An alternate take on the wonderful Mood Swing Whiskey
Thursday, October 18, 2018
Jeff Buckley
Rhythms, July, 1995
By Christie Eliezer
Submitted by Gabby
If you're one of those whose copy of Jeff Buckley's Grace is still In the CD player a year after it's release, you'd already know about that stunning, gorgeous voice, the heart-pounding melancholy of the ballads and the grittiness of thevrock-out tracks.
Onstage, Buckley is much more than that. With songs like "Dream Brother" and "So Real" (which, incidentally, have been opening his shows in Europe), it was accepted Grace was the sort of album that really come alive in the live context. After touring nnon-stop with his band for almost a year, the set is crackingly good.
"The Last Goodbye", for instance, is just a bundle of intensity, as Buckley dissolves into a loud "kiss me, ooh, KISS ME!" while the on-stage renditions of "Grace" and "Mojo Pin" acquire a beauty only hinted at on record. A recent addition to the show, "What Will You Say" (written by good friend Chris Dowd, former ivory tinkler and trombone player with Fishbone, who incidentally, was the real inspiration behind "Dream Brother", not father Tim as commonly assumed) breaks away from his image as the good loking angel les chique tragique.
You ain't heard nothing yet till you hear ol' Jeff take high vocals on "Lover You Should've Come Over", or the way he and his band gleefully punch holes into the lyrics of Big Star's "Holocaust" and come up gasping for air, mouth turned down in junkie chic while dripping with blood. For the final song, Buckley stands alone, turning "Hallelujah" into more of a melodramatic opus than its writer Leonard Cohen intended it to be Buckley clings to rock music for the simple reason Lennon or Dylan grasped at it. It allowed him to reinvent himself and claw himself out of life's claustrophobia. Being part of a band has given him a family for the first time. If you heard the themes behind "Grace" and "Eternal Life"-how music makes him feel so goddamn good-you'd know that anyway.
"Do you know what it's like when you're having sex and you're about to have an orgasm, and your entire mind and body are concentrating every single molecule on that one thing?" Buckley murmurs. "That's what music is for me. It's a white light, it's my mother and father, it's my best friend, it's my blood.
"Nothing else matters. When I'm working, I'm thinking music. When I'm resting, I'm thinking music. People say I bend my body into the weirdest shapes when I'm performing onstage. I can understand that. When I'm singing, I can feel that force just push my face, my body, everything into all kinds of shapes."
Does that explain the amount of people who've written to him saying how Grace saved them from suicide?
"Is that such a big deal? I don't think my music attracts weirdos. The people at my shows are pretty normal. They're not coming because they want to see some rock god-which I'm NOT!-they enjoy playing Grace in their homes and they want to see the songs delivered in person.
"Maybe if they're feeling kinda down, maybe it's hearing the songs and realizing that they're not alone, that other people-a lot of other people-are feeling those things too. Everyone feels like shit. I certainly have. I spent most of my teenage days feeling real empty inside, feeling I had nothing to offer anyone. A lot of people think angst is something to revel in. It's not. You have to contend with it. You can either be self indulgent and boring. Or you can create a masterpiece."
So how would he react if someone in the audience told him they'd come to see a rock god or, travesty, the spirit of Tim Buckley revived?
"Yeah, well, the joke's on them. I hardly knew my father. He left my mum when I was six months old. I never saw him again until a week or so before he died. My mum gave me the name Jeff Scott Moorhead. Moorhead was the name of my stepfather. Until my mid-teens I actually was known as Scott. I changed my name when I was old enough. I don't really know why. Or maybe I do."
It may be significant that Grace made Buckley a star at 28, the same age as when Sr died of an overdose. Jeff spent the last year explaining to people that, no, aside from the name, there's no connection with his father. Now he's changed his tack. At a recent press conference in Milan, when hit with a question about his father's death, he replied, "I dunno, man, maybe I should give you some phone numbers in America and they could help you answer that."
Ma Buckley was a hippie who turned him on to "that real post-Dylan acoustic stuff, marvelous to listen to even today." She was a bit of a gypsy, and the young boy's childhood was spent being the perennial "new kid in class" at yet another Californian school. He made a deal with music: it would become his best friend, and he in turn would listen to everything from the Beatles to Joni Mitchell to classical to '40s soundtracks.
Life was no swing through the Fun House for Buckley. He remembers as a teenager he was "dead inside", writing "endless poetry and stories, real shit stuff". It didn't alleviate his feelings of worthlessness. One day he raged, burned all his writings. Symbolically, two weeks later, the riots broke out in L.A.
So nowadays, New York-based Buckley is a bit of a '90s teen idol and "rock icon". He once jammed with Chrissie Hynde and John McEnroe during a visit to London, and is rumored to have had a fling with Liz of the Cocteau Twins. In interviews, he admits to having some horrific nightmares. Like doing his homework while listening to the radio, and being grabbed by the music and smashed into the floor until he screams. Or being invited back to an artist's studio to see his work-which turned out to be displays of living things with their vocal cords cut out. So is working on his next album a similar nightmare?
