UK publication - 1995
Recorded Live 1973 (Edsel EDCD 450)
is the third, and presumably final, part of a trilogy that's already seen the
classic Dream Letter: Live In London 1968 and its worthy successor, Live
At The Troubadour 1969. It hails from a radio show broadcast November 1973,
a time when Buckley had just released his eighth album, Sefronia, to disappointing
reviews, many pointing to no less than five cover versions as evidence that Buckley's
muse had vanished.
reveals that, in concert at least, the singer was still one of the most powerful
performers stalking the boards in the early 70s. His voice -- his most precious
gift -- never failed him, and even though four of those five Sefronia covers
are present here, his unique readings of, say, Fred Neil's Dolphins, or
the traditional Sally Go Round The Roses, suggest that casting interpretative
powers forever in the shadow of the self-penned song is largely pointless.
this hour-long set, Buckley refines such material, and even a couple of his late
60s songs, Pleasant Street and Buzzin' Fly, in a passionate, white
funk mold. It wasn't a cynical move to follow the lines of fashion: after all,
Buckley's work already overflowed with passion enough, without having to steal
sounds to pretend to achieve an effect he already had in abundance.
the patchy studio ventures from around this time: in concert, Buckley and his
tighter, funky backline was often a frighteningly effective prospect. The drums
get a bit pedestrianised at times during the seven-minute Devil Eyes, but
with guitarist Joe Falsia giving it some intense wah-wah action whenever the chance
arose, and Buckley employing his vocal range to effect a more smouldering sexuality
than the tentative romanticism of his earlier work, Honeyman will be a
hugely pleasant surprise to those who imagined that Buckley died creatively with
the end of the 60s.
is the last - but by no means least -
in a trio of tremendous live releases...''
wiry, troubadour with a notebook full of gentle odes to beautiful women he was
too afraid to talk to was, of course, long gone. The Tim Buckley of 1973 was a
man immersed in the sweaty, messy, intoxicating world of physical love, a man
who wanted to lick those stretch marks, who could proudly boast that "We
had those bedsprings a-squeaking last night, honey", and whose music -- on
this evidence, at least -- had lost none of the passion that drew you to him in
the first place.
Honeyman is last - but by no means least - in a trio of tremendous live releases.