, September 1, 2022

Daily Examiner write-up

Huddersfield Daily Examiner: September 2, 1994
By Claire Horton

  LIVING UP to a family legacy is always a problem for up-and-coming stars.
  Jeff Buckley had the almost impossible task of trying to compete with his legendary father, Seventies folk-jazzer the late Tim Buckley.
  Buckley grew up singing and from when he left home at the age of 17, flirted with rock and reggae. After an aborted attempt at poetry, he realized music was his vocation.
  His poetic side is fully explored on his debut album Grace-which is being given a live airing at Manchester Hop and Grape tomorrow.
  With a heartbreaking voice and some astounding material, Buckley's Reading appearance last weekend was touted as one of the festival highlights.
  Grace weaves together influences as diverse as folk, Led Zeppelin style pomp rock, jazz and eastern chanting.
  Buckley has also opted for an unusual selection of covers-Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah, Benjamin Britten's Corpus Christi Carol and Elkie Brooks' Lilac Wine.
  Anyone with the audacity to take on all three of the above and make them truly HIS deserves to go far.

The son rises on a bright musical career

The Birmingham Post: August 18, 1994
By Simon Evans

  As naff concepts go, the offspring of dead rock stars trying to make their own career in the music business has to be near the top of the list.
  They do after all suffer the disadvantage of being saddled with a famous name and perhaps even certain congenital musical similarities. And while the surnames of Julian Lennon and Ziggy Marley may have opened a few doors that otherwise would have remained closed, their subsequent musical careers, such as they are, have been overshadowed by the achievements of their respective fathers.
  Jeff Buckley is different. For while the record company may be careful not to allude to his musical background he cannot escape initial comparisons with his late father Tim Buckley, the rock, folk and jazz singer, who died of a drug overdose in 1975.
  Actually, Jeff Buckley only knew his father for a few days having being brought up by his mother, a classically trained pianist and cellist. He once described himself as "rootless trailer trash" born in southern California", and his love of music sustained him through childhood. He taught himself to play guitar and by the age of 17 had left home and made his way to Hollywood where he started playing in rock and reggae bands.
  In 1990 he was in New York, playing with, among others, former Captain Beefheart guitarist, who co-wrote Mojo Pin, from Buckley's debut album Grace, which has just been released on Columbia records.
  Some indication of Buckley's considerable talent was first given earlier this year when he released a four-track CD of a live performance in the East Village, New York.
  But nothing could have prepared us for Grace. The record is aptly titled, for it takes the listener to some strange but wonderful places, mixing folk, hard rock, jazz, eastern and choral music. It is a staggering achievement, and although Buckley's vocal tone is at times reminiscent of his father, the range of influences on show are all his own.
  Led Zeppelin is the most obvious, particularly in the dynamics of slow-burning ballads exploding into guitar fury. But there are also traces of Van Morrison and The Cocteau Twins in the album's moments of soulfulness and delicacy, such as the old Elkie Brooks' number Lilac Wine, which is given a complete overhaul.
  But the self-composed material more than holds its own with the likes of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah, also covered on the album, suggesting Buckley is a writer of much promise.
  The album was recorded in Woodstock late last year and is Buckley's first with a band that includes Mick Grondahl on bass and Matt Thompson on drums. He will be bringing them over for a brief tour that takes in Edwards Number 8 in Birmingham.
  It may well be the first and last time to see Buckley in such a setting because a commercial breakthrough can only be a few airplays away.

Jeff Buckley plays Edwards Number 8 on August 31.

Friday, August 19, 2022

"Dreams Live in the throat" part 2

Valery Lorenzo, via valery-lorenzo.blogspot.com, December, 2010



Dear readers

  Here is a modest four hands drawing (Jeff Buckley and me) that was made backstage, after his concert in Toulouse in 1995.
I had the oportunity to be invited by a friend who worked for Jeff Buckley record compagny but there was no possibility to do photographs or interview.
  So I have decided to try to draw him.
I began to use Tipp-ex (you know that special white ink that erase) and a pen.
The drawing was uncomplete and Jeff Buckley hasn't a face so naturally I handed to him the drawing and the pen.
He accepted to finish it and drew the skull, a heart, wrote "Dreams live in the throat then signed it.
  To thank him, I very modestly offered him this portrait of a nun.


