DERK—I am curious about the 25 year gap between the Down Beat article [in 1977] and the appearance of your book, Blue Melody [in 2002], and how the memoir perhaps needed to steep before you could write it? Why did it take "so long" to do the biography?
LU: First, there were too many contradictions, speculations, rumors, inconsistencies, and unanswered questions surrounding Tim’s death As Joe Falsia, Tim’s guitarist, observed in an interview with me, the real question comes down to one thing: Why was Tim so upset to begin with? Why did he go from the airport to the dealer’s house, instead of straight home to his wife, Judy, as he usually did. I needed to look into those and related questions, which I did for several years. Hard to get at the truth. Certain people had things to hide.
DERK—Are you suggesting foul play?
LU: No, definitely not. I am not suggesting foul play, and I make that clear in the book. There was no foul play. No love affair, as far as I could tell, no tainted dope, no murder plot as rumored, none of that. I’m just saying that when everybody pointed the finger at Richard the dealer, maybe they should have been looking elsewhere. As Tim himself said along the way, ?It’s in the lyrics, man" [see Blue Melody, page 230]. If that’s true, then it’s possible that some of the songs discussed on pages 204-205 in Blue Melody might be relevant. Then again, maybe not. Maybe they’re relevant only to himself. In any case, as a loyal friend and responsible writer, I had to look into these things, and that took time.
Secondly, when I finally decided to go ahead with the book, and initially began writing it in 1997, Jeff Buckley drowned. At that point, publishers wanted a book on Jeff, and nobody was interested in Tim. Tim was considered "not commercial," and Jeff was commercially “hot." I stopped writing the book on Tim at that point, but continued sending my proposal to publishers. In 1999, still being rejected, I jumped in and wrote the book anyway in three months, simply to satisfy my chosen obligation to Tim (to tell our story truthfully, in depth, the way I felt it needed to be told). More years went by without acceptance. Discouraging, to say the least. Then, Backbeat Books in San Francisco saw Blue Melody’s beauty and artistic significance. They published it in November 2002, twenty-five years after I had originally conceived it in a vague sort of way, back in 1977, not long after Tim’s demise.
DERK—Why did Judy Buckley refuse permission to reprint lyrics in Blue Melody? Did you run into any resistance to the project from significant figures in Tim's life/career? I sense a complicated story behind the lyrics hassle, and I guess it will remain untold for now, as will, I assume, the question about resistance to your project from significant figures in the story.
LU: You are right about resistance, significant figures, "a complicated story behind the lyrics hassle," etc. Suffice it to say, I am legally constrained from discussing that situation.
When properly used, libel laws are laudable. They are designed to protect innocent people from being smeared by unscrupulous journalists. However, those same laws can be turned upside down and twisted in such a way that certain kinds of people can prevent responsible writers like myself from discussing the perhaps painful truth of various situations, events, and underlying motivations, not because I would lie about them, but precisely because I would tell the truth. Hence, resistance.
In order to tell the truth about the "complicated story" and not get busted for it, I would have to present it as fiction in a novel or a screenplay. Isn't that ironic? I always believed in free speech and thought the law was designed to discover and uphold the truth. However, in order for the truth to be told in this kind of situation, it must be presented as imagination, as fiction— in other words, as a lie. Such is the law. They want you to lie in order to tell the truth. As a result, I can't talk about it.
—What were the greatest challenges of writing about your "best friend"?
It may sound odd, but there were no "challenges" to me in writing about Tim, in the sense that "challenge" means barriers or obstacles or nearly insurmountable hurdles. In 1999, when I sat down to write the book all the way through, even without having a publisher, it took only three months from start to finish. Writing about Tim and the music and the lives we led was a joy. It was easy. I have a good memory for conversations, physical details, events, which quotes were where in which articles, etc. Everything flowed well.