"No. It'd be interesting to see if having to project to a large group of people at shows will change the style. You always have this...uh, fear, that people might hate it or the ideas might not come when you're making it. But I figure I'm gonna be doing this for the rest of my life, so I might as well try and enjoy it now while I can."
Does continually being on the road disillusion him?
"No, I was always on the move as a kid. I enjoy it. It can be a bit hard at times, but, hey, the concerts make up for everything. If I get some backlash, that's OK. The more you're attacked, the more you're forced to defend this thing you love."
By Christie Eliezer
Submitted by Gabby
If you're one of those whose copy of Jeff Buckley's Grace is still In the CD player a year after it's release, you'd already know about that stunning, gorgeous voice, the heart-pounding melancholy of the ballads and the grittiness of thevrock-out tracks.
Onstage, Buckley is much more than that. With songs like "Dream Brother" and "So Real" (which, incidentally, have been opening his shows in Europe), it was accepted Grace was the sort of album that really come alive in the live context. After touring nnon-stop with his band for almost a year, the set is crackingly good.
"The Last Goodbye", for instance, is just a bundle of intensity, as Buckley dissolves into a loud "kiss me, ooh, KISS ME!" while the on-stage renditions of "Grace" and "Mojo Pin" acquire a beauty only hinted at on record. A recent addition to the show, "What Will You Say" (written by good friend Chris Dowd, former ivory tinkler and trombone player with Fishbone, who incidentally, was the real inspiration behind "Dream Brother", not father Tim as commonly assumed) breaks away from his image as the good loking angel les chique tragique.
You ain't heard nothing yet till you hear ol' Jeff take high vocals on "Lover You Should've Come Over", or the way he and his band gleefully punch holes into the lyrics of Big Star's "Holocaust" and come up gasping for air, mouth turned down in junkie chic while dripping with blood. For the final song, Buckley stands alone, turning "Hallelujah" into more of a melodramatic opus than its writer Leonard Cohen intended it to be Buckley clings to rock music for the simple reason Lennon or Dylan grasped at it. It allowed him to reinvent himself and claw himself out of life's claustrophobia. Being part of a band has given him a family for the first time. If you heard the themes behind "Grace" and "Eternal Life"-how music makes him feel so goddamn good-you'd know that anyway.
"Do you know what it's like when you're having sex and you're about to have an orgasm, and your entire mind and body are concentrating every single molecule on that one thing?" Buckley murmurs. "That's what music is for me. It's a white light, it's my mother and father, it's my best friend, it's my blood.
"Nothing else matters. When I'm working, I'm thinking music. When I'm resting, I'm thinking music. People say I bend my body into the weirdest shapes when I'm performing onstage. I can understand that. When I'm singing, I can feel that force just push my face, my body, everything into all kinds of shapes."
Does that explain the amount of people who've written to him saying how Grace saved them from suicide?
"Is that such a big deal? I don't think my music attracts weirdos. The people at my shows are pretty normal. They're not coming because they want to see some rock god-which I'm NOT!-they enjoy playing Grace in their homes and they want to see the songs delivered in person.
"Maybe if they're feeling kinda down, maybe it's hearing the songs and realizing that they're not alone, that other people-a lot of other people-are feeling those things too. Everyone feels like shit. I certainly have. I spent most of my teenage days feeling real empty inside, feeling I had nothing to offer anyone. A lot of people think angst is something to revel in. It's not. You have to contend with it. You can either be self indulgent and boring. Or you can create a masterpiece."
So how would he react if someone in the audience told him they'd come to see a rock god or, travesty, the spirit of Tim Buckley revived?
"Yeah, well, the joke's on them. I hardly knew my father. He left my mum when I was six months old. I never saw him again until a week or so before he died. My mum gave me the name Jeff Scott Moorhead. Moorhead was the name of my stepfather. Until my mid-teens I actually was known as Scott. I changed my name when I was old enough. I don't really know why. Or maybe I do."
It may be significant that Grace made Buckley a star at 28, the same age as when Sr died of an overdose. Jeff spent the last year explaining to people that, no, aside from the name, there's no connection with his father. Now he's changed his tack. At a recent press conference in Milan, when hit with a question about his father's death, he replied, "I dunno, man, maybe I should give you some phone numbers in America and they could help you answer that."
Ma Buckley was a hippie who turned him on to "that real post-Dylan acoustic stuff, marvelous to listen to even today." She was a bit of a gypsy, and the young boy's childhood was spent being the perennial "new kid in class" at yet another Californian school. He made a deal with music: it would become his best friend, and he in turn would listen to everything from the Beatles to Joni Mitchell to classical to '40s soundtracks.
Life was no swing through the Fun House for Buckley. He remembers as a teenager he was "dead inside", writing "endless poetry and stories, real shit stuff". It didn't alleviate his feelings of worthlessness. One day he raged, burned all his writings. Symbolically, two weeks later, the riots broke out in L.A.