This is a true story...

Friday, August 5, 2022

Thursday, July 21, 2022

Jeff Buckley: The Lost Interview

An interview said to have been done in August, 1994 (though I believe it's actually January prior to that Wetlands show on the 12, not the August one on the 16, due to the fact he'd already chosen a cover photo for the album well before that point: on February 23) at the Columbia/Sony offices by Tony Gervino via tidal.com, July 21, 2021.

How does it feel to have to do interviews?

Well, at the outset I guess I figured why would anybody care? But I’m smart enough to know that people would want to talk about my music. I just didn’t think anyone would for a publication. But at this point the fatigue hasn’t set in, and no question is a stupid one.

It’s still early.

[laughs] Mainly it’s helpful because I’m getting some ideas out about exactly what I think about some things. And the important thing in doing interviews is not to have any pat answers. That would make it unenjoyable for me. Like a … a murder suspect or something, in terms of having your story straight.

Have you finished mixing the new album?

No, I have one last day in the studio — one last gasp of creative breath before I have to go away. I’m totally pissed. Absolutely.

Did you write in the studio, or did you go in with the songs ready?

One of them was completely organized in the studio. But that was still prepared beforehand. A lot of stuff we’d done at the last minute because I was trying to get the right people to play with, and it took a while before I found them. 

But that was only three weeks before I’d gone up to Woodstock to record and we hadn’t known each other that long, and the band material hadn’t developed as much. Some things were completely crystallized, and some things needed care, and they got it. I’m still not satisfied.

Let’s see: I get to go into the studio on Wednesday, the day before I leave and the night after I perform at [defunct NYC club] Wetlands. So I have one, two, three, four, five precious days to [work on the music], along with all the other stuff I have to do. I have to shoot some pictures, possibly for the album cover. Then at night I’m free to get these ideas together, and I’ll still have one last shot on two songs in particular. The producer [Andy Wallace] doesn’t even know what I want to do to this one song. [laughs] He’ll be horrified.


Have you played it out?

Uh-huh. There are just things I want to crystallize about it.

Is figuring songs out onstage a conscious effort on your part to fly or fail?

Yeah, because I love flying so much. But, really, it’s still a kind of discipline. I guess it’s an engagement. It’s not like having “song 1 to song 6 and then a talk.” I don’t know anybody who really does that. I know a lot of performers talk about not being so structured. … Sometimes you can see bands that have a set of songs, and that shit is dead. That … shit … is … dead.

When I perform, I’m working off rhythms that are happening all over the place, real or imagined, and it’s interactive. It’s got a lot of detail to it, so I can’t afford to tie it up in a noose, and put it in a costume that doesn’t belong on me. So yeah, it’s free but it has its own logic, and sometimes it completely falls flat on its face. But it’s worth the fall, sometimes. Because that’s life.

To me it makes sense to do things in that manner, because that’s really just the way life is when you step out of it and see that, like, your car has a flat and somebody smashed in your windshield and then, shit, you’re walking home and all of a sudden you run into somebody that turns out to be your favorite person for the rest of your life. It’s always … unfolding. You just have to recognize it, I guess. And that’s my philosophy, that I haven’t really thought about until you asked me.

Have you been a solo performer out of desire or necessity?

Both. I did it to earn money to pay rent in the place I was staying, and bills, and my horrible CD habit, and failing miserably all the time, always playing for tips and always just getting by — by the skin of my teeth.

To get this sound in order, you can have a path laid out in front of you, but if you don’t have the vehicle to go down the road you’ll never get to where you want to go. So I guess I was building the parts piece by piece or going through different forms, reforming them and trying out different ideas and songs.

How long have you been building these parts?  

Some of them I wrote when I was 18 or 19, and some of them I wrote weeks ago, and some of them I’m still writing. [laughs] The rest of this album is kind of a purging, because the rest of the albums ain’t gonna happen like this. [points to chest] You’ll never see this person again.


Who and what are you going to become, Jeff? 