That does not mean I did not feel anything for Tim or for the memories I had about him and myself and the ups and downs of our lives back then. To the contrary, I felt every word. There are no artificially constructed "filler" materials in Blue Melody. The writing was not just typing. There is music infusing every sentence. Blue Melody is not only Tim's song. It is my song too. Sometimes it was painful to write about certain specific events in his life and mine, but that is okay. Real writing must come from unflinching honesty.
One other relevant point—the Lee who wrote the book is not the same Lee who appears in the text. I learned from my youthful mistakes and failures and errors of judgement. I grew and matured over the years. I would not necessarily make the same choices today that I made then. That is what growing up means, does it not? And so I wrote about myself and Tim with compassion in my heart for our mistakes and weaknesses, blessing both of us for having lived as totally as possible. The intensity of the writing was experienced in the present, even though the material dealt with the past, a very interesting position to be in, thrilling, sometimes psychologically threatening, potentially disorienting.
So, if there was any "challenge" to speak of, I would have to say it involved the dangerous psychological descent into those dark waters of the past, having courage enough to go there, skill enough to remember and empathize and participate once again without losing my present self, and strength enough to sustain intensity of involvement over a period of time without become overwhelmed and drowned by it — clarity without fear or resistance.
TIM, JEFF & POSTHUMOUS RELEASES
DERK — How has his influence manifested itself (other than in cover versions and Jeff's music)? I am interested in what you think about the legacy of Tim's musical influence, beyond the philosophical/psychological lessons of exploring "ourselves and the world around us in terms of the beautiful."
LU: I think Tim's extraordinary voice sets him apart from nearly everybody else. Only his son, Jeff, came close, vocally speaking. Also, only his son had improvisational abilities approaching Tim's, and only his son had a psychological temperament and poetic talents that were close to Tim's. Jeff is the only one I know of who had voice, talent, intelligence, and wisdom enough to choose Tim as his primary musical mentor. When we listen to Jeff's album Grace, we are listening to a lot of Tim as well as Jeff in that music, much to Jeff's credit.
Other than Jeff, I can't think of anybody off-hand who was directly influenced by Tim in terms of singing, song writing, improvisation, or temperament. Many have covered his songs, especially “Siren," but Tim was an original, one of a kind, not a generic flavor easily co-opted by admirers. To me, that artistic uniqueness is a hallmark of greatness. I think that is one of the main reasons Tim's legacy endures to this day — that, and depth of heart.
DERK — How do you feel about the way Tim's and Jeff's work has been handled posthumously, in terms of the reissue process and the release of previously unissued material?
LU: Mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, I am pleased that Tim's Dream Letter came out. It is a good album, and a good representation of the more relaxed ways we often performed in concert. I am not entirely unhappy with Works In Progress. I like much of it. But we left it behind and did not release it originally because those songs were not yet ripe, not yet fulfilled, and the performances were less than focused, clear, and strong. Other works, such as Live at the Troubadour and some of the Peel Sessions, I wish had been left in the vaults. There are some nice things on Troubadour, notably the tracks that were later extrapolated and used on Lorca, but certain other things on Troubadour and the Peel Sessions do not represent us at our best, and I regard it as a kind of betrayal of trust by businesspeople that those and certain other items have been dragged out and displayed for all to see and hear.
In no way do I wish to slight the pleasure many listeners have gotten from Troubadour and other posthumous works. It thrills me that the music is as vibrant for them today as it was for us when we played it. We gave the best we had every time we played, and I feel deeply pleased that so many people have enjoyed some or all of the music that came out of those sessions.
As for various anthologies and "best of" collections, they do not do justice to the full scope of Tim's artistic perspectives. In one recent anthology, Morning Glory, two of his very best works, "I Never Asked to be Your Mountain" and "Love From Room 109," are not included, and absolutely none of the more abstract compositions from Starsailor are represented. Two versions of "Song to the Siren" are there, and so is the excellent if conventional "Monterey." But ultra-modern, adventurous, avant-garde pieces such as "Jungle Fire," "Starsailor," "I Woke Up" and "The Healing Festival" are not even given a nod. Furthermore, the liner notes are rife with inaccuracies, which is inexcusable. [I have published my original liner notes to the Anthology on my site, in the “Tim Buckley" section. Those notes were solicited by Rhino, but not used.]