So nowadays, New York-based Buckley is a bit of a '90s teen idol and "rock icon". He once jammed with Chrissie Hynde and John McEnroe during a visit to London, and is rumored to have had a fling with Liz of the Cocteau Twins. In interviews, he admits to having some horrific nightmares. Like doing his homework while listening to the radio, and being grabbed by the music and smashed into the floor until he screams. Or being invited back to an artist's studio to see his work-which turned out to be displays of living things with their vocal cords cut out. So is working on his next album a similar nightmare?
"No. It'd be interesting to see if having to project to a large group of people at shows will change the style. You always have this...uh, fear, that people might hate it or the ideas might not come when you're making it. But I figure I'm gonna be doing this for the rest of my life, so I might as well try and enjoy it now while I can."
Does continually being on the road disillusion him?
"No, I was always on the move as a kid. I enjoy it. It can be a bit hard at times, but, hey, the concerts make up for everything. If I get some backlash, that's OK. The more you're attacked, the more you're forced to defend this thing you love."
Tuesday, October 9, 2018
Grace Under Pressure
Cleveland Scene, October, 1994
Written and submitted by Pete Chakerian
The sounds of Pakistani singer Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan drift in between the relaxed words of Jeff Buckley as he begins one of his last phone interviews of a two-day press marathon. Checking in with the SCENE from the Sony offices in midtown Manhattan, Buckley doesn't sound like an artist who's wrestled with the press for two straight days.
"(The press schedule) was my wish actually, to get it done in two days and actually achieve the illusion of having spare time," Buckley admits. "It's just an illusion."
Another illusion, in Buckley's opinion, are all the Next Big Thing kudos he hs been receiving from critics. From the release of last year's debut EP, LIVE AT SIN-É, to his first long-player, GRACE, Buckley has been swimming through a sea of these common, critical declarations. Or, what he refers to as "a cop-out to thinking.
"Next Big Thing votes are like when Boy Scouts first learn how to ejaculate," Buckley says, obviously grinning. "They just keep on doing it and doing until it gets all sloppy and stupid and your balls hurt. Boring! If that's me, then I have achieved my worst nightmare.
"Everybody's been looking for Christ since the Beatles hit America," Buckley reflects, "The kind of art that I make could never take over anything, except for maybe somebody's bedroom. Or maybe their heart. People don't know what to make of (my music), so it can't possibly be a revelation...It's a really treacherous area to interpret something that doesn't really have a language.
"My oniy advice to people," adds Buckley of the hype, "is just to ignore it. Let's see if we can have a good time together." Buckley will give his fans that opportunity when he plays Wilbert's this Tuesday, November 1; labelmate Brenda Kahn will open.
To the media's defense, Buckley’s surreal sense of honesty would have any music aficionado-writer or otherwise-blowing a fuse. His approach is unique and revealing, yet somehow, he still remains secretive within the context of his compositions.
"Everything I need is right here in my kneecaps and in my breastbone and in my head," offers Buckley. "I guess the by-product is revealing, but the object is not to reveal. It is simply to express, but everybody's revealed when they express themselves, you know? Everybody walking around, wether they like it or not-even the most covert-is completely exposed for what he or she is by their actions."
Buckley’s not interested in turning his art into a confessional. "I don't want (my music) to become a forum for me, pouring out my inner most secrets," Buckley admits. "That's something I would never do. I don't divulge secrets to the public. I divulge them to my friends, and only when it's appropriate."
Since Buckley’s first appearance on the New York music scene back in 1991-during a tribute to his biological father/troubadour hero Tim Buckley-comparisons to legendary figures like Robert Plant, Freddie Mercury and his father Tim have cropped up everywhere. With little provocation, Buckley shudders at all the comparisons.
"(It's) lazy journalism and a lazy culture and lack of courage to describe originality," he counters matter-of-factly. "Or maybe, I'm just not a good enough artist that I can buck all those things. I'm sure it's high praise, you know? Freddie Mercury was f**king brilliant."
According to Buckley, the comparisons make "easy copy" for writers. "I've read rock journalists describe my friend Craig Wedren (from Shudder To Think) as a young Robert Plant," he says. "He's about as close to Robert Plant as Doris Day is. It's just stupidity left and right."
It's not that Buckley doesn't have influences. "I grew up listening to all those people. I grew up ensconced in an era that was polluted with that music," he admits. "So be it. My own choices are evident. I just don't think that people know me or listen to me deeply enough to write rock reviews to really know the real me. But that's OK, there's time. And maybe I am totally derivative and unoriginal. Maybe the next album will determine that. I feel I'm making my own statement."
When focus narrows to the comparisons made with his father, Buckley’s tranquil voice becomes melancholy and pensive.
