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Wednesday, February 16, 2022

The soul poet

Marabo Magazin, July, 1995
Written and submitted by Ines Philipp
Translated by me

One of the most exciting singers, songwriters, guitarists and performers of our days, the son of the legendary US folk-psychedelic Tim Buckley, gives a guest performance in NRW-Ruhrgebietler unfortunately have to drive 100 kilometers.

  Somehow this Jeff Buckley just won't let you go. For days you have this image in front of your eyes, the way he speaks, moves, the gestures of his hands and those eyes. Somewhere. To anyone...Who only? And then on Saturday evenings on the third channel there is this old film, "The Ship of the Dead" (1959) by B. Traven. The longer you look, the more Jeff Buckley pushes himself in front of the main character's face.
  Doesn't anyone notice that Jeff Buckley looks strikingly similar to the young Hotte Buchholz and draws parallels to the rebel from back then in "Die Halbstarken" from 1956? No, everyone is just talking about Tim Buckley. Sure, he was Jeff's father. Yes, he is cult, because he died early (on June 29, 1975 at the age of 35 from an overdose of heroin and amphetamines) and released nine albums "Folk-Jazz-Blues-Experiments with psychedelic white Soul" in eight years or so. But who here today knows Tim Buckley (and has one of these nine LPs at home?)-and what does that have to do with Jeff Buckley? In 1995, not Tim, but Jeff Buckley is cult. His five-track EP "Live at Sin-é" and his debut album "Grace" caused some uproar in professional circles and among the public in 1993 and 1994.
  Jeff Buckley is such a gifted songwriter and singer that it just rips your soul out. Others just sing-Jeff screams and pleads and whimpers and cajoles in a vocal virtuosity that blows you away. The man there on stage lives and loves and leads his songs with an urgency that leaves no one untouched. He himself is exhausted every time after his concerts and is unresponsive for hours, he says. And because that's the case, there must be some dramatic story behind it.
  Already, Buckley Jr, who lives in New York, is considered difficult, to talk to and in general. True, he does not talk to every journalist standing on the packed interview schedule, yet will only talk to him about his father. Jeff, 29, is more than tired of it: "The stuff about my dad is more of interest from a journalistic perspective than for myself." Jeff had known his father for barely a week. His parents had already separated before Jeff was born. The boy was eight when his father died: there he had seen him for a week on tour just two months before. So there is hardly any question of getting to know each other and influencing each other. "There are other people who have been more important in my life-but a workholic mother and a grandmother in Panama just aren't as media savvy."
  Sometimes he does go in for his "poor-little-scared-orphan-of-the-last-of-the-Buckleys" image, probably more for peace of mind. Sure, he moved around a lot his acting mother, from one place to another; nowhere was he at home for long. Nevertheless. Jeff wasn't one of those lost street kids or hiding behind computers and self-pity. His childhood was that of a "normal" American boy, lost in vast cornfields, putting a penny on the railroad tracks, playing soccer (at the AYSO Soccer Club), and afraid of the old lady down the street.
  And that's it in terms of drama and mystery in his life. Because of his extroverted introversion, people interpret a lot of things into him that are not really the case. It is probably more our own dark sides that find morbid thoughts and gloomy images more exciting than a sensitive soul-poet with a clever head. Jeff Buckley does not need to be saved. He is not standing on any precipice. "Looking into the past is an enormous waste of the gene pool. The present is all that matters." Does he sometimes think about death or suicide? "Yes. Often. Very often. But differently. I don't think it's wise or even heroic to live your life with emotional cancer eating you up from the inside. Life has too many gifts in store to reach out and understand. I don't want to be one of those wandering dead people. But I have my melancholy moments, oh yes, I have the great world-weariness in me, sometimes." Who doesn't?
It is these feelings that Jeff Buckley knows how to charismatically translate into music-so that he fully grips each and every one of them to the core. That's a rare gift and yes, maybe he got that from his father. But a piece like "Mojo Pin" or "Grace" was not written by Tim Buckley...

