So Real: Thoughts on Jeff Buckley

[Jeff tunes his guitar and intones in a very silly Vincent Price voice]
“Repeat after me:
'To the power of the mighty one in Hell, I will devote myself…
To the power of the mighty one in Hell, I will devote myself…'
(Aug 31, 1995 – Triple R Rooftop Café, Melbourne)

“My main influences? Love, anger, depression, joy. And Zeppelin.”
(Jeff Buckley, 1995) 

Photo: Merri Cyr

Hello, I am a skeleton, i.e. a Jeff Buckley fan from the 90’s. I’ve come here from the before-times to say that modern-day Jeff Buckley fandom has been a weird place to be for an old-timer like me. I’ve been a Jeff Buckley fan for three decades (shudder) but I’ll be honest: I don’t recognize him much now. In the year of our lord 2025, Jeff Buckley is as mythical as the unicorn; post-death he has morphed into the tragic Boyfriend-Guy, sad Keatsian poet, the ultimate manic pixie dream guy. Which is about as far away as he could possibly be from the incredibly human, dorky, awkward, hilariously funny, ironic, deeply 90’s-coded guy that I fondly remember. 

I grew up in Australia, a magical, sensible place where Grace was received with a level of warmth (ie the correct amount) not really seen in the US. Jeff had a devoted following there from both the press and the music-going public. As a result of that mutual admiration, he toured Australia a lot, and as a 19/20-year-old I was lucky enough to see him perform live in Melbourne twice, first in 1995 and again in 1996 before his sudden death in 1997. 

Sidebar: I’m almost certain Jeff played a small gig at the Public Bar in North Melbourne in late 1994 the year *before* his officially documented Australian appearances in 1995 & 1996. But I can’t find evidence of this on the internet aside from a stray Facebook comment from a diehard fan. (old man yells at cloud.gif)

Anyway. Story time. 
 
Grace was released in September of 1994 in Australia. I was 18 and in my first year of University. A friend gave me the Grace CD for my 19th birthday in April 1995 and I couldn’t stop listening. 

I was taking a course in Middle English Literature around that time, which led to a nice little moment of convergence when I heard his cover of the ‘Corpus Christi Carol’, a hymn I recognized from my studies. Not only was it an eccentric, HUGE swing to choose this medieval hymn as a cover song, but his sincerity, and the reverence in his performance left me speechless. ‘Who the hell IS this guy?’  The otherworldly quality of his voice, the poetic lyrics, and superlative guitar playing? Obviously a Fairy King summoned here to trick us all into following him into the underworld with his beguiling music. 

Yep.  Definitely a Fairy King.  

And then on top of that, the Nina Simone and the Leonard Cohen of it all? 
“I love you. But I’m afraid to love you.”?
 What. The. Fuck.

Jeff played some local shows and did press and interviews, and almost immediately all my Fairy King assumptions blew away like dandelion seeds. To my surprise and delight (and relief), this dude was funny and goofy as all hell. Hilarious, awkward, wry, sarcastic, self-conscious, contrarian and rebellious.  

To say the quiet part out loud, ironic detachment wasn’t just a Jeff thing, it was baked into our generation. Back then, at least in my circles, sincerity always came with a scoop of ironic detachment. It was a package deal. Jeff was no different. He was uncomfortable enough in his own skin to know that it was way too heavy to just let these ethereal songs just, like, hang in the air in all their earnest sincerity. In the 90’s?  Dude no way. That would be weird. And way too much responsibility. Crack a joke, do a funny voice, and suddenly there’s a little less pressure to be, you know, The Fairy King or whatever.  

Because Jeff Buckley was not Sting. He rarely, if ever, contributed to his own mythology. Despite being the Sensitive Guy and making emotions cool again, he still was deeply Gen-X. And I’m not saying that as a way of claiming him. It’s just facts: like smoking and sarcasm, ironic distance was a defining generational characteristic.  

And so with Jeff, his package deal was that every shining jewel of performance inevitably came with a joke, for every sensitive or thoughtful insight or serious observation in an interview there was a deadpan one-liner, a silly voice, or a non-sequitur. 