"Another shortcut to thinking," Buckley says. "He never taught me anything. He had another son that he taught to be a good person and he had another wife. I just wasn't included. It's journalists playing Ken and Barbie with me and Tim Buckley. It used to hurt. It used to hurt a lot. Now it's just boring. Painfully boring. It's quite an oddity, this whole situation."
It was such an oddity to Jeff at first, that he was reluctant to participate in the 1991 memorial show for his father. After struggling with his emotions, he acquiesced when "I realized that I'd never have another chance to pay my respects. I didn't make it to the funeral. I wasn't invited. So I decided to do it on my own terms. I don't think I really sang very well (that night)," he adds, "(but) it was a matter of life or death."
"Do you know what a 'kaddish' is?" he asks. "It's what the son or daughter does for the dead parent. Nobody sang a kaddish for him, and, if I didn't, I felt like that part of him wouldn't rest. And a part of me wouldn't rest."
Buckley made great strides in building his own separate identity when he joined Gods & Monsters-a band centered around ex-Captain Beefheart guitarist Gary Lucas-a short time after the tribute show. Rather than follow the circling industry vultures who attended, Buckley felt that if his notoriety was to build, it would build at his own pace, on his own terms.
Buckley’s shortlived tenure with the underground supergroup didn't provide that slow build. He split with the band-which also featured the Bob Mould, WORKBOOK rhythm section bassist Tony Maimone and drummer Anton Fier-less than a year after he joined. To Buckley, it seemed like each musician was strictly interested in what they were doing as individuals on the stage. The band cohesion Buckley wanted wasn't there, so he left.
"But not because ot was a difficult situation or an unworthy situation, but precisely because it had so much potential," Buckley clarifies. "It could hsve been very, very, very fruitful. I just didn't feel I was in the right situation. It was galvanizing to not start a whole situation, but to stop all situations possible and just start from zero."
Buckley began playing the NYC coffeehouse circuit as a solo artist, which eventually garnered him a devoted following. Before Buckley knew it, noted Sony A&R guy Steve Berkowitz had become one of his fans. Berkowitz eventually signed Buckley to the Columbia label and arranged for a live recording of one of his performances at the Cafe Sin-e. A small smattering of the three recorded hours became Buckley’s debut, LIVE AT SIN-É.
Having released his first long-player GRACE earlier this year, Buckley now fronts his own band and couldn't be happier with his bandmates-Mick Grondahl (bass), Matt Johnson (drums) and Michael Tighe (guitars)-and the direction they are headed in together.
"It's a perfect band for me," Buckley says. "It's just an unsaid understanding that we like being together. And I need their views on music and their untapped potential to make music. We're different and we come from very different backgrounds, but being as old as we all are, we sort of have the same exposure to American life and American music...to the impossibilities of love and loss.
"So, we do have many things in common," Buckley finishes. "It's the differences that keep us together."
Written and submitted by Pete Chakerian
The sounds of Pakistani singer Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan drift in between the relaxed words of Jeff Buckley as he begins one of his last phone interviews of a two-day press marathon. Checking in with the SCENE from the Sony offices in midtown Manhattan, Buckley doesn't sound like an artist who's wrestled with the press for two straight days.
"(The press schedule) was my wish actually, to get it done in two days and actually achieve the illusion of having spare time," Buckley admits. "It's just an illusion."
Another illusion, in Buckley's opinion, are all the Next Big Thing kudos he hs been receiving from critics. From the release of last year's debut EP, LIVE AT SIN-É, to his first long-player, GRACE, Buckley has been swimming through a sea of these common, critical declarations. Or, what he refers to as "a cop-out to thinking.
"Next Big Thing votes are like when Boy Scouts first learn how to ejaculate," Buckley says, obviously grinning. "They just keep on doing it and doing until it gets all sloppy and stupid and your balls hurt. Boring! If that's me, then I have achieved my worst nightmare.
"Everybody's been looking for Christ since the Beatles hit America," Buckley reflects, "The kind of art that I make could never take over anything, except for maybe somebody's bedroom. Or maybe their heart. People don't know what to make of (my music), so it can't possibly be a revelation...It's a really treacherous area to interpret something that doesn't really have a language.
"My oniy advice to people," adds Buckley of the hype, "is just to ignore it. Let's see if we can have a good time together." Buckley will give his fans that opportunity when he plays Wilbert's this Tuesday, November 1; labelmate Brenda Kahn will open.
To the media's defense, Buckley’s surreal sense of honesty would have any music aficionado-writer or otherwise-blowing a fuse. His approach is unique and revealing, yet somehow, he still remains secretive within the context of his compositions.
"Everything I need is right here in my kneecaps and in my breastbone and in my head," offers Buckley. "I guess the by-product is revealing, but the object is not to reveal. It is simply to express, but everybody's revealed when they express themselves, you know? Everybody walking around, wether they like it or not-even the most covert-is completely exposed for what he or she is by their actions."
Buckley’s not interested in turning his art into a confessional. "I don't want (my music) to become a forum for me, pouring out my inner most secrets," Buckley admits. "That's something I would never do. I don't divulge secrets to the public. I divulge them to my friends, and only when it's appropriate."
