bundle of contradictions.

Jeff Buckley.

I will always love Kurt Cobain, Dave Grohl and Krist Novoselic.

Particularly Kurt Cobain, who has somehow, though he died a few months before I was born taught me how to love music and what it means to literally be ripped open by it. Nirvana did this to me, maybe because of my love for Kurt Cobain as I stayed awake all night reading about him, watching Nirvana live. Falling in love with his complete sadness, anger and passion. His ambiguous lyrics, the kind we have no right to attempt to make sense of. We owe it to him to just sit back and let the experience go through us. Kurt Cobain changed me. And I thank him and Grohl and Novoselic for activating my sensibilty to the beauty in music. 

And so along came Jeff Buckley…  

I was surfing around the Kurt Cobain ocean as I do and I came across this weird “mysterious celebrity deaths” website and I found the rather romanticised story of Jeff Buckley and Tim Buckley. I was somewhat interested in the Tim Buckley/Jeff Buckley relationship, or lackthereof. And the thought of them two followed me around for the rest of that day. I couldn’t love either of them straight away, I didn’t connect to it. It just made me a bit sad, and angry. When I got home, I found a quote from Jeff Buckey. Here’s an excerpt… “I love you, you poor bastards. With a father like this man, it is no wonder that Tim Buckley was afraid to come back to me. So afraid to be my father…. I know he must have been scared shitless to think that he might possibly become like his father… Can you imagine the heartbreak? The useless, shitty torture day in, day out?”

I had no idea who the fuck either of these men were. Two singers- we have loads of them. A twisted father-son dynamic- we have loads of them.

Jeff Buckley just made it so different with those words, didn’t he? I left their relationship alone, it didn’t matter to me now. I wanted to know Jeff ‘Scotty Moorhead’ Buckley, the singer first. Then the man. 

And so I did. I refused to watch his videos or look at his pictures. I just wanted to love his music. It wasn’t hard. Then came watching him perform live- which was euphoric. Then came hearing/watching/reading his interviews- which was necessary.

I came to know Jeff the singer and the man. Two beautiful fucking entities. And not at all separate. Jeff had a way of channeling everything you’ve ever felt. Every laugh, every cry, every piece of your heart breaking, every smash of a glass in anger- in his music. He possessed this emotional vulnerabilty and yet this unbreakable strength. You love him for his smile, his flirtaciousness, his attitude, his unassuming nature, his ferociousness, his shyness, his playfulness, his impish nature, his cheekiness, his HUGE vocal range, his adorable need to say “thank you” far more than necessary, the way he seemed 12 and yet seemed 51 all at the same time.

Then you realise it’s deeper. And you love him for his heartbreak, his ability to love, his pain, his sexiness, his anger, his passion, his ability to completely destroy the restricting genre boundaries , his tragedy.

I realised that all the reasons he provided for having his heroes in music (Led Zeppelin, Nina Simone, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, The Smiths, etc) were the exact same reasons he joined Kurt Cobain   in that special place in my heart. I know Jeff wanted to be nobody’s hero. He’s not my hero. I don’t admire him for his noble qualities- as beautiful as they were, or any brave deeds… I don’t think anybody should try to emulate or be Jeff Buckley. Nobody. I love him simply for what he does to me. Doesn’t he feel like some kind of mythical creature? The only thing that proves to me that he was real is the music that he made. The music that he “makes”, I should say. Everytime I hear him feels like the first time, it’s beautiful, but scary. His voice seems to stop time, then magically fastforward it. 

And watching him perform? The king of swooning passion. The way his face changes as he sings, the way he moves, the way he played that guitar, the way he MOVED with it.

I watch his (along with Nirvana’s) live videos EVERY SINGLE night.  Not to embalm him, but just so I feel I was there to be moved by him, to tell him that he’s my muse. And it doesn’t feel right to say he “performs,” it was so real. He left a little piece of himself every time he finished a set and walked off the stage. He left it, or the audience members grabbed it, ripped, clawed- just for that voice. How do you photograph that voice?! He didn’t mind, he left that piece of himself for them. Lucky bastards.

Today (May 29th) is a sad day.  Jeff Buckley threw off the equilibrium with his presence. He upset the balance, tipped the scales, not by simply existing, but by putting his heart into his writing, putting his soul into recording, performing, everything he loved. 

We (not me, I was like 2) sucked him dry like a vacuum but he didn’t hate us for it. He continued to give us everything until he literally couldn’t give anymore. 

I just hope he was happy on this day. (May 29th) I hope he was singing his heart out to Led Zep when he went for that swim. I hope he wasn’t scared or panicking. I hope he had peace. I hope he was smiling. I hope he didn’t know what was happening, but I guess it wouldn’t be bad if he did- I just don’t want his last thought to have been one of fear or regret. I hope, that in that moment and all moments before that, he knew his worth.

He didn’t finish ‘My Sweetheart the Drunk‘… but what he left? It’s so Jeffish to just keep you longing, isn’t it? I thank his mum for releasing all that she did because I need it. Everyday. 

And Jeff Buckley always thought he wasn’t very good at writing- I beg to fucking differ. But maybe I’m biased because the beauty in his lyrics has already infected my insides.

Jeff Buckley is just that taste of something you want forever more, but you can’t have it. So you just imagine that same taste over and OVER again.  But imagining it is okay, isn’t it? Because it’s all you’ve got.

RIP, Jeff Buckley. November 17th 1966 - May 29th 1997. 

you are fucking alternative, thank you for the music.
white boy rock with the black woman heart and the asian man soul. 

I love you.