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Showing posts with label article. Show all posts
Showing posts with label article. Show all posts

Monday, June 23, 2025

Christmas quotes:

 "Oh gee, it's gotta be a cross between the Memphis Les Paul copy I got for my 16th birthday and the Evel Knievel doll-you know, the acton figure that sits on the motorcycle-that I probably received maybe five years before. The Evel Knievel my grandmother gave him to me, and it got me so deeply that I cried and I put my arms around her 'cause I knew she loved me so much. The guitar, everybody on my mom's side of the family chipped in. And that was a great, great thing."-North County Times, December 22, 1994 (some musicians share their favorite gifts)
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Tradition and memory come into play strongly over the holidays...just ask Jeff Buckley. "I've always recognized Christmas as a traditional thing. It's just mainly the smell of the tree, and the food, and the sound of presents being unwrapped-the one toy that totally hits the kid right between the eyes. That's great. Not seeing people for a long time and having them be there at Christmas. And leftovers.
  " We all converge at my grandma's house, but she just moved from the house she lived in for 25 years that I've known since I was a child as The Christmas House. Also, my family are splintered. There's this weird feud that nobody even knows what the origins are anymore, and they're all retarded. So I don't know what the hell will happen this year."
  Alas, neither naughty or nice can get even Mr. Buckley his special gift: "What I want most for Christmas is free time in New Orleans. The last time I was in New Orleans, my mother showed up. You're in the sexiest city in the world, and you're f****** mother flies in."-Chart, December, 1994

Friday, September 27, 2024

Next big thing tag no sweat for gifted singer Jeff Buckley

Now: February 10, 1994
By Tim Perlich
Submitted by Karen Pace/Steven Bodrug

Jeff Buckley, with Wind May Do Damage, and Rory McLeod, at Ultrasound (269 Queen West), Sunday, February 13, 8 pm. Free. 593-0540

Jeff Buckley, at C'est What (67 Front East), Monday, February 14, 8 pm. Free. 867-9499

  Ever since Elvis enlisted, there has been an opening for a young free spirit to step forward and take over as America's larger-than-life celebrity saviour.
  For the past three decades, Columbia Records has led the star search. Bob Dylan looked like a shoo-in before the motorcycle mishap. And for a minute, Bruce Springsteen was a solid contender-except those three-hour concerts never did translate in the video age. But Columbia may have stumbled upon a winner in Jeff Buckley.
  It's still too early to tell, but the handsome 26-year-old singer/songwriter, who grew up in "white trashvilles across California," appears eminently qualified for the job of cross-generational musical icon.
  Before he ever set foot in a recording studio, the myth-making cogs of the music industry machine were already turning his way. The fact that the son of the hauntingly voiced Tim Buckley, who died tragically in 1975, was showing a musical inclination was all legend starved rock writers needed to know to christen the kid Next Big Thing.
  In the midst of all the hoopla, no one thought to ask the young Buckley if he had any interest in being king.
  "I've never approached a record label in my life," says Buckley from his hotel bed during a stopover in Austin. "I never thought about signing a record deal, I never even thought about being a musician-it's just something I did from the time I was a child. Now I'm beginning to go deeper and deeper into it. I haven't really achieved anything significant.

Folk label

  "I've been in bands since I was 13. I was playing with a band in New York but it wasn't making any money, so I had to start doing solo gigs to pay my bills. But I've never been into the Bob Dylan thing. I don't consider myself a folk singer, although people have been calling me that lately. Anytime somebody stands on stage by himself, people want to call it folk music. It's just music-my music.
  "Playing solo was important for me because I needed to listen to where my music was heading. I knew that in such a setting I would find the voice leading me back to the origins of a sonic philosophy from which the rest of my music would come. I didn't want to be just another dickhead with a guitar singing about his stupid life."
  It was Buckley's stint with Gary Lucas' Gods and Monsters that first brought the out-of-towner some downtown New York Street cred, but it was his solo shows at Café Sin-é-a hip East Village hole-in-the-wall where artists like Sinéad O'Connor slip in for impromptu acoustic shows-that led to his Columbia deal and the four-track Live At Sin-é foretaste of his Andy Wallace-produced debut extravaganza.