Since Buckley’s first appearance on the New York music scene back in 1991-during a tribute to his biological father/troubadour hero Tim Buckley-comparisons to legendary figures like Robert Plant, Freddie Mercury and his father Tim have cropped up everywhere. With little provocation, Buckley shudders at all the comparisons.
"(It's) lazy journalism and a lazy culture and lack of courage to describe originality," he counters matter-of-factly. "Or maybe, I'm just not a good enough artist that I can buck all those things. I'm sure it's high praise, you know? Freddie Mercury was f**king brilliant."
According to Buckley, the comparisons make "easy copy" for writers. "I've read rock journalists describe my friend Craig Wedren (from Shudder To Think) as a young Robert Plant," he says. "He's about as close to Robert Plant as Doris Day is. It's just stupidity left and right."
It's not that Buckley doesn't have influences. "I grew up listening to all those people. I grew up ensconced in an era that was polluted with that music," he admits. "So be it. My own choices are evident. I just don't think that people know me or listen to me deeply enough to write rock reviews to really know the real me. But that's OK, there's time. And maybe I am totally derivative and unoriginal. Maybe the next album will determine that. I feel I'm making my own statement."
When focus narrows to the comparisons made with his father, Buckley’s tranquil voice becomes melancholy and pensive.
"Another shortcut to thinking," Buckley says. "He never taught me anything. He had another son that he taught to be a good person and he had another wife. I just wasn't included. It's journalists playing Ken and Barbie with me and Tim Buckley. It used to hurt. It used to hurt a lot. Now it's just boring. Painfully boring. It's quite an oddity, this whole situation."
It was such an oddity to Jeff at first, that he was reluctant to participate in the 1991 memorial show for his father. After struggling with his emotions, he acquiesced when "I realized that I'd never have another chance to pay my respects. I didn't make it to the funeral. I wasn't invited. So I decided to do it on my own terms. I don't think I really sang very well (that night)," he adds, "(but) it was a matter of life or death."
"Do you know what a 'kaddish' is?" he asks. "It's what the son or daughter does for the dead parent. Nobody sang a kaddish for him, and, if I didn't, I felt like that part of him wouldn't rest. And a part of me wouldn't rest."
Buckley made great strides in building his own separate identity when he joined Gods & Monsters-a band centered around ex-Captain Beefheart guitarist Gary Lucas-a short time after the tribute show. Rather than follow the circling industry vultures who attended, Buckley felt that if his notoriety was to build, it would build at his own pace, on his own terms.
Buckley’s shortlived tenure with the underground supergroup didn't provide that slow build. He split with the band-which also featured the Bob Mould, WORKBOOK rhythm section bassist Tony Maimone and drummer Anton Fier-less than a year after he joined. To Buckley, it seemed like each musician was strictly interested in what they were doing as individuals on the stage. The band cohesion Buckley wanted wasn't there, so he left.
"But not because ot was a difficult situation or an unworthy situation, but precisely because it had so much potential," Buckley clarifies. "It could hsve been very, very, very fruitful. I just didn't feel I was in the right situation. It was galvanizing to not start a whole situation, but to stop all situations possible and just start from zero."
Buckley began playing the NYC coffeehouse circuit as a solo artist, which eventually garnered him a devoted following. Before Buckley knew it, noted Sony A&R guy Steve Berkowitz had become one of his fans. Berkowitz eventually signed Buckley to the Columbia label and arranged for a live recording of one of his performances at the Cafe Sin-e. A small smattering of the three recorded hours became Buckley’s debut, LIVE AT SIN-É.
Having released his first long-player GRACE earlier this year, Buckley now fronts his own band and couldn't be happier with his bandmates-Mick Grondahl (bass), Matt Johnson (drums) and Michael Tighe (guitars)-and the direction they are headed in together.
"It's a perfect band for me," Buckley says. "It's just an unsaid understanding that we like being together. And I need their views on music and their untapped potential to make music. We're different and we come from very different backgrounds, but being as old as we all are, we sort of have the same exposure to American life and American music...to the impossibilities of love and loss.
"So, we do have many things in common," Buckley finishes. "It's the differences that keep us together."
Sunday, September 30, 2018
Brett's Autographs
From IG user Brett Greenberg
I love this! (According to Brett, he was tired of signing his name) 😄
Wednesday, September 19, 2018
A Voice Of His Own
St. Louis Post Dispatch, Oct. 28, 1994
By Alan Sculley
Submitted by Sai
Buckley avoids dad's shadow
Jeff Buckley had just let out a huge sigh, the kind that projects a mixture of weariness, anger, disappointment and disgust.
His reason for the response and the sudden uneasy air in this recent phone interview was the mention of his father, Tim Buckley, the acclaimed late singer/songwriter whose trailblazing blend of jazz, folk, and blues made him something of a troubadour icon.
