Je n'en connais pas le fin footage

A gorgeous recently unearthed video for the Piaf song...what a blessing to receive this gift! ❤️🙏🏼✨

Solo Jeff Live at Sin-e New Year's Eve '94

Submitted by Shelly Happart

From Carol E. Mariconda

Date : Wed, 4 Jan 1995 11:38:28 -0500 (EST)

[Note: Jeff had told me at Maxwell's that he was going to play a secret, unpublicized show at Sin-é on New Year's Eve. So I basically kept it to myself, since the folks at Sin-é were afraid it would turn into a mob scene if word got out. Well, it certainly became crowded enough anyway. Sorry... I hope I am forgiven for keeping mum, but I will make up for it in intricate detail...Pretend you have a hot mulled cider, and pull up a chair...Here goes...]

Jeff at Sin-é on New Year's Eve '94

  There were some people at a few of the small tables when Richard, Stephen, my brother Paul, his fiancée Veronica, and I got to the *TINY* Sin-é at 7:00 PM. We took the table by the window and door, ordered food and talked. It was really low-key. At a point we asked the pretty waitress about "JB", to confirm he had'nt cancelled out-still on for the night, great ! The bass player came up to the window, peered in to check what was going on, and split. Stephen looked happily out the window at the passers-by, and walked around the room unimpeded as people smiled at the sight of him.

  When the first woman singer went on at 9:00 PM, people started pilling in from virtually nowhere, blocking our view and door. The comedian Stephen Wright was there. We surmised thet he and the singer were an "item"; he left later when she did, before Jeff arrived, obviously unaware or disinterested in seeing Jeff perform-their loss. Anyway, my little Stephen was starting to feel claustrophobic, trying to crawl through people's feet, and crying in frustration, so we took him outside into the wet drizzle, and decided that Richard would have to take him home; I felt that I *had* to stay after all this, but I felt guilty and disappointed; when I got home much later, they had had a nice time together listening to a long piece of music by Karlheinz Stockhausen-a favorite of my husband's (Richard himself plays what he terms "intuitive electrosonic music for synthecizer" for our listening pleasure at home)-on the radio, and all was forgiven.

  So as the car pulled away, I was rounding the block, and saw Jeff and his guitar across his shoulder, hunched over, dressed in black, and hurrying into a bar called Anseo, which is few doors away from Sin-é.

  I went back into Sin-é, and wondered if I should get next door and talk to him, but decided not to bother him there. The second woman singer teasingly asked us if we all knew who was going to perform later, a few people including myself mumbled knowing yes's, and then she flat out told us all: Jeff Buckley! I really couldn't tell how many of them knew in advance. We recognized a number of people from the Maxwell's gig. She said she was honored to perform before him; I am sure she wanted to bear his babies or something. But he was still not there yet.

  Towards the end of her set, Jeff came in enveloped in his furry black coat, pushed through the crowd unnoticed, and hung out behind the bar, not seeming to talk much from what I could see. I couldn't tell if he saw me as I looked over at him several times to see what he was doing. Then I pushed through past the tiny bar with my head down, to go to the bathroom, and when I came out, lo and behold, he was sitting right there on the tiny little stove outside the bathroom door. He looked at me and I looked at him. He bugged his eyes out in a comedic way, and outstreching his arm, pointed, and said a mock-surprised "Youuuuuu !!!!" as I, with a good sense of comedic timing, did the same thing back at him; it was very funny. He said "Hello again, Carolynn", and I said "Hi"; he introduced me to the guy next to him. Then I stood there for about 5 confused seconds to see if that was all, turned, and walked away back to my table. He was just about to go on.

  The three of us decided to vacate and abandoned our secure table, in favor of being swept along into rough tide in the middle of that TINY crowded room, ending up much closer, right behind the front middle table; there were many poeple looking in the windows from the damp city street outside-not a prime listening position, but a good visual vantage point nevertheless.