I don’t know, just something deeper. Nothing alien, just something deeper. I’m just not satisfied. I’m really, horribly unsatisfied. Cause I kind of got an idea of where I want this thing to go. It’s still gonna be songs. I think about deepening the work that I do, and other problems I try to solve, like, “If I go to see this band in a loft, or if I went to see this band in a theater, and I wanted to be very, very, very enchanted and very engaged and maybe even physically engaged to where I’m dancing or where I’m moshing, what would that sound like? If I wanted to be cradled like a baby or smashed around like a fucking Army sergeant, what would that sound like?” I daydream all the time about it. And that’s sort of what I work toward. It’s more of an intimate thing.

In America the rock band is not an intimate thing, but in America soul bands are very intimate and blues bands are very intimate, like way back in the day, when people who invented blues were doing it. It’s all very interdependent and it’s all very … people had to listen to make the music. And it comes around in a lot of different ways. Things I’m doing now are pretty old-fashioned: I’m going on tour to little places to play small cafés. [He lays his itinerary out in front of us.]


What do you expect the reaction to be? You play New York City and, by now, the people here know your deal, but there are some cities where they’re not going to know.

That’s OK.

Will you tailor your performance to different tour stops? Does it change the way you perform?

Every time I perform it’s different.  

How long have you been in New York City?

Three years. But I’ll always be here. I’ll always live here.

What is it about New York?

Everything. You know all the clichés: It’s the electricity, it’s the creativity, it’s the motion. It’s the availability of everything at any moment, which creates a complete, innate logic to the place. It’s like, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t have this now. There’s no reason I shouldn’t have the best library in the country, and there’s no reason why the finest Qawwali singer in all of Pakistan shouldn’t come to my neighborhood and I’ll go see him, and there’s no reason that Bob Dylan shouldn’t show up at the Supper Club. 

There’s no reason that I can’t do this fucking amazing shit. And if you have a certain amount of self-esteem, it’s the perfect place because there’s so much. It’s majestic and it’s the cesspool of America. And there’s amazing poetry in everything. There are amazing poets everywhere, and some real horrible mediocrity, and an equal amount of pageantry. There’s also a community of people that have been left with nothing but their ability to put on a show, no matter what it is — whether it’s a novel or a performance reading on Monday night at St. Mark’s Church for 20 minutes.

Where do you do the bulk of your writing?

Everywhere. You know what? Mostly it’s in 24-hour diners, on too much coffee. That’s an old Los Angeles thing.

How much does the location affect the writing?

To me music is about time and place and the way that it affects you. There’s just something about it. There’s just some spirit that somebody conjures up and then it floats out at you and helps you or hinders you throughout your life. It’s either Handel’s Messiah or it’s “All Out of Love” by Air Supply.

Music is just fucking insane. It’s everything. Music is like this: It’s always seemed to me to be one of the direct descendants of the thing in the universe that’s making everything work. It’s like the direct child of … life, [of] what being “people” is all about. It’s incredibly human but it touches things that are around us anyway. [pauses, then quietly] It’s hard to explain.

Give it a shot.

It gets into your blood. It could be [the Ohio Express’] “Yummy Yummy Yummy” or whatever. It gets in. It’s not like paintings and it’s not like sculptures, although those are really amazing and powerful. But I identify with music most.

And is live music the next degree of intensity?  

Oh yeah, if they’re singing to me. You never hear it again, but you never forget it. I mean, you never forget it. It’s like the first time your mother cries in front of you. But I like making [music] and … I want the music to live live, even be written live, so it’s always forming, it’s ever unfolding. 

The king of improvisation is [the late Qawwali singer] Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan — the most I’ve ever been filled with any performer’s energy. I have over $500 of his stuff. And I never got to see Keith Jarrett, but there was a time when he was my big hero for the same reason. Big, huge improvisation. Improvisation is something that I identify with.

Which of your new songs is your favorite? Is there one that you can’t wait to get to in your live set?

Not yet. I give each song pretty much the same attention, and I have the same reservations and the same carefulness about making sure I bring out its best. No favorites.


What’s a song by another artist that you wish you’d written, that completely devastates you?  

