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.
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