  Jeff moved to the right side of the tall, worn, metal Sin-é sign on the wall, standing against it wearing a lime-green long-sleeved shirt with only the top button done, spread apart by his guitar to show a white thermal shirt underneath, his trademark baggy pants, and chunky shoes. His black hair was unkempt, longish, and parted in the middle, with one side tucked behind one of his pierced ears. As he jammed to a song playing on Sin-é's tape to warm up, the crowd continued to talk loudly. After he played his first song, which was "So Real", he asked what time it was when he was reminded about the special Midnight about to take place-3 minutes to, and counting. This is when he mentioned that he was confused earlier that day, because he thought that the St. Mark's poetry reading was to be New Year's Eve, not New Year's Day! So he decided to preview the poem he had written called "You My Love"-a very interesting, funny creation, with a few little alluded to bits of our conversation on stage at Maxwell's, in between songs, as if those wisps of thought were fresh on his mind. That gave me insight into how he usually ad libs in between songs-obviously a combination of things he has just been contemplating beforehand, and thoughts that just pop into his head in the moment when he is performing. He has a very quick wit. Anyhow, it was a very good poem, and went over quite well. As he read it, casting each line aside much too quickly, I immediately felt the urge to examine it carefully, and savor it on paper, at the same time as a wish that I could remember it all to post for our group. Lines that stuck out in my mind :

You my love are allowed to kill and smash your television to tiny bits...[something like that and a long run-on sentence here elaborating on that thought, that I really wish I could remember. It was the longest, and best line of the poem.]

You my love are allowed to forgive your television.

You my love are allowed to take my guitar and play me...[some off-key song...I am not sure of this.] You my love are allowed to suck at any endeavor

  Speaking of sucking, there was a very loud, obnoxious male heckler, who seemed to be part of a group of people who were just talking and talking. We figured that some girls who liked Jeff brought their jealous, rowdy boyfriends along. This one particular fellow was yelling things like "Yo Jeff! The Buckster! Do it! Rock!" etc. Jeff broke into Nirvana's teen spirit and imitated the sound of a gun going off. Everyone laughed but he was obviously annoyed, and I was too. As the guy persisted, Jeff said something about a "night of non sequiturs," maybe in the hopes of politely shutting him up. The clock struck Midnight, and he sang "Auld Lang Sin-é" in a low register, climbing to a humorous falcetto at the end. Always the quirky, contrary one, Jeff mentioned that his New Year's Eve resolution was to start smoking. He reminded us all to remember to write 1995 on our rent checks.Then he charged into a song, by the late Fred "Sonic" Smith (Patty Smith's recently deceased husband) of the MC5's, called "Kick out the jams", after dedicating it to his memory. It was a fast, aggressive song, and he sang it with a lot of angry teeth-baring. When he finished that heckler said "GO Jeff! Rock!" or something in a mocking way, as the crowd cheered loudly. That's when Jeff said something to the effect "If this is all that is going to happen after a year of doing what I've done..." One of the girls said to that creep that they had to go, because he was being rude and disruptive, and the whole group left. YAY! So it got quieter, but people were still *talking*...because of New Year's and liquor? Jeff suddenly leaned up against the wall, and quietly meandered into "Young lovers do".  It was the first time I heard him perform this song live and I was thrilled. It felt like he intended it as a way of testing to see if the audience would quiet. He did his "NYC bed bouncing on a hard wood floor..." etc improv thing, that he interjects into different jams at different concerts, in the middle of it. By the end of this more subdued version than on "Live at Sin-é", he had quieted the room considerably.

  From this point on-with the exception of one hilarious funny break in the rest of the set's mood, when a group pf people outside were celebrating loudly, and he made a funny comment, grabbed a helium balloon, inhaled, and broke into a cross between a Tweetie Bird meets Alvin Chipmunk version of that second Green Day single " Basket Case"-the whole atmosphere of the set got progressively sadder. Moving closer and closer to the front, at one point I was sitting on the floor, looking up at him, until finally I ended up *directly* in front of him about 3 feet away, sitting in a chair that someone was leaving offered me on the way out; I could not believe several people were actually leaving right in front of him-as if they had something better to do?