Despite obvious reluctance over the subject, Buckley patiently and candidly-but briefly-discussed his father and how much attention he had paid to his music before concluding before concluding his thoughts this way:
"Anyway, I'm tired of this. I'm tired of every single journalist seeing fit to keep (bringing it up)," he said. "Everybody has read everything they have to read about it. Everybody knows my attitude on it. Nobody wants to observe it. So I'll just have to deal with it, I guess. Maybe I'm not a good enough artist that people just think of me. Maybe in the future I'll bloom into something that will make people look at me for what I am."
It's easy to see why Buckley is so weary of having to discuss his father. After all, Tim Buckley had left Jeff's mother to pursue music before he even knew his own son. The only time Jeff Buckley met his father was when he was 8 years old, and even then they only spent one week together. A couple months later, in 1975, Tim Buckley was dead from a drug overdose, so any father-son musical connection has to be considered tenuous at best.
And although he may express self-doubts about his own music so far, Buckley has released a strikingly original studio debut CD, Grace," that should make father-son comparisons seem even more superfluous.
Actually, Buckley said, the people who played key roles in shaping his music were his mother (a classically trained pianist and cellist) and stepfather, who was married to his mother from 1971 to 1973.
"I have a lot of my mother in me, but I was just born with the same parts as (my father). I don't sound like him," Buckley said. "I mean, I can do an impression of him right now, and I do not sound like him. I sound like me. My sense of rhythm I learned from my mother. My melodies I think sometimes I get from my mother. But I molded everything myself. I was just left alone with music and got an understanding from whatever I could as a kid. It certainly wasn't from my father's records. I don't own any of my father's records.
"If people want to go ahead and compare us, that's fine. They can do that all day, but just don't come to the gig, because you won't get what it is you want. And I'm sure the next album will completely disappoint all Tim Buckley fans if they think I'm going to do what he did for them. That's just useless and childish to think that will happen. I'm concerned with the future. I'm concerned with my life, my present, my friends, people I love, people who love me. I have no intention of taking on a legacy that wasn't bestowed on me."
Buckley's own music has begun to come into focus only in recent years. After growing up in California in what he describes as a rootless existence-he and his mother moved frequently during Buckley's youth-he dabbled in local bands and briefly attended the Musician's Institute in Los Angeles before moving to New York City in the early '90s.
He first gained significant notice when he performed at a 1991 tribute concert for his father. ("I went there just to pay my last respects because that was something that I was denied before as a child," Buckley said. "I wasn't invited to the funeral. I don't know why.")
Shortly thereafter, Buckley briefly joined a group called God & Monsters, which included former Captain Beefheart member Gary Lucas, drummer Anton Fier (of the Golden Palominos) and bassist Tony Maimore (formerly of Pere Ubu). After two God & Monster gigs, Buckley realized he had to strike off on his own to discover his own musical voice.
Over the next two years, he played at small coffeehouses and clubs around the city, accompanying himself only on electric guitar. His sets came to feature a diverse range of cover tunes mixed with a growing repertoire of intriguing originals. He quickly became known for his engaging, theatrical stage presence and, more notably, for his soaring falsetto vocals, which have drawn comparisons to Freddie Mercury, to Robert Plant and, naturally, to Tim Buckley's haunting tones.
Buckley said that even though his music was conceived in a solo setting, he knew he would expand into a band format that would be built around electric guitar and his voice. However, Buckley didn't find the right players for his band until just prior to the recording sessions for "Grace." Bassist Mick Grondahl and drummer Matt Johnson joined in time to squeeze in a few rehearsals and gigs before heading into the studio. Guitarist Michael Tighe came on board well into the sessions and played on one song, "So Real."
But if the band my still be refining its chemistry, the members combine for some spectacular moments on "Grace," one of the most original-sounding albums of the year. Buckley and band have created a sound that defies categorizing. They rock hard on "Eternal Life" and "Mojo Pin," downshift into folksy pop on "Last Goodbye" and conjure up achingly beautiful balladry on "Lover, You Should've Come Over" and on versions of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" and Nina Simone's "Lilac Wine."
At the center of it all is Buckley's soaring voice, which can both reach spine-chilling crescendos (as on the title track) or be gentle and touching (as on "Lilac Wine"). It's the kind of record that gains power and passion with each listen.
As the distinctive flavors of the music suggest, songwriting is an intuitive process in which, Buckley said, he tries to let the melodies and words emerge naturally and take their own shapes and sounds. By necessity, it starts as a rather selfish process.
"If my heart isn't beating, how can other hearts beat t the same time?" he said. "Maybe (someday), I'll just make, like, a complete on-demand record that everybody wants to hear. But tht would be impossible-and, also, I just changed my mind. I don't think I'll ever do that.
"That's an ugly thought to make an album to the demands of a record-buying public that you can't even see. They don't come to me because I pander to their interests. They come to me because I pander to mine, and we sort of are in alignment, and that's good. That's a nice thing, it's sort of like a spontaneous affair."