For fans, or at least for me, that was a relief. Laughter at his shows was as common as applause: and as far as I was concerned his awkward insouciance enriched his music. Knowing that he was also a funny dork who did Judy Garland and Edith Piaf impressions made him and his music more grounded and provided a balance to all that remarkable talent. His general attitude of  ‘This is weird, right?’  drew me, us, closer because the ironic detachment was so comfortingly familiar. 

He wasn’t better than us, or above us. He was one of us. 

That’s what’s so different seeing fans (and non-fans) talk about him now, versus my experience of him back then. The Jeff Buckley I loved was breathtaking and incredible but he wasn’t standing atop a mountain; he was a handsome, unrepentantly GOOFY guy who stood down here on the same earth with the rest of us, felt as weird about getting loads of attention as any normal human would, and just happened to be blessed with an incredible gift for music. The air that he breathed was not rarified. He wouldn’t allow that.  I want to grab every TikTok Jeff Buckley fan and shake them and yell PLEASE YOU MUST UNDERSTAND HE WAS SO INCREDIBLY NORMAL. 

I mean, I’m not in denial - it was completely transformative to see that voice, in-person, come out of that small wiry frame, to see him channel the muse in such a pure, raw, emotional way. But it’s like that thing about happiness: happiness is a temporary feeling, if you felt it all the time, you’d be insane. I wasn’t in permanent awe of Jeff Buckley. I wasn’t crying 24/7 that he existed. He was a delight. He was a joy. He made me laugh. A lot. 

I’ll end with the story of my first Jeff Buckley show, just for posterity. 

In 1995 I was eating breakfast in the dorm cafeteria when I read about a ticket giveaway in the local newspaper: win 2 tickets to a Jeff Buckley gig at the Triple R community radio Rooftop Café in Fitzroy. I never entered competitions but I put my name in, thinking I had zero chance of winning and was DUMBFOUNDED when I won.  I took my friend Lyndal with me and on August 31, 1995, we climbed the stairs to the  roof of the Triple R station and stood in the open air with a smallish group of concertgoers. The stage was only a couple of feet away, covered with a tarp to protect from the rain that was now falling steadily.  I remember being surprised and impressed that Jeff and his band would even play in these conditions, since the tarp wasn’t exactly solid protection from the weather and they’d still be quite exposed to the elements. But Jeff and the band emerged, in the rain, to much warm applause.  I remember at the beginning I could see the rain falling on his guitar and was briefly concerned about him being electrocuted. But the thing I remember most after that is not really being aware that it was raining, even though it poured the whole time.
The setlist was short -but oh it was good.

• Last Goodbye
• Grace
• That's All I Ask (Nina Simone Cover)
• Lover, You Should Have Come Over

 (Link to the radio broadcast of the show) 

Afterwards I scored a guitar pick from Jeff’s mic stand (which I kept as a prize possession for many years but later gifted to a friend and fellow fan. I’m selfish enough to admit that I still get a little pang thinking about how I gave it away, even though I know it’s in a good home.) On our way back down the stairs we bumped into Jeff’s bass player, Mick Grondahl which was quite thrilling. We said hi and that we enjoyed the show, and he was so polite and friendly. Lyndal told him she played the bass (she had just recently started learning) and Mick kindly asked what kind of guitar she played. Hilariously, in that moment her mind went completely blank. She couldn’t remember! She um’ed and ah’d and Mick waited a few minutes and then was was like, ‘Ok well I’ve gotta go’ and headed out to the street and climbed into the awaiting van. We followed outside and watched balefully as it sped off down the street. 

Then out of the blue Lyndal yelled “IT’S A FENDER!” to the disappearing van.

I don’t really know how to end this except to say that that moment in time feels as far away from me now as the moon.  

I remember driving from my hometown on my way back to University on that day in 1997 when they announced that Jeff’s body had been found after the agonizing week of him being missing.  I pulled the car off the road and just sat there and cried. 

I’m grateful that I got to enjoy him for those brief few years and bask in his quirky ethereal glow for a little while. I feel like I’m better for it. 
I just wish there had been more of it. 

RIP Jeff Buckley.