  Jeff mentioned a few times something about "sucking" in a disgusting way, but he said that at the Maxwell's too. But I thought he was wonderful, and I was paying *extremely* close attention. He is too overly self-critical. I really cannot reconstruct the set list, because there were many songs with which I was not familiar, which I was quite *pleased* about, since I have always wanted to experience him the way he has been described in the old Sin-é days-solo, and singing incandescent performances of classic songs. Just being there, I really felt privileged to be seeing him solo and singing all these songs I had never heard before. Those renditions were so touchingly soft, delicate, and beautiful-just amazing and intimate to me. All these shows will be treasured memories for me when he lifts off, and cannot be touched again. But I couldn't help but wonder what it was like for him to be standing there on New Year's Eve, up there all alone after all this time, and experiences of this whole past year. Was the crowd comprised of the "old crowd", or were they mainly new people who guessed, or found out that he would be there? Was the "vibe" different for him? How did he feel about the Holiday Season? The end of the tour? Did he miss his mother? How did all this affect the way he felt each passing song as he internalized, and then exhaled it? All these thoughts blended together as I watched, listened, and felt the intensity of his presence and the music. I recall that he played the following, in no particular order. I know that I am leaving out a number of songs, but I didn't write anything down; when I started to worry about how I would "report about the concert", my brother advised me to "Just enjoy the show", which I really knew I should do. Besides, that was obviously Jeff's sentiment too, as voiced earlier when he pleaded with someone trying to take a picture of him that he should *please* put that thing away, and let it just be him and us and the night. Here are the songs that I remember, in no particular order, except toward the end :

Bob Dylan's "If you see her, say hello."

A beautiful, new song, which I can't wait to hear again, that might be titled "Flowers bend toward the sun" - just lovely !

That Judy Garland song, that we were debating about on the list, called "The man that got away".

"A song for all women in the audience" [about a man that is pined for for, but never returns]

"A song for the men in the audience - all three of you." [or a song for all three sexes, not to leave anybody in the room out. I forget the "message" of the song.]

A song that he had "not performed in a *very* long time."

"Lover, you should've come over." [One of my favorites !]

I was sitting directly in front of him for :

"Mojo Pin"

"Grace"

"Hallelujah"

  As the show progressed, he drew increasingly inward, closing his eyes for most of the songs. Instead of connected with the people in the room, his gaze cast down to the guitar fretboard and strings, and then lowering still to pass along the floor, his lips slightly parted and gravitating downward as well. Gone was his usual mischievously funny comedic ad libbing, and smilingly animated radiant face that routinely break through after the end of each time-suspending, transcendent soul-letting that propels forth from his being with an emotional intensity that at many times is just too awesome to behold; those funny emotional disclaimers after each soul-baring had disappeared. He had become withdrawn, quiet, and seemed not to be able to look uo at us any longer. Those beautiful songs just seemed even sadder and more intense. With his neck stretching, and head tilted back and up, his impossibly open and expressive face alternated between agitated contortion, and relaxed simple stillness lulled by one of his own long, suspended, hovering notes. The inner corners of his long, thick, dark eyebrows arched upward as far as they could physically travel, with his lips stretched taut around wide bare, sharp, teeth spitting forward invisible, loud, spikey attacks of sound, alternating with lips curving gently and quivering around invisible, escaping shapes of soft, intricate, delicate, whisps of barely audible sound-these extremes enveloping a seemingly endless wealth of all the continuous, fleeting, intricate facial gestures and utterances in between. The songs became lullabies, most of which he sang with his eyes shut tight, feeling each, one after the other. He could no longer look up-sad and withdrawn, standing there all alone, shoulders hunched, and leaning up against the wall.

