Tim
Buckley: happy/sad (Elektra 7559-74045-2)
First read about him in the - truly great - NME of the
late 70s...a weekly that “balanced” its somewhat
overly-breathless reportage of the (all-too-brief) golden
age of British post-punk w/basically-accurate forecasts
of exactly what (relatively) recent stuff the next few
generations of genuinely-inventive musicians’d take
their main cues from.
And, of all that they - alone - introduced me to (cause
I had a bunch of other sources), there’s absolutely
no doubt in my mind that the most significant was said
Tim Buckley...
...the father...
Cause - sadly, to my mind - most of the younger set insist
on seeing him though the prism of his son...who (yet again)
died randomly...but - this time - at the behest of the
great Mississippi, at its cruelist...
But still...to be real...all that is (completely) irrelevant
here. Because this - along w/Van Morrison’s Astral
Weeks - is, undoubtedly, by far the most inventive cross-take
between jazz and folk fluidities that was ever delivered
in that (all-too-brief) high period of late-sixties musical
inventiveness...and - yet - this one still remains sadly
unknown to most of the large audience who would now so
cherish it...well beyond it’s initial (uncomprehending)
reception...
“strange feelin’” opens...amidst a drift
of vibes, acoustic bass & twelve-string, under an
eerily-easy, yet impassionately floating vocal...and -
quite simply - that feeling never really lets up... Seriously
dissatisfied w/his previous two LPs - and newly enraptured
w/Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue - he now stripped things
back to one unique form of folk-jazz quintet...and, in
the process, delivered one of my absolute favourite albums
...passionate/poised, and...(still) completely unique
in the annals of recorded music.
Because...I’ve never - ever - heard any other album
that so ecstatically blends heartfelt regret & that
(driven) feeling that finally overcomes same...without,
in any way, devaluing the former. And...all of this without
- again, in any way - sacrificing the simplicity that
most naive listeners require. And, that most of the rest
of us hope for...albeit we have (basically) learned not
to expect.
And, it should’ve been the biggest hit of his career...
Instead, it was tragically misunderstood...as a hermetic
retreat. And, believing this, he then fulfilled the prophesy
- in oddly various (and mainly marvellous) ways - until
his untimely death...tragically slain by an admirer with
a chemical fixation.
but this - this - truly - is his masterpiece
John Henry Calvinist