Truth beneath covers

  Recorded over the month of August, Live at Sin-e's stripped-down covers of Van Morrison's The Way Young Lovers Do and Edith Piaf's Je N'en Connais Pas La Fin are perhaps more revealing than the two originals included.
  Not only do the cover choices confirm Buckley's refined taste, they also show off his considerable interpretive skill and his versatility. And his unself-conscious scatting and the ease with which he spontaneously tacks on an extra verse to an etched-in-rock Van anthem shows he's not opposed to taking risks for the sake of greater achievement.
  "There's nothing about the EP to give you a clear indication about what's to come," he says. "There'll probably be critics who'll take it to show I'm a zero and have nothing to offer while others may accept it for what it is. The whole thing was an immediate, instinctive experience. I just decided to do some scat singing. It's not about trying to imitate Ella Fitzgerald-its just a matter of finding a way of improvising."
  So far Buckley hasn't had to deal with much negative criticism-if any. Whether it's out of guilt for the recognition his talented father never received, or the simple thrill of the grandiloquent"I have seen the future of rock and roll..." stroke, the journalists who have covered Buckley seem determined to create a legend, whether he's willing to play along or not.
  " I can't protect myself against writers," he grumbles contemptuously. "I don't know why, for example, Bill Flannigan took such a myth-making approach in that (February 1994) Musician article. You know that part where he made a big deal of my staying on stage alone for the encore as the rest of the band left? The whole incident was so very ordinary.
  "The show was being broadcast live on a radio station where a friend of mine is a DJ. He said, 'come out and do another song,' so I played a song we did early on in the set. That was it. I can't defend myself against writers who want to inject their own flourishes.
  "I really don't know why music critics exist. They don't fit into the context of what I'm doing. If you weren't there and you didn't taste the experience, you ain't gonna get it. I don't see how the music I make can be accurately expressed in literary terms. Instead they focus on what I look like or my record deal.
 "To any real people who might be reading this, I submit, don't listen to writers. Either come and see me perform or ignore me-but listen to your heart."

Monday, July 1, 2024

Buckley takes on the world

(submitted by Lex Frumpy)

In just over two and a half years the enigmatic Jeff Buckley has risen from relative obscurity to the top of the cult ladder. He talks about life on the way up to
Ray Purvis.

  JEFF BUCKLEY has grown from being a sensitive, expressive, New York cafe performer to a...sensitive, expressive, worldwide auditorium performer.
  And he has done it without compromising any of his innate charm and essential musical perversity.
  Buckley defies easy categorisation. A listen to his one-and-only full-length CD Grace or the extended live workouts on the B-side of his singles shows that he is totally out of whack with almost all of today's formatted guitar-based rock.
  He believes in just letting things happen. As his bass player Mick Grondahl describes him, "he is a person who wants to just fall into the abyss and trust that he'll land on his two feet-just like a cat."
  Leaving aside the obvious comparison with his legendary father-the late Tim Buckley-the handsome singer, who has the same taut, wild good looks as the actor Matt Dillon, has few peers when it comes to vocal gymnastics.
  He is blessed with a unique and marvelously intricate voice. Imagine something like a cross between Nick Cave, Van Morrison and Maria Callas.
  Besides having the reckless affrontery to tackle covers such as Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah, Alex Chilton's KangaRoo and Benjamin Britten's Corpus Christi Carol, the 29-year-old Buckley has the ability to write complex and subtly structured songs.
  Born in 1966, Buckley was raised by his Panamanian mother Mary Guilbert in California. His biological father, the legendary singer Tim Buckley who recorded eight jazzy, ahead-of their-time records in the 60s and 70s and died of an accidental drug overdose at about the same age Jeff is now.
  When Buckley Jun. was about eight he spent a week with his natural father "I met him one time and a couple of months later he died," Buckley explained two years ago to a songwriting magazine. "But between that he never wrote and never called and I didn't even get invited to the funeral. There is no connection really."
  Speaking from New York on the eve of the Hard Luck Tour of Australia that brings the charismatic singer to Perth for concerts at the Belvoir Amphitheatre on Saturday and the Sandringham Hotel on Sunday, Buckley is quite willing to sketch in the background to his rise to fame, including his early years in suburban Los Angeles.
  "I wrote songs when I was in high school and I had had a band in my room almost every day but we didn't play out, we just played. The first band I had was in northern California and we played a few dinky places." Buckley joined various hard rock and reggae bands in California and studied guitar at the LA Musicians' Institute.
  "I went through this period where I couldn't find my own voice. I was chewing myself from the inside and I didn't know why. I laid off for maybe like two years...I got this huge depression or something. I didn't do anything, I was like this kind of tumbleweed guy. So I went to New York... actually I went twice...and when I got there I got these ordinary jobs but I always got fired for sleeping or being accused of stealing something when I hadn't."