  By the time he sang his last "Hallelujah"-the most moving version I have experienced-I was staring off into space, and on the verge of tears.

  He ended at about 1:30 with no encore, because another band was supposed to go on after him. People came up to him, he has very quickly packed up his guitar. He did not seem chatty. I could not move. Then I pondered whether to approach him. But the way in which people were stopping quickly to say things like "nice show", etc reinforced my feeling that anything I would have said would have been inappropriate and invasive. This is one thing that I have trouble understanding: why people do not just look at his face and see what mood he is in, before just almost "attacking" him with niceties, when all one has to do is look at him to realize how he feels, and really see that, as was the case that night, it was not at all what he wanted or needed. I could not even move; imagine how *he* felt *doing* that ?

  We left and hung outside for a few minutes, and he quickly emerged, looked around at a few people obviously waiting for him, and seemed not to want to engage in talk with them. He just basically waved a quick goodbye, and hurried up the street into the darkness of the night, and the dawning New Year.

Jeff Buckley the new romantic

By Yves Berton

Submitted by Shelly Happart

Last February, this romantic young man had made a real hit at the Bataclan.

  Without a doubt the rock revelation of the year. Jeff Buckley, a twenty-seven year old Californian who lives on the Lower East Side, New York's marginalized neighborhood, never ceases to bewitch. His songs mix folk, rock and blues with the energy of Led Zeppelin and plunge us into the depths of the soul. His crazy James Dean look is even more fascinating. We understand better why his performance at the Bataclan, last February, was a real madness. The public took up with him "Je n'en connais pas la fin," a song inspired by the famous title of Edith Piaf. Another choice piece that night was his cover of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah". Given the demand, a Zenith had been added but the production preferred to fall back on two Olympia, tonight and tomorrow, a venue that better fits Buckley's intimate universe.

  Son of a rock star of the sixties, Tim Buckley, who died of an overdose, Jeff is not a pale copy of his father, as Ziggy Marley can be. His father, Jeff, never knew him, having been abandoned at birth. This probably explains why his songs are those of a burnt-out man. "Grace", the title track of his first album released on Columbia/Sony, soon to be a gold record (already 95,000 copies), emphasizes that the grace one encounters before love is the same as that which occurs before death. If Jeff Buckley had lived in the XIXe century, he would have been a friend of Beaudelaire or Verlaine...

Jeff Buckley, tonight and tomorrow night at 8pm, at the Olympia, 28 boulevard des Capucines, Paris IXe. Seats: 157 F. Tel (1) 47.42.25.49.

Grace Under Pressure

The Herald-Sun, December 9, 1994

Story by Melanie Credle

  Listening to Jeff Buckley's debut album "Grace," certain words come to mind: emotional,  intense, moody, dreamy-talented.

  Speaking to Jeff Buckley, those same words come to mind.

  Buckley is riding a wave of critical Hosannas because of "Grace," and before that, a four-song EP that helped to contribute to an already hot as a New York City club and coffeehouse performer.

  Another common thread in any press clippings about Buckley is his heritage-his father is the late folk singer Tim Buckley, whose debut album was released in 1966 when he was 19. Tim Buckley's music drew early comparisons to Bob Dylan. Buckley died of a drug overdose in 1975. Jeff Buckley met his father only once when he was eight and that was shortly before he died.

  Not only does Jeff Buckley have his father's good looks, but if the music books are right and you're not old enough to remember Tim Buckley, Jeff possesses a similar, striking voice. Jeff Buckley's voice is like a rollercoaster, fiery and raging at at one turn, sensitive and aching at another. Sometimes you can't be sure if it's Buckley singing on the album because he doesn't sound like he did on the previous song.

