1970 by
Mike Bourne I
never did and still don't dig "folk":
that sort of guitar strumming relevance bit, mainly as the music always seemed
to me virtually gratuitous, just acoustic licks of little moment to accompany
the actual focus in the lyrics. Hyped
as the New Poetry, many zealous critics and fans alike, sought in such ditties
as Blowing in the Wind every metaphysical/political ounce, and now even
used the tunes as mass panacea for demonstrations - under the assumption that
"we shall overcome" if we all sing. Nevertheless,
one cannot deny an entire genre, and so I listen, even to Dylan (who is by now
too big for himself), and one salvation amid the doggerel and pickin' was Tim
Buckley. Unlike
most contemporaries, Buckley (with collaborator Larry Beckett) offered on his
first Elektra dates true poetry within evocative musical contexts, and yet, as
he progressed a curious reversal happened: where at first his imagery proved more
complex and his music simply tatty, gradually (as best indicated on the Happy/Sad
album) his music became more impressionistic and lyrics mainly tender love songs.
"Where
at first Buckley offered only a somewhat pleasant high pitched croon, now he has
proven himself a consummate vocal technician..." |
Though
lyrical, his singing and playing likewise moved with a freer impetus; always unpredictable,
always humorous, his voice evolved as more than a mere vehicle for words, although
he still retained that characteristic delicate quiver - that sort of magical ethos
I term elfin. On
Lorca, the sensitive interplay of Buckley's vocals (both verbal and nonverbal)
with pianist Underwood and the drone of the strings bear witness to his new directions:
a contrapuntal scheme of drifting ensemble colors, with an ultra vibrato temper
throughout, and much more sense of musical atmosphere than in the customary leader-with-accompaniment.
But Lorca
is somewhat like an embryo to Starsailor (likely cut just prior to
Buckley's move from Elektra to Straight), and sounds much less fulfilled: certainly
venturesome, but still formative, not at the point of melodic and rhythmic fruition
of Starsailor, even though it is moving. Truly,
to witness lovely ballads like his early Once I Was and Morning Glory
and then realize the distance between that style and the moaning, attitudes on
Starsailor is quite a shock, especially when one hears the whining almost
laughing scat on Monterey
.
Of course Buckley has not wholly abandoned
his charms as a troubadour, as in the petite chanson Moulin Rouge (with
savory trumpet accents by Buzz Gardner) or the sighing, self-accompanied Song
to a Siren, but has indeed expanded upon his own initial sense. Where
at first Buckley offered only a somewhat pleasant high pitched croon, now he has
proven himself a consummate vocal technician, from the shimmering coos of Song
to a Siren to primitive wailing on Jungle Fire to distorted chanting
on the title cut--and far too few (if any) pop artists exhibit such expressive
control of the resonance and general tone of the voice as does Buckley, though
no less limited in range to a ceiling tenor and falsetto than before. Furthermore,
Buckley is lucky to have with him such compatible co-evolutionary creators as
Underwood and Balkin, plus the added tastes of Baker and the Gardner brothers
- for the success of the albums clearly the mutual propulsion among the players,
from erratic jittery tempos through the almost formless textures and into even
the quasi-cutesy Moulin Rouge. As ever, I rejoice that such spirit as that
of Buckley and his cohorts is on record. Finally,
at a point at which Elton John and Leon Russell and the other one-dimensionals
are being heralded as the new superstar solo performers, Starsailor proves Tim
Buckley the far greater (and so far less noticed): a sincerely eclectic and compassionate
artist who, as the adage speaks, must be heard to be believed. Downbeat
is a well respected US jazz magazine.
After leaving Tim's band, guitarist
Lee Underwood became their West Coast editor. |
