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Tim Buckley: "An incredibly thin wire -- Dylan thin"By Jay HosterHaverford News, Friday April 14, 1967 
I first heard the voice of Tim Buckley several months ago when Elektra sent
out a promo record of what the press release has called "a new
talent." Elektra has always been prominent in folk music, and is presently
moving cautiously into the [ area ] of rock, but it was hard to place Buckley's
"Wings" in either category. I simply called it folkrock and played it.
It is the voice of Buckley that strikes one upon first hearing his songs.
Its range is that of a tenor, but is without any of the unnaturalness that
is customary in pop singers of that range. It is clear, yet filled with
remarkable power. Furthermore, this strength in his voice seems completely
natural; whenever Buckley forces it (which he did too often at the Main
Point) the effect is ruined.
Until Buckley walked onto the stage with a guitar in hand and a congo drum
player following, he had been no more for me than a voice and a face
staring from an album jacket. I almost expected a mad scientist-engineer
type from Elektra to come forth with a tape recorder in hand, and say "Tim
Buckley is MY creation." (Applied to other singers, this is not so fantastic as it may sound). Yet there he was and it was all real, and
even all "very, very live" as some Johnny Rivers album might say.
Buckley is thin. "An incredibly thin wire" says the album; Dylan-thin was
my impression. His hair is curly, and seems to be even fluffier than
Dylan's. His features are sharp, with that lean and hungry artist look
about him. His guitar maybe of normal size, but it looks big on him.
Buckley never caresses it, but holds it as one would a three or four year
old child: graspingly. The guitar and the hair together give the singer a
curiously top-heavy appearance. The legs, fitted closely in corduroy seem
to be too small to support the weight.
The voice never says anything except an occasional "thank you"; and once a
sentence to introduce his congo accompanist. This might have been read off
a prompt card, the tone is so unvarying, the concern to finish so great.
The face never shows any reaction to acclaim, although that of the congo
player is not so faithful: I once caught a hint of a smile. The head is
thrown back when the voice is singing, the body moving with the rhythm.
Anyone's Basement:
Entering the basement of the Main Point after the end of the first show, I
thought that it might be the basement of anyone's house. Along one side a
couple of rooms had been set up. I saw Sandy Rhodes in one, and walked
over to the other one. Three kids with pens and yellow, torn-in-half
"Welcome to the Main Point" cards entered ahead of me. They asked for the
singer's autograph. I took out my notebook and promised to make the
questions brief.
Buckley was crouching on the floor, doing something to his guitar; he made
the answers brief. He became more verbal when he was interviewed on
WHAT-FM later that night; but even then he spoke no more than two or three
sentences in reply to any one question.
I found he had been born in Washington, D.C., and is now 20. He spent two
weeks at Fullerton College, but left because he "wasn't ready for it." he
told me he had developed his own musical style, although for WHAT, he said
that country music had influenced it.
When asked, "what do you think of Dylan?" Buckley replied, "I generally
don't." I then came up with a personal question, "What is your favorite
Dylan song?" He thought for a moment, and then looked up at me, and said
"Desolation Row." Dylan "likes it," he explained.
Buckley's immediate plans are to return to California, where in May he will
begin recording his second album. Elektra hopes to have this out by
August. After that, he is going to India for the purposes of "meditation."
Buckley is not, however, going to make a formal study of Indian music;
"I'm not George Harrison, although he likes me and I like him." Mr.
Harrison was not available for comment.
"Hello, Tim, I'm from Penn Records. We just can't keep your record in
stock." I looked around to see a middle-aged man in a sport jacket with a
yellow Main Point Folk Club button attached to the lapel.
I wanted to know why he recorded on Elektra. "No one else would take me,"
he said. On WHAT he pointed out that Elektra is capable of growing with
the artist. This is an important concept for Buckley. He told me the
reason he did not sing any of the songs off his album during the first show
was because "I'm doing different things now." Later he said, "everything I
do is an experiment," and, also, "an artist has to grow." Another concept
which is important for Buckley is that of coherence. Every aspect of the
song-- lyrics, voice, accompaniment must contribute to the totality.
Buckley counts his two singles released by Elektra as his failures. When
asked for his successes, he thought for a moment and said, "tonight." I
then wanted to know, "what about the Swarthmore Rock Festival? I heard
that you sort of took the show away from Jefferson Airplane." Another
pause, and he spoke a word which he uses frequently: "yeah." This was not
an "if you say so" yeah, but one which seemed to indicate that the speaker
of [ ] felt the same way, and thanked his interviewer for the compliment.
Up to this point I had been showering Buckley with a torrent of questions,
an outburst which surprised even myself. As the source began to run dry,
Buckley peered up at me the way a man looks at a dark-clouded sky,
wondering if there is going to be any more rain. Did he ever get the
proverbial "break" in his career? As if to show that he has a sense of
humor, Buckley replied, "Yeah, I got busted on the Sunset Strip." most of
his songs seem to be about a girl. Is it the same one in every song? "I'm
sort of hung up on one girl. But some of my songs are about war."
Sandy Rhodes could still be heard singing above us when I stopped the
interview. Later, on WHAT, Buckley said, "I've always felt very awkward
about talking to people." I think I understand: whatever Tim Buckley has
to say to the world he does it through his songs.
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