Tuesday, February 6, 2024

Buckley's Cafe Society

The Toronto Sun
Tue Oct 25 1994
BY JAMIE KASTNER
(Submitted by Steven)

Some people do yoga to unwind. Others do drugs.
  Jeff Buckley, singing/songwriting son of tragic folkie Tim Buckley, makes cappuccino in his favourite cafe, the Sin-e in New York's East Village.
  "When my head gets tight, I go down there and wash dishes or make cappuccinos," he says from his Manhattan pad. "I used to handle the money, but that was going too far. Now, I just make cappuccinos."
  Occasionally, Buckley steps out from behind the Gaggia and straps on an electric guitar. In fact, his debut EP released early this year was called Live At Sin-e.
  On Grace, the full-length CD which came out in August, Buckley blends his octave-scaling voice with everything from solo guitar to full band. The songs range from from Buckley originals to his take on Nina Simone staple Lilac Wine. He'll be dispensing in person Thursday at the Trinity Centre.
  Now, on that cappuccino question. You might figure a cafe for a relaxing enough hangout without actively having to sling foam. Apparently not the Sin-e.
  "It's more relaxing behind the counter than in the audience. Sometimes we get these acoustic bands playing really loud. They're like: 'We're not faggots - it takes a real man to play an acoustic guitar!' It's what's said that should intoxicate, not how loud it's said."
  Buckley's had to prove his volume theory beyond the Sin-e's familiar brick walls.
  "At one of the best shows I've played, in Iowa of all places, the Damn Builders and the Grifters opened up for me. They came out and really rocked the house - they do this rockabilly thing.
  "And then we get on and we're like a down pillow in comparison. We had to draw people in with our playing alone - although we did play loudest we've ever played."
  Musically, Buckley's attention to dynamics can be traced back to influences ranging from Gershwin to Nusrat Fateh Ali Kahn. (He never knew his musical father, who died in 1975, and has little to say on the subject). Buckley also draws inspiration from the printed page.
  "I've got a real Ginsberg head-groove on. I'm also into really weird fiction - I'm reading this novel called Turtle Boy." A five-minute summary of the travails of Turtle Boy ensues.
  "And do you know Ayn Rand?" A 10-minute lecture on the life of Ayn Rand and the philosophy of rational self-interest.
  "I'm really into biographies too. I read Nina Simone's recently. Amazing. I like knowing what happened in other people's lives. I guess it's a way of getting away from my own."

© 1994 Sun Media Corporation. All rights reserved.

Thursday, September 7, 2023

Grace Under Pressure

The Advertiser: December 15, 1994
By Mike Gribble

  Jeff Buckley met his dad, 70s rock contemporary Tim Buckley, only once but in music both have been struck by a similar sense of love-sickness and devotion to raw, spontaneous passion. Jeff Buckley's debut album, Grace, is a soaring, unique mix of styles, without consistent or specific direction, but is underscored by lyrics pleading for understanding.
  Buckley's voice carries flecks of operatic strains, rock angst, and even reveals glimpses of child-like hesitancy. Captain Beefheart guitarist Gary Lucas paints Buckley's soundscapes with sparse and well placed caresses of strings.
  "A trademark of my presence has been that, at first glance, people either hate me and run away screaming, or we sit down and talk and get on with knowing each other," says Buckley, 27. "I've lived in bars since I was 14, doing gigs in southern California. I remember any gigs I did had a lot of range to them but I didn't do things with the same focus I have now.
  "Music is a force of nature; it's not really an art. The conventions built around music are art forms. I experience music as being like the wind, or ocean, or fire.
  "It comes perfectly natural to humankind. It gets into the bloodstream and you can hate it, or it can totally elate you.
  "Initially, songs come to me very easily but bringing them to full bloom takes a lot out of me. The way you see the song in your mind and the shape it takes...if you see any apprehension in the song, that's usually the way it came out when I first did it and I don't like to change it. I don't like to say it any better than that. I'm hard-pressed to find a different expression for it.
  "If it's a little rusty at the beginning, if it's like stars gathering in the galaxy, that's the way it comes out.
  "I love the place music takes you. It's like a whole other universe where all musics exist. Music takes time and it takes moments for people. It hovers like flies over a picnic before it goes in for the kill and you really...like, really experience it."

  • Jeff Buckley will perform at the Big Day Out in Sydney and Melbourne. Adelaide fans should start requesting an SA visit through Sony Music.

Monday, July 24, 2023

Rockin'on, January, 1995

Jeff Buckley

Ohh! The song comes down!!
Bathe the expression, touch the existence!  The last “Artist”, Jeff Buckley’s telephone interview right before his visit to Japan & tickets giveaway!!