8.7. Köln, E-Werk; 12. 7. Bielefeld, Hechelei

Tuesday, February 15, 2022

"Calling You" outtake

A version of "Calling You" that, for the time being at least, is from an unknown source (though in my opinion, it sounds like a Grace outtake):



Saturday, February 12, 2022

Letter to Louie

  "I am moving soon so I was going through old boxes and found a xerox copy of some of Jeff's letters to me.  Somewhere I have the original letters and cards but I wanted to show how funny and adorable he was...always drawing cute stuff on his letters...When Jeff first moved to NYC I would worry about him and send him care packages with books, tapes and stuff. 
  I was in a band back in the late 60's and when living in The Village in NYC we lived at this CRAZY hotel called The Hotel Albert. Tim Buckley also lived there when he came to NYC so I just adored Timmy. He was AMAZING...!!!! In the late 80's Jeff was trying to find Tim's Mom and he contacted Tim's guitarist, Lee Underwood, hoping he might know where she was...Lee didn't but he gave Jeff my address and told him to ask me. So you can imagine my surprise when I got a letter from Jeff...
  So that's how I got to know him.. (and yes, he DID find his Grandmother)...Jeff would call and write me and I wanted him to understand his Dad more so I would give him old articles and tapes about Tim. After Jeff moved to NYC he would tell me about his adventures and I would send him care packages because I knew he didn't really have money to blow on things. (This was BEFORE he got started singing in NYC)...I worried about him but things started happening musically for him so we all know how that ended. Jeff was so charismatic and so very funny...I miss him so much.. 😍"-Louie Dula via FB

May 24, 1990:


"I had sent him a tiny compass on a chain so he wouldn't get lost as he was always wandering around the city and a kaleidoscope so that's why he mentions seeing them in this store he went into."



Thursday, February 10, 2022

The little prince of rock in a state of grace

Jeff Buckley at Victoire 2
Midi Libre, February, 1995
By Laurent Laboutière
Submitted by Eric at cprsoundradio.com
Translated by me

In a packed room, the revelation of the year struck the audience with a deluge of emotions and purity, and confirmed a talent of a rare authenticity

  The arrival of the artist of the year is inevitably prepared like the concert of the year. We talk about it before each one goes of its small anecdote, of its interpretation of the analyses of the specialized press, of its tips unearthed in the British gazettes...And the date of Montpellier left time for it since Bettie Serveert had cancelled her performance in first part for health reasons.
  In a Victoire hall filled but still viable in the back, near the merchandising stand where the most convinced fans buy T-shirts and other gadgets stamped with the name of the star, eight hundred people are waving and waiting for the entrance of the newly revealed genius.
  Without pomp and circumstance, the young Buckley takes to the stage surrounded by his quartet. Quietly he surrounds his Telecaster and begins the exploration of his little marvel of a first album, the voice already far, very (?) high, in these famous spheres full of grace and lightness. Leather jacket on T-shirt of the tour, intriguing smile, he carries his guitar very low, does not launch out in long speeches between the pieces and tries, above all to weave as quickly as possible this atmosphere which will soon invade the room until plunging it in a rare silence where are mixed the surprise, the interest and a very big respect.
  "I found the room particularly attentive tonight. It was a very good concert" he confided after the show. Indeed, one could have heard flies flying at certain moments, which at Victoire, and in a rock concert in general, is an exceptional achievement. It is that Jeff Buckley imposes. Little by little he takes the whole room by the guts, strikes it with intense emotions, juggling power and crystalline clarity, the falsely fragile purity of his voice, these divine phrases that he whispers without modesty, seeming to open up to the depths of his soul and his feelings to better drown everyone in his bowels.
  "So Real", "Grace", "Eternal Life", the most sustained tracks of his album take a disconcerting relief. The intros stretch, the voice twists around, the orgasmic rise is much longer than in studio. More approximate also, spontaneous. Here and there the arpeggios slip, dissonant, but these small snags have no other effect than to make the show even more touching, more authentic, extraordinarily human, far from the live set to the millimeter, sanitized.
As for his more intimate compositions, "Lilac Wine", "Lovers", they are enriched by his presence and the vertigo of living a unique moment of such an intensity, such a delicate power, such a refined strength that they are almost more violent than the others.
On stage, without technical fiddling or special effects, the filiation with his father Tim, underground myth of the 70s, is even more obvious. His ethereal, elusive voice seems to come from beyond, touched by the grace of who knows which God. The general atmosphere is totally 70's, soaring, atmospheric. The entire room floats on a surreal mattress of intoxicating fragrances.
After a few unreleased tracks in addition to his entire album, Jeff Buckley performs a stunning version of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah". Magic and bewitching moment. He will offer two encores, one of which is a solo that delivers a fatal overdose of purity, leaving the impression of having lived an exceptional moment, surprising in comparison to what the album suggested, bursting with beauty, sensitivity and finesse. Obviously, this little prince of the rock revival has not finished to make talk about him and to offer us treasures of emotions.