Buckley: Honeyman (Edsel)
just something (beauty beauty, glory glory) about a man with a 12-string semi-acoustic:
something in the detailed flurry of finger-picking; in the suck and swirl and
sway of silver strings producing that heat and light from friction with skin;
in the fuck as you wind it up and the hush as you slow it down. Tim Buckley, starsailor,
dreamwarrior, bending those high frequencies so he could ride the low ones, was
crying out the glory so high and loud that the Gods panicked he was giving away
their heaven for free and struck him right through with white-out lightning.
actually, he went on a huge drink and drugs bender and overdosed on a sticky motel-room
floor, eyes boggling and calling for Hughie. But when we rewrite the silent history
in our heads, these are the lines it spins along. Honeyman
is the final release in a trio of live albums, this from 1973, in the midst of
Buckley's swamp-sex-rock phase, where he sang of the stretch marks and the sweat
and the sting of desperate, broken down, end-of-the-world riding -- the deathly
hushes and the muted wailing; ripped sheets and lung-bursting gasps.
is one of the best shagging albums of all time -- in between Buckley's astonishing
vocal mountain-hikes through Sweet Surrender and Pleasant Street
through his delirium-babble of Stone In Love and Dolphins, an audience
applauds, adding wonder to your encore fucking and sucking.
than Greetings From LA, not the out-there Starsailor, or Blue
Afternoon but the right-in-here of Live at the Troubadour, Honeyman
will inspire you to cruise the curve of your best-beloved's spine with a hungry
tongue and electricity sparking six-fold from your fingers.
hell. I'm going to have a fag now. Recommended like you wouldn't believe...
Moran is now TV critic and current affairs columnist at The London Times.
was a short-lived monthly British magazine
which ran for five issues between
September 1995 and February 1996