2006
Best
of Tim Buckley
Review
by Christian John Wikane
Tim
Buckley died of a heroin overdose in 1975 at 28 years old,
less than 10 years into a recording career that was anything
but predictable.
Signed
to Elektra Records by Jac Holzman in 1966, Buckley was blessed
with an angelic, nearly androgynous tenor that found a home
in the worlds of folk, jazz, blues, rock, and soul. Buckley
did not overstay his time in any one style too long; he constantly
absorbed and mixed ideas from an array of sources and influences.
If The Best of Tim Buckley is any indication, his 12-string
guitar was as relevant to his art as band member David Friedman
chiming in on vibes. As such, the renegade spirit of Buckley
has endeared him to generations of rock critics and vinyl-scouring
hipsters who shroud his legacy in myth: anachronistic musical
genius, self-destructive romantic. How does Rhinos The
Best of Tim Buckley play for someone just discovering
Buckleys work?
For
fans of Buckley, it might seem futile to cherry pick through
his nine albums, since many compositions were conceived as
part of a larger work, not a 45 rpm single. For just one track
to represent 1970s critically lauded Starsailor
album, for example, borders on sacrilege.
This collection is not designed with the diehard fans in mind,
per se. To fresh ears, The Best of Tim Buckley is a
challenging listen for the simple reason that, with all its
variety, Buckleys oeuvre is difficult to crystallize
in one 75-minute package. A degree of patience is required
upon first listen because the compilation groups together
every sharp turn in Buckleys artistic evolution.
"Musicians
are no more or less human than their audience. Theyre
equipped with the same vices, frailties, and conflict
as any one of their listeners..."
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If
the listener approaches Rhinos noble attempt to succinctly
explain Tim Buckley like a map, to further explore the terrain
of Buckleys discography, then the listening becomes revelatory.
The discoveries on The Best of Tim Buckley are manifold:
the haunting choir on Morning Glory, the chilling call
of the siren on Song to the Siren, the various movements
of Goodbye and Hello, the sepia-toned strings on Buckleys
tender cover of Tom Waits Martha.
TThe
ebb and flow of Buckley’s voice is, itself, a discovery for
new listeners. Aren’t You the Girl, a fairly conventional
folk-pop song from Buckley’s self-titled debut album, opens
this set, illustrating how his trembly tenor could effortlessly
soar to a bell-clear belt.
During
the years between 1966’s Tim Buckley and 1969’s Happy
Sad, Buckley immersed himself in jazz. The loose arrangement
on the vibe-driven Strange Feelin’ gave Buckley unlimited
space to moan low on certain phrases and spontaneously ascend
towards emotional heights on others. The latter part of Buckley’s
career found him adopting a grittier, blue-eyed soul affectation
on tracks like Move With Me and Look at the Fool.
Whether
this was his choice, or at the insistence of the record company,
isn’t clear, but the performances sound slightly boxed-in.
Had Buckley lived beyond his 28 years, it’s likely he would
have progressed in many directions after 1974’s Look at
the Fool. As he sang so appropriately on The River,
from 1969’s Blue Afternoon, "And just like the
river / I can change my ways"
Death is a harbinger for myth, for the deceased cannot refute
or confirm facts. More than any other figures, dead rock stars
and musicians have a predisposition to be mythologized. Hendrix,
Morrison, Janis, Lennon, Marley—anything from T-shirts and
posters to biopics and failed Broadway musicals emblazon a
larger than life image of these artists in our minds.
Yet
the projected image often obscures a deeper understanding
of the individual beyond what they’ve come to represent in
a pop culture vacuum. Musicians are no more or less human
than their audience. They’re equipped with the same vices,
frailties, and conflict as any one of their listeners. These
qualities inform their music and, ultimately, forge a connection
an audience.
We
render them gods and goddesses from the magical sound emanating
through speakers, displaced from time and space. Somewhere
in the midst of worship, though, the art is overlooked. The
Best of Tim Buckley does its best to direct the listener’s
attention to the artist’s music rather than his myth, though
some may argue that the two are inseparable (see Matthew Specktor’s
compelling liner notes). Most critical of all, The Best
of Tim Buckley affords a well-compiled introduction to
an artist who created art fearlessly, on his own terms, restlessly
swimming against the tide.
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