DERK — What about Jeff’s posthumous releases?
LU: It’s my understanding, perhaps erroneous, that he at one point wanted to burn the music posthumously released as Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk. Even if he didn’t, I cannot imagine his allowing anything to be released that he did not authorize. He knew many of his live performances were unfocused, conceptually blurry, structurally fragmented, directionally wandering, and technically uneven. I have mixed feelings about the few I have heard. The music is studded with gloriously beautiful moments, but much of it is also very shaky, tentative and artistically uncertain in terms of concept and execution. I think he would denounce about ninety percent of what is presently out there, and I wouldn’t blame him. He was struggling to create his own identity. I think he was just beginning to flower into full individuality and authenticity when he died.
And let me be clear about something here. I don’t want some small-minded, mean-spirited critic using my own words against me. I am not criticizing Jeff. I respect and love Jeff immensely, and my heart goes out to him, even as it goes out to Tim. The question has to do with posthumous releases, and I am simply agreeing with what I think Jeff would say himself.
He had an profoundly difficult time finding his center, developing a coherent point of view, creating sustainable concepts, taking a musical stance. His inability to create music smoothly and confidently is poignantly documented in page after page of Browne’s book, especially in the later chapters. Music made in the workshop fires of public experimentation may or may not be up to the artist’s standards in terms of release. The artist wants to present the finished product, not the experiments and partial or failed efforts that led up to it. These are not criticisms. They are observations. I am just telling you why I have mixed feelings about posthumous releases, and why I think Jeff would not want out there a lot of the material his mother released after his death.
I like Jeff, and I like much of his music. I enthusiastically give him credit for his willingness to improvise, explore, and move into new and challenging areas in the live performances that are available. His passion is undeniable. His sensitivity deep and intense. His voice captivating. His lyrics beautiful, touching, poignant. He was trying things out, experimenting, attempting to create a focused, integrated concept at each stage of his painfully slow development. I have enormous respect and compassion for him. But, professionally speaking, I do not think he was ready to record and release much of the music that appears on the live recordings released posthumously, and I think he would be the first to agree.
Speaking personally, I love Jeff and his music. I would rather listen to any one of his CDs than spend time with dozens of more polished mainstream artists. But I’m trying to be musically objective as well. I just wish his own wishes had been respected. He did good work. Like every other artist, including Tim, he also did tentative or sloppy work. And too much of the latter has been released. It may satisfy swooning fans who feel a kind of cannibalistic hunger for their beloved rock stars, but I wish only the work Jeff blessed were on the stands. Once he died, others took over.
I can live with the posthumous Sketches. In fact, I'm glad we have it, not only for the materials Tom Verlaine produced, but for the simple, solo, four-track pieces included at the end that demonstrate what I regard as a break-through. Had Jeff lived and not been so terrified of success that he found himself virtually paralyzed in studio situations—had he been able to survive the rehearsal and recording processes—I think we would have another first-class Jeff Buckley album.
In my view, many elements of his first full CD, Grace, are great. I have spent many hours with that CD, which his detractors, especially certain Tim fans, have not done. I think most of their criticisms are less than perceptive or well grounded. Jeff was a beautiful soul and a marvelously talented musician who deserves to be listened to and appreciated as an individual in his own right, not belittled by comparisons with his father. Grace and Sketches will be around for a while, and maybe one or two of the others. The rest will vanish into various archives. It’s a natural process, you know?
[See Part II: The Spectrum of Music]
November 25, 2002
[Derk Richardson has written about music since 1978 for many local and national publications, and hosts "The Hear & Now," a free-form music show every Thursday, 10 pm-midnight in Berkeley, CA, on KPFA 94.1 FM.]