Last summer, I started doing a feature for the 405 called "What We Talk About When We Talk About Music"; a tribute to Raymond Carver and at the same time, a way to interview musicians I come across shortly to ask them about their influences. As I was talking to Joanna Newsom's musical director Ryan (Francesconi), he asked me out of the blue: "So, and now - what's YOUR favorite record?" It took me by surprise, and after a couple of minutes where I stood mouth open, thinking of all the albums that have meant something in my life from my teenage years up until now, I sort of winked and said, "Easy. Grace, by Jeff Buckley".
To everyone who knows me at least a little bit, this might seem like an obvious answer. And though it might be, it is also tricky to call favorite album of all-time a record which is spending way more time on your shelf collecting dust than in your record player. The truth is, I now tend to listen to Jeff Buckley on very few (and special) occasions, as if the timing, the situation, all the particles in the air and the temperature and the mood and the light in the room had to be just right before pulling it out of its case, reverently, as if touching a sacred object.
I discovered Jeff Buckley by chance, reading up an article about him in a now defunct Italian music magazine, when I was thirteen. I still own that magazine and remember that moment - a day in November 1999 - as a turning point in my life. Some days later, I scanned a couple of music stores until I actually found the CD; then took it home right away and listened to it. On repeat. Day after day after week after month. And looking back, I don't think any other album has taught me as much as Grace has; it is, from beginning to end, a jewel, a masterpiece, a record that touches on so many influences and so many subjects, a timeless work of genius that makes me feel so much, still, from the upbeat title track to the nostalgic Lover You Should've Come Over, from the bitter Last Goodbye to the bizarre Lilac Wine, all the way through to the sweaty psychedelic Eternal Life and the ethereal Dream Brother.
Grace is the kind of record every musician wishes he had written; Grace is music that stays with you forever.
To everyone who knows me at least a little bit, this might seem like an obvious answer. And though it might be, it is also tricky to call favorite album of all-time a record which is spending way more time on your shelf collecting dust than in your record player. The truth is, I now tend to listen to Jeff Buckley on very few (and special) occasions, as if the timing, the situation, all the particles in the air and the temperature and the mood and the light in the room had to be just right before pulling it out of its case, reverently, as if touching a sacred object.
I discovered Jeff Buckley by chance, reading up an article about him in a now defunct Italian music magazine, when I was thirteen. I still own that magazine and remember that moment - a day in November 1999 - as a turning point in my life. Some days later, I scanned a couple of music stores until I actually found the CD; then took it home right away and listened to it. On repeat. Day after day after week after month. And looking back, I don't think any other album has taught me as much as Grace has; it is, from beginning to end, a jewel, a masterpiece, a record that touches on so many influences and so many subjects, a timeless work of genius that makes me feel so much, still, from the upbeat title track to the nostalgic Lover You Should've Come Over, from the bitter Last Goodbye to the bizarre Lilac Wine, all the way through to the sweaty psychedelic Eternal Life and the ethereal Dream Brother.
Grace is the kind of record every musician wishes he had written; Grace is music that stays with you forever.
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