Sunday

...bein' th'literal son o'th'starsailor carried a lotta baggage any ways a cat gives it a peep,expectations run high, too high in many ways cos aint no-one gonna be fillin' th'role o' tim buckley, son or no son...there are plenty o' mannerisms'n inflections from th'father that would in time become more o'his own with experience'n maturity but his scope was probably somewhat more limited, though still out there where th' unknown lies in wait for any passin' traveller...th'downside o' all th'hypin' was also bein' played out as jeff was gettin' some vibrations emanatin' from th' record company to fulfill th'promise o'generational icon since th'demise o' kurt kobain...it was seen by certain squares as jeff coulda been th'poetic side o' grunge(just like singer/songwriter type gubbin's some 20 years earlier)...another downside o' jeffs (also) untimely demise was that it opened some doors for th'whingin' singers o' th' present age that're lapped up by th' great unwashed in their quest for 'relevant artistes'...gettin' down with this wax is a real cool time as jeffs with his electric compardres'n that makes for quality list'nin'n more rewardin' than solo acoustic affairs, this cat benefits from stretchin' out on sheets o' wired ether much more than on th'wooden strum box...floatin' 'n soarin', goin' wherever th'moment took th'combo as a complete whole workin' breathin' unit o' oneness...its a remarkable feat for any cat to have hardly any rubbish tunes or wrong choice o' cover but buckleys small cannon is more or less perfect for his methodology o' groovin' th'spheres...some're better than others 'n some renditions not up too th' mark but only by degree o' parametres set by his own standards...this performance from mid '90s over in euroland is one funky trip to th'otherside with trance inducin' bursts o' poetic rythym for unpoetic times, for times o' cynisim 'n contempt where th'war machine grinds at th'very fabric o' livin'...in a dimension some light years from th'present juncture in th' way things unfold these voyagers o' th' inner mind coulda played th' avalon ballroom in 66 'n not seem outta place next to th'great society or oxford circle in th'artschool experimentin' on a theme', goin' where th'vibration roams...th'second half o' th'set is real take off'n fly with th'groove really zapped by a fine,fine renderin' o' th'MC5 theme tune(more evidence if'n theres any thesis bein' writ large on th'90s is 60s nonsence that came around sometime back but more important for counter culture vultures is th'influence 'n settin' o' th'psychedelic ballroom appreciation o'aesthetics'n ethics in groovin' th'crowd)...for any layabouts who aint too sure about jeffs place in th' scheme o' things that rock th'tapestry o'unearthly delights need only give this some house room'n th'imagined can seem real, or be real dependin' on mental deportment...

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