Roseland review

By Greg Fasolino

Juliana Hatfield

Jeff Buckley

Roseland

  Although technically the special guest on this bill, Jeff Buckley proved to be the one to warrant close attention. Son of legendary late '60s folk/jazz balladeer, Tim Buckley (a tragic 1975 suicide), Buckley the Son thankfully inherited his father's genetic vocal gifts, showcased on his recent debut full-length disc, Grace (not counting an earlier, appetite-whetting CD EP, Live at Sin-E). Indeed, Buckley's throat is a limber, liquid, unfettered instrument, somewhat like a cross between Robert Plant and Marc Bolan-able to turn and bite delicately into a tune with Kate Bush-like agility, and as simultaneously wry and touching as Morrissey or Morrison (Van, that is, his frequent cover choice). At Roseland, shiny-suited Buckley-backed by a sympathetic rhythm section-began small and ended big. An initially poor sound mix that occasionally drowned out Buckley's pipes (especially on a raw cover of the MC5's "Kick Out the Jams") held back the first bunch of numbers, but as the sonic background cleared, the incredible range, control, and power of this man's voice began to work its magic. The centerpiece of Grace, the loping, majestic "The Last Goodbye" really got the electricity flowing, with its alternating moods of delicacy and fat-riffed rock energy, followed by the fragile "Lilac Wine" and Grace's haunting title track. The finale found Buckley alone, accompanying himself on spare, sad guitar chording for an extended, moving version of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah." He even prompted a joyous murmer from the crowd when he inserted some old Smiths lyrics in the middle of the song.

  Since her beginnings with the Blake Babies, headliner Juliana Hatfield's winsome tunesmithery has held its own, but she simply wasn't strong enough a personality or singer to follow something as stunningly original as Buckley. Hatfield's latest album, Only Everything (featuring the terrific single, "Universal Heart Beat"), is a solid piece of hard bubblegum whimsy, similar to (but at this point, far eclipsing) her contemporary and former bandmate Evan Dando's Lemonheads. But this night, Hatfield's crunchy guitar and sugary pixie vocals didn't have the same kick as on the CD-the sonic whole lacked the buzzing gig energy of otherwise comparable combos like, say The Breeders or Elastica, which would have given Hatfield's impressively catchy songs (like the lovely "Live on Tomorrow") some juice. And it wasn't as if you could get swept away in a Dinosaur Jr.-like wash of noise, either; her band didn't seem to offer anything out of the ordinary. While Juliana's wholesome, waifish, alternative-girl-next-door image is cute on magazine covers, in a live setting, she suffers from a severe lack of star quality.