Interview: Hiroaki Tanaka, Interpretation: Steve Harris
Translation by Tutu Fujimoto
(audio of the interview can be found here)

It's said that 10 people with 10 different colors (Ed: this is Japanese proverb that means “no flakes fall on the same spot” or like that), but I wonder indeed, there is someone who doesn't select “Grace” as one of the best albums of 1994. A surprise at the fact that the one singer’s album, which is just trying to "express" himself, can ring beyond your favorites or genre. Honestly, I had been listening to music so far, always with my heart worrying that something called "universal expression" might never come out again. Music, it should be with different perspectives by each person. But I have a conviction that everyone’s first feeling is the same when they listened to “Grace”. I also have a conviction that it will turn to each person’s “Grace” and the album will take root into each person’s life after awhile. I think those who haven't listened to it should do it quickly. His first visit to Japan will may be a historic moment, for sure.



I heard that you asked the recording company for three conditions in the contract: honesty, patience and non-interference. What's going on, it's about time you finally saw the reality of the industry and began to feel a sense of compromise?


Nah, not really. Well, it was hard to fill the gap, but in the end, everyone understood that It was me myself who knew the best about my work...Not especially, I’m not saying what's going on with people in the music industry. Frankly speaking, the way of thinking itself in the industry is totally behind the curve. What it’s about is, they just keep on selling it without knowing what they’re selling...For example, they try to sell things in the same way as they sell substantial value things like steel, apples, or oranges or cats. So they make a very narrow-minded decision which is nothing but a strangely unequal and give-and-take. They've been doing things like scraping things by picking and dragging up from somewhere, and that's what the music business is all about. That kind of situation is starting to show up more clearly.  So, first, we make sure of our values, and then we communicate properly with the people who need to get along with. There’re only five people in my line of work in person. Make sense? That’s enough. It's in Sony, a world-class religious cult (lol). Oh well, the tribe of Sony, they’re everywhere.



Hahaha. It seems that some people are planning to make you a cult star in a ten-year plan.


Wah...Whaaat??? Who’s saying like that thing...woo, even if it’s so, that’s not my business.  If they had a plan, they would give me a place where I could make an album and then make more and more better ones. My works reflect the life. It’s alive. It doesn’t mean it has to be a yogurt (lol).


Okay, so...is there any artists whom you think “I want to be this kind of person”?


...Tom Waits, Lou Reed, and Allen Ginsberg, De Niro. Dylan, too. A person who has lived a real life.  A person who has gone through the flames one after another. Whether it be your own flame, or a flame which has been hated by others or raised to the position of God. Dylan’s previous album, and the one before that are fabulous in that meaning.


I think those people who just mentioned are people who have paid attention only to their works regardless of the times or trends. Is that around the point what you sympathize with them?


But I guess it reflects the time a little bit. I'm also writing something that reflects my own life. So as time goes on, the contents of the songs will change naturally.

But now everyone is crazy about you, isn’t it. Strange to say, it seems you are the person who is much talked about in personal computer communication.

You mean, among the internet? Kiddinnnnng?...(I’m) Glad. I simply appreciate it, but it's still weird...yeah, it's way too strange. How can I say..., Thank you Madam, Would you like French fries with it? Like that??

(lol). Well, but seriously I've never seen an article about you in a bad way.

Is it? I wonder how they like me. Music is kinda strange. For example, song you hate has been playing years and years. It’s so lame and insistent that you don’t even want to listen anymore. But one time, the moment that song becomes so important has come. Maybe it's because of your girlfriend, maybe it's because you met someone, or someone is dead...music is like that. It's not like Sega games. Once or twice: you touch it or not, it’s not like that simple. Song is, music is, it’s always hanging around you, tagging along like a hornet. Music is, it takes time to get its breath and live. So, I'm happy with all the praise, but on the other hand I think we need to keep everyone having a conversation with music.

Pearl Jam also has the same kind of mentality as you have, that is like being honest with yourself or not to be swallowed by the business, doesn’t it?

Yeah, it might be. Ah yeah, Jeff Ament has come to my show before. But no one wants to betray themselves? But I know I’m a prostitute. I'll do anything I can to do music. Those prostitutes do the same, huh? To do with fun as long as they do.

But you are more picky than prostitute?

Well, it's too early to pretend to be a conceptual artist. No need to hit your head against the wall like this way early. I’m just okay with that I could play for people who really want to listen. Besides, the art is, it can show its ability especially at the place where you can show the eccentricity inside of you as much as you want. So we need a really suitable place for that. That’s a bar, or a church. I’ve played at the burrito shop once. That was amazing.