Allan Sculley writes on pop and rock music for a number of publications.
Jeff Buckley
Where: Sheldon, 3648 Washington Ave.
When: 8 p.m. Friday, Nov. 4
How much: $10
Opening act: Brenda Kahn
Tickets: 291-7600
By Alan Sculley
Submitted by Sai
Buckley avoids dad's shadow
Jeff Buckley had just let out a huge sigh, the kind that projects a mixture of weariness, anger, disappointment and disgust.
His reason for the response and the sudden uneasy air in this recent phone interview was the mention of his father, Tim Buckley, the acclaimed late singer/songwriter whose trailblazing blend of jazz, folk, and blues made him something of a troubadour icon.
Despite obvious reluctance over the subject, Buckley patiently and candidly-but briefly-discussed his father and how much attention he had paid to his music before concluding before concluding his thoughts this way:
"Anyway, I'm tired of this. I'm tired of every single journalist seeing fit to keep (bringing it up)," he said. "Everybody has read everything they have to read about it. Everybody knows my attitude on it. Nobody wants to observe it. So I'll just have to deal with it, I guess. Maybe I'm not a good enough artist that people just think of me. Maybe in the future I'll bloom into something that will make people look at me for what I am."
It's easy to see why Buckley is so weary of having to discuss his father. After all, Tim Buckley had left Jeff's mother to pursue music before he even knew his own son. The only time Jeff Buckley met his father was when he was 8 years old, and even then they only spent one week together. A couple months later, in 1975, Tim Buckley was dead from a drug overdose, so any father-son musical connection has to be considered tenuous at best.
And although he may express self-doubts about his own music so far, Buckley has released a strikingly original studio debut CD, Grace," that should make father-son comparisons seem even more superfluous.
Actually, Buckley said, the people who played key roles in shaping his music were his mother (a classically trained pianist and cellist) and stepfather, who was married to his mother from 1971 to 1973.
"I have a lot of my mother in me, but I was just born with the same parts as (my father). I don't sound like him," Buckley said. "I mean, I can do an impression of him right now, and I do not sound like him. I sound like me. My sense of rhythm I learned from my mother. My melodies I think sometimes I get from my mother. But I molded everything myself. I was just left alone with music and got an understanding from whatever I could as a kid. It certainly wasn't from my father's records. I don't own any of my father's records.
"If people want to go ahead and compare us, that's fine. They can do that all day, but just don't come to the gig, because you won't get what it is you want. And I'm sure the next album will completely disappoint all Tim Buckley fans if they think I'm going to do what he did for them. That's just useless and childish to think that will happen. I'm concerned with the future. I'm concerned with my life, my present, my friends, people I love, people who love me. I have no intention of taking on a legacy that wasn't bestowed on me."
Buckley's own music has begun to come into focus only in recent years. After growing up in California in what he describes as a rootless existence-he and his mother moved frequently during Buckley's youth-he dabbled in local bands and briefly attended the Musician's Institute in Los Angeles before moving to New York City in the early '90s.
He first gained significant notice when he performed at a 1991 tribute concert for his father. ("I went there just to pay my last respects because that was something that I was denied before as a child," Buckley said. "I wasn't invited to the funeral. I don't know why.")
Shortly thereafter, Buckley briefly joined a group called God & Monsters, which included former Captain Beefheart member Gary Lucas, drummer Anton Fier (of the Golden Palominos) and bassist Tony Maimore (formerly of Pere Ubu). After two God & Monster gigs, Buckley realized he had to strike off on his own to discover his own musical voice.
Over the next two years, he played at small coffeehouses and clubs around the city, accompanying himself only on electric guitar. His sets came to feature a diverse range of cover tunes mixed with a growing repertoire of intriguing originals. He quickly became known for his engaging, theatrical stage presence and, more notably, for his soaring falsetto vocals, which have drawn comparisons to Freddie Mercury, to Robert Plant and, naturally, to Tim Buckley's haunting tones.
Buckley said that even though his music was conceived in a solo setting, he knew he would expand into a band format that would be built around electric guitar and his voice. However, Buckley didn't find the right players for his band until just prior to the recording sessions for "Grace." Bassist Mick Grondahl and drummer Matt Johnson joined in time to squeeze in a few rehearsals and gigs before heading into the studio. Guitarist Michael Tighe came on board well into the sessions and played on one song, "So Real."
But if the band my still be refining its chemistry, the members combine for some spectacular moments on "Grace," one of the most original-sounding albums of the year. Buckley and band have created a sound that defies categorizing. They rock hard on "Eternal Life" and "Mojo Pin," downshift into folksy pop on "Last Goodbye" and conjure up achingly beautiful balladry on "Lover, You Should've Come Over" and on versions of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" and Nina Simone's "Lilac Wine."
At the center of it all is Buckley's soaring voice, which can both reach spine-chilling crescendos (as on the title track) or be gentle and touching (as on "Lilac Wine"). It's the kind of record that gains power and passion with each listen.