  If the voice doesn't get you, the realization that you can't categorize this man's music will. It's too easy to lump Buckley into a rock grouping. On "Grace," you hear not only rock, but jazz, pop and folk. From "Grace," Buckley sounds like a choir boy singing an ancient hymn on "Corpus Christi Carol," then rocks with punk fury on "Eternal Life."

  "If a guy took like four minutes of pure thought and listening, he'd come up with quite a few other [influences]," Buckley said during a recent telephone interview.

  "I think we do kind of an emotional hard core. It's just American music really. If a true blues man came up to my stand  and said, 'you're playing the blues,' I'd say 'Thank you.' And the only reason he'd say that is because we speak of our life when we're on the stage, from the heart and the seat of the pants. We're just brewing this thing up as we go along."

  Buckley grew up in Southern California. His mother had a brief teen-age marriage to her high school sweetheart, Tim Buckley. Buckley credits his mother and stepfather for their musical influence, not his absent father.

  "I always pursued music. I didn't pursue the music business," Buckley said.

  He played in a series of bands, but he determined his future rested in New York City, not Southern California.

  "There's not the same reverence for originality in Southern California," he said. "It can be a very superficial place. It always has been and always will be."

  As Buckley developed a following at Manhattan clubs, specifically Café Sin-é in the East Village, he discovered a way to deal with noisy audiences who weren't always tuned into who's on stage.

  "If there are any disturbances, I learned not to resist it," he said. "I can't help it if two people who have not seen each other in five years are at my show."

   Despite his cynicism for the music business, when Buckley finally decided to sign with a record company it wasn't with an obscure label, but a major player-Columbia /Sony. He said there was one reason for his decision, A&R (artists and repertoire) representative Steve Berkowitz.

  "It was just who he was and what he was and the behavior he exhibited," Buckley saud. "There's not a book that tells you where to go."

  "Even if I had this crappy, disgusting deal that sucked the blood out of me, I'd still be happiest with the people at Sony. I only work with five people there."

  When Buckley headed into the studio to make "Grace," he had another major player behind the boards, producer Andy Wallace who has worked with Soul Asylum, Nirvana and Guns N' Roses.

  "I was probably spoiled by [Wallace] because he was so quick. He's tireless with amazing energy. He's intense, pure focus," he said.

  "For a person like me who is very stream-of-consciousness, I would have done things much differently. I'd originally hoped to record the whole thing live."

  Buckley viewed the making of "Grace" as an opportunity for his band to gel. Of  late, he'd been a solo performer, but he wanted to find "the ultimate band situation." Buckley hooked up with Mick Grondahl (bass), Matt Johnson (drums), and Michael Tighe (guitar).

  "'Grace' probably starts the basics of what our musical life will be. We brought ourselves through all the different material and painted it on magnetic tape," he said.

  Although Buckley write or co-wrote seven of the 10 tracks on "Grace," he'd like the next album to have more originals. He also chose for "Grace" Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" and the jazz standard "Lilac Wine."

  "I felt the need to link myself to my work in the past. I'm an irrepressible amateur DJ. I thought the sequence would work," Buckley said about the songs on the album.

  Massive touring has been Buckley's modus operandi lately. Due to time constraints, he tries to write when he can and always carries a notepad and tape recorder with him.

  With such an intense, emotional album, Jeff Buckley fans might have an idea of how they think the singer is in person. If they do, it's out of his hands.

  "There's nothing you can do about it. People must think Tori Amos is [a certain] way because her music introspective and shameless. She's probably a pretty normal person," he said.

  And is Jeff Buckley pretty normal?

  "I'm all right. I wouldn't want to live with me."

  Jeff Buckley performs Saturday at The Brewery, 3009 Hillsborough St., Raleigh. $5 at the door. 834-7018

Paulette's autograph

Courtesy of Paulette Green on FB via her late husband Greg...according to her, it was done at Barrister's ❤️

Elizabeth's autograph

Courtesy of Elizabeth Ann on FB from the Metropol show

Chiaki's autograph

 Courtesy of @dog469 on IG