It should be like those small space?

Because if you play in a stadium or something, the audience would go out to buy hot dogs and beer and so on. That's not a musical experience or anything. It’s just an event. If it was about me, it’s too sad to death. And in places like that, you can't hear a sound without such a good monitor. It's like wearing a condom and having sex, so I get frustrated.

By the way, I heard that the fact that there’s no lyrics translation in Japanese Edition is due to your own will?

That’s right. It took only five minutes to decide. Rilke's German poetry had to go through many translators to achieve a honest, accurate and poetic English translation. Even in the languages of Mexico, Pakistan or France, they have their own identities, and the logic itself is full of satire or rhyming games. You should “experience” those things by yourself. That’s why I thought that a translation was good for nothing. Ultimately, I guess I have no choice but to learn Japanese myself. But I need two pages of Japanese for one word, maybe? (lol)

So, do you mean that Japanese people should feel something more from the sound?

Yeah, and I want you to take the time to figure it out. About what meaning it has, for yourselves.

Wednesday, January 4, 2023

A Conversation with Jeff Buckley

Quotes from Beat, May, 1998 done in Wolverhampton, England, March 2, 1995
By Steve Morris

"It was very shocking to read. It's fiction."-about the suggestion that he's a phoney in this NME article

But surely part of the process of selling the music.

"Well, the performance of the music is the only selling point."

You still have to do interviews, meet and greets...

"I don't really do that very well. It takes a very small amount of time actually, it's very harmless but very draining."

"Yeah, it's strange. It's good."-about being surprised by the response to his music

Where did his music come from? What did he hear as a child?

"Mendelssohn, Chopin, the Messiah, erm, Funny Girl, West Side Story, Elton John, Joni Mitchell from my mom. From my stepfather, Pink Floyd, Grand Funk Railroad, Moody Blues, Cat Stevens, Crosby Stills and Nash, Bob Dylan. I think that was my mom too. Beatles of course and Hendrix and Zeppelin. And also the popular music of the time like Stevie Wonder had Innervisions and that was all over the radio."

His mom was an accomplished and respected musician. Had he been "guided" toward playing?

"No, no, I found it in my grandma's closet. It was an acoustic guitar, gut string. My mom never wanted me to play 'cos she had been through so much bullshit with lessons as a kid, so much pressure, she didn't want to put it on me. So she never pushed me in any one direction, ever, she saw I was doing something I liked. She just enjoyed it."

At what point did he realize he had a talent for music?

"I don't know how to tell you that, because I really don't get that sense. I mean, how do you get the sense that you are male."

"They said that about, er, pick 'em, Cocteau, Picasso whatever...some people fall short 'cos they're just gesticulating, but sometimes in art you need to be ridiculous, you have to be the clown. As long as you don't stay too long, man!
"Last night it was somebody's birthday and I did the Marilyn Monroe Happy Birthday Mr. President thing; really fun and wonderfully faggy, happy and..."

Being a Buckley of course such "fun" is not going to remain "just fun," people will "interpret."

"Yeah, that's a danger for them actually 'cos they'll never perceive anything correctly."-about his meditative style being seen as pretentious

"The album is like some of flavor you taste in the distance and it's coming close. It's pretty easy to rely on your instincts and basically you just concentrate on what you don't want to have happen."-about the making of his album

It gets harder though, life on the road making the writing of another album a lot harder.

"Totally warped and thwarted. I spend most of my time traveling, sound checking, eating bad food and being interviewed. There's not a lot of time to be alone. I get key fragments into my notebooks that I'll try to nurture later.
  "I need some time off. I want to be able to reload, I want to have something new out this year ('95). I'm so tired being afraid of sucking all the flavor out of this material, 'cos I need new material to mend this old material. Not to say that I'm tired of playing it 'cos it's always a new journey but I'm just afraid of the future being not as bright as I think it could be."

"Even if I'd called myself Johnny Goat people would still catch wind of my heritage and make the same oddity out of it."

And the people waiting for him to become his father?

"They're safe and there's no rebuttal to what they have to say. It takes a certain amount of resolve and some maturity that I'm trying to dredge up but I don't manifest yet 'cos it still hurts."

Yet there are some folks who'll want, for whatever dumb reason, to see history repeated.

"That I'm destroyed? If that exists then there'll be full on war because my only act of rebellion is to continue to live. It's probably the thing that'll piss them off the most."

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

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.

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.

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.