As the distinctive flavors of the music suggest, songwriting is an intuitive process in which, Buckley said, he tries to let the melodies and words emerge naturally and take their own shapes and sounds. By necessity, it starts as a rather selfish process.
"If my heart isn't beating, how can other hearts beat t the same time?" he said. "Maybe (someday), I'll just make, like, a complete on-demand record that everybody wants to hear. But tht would be impossible-and, also, I just changed my mind. I don't think I'll ever do that.
"That's an ugly thought to make an album to the demands of a record-buying public that you can't even see. They don't come to me because I pander to their interests. They come to me because I pander to mine, and we sort of are in alignment, and that's good. That's a nice thing, it's sort of like a spontaneous affair."
Allan Sculley writes on pop and rock music for a number of publications.
Jeff Buckley
Where: Sheldon, 3648 Washington Ave.
When: 8 p.m. Friday, Nov. 4
How much: $10
Opening act: Brenda Kahn
Tickets: 291-7600
Sunday, September 16, 2018
Rock Planet Review
Rumore, October, 1994
By Giorgio Valletta
Submitted by Sai
Translated by me
The first Italian appearance of the natural (genetically such, even if he prefers not to remember), heir to Tim Buckley is an affair for few: the entrance is free, but the room has reduced capacity and to signal that we are not really at the Sin-E in New York it is the sincere enthusiasm of most of those present.
The screens, tuned to VideoMusic, show Kurt Cobain; Jeff shouts to immediately turn off "those fucking monitors to let that man rest in peace." Mojo Pin can start, and then it's up to Dream Brother, So Real, Last Goodbye; all the autographed songs of his debut Grace follow each other in the lineup and, as on the record, now accompanying him there is a real band that highlights, intensifies the dizziness of passion that the extraordinary voice of Jeff draws.
Of course, as a debutante, Jeff seems too sure of himself and his charisma, and plays to stretch and enrich further pathos to the already prized So Real, Lover, You Should Have Come Over, as well as offering a version of Grace with authentic goosebumps, his own presence on stage seems magical, out of time, being frankly unacceptable to that of any contemporary performer and then, believe me, words really serve little to explain a musician like him.
If his artistic affair, like his own recordings dare, he will be successful, it will be a victory for good music.
By Giorgio Valletta
Submitted by Sai
Translated by me
The first Italian appearance of the natural (genetically such, even if he prefers not to remember), heir to Tim Buckley is an affair for few: the entrance is free, but the room has reduced capacity and to signal that we are not really at the Sin-E in New York it is the sincere enthusiasm of most of those present.
The screens, tuned to VideoMusic, show Kurt Cobain; Jeff shouts to immediately turn off "those fucking monitors to let that man rest in peace." Mojo Pin can start, and then it's up to Dream Brother, So Real, Last Goodbye; all the autographed songs of his debut Grace follow each other in the lineup and, as on the record, now accompanying him there is a real band that highlights, intensifies the dizziness of passion that the extraordinary voice of Jeff draws.
Of course, as a debutante, Jeff seems too sure of himself and his charisma, and plays to stretch and enrich further pathos to the already prized So Real, Lover, You Should Have Come Over, as well as offering a version of Grace with authentic goosebumps, his own presence on stage seems magical, out of time, being frankly unacceptable to that of any contemporary performer and then, believe me, words really serve little to explain a musician like him.
If his artistic affair, like his own recordings dare, he will be successful, it will be a victory for good music.
Wednesday, September 5, 2018
Meltdown Review
Mojo: September, 1995
By Sylvie Simmons
Submitted by Sai
Some excerpts from a review of the Meltdown Festival:
Looking ravaged and romantic, Jeff Buckley performed plaintive Purcell and (from his album) Corpus Christi...Buckley returned with Nina Simone's desperate The Other Woman and talked about slashing his wrists. Someone in the audience yelled for Leonard Cohen's positively upbeat Hallelujah, but Buckley turned him down. Instead, by special request from Michael McGlynn, he treated us to Grace. Accompanying himself alone on electric guitar, Buckley's falsetto soared into mad, swirling curlicues. As June Tabor said when she came back for yet another dose of melancholy, "I often wondered what God did with the upper half of my voice!"
By Sylvie Simmons
Submitted by Sai
Some excerpts from a review of the Meltdown Festival:
Looking ravaged and romantic, Jeff Buckley performed plaintive Purcell and (from his album) Corpus Christi...Buckley returned with Nina Simone's desperate The Other Woman and talked about slashing his wrists. Someone in the audience yelled for Leonard Cohen's positively upbeat Hallelujah, but Buckley turned him down. Instead, by special request from Michael McGlynn, he treated us to Grace. Accompanying himself alone on electric guitar, Buckley's falsetto soared into mad, swirling curlicues. As June Tabor said when she came back for yet another dose of melancholy, "I often wondered what God did with the upper half of my voice!"
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