Most of Nina Simone’s songs completely devastate me, although she didn’t write [most of] them. A lot of things that Dylan did are so impressionistic, even though his originals are supposed to be folky. Like “Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands”: If I was a woman and he sang that to me, I’d be like, “Whatever you want, Bob. You want casual sex whenever you want it and still be with your wife? I don’t care.”

I’d like to write something like “Moanin’ for My Baby” by Howlin’ Wolf, and I’d also like to write something like [Gerry and the Pacemakers’] “You’ll Never Walk Alone.” I have schoolgirl crushes on a lot of songs that never seem to go away. Lots of Cocteau Twins. That’s somebody I got to tell exactly what I thought of them.

Where were they playing?

In Los Angeles, a long time ago on the Heaven or Las Vegas tour. I’m immensely in love with their originality, their shyness. … But … um … the Smiths! [stands up abruptly, then sits back down] I wish I’d written half the fucking Smiths catalog. There are so many: “I Know It’s Over”; I wish I’d written “How Soon Is Now?” I wish I’d written “Holidays in the Sun” by the Sex Pistols. I could go on forever, and I know you don’t have forever.

Maybe sleep on it. I’m curious, do you sleep a lot?

No, I don’t.

Is your mind constantly racing? Are you always just … fast forward?

Have you ever seen those film montages when a guy’s going crazy, and it just gets faster and faster and…

Yeah, sure, that’s exactly what I mean.

It’s exactly like that. It’s like, I don’t want to miss a thing, and [I get the] feeling that I will miss something. But usually I’m wrong. [laughs] But when I do sleep, I sleep hard and have the best dreams.

Do you remember your dreams?

Sometimes, and they become the basis for a lot of my learning. That comes along with my development as a human being. Lately I’ve been having a lot of killer dreams — like a killer is coming after me or I have to confront a killer. And when a killer is coming after me, what am I going to have to do? To kill him.


Interesting. What do you think that means?

That something in me is going to be murdered. That a psychic killer is coming. Actually, I met him. Sometimes I meet people inside of me that don’t like me; sometimes I meet people inside of me that want to make love with me more than anything; sometimes I meet the most bizarre animals and am in the most bizarre situations. 

One dream, I met a serial killer who lived out in a small town in, like, Virginia. A small suburban town, very nice, white picket fence. And he lived in the town in a church with the pews taken out. And he was an artist.

You remember this much detail?

Just wait. He was a very short young man, probably about 28 years old with thinning black hair that I think he was ashamed of. He also had all of these photos of these people mangled beyond belief, carved up, dissected alive. They were still alive in these photos, and there was a wall of all of these seductively beautiful, textured, processed black-and-white photos. One man had been made into a basket. One man had been totally deboned but still kept alive, and his skin had been made into a basket upon which his head stood, looking straight into the camera. And right before he died, this snapshot was taken. And this is what this guy’s job was. And my task in the dream, I was the person that saw this amazing horror and this amazing pain. The photographs were screaming, and all of this madness, all of this waste at the hands of this person with a warped soul.

The irony of the dream was that his self-esteem was nothing, and he was saying, “This sucks. This is horrible. I don’t even want to show you.” I was so afraid of him and wanted to keep him in the same place long enough for the police to get him and take him away — while not being killed myself. Obviously. [laughs] So in order to be cool I had to ultimately be compassionate and point out the details in the picture where I felt there was brilliance and really good workmanship — all the while feeling that I would vomit any second, all the while so scared I thought I would cry. And that was the dream. 

Sometimes I have really rhapsodic dreams, and sometimes I have little bits of memory … but lately it’s been killer dreams, and the police almost don’t come in time, although they do come in time. And then I met a woman inside me that hates me. I met the girl, I met the person that doesn’t like me, and then I met this person who was so lascivious sexually that she masturbates publicly all of the time, like she’s fixing her hair. And she looks beautiful doing it and really great, but everyone’s around her and she’s practically naked.


I’m pretty transfixed by [dreams]. I link them to the way I perform. I don’t see any separation, because when you sing there’s a psychic journey that happens. 

Do you write a lot of poetry?  

I garner my songs from my poetry. If anything looks like it’s vibrating, yeah. But it’s a raw thing.


Was the Live at Sin-é EP, released in November of ’93, supposed to hold people over until the album comes out?

No, it served that purpose, but no, it’s just because I love that place.

How often have you played there?

I’ve played there a lot. I played there for over a year. At first I couldn’t get a slot. Shane [Doyle], the owner, had too many demos to listen to. I gave him a demo and a review, which is something I never ever, ever fucking do: pay credence to any one journalist’s opinion. But this was a good review. [laughs] Some positive, some negative. Mainly the negative stuff was my fault.


So I thought that maybe I could get a gig at this little place because I wanted to play in little places to establish my sound and do the work and learn how to sing the way I wanted to sing. Because I didn’t have any teachers. There were teachers around Sin-é to teach what I needed to learn, but Shane couldn’t be bothered. 

Then somebody crapped out on a bunch of Monday nights and my friend Daniel Harnett got me in. He said, “I’m doing one, and so you can do one too.” I was like, “Wow, thank you.” As it turned out, that was it. Bang! I really worked my ass off to get that gig and get others and to make money.

How did you hook up with Columbia Records?


They came to me. I didn’t intend for them to. I was just making music.

Were they the only label that came to you?


Nope. I met Clive Davis. Shook his hand. I met Seymour Stein. Seymour’s at Sire; Clive is at Arista. A lot of people were interested. I met somebody from RCA. Peter Koepke at London.

Were they in the audience at your shows? Then they’d come up to you afterward?


Yeah, and I didn’t really like it. I didn’t like Clive showing up in a limousine on the Lower East Side, in a fine suit. Poor guy — it was so hot in that fucking room.

This was Sin-é, right?


Yep, you were there — like a fucking furnace. In the middle of the fucking summer. I had my shirt off; the guy’s still in his work clothes ’cause his life is fully air-conditioned.

Did you have any misgivings about signing?


Of course I did. Being brought up around the music business in Los Angeles, you see the turnover of people being signed and dropped day after day after day, and it’s all written off as a tax loss. To the company, it’s no sweat off their nose.


But here in New York it’s more about the work, and you don’t get anywhere without the work and that’s what I was doing. But I had misgivings about the size of the places. I had misgivings about my deservedness, about how good I was. I had misgivings about who they thought I was and what they thought I was. And how I wasn’t what they thought. At all.

Which is? Don’t record companies think that every male solo performer with a guitar is the New Dylan?

No, they thought I was the second coming of Tim Buckley. [quietly] That’s what I thought they thought.

Is that a recurring worry of yours?

It was that as a child. But now I’m totally immersed in what I do. If someone asks a question about it, I just tell them as much truth about things as I know. I had no misgivings once I saw my first and only liaison to Columbia Records, [former head of A&R] Steve Berkowitz. He was there from a pretty early stage, just listening. Which is what he does. Because he loves music. And he’s smart. And he’s smart enough to work this fucking gig at Columbia and to do a good job. The personnel here [at Columbia] are what really changed my worries, but I’m really worried up until, like, now.

How would you describe your sound?


I can’t explain it because I’m actually confused. It’s not really a tremendous literary feat to describe it. It’s just an amalgam of everything I’ve ever loved and everything that’s ever inspired me. I’m using that now.

How do the Columbia folks describe you?


They don’t know. At a recent convention I played in Boca Raton for A&R folks at like 11 in the morning, the guy that introduced me said, “We really don’t know what this is. We don’t know what kind of record he’s gonna make. We just know he has to make it.”

… a.k.a. “Introducing the boy genius…”


I’m not a boy genius. I’m neither one, actually. But I’m aware that these people have to move units. I’m aware that this company, by inertia alone, has an agenda. That it can function without me, and I can function without it. But there’s a certain thing that I can’t have without it, and that’s making little plastic discs and traveling the world and being a musician, and they seem to want me. A lot. And I feel that where I’m going is worthwhile, that maybe when I get there this all will have been … whatever crappy shit I’ve ever done will be redeemed.

Do you think you’ll ever get there?


Sure. Or you’ll find me swinging from somebody’s dressing room [laughs] with a big blue arm holding a Jam tape.