Poor Jeff. You go for a standard midnight swim in a Mississippi river wearing all your clothes and boots, get caught in the wake from a passing boat, and drown. And you’re only thirty! Bad, bad luck. Total bummer. Still, you leave behind a nostalgic musical legacy that stirs the passion in pseudo-romantic grunge-teens of the nineties. Moping around as I did in my twelve hole Doc Martens and nightie-worn-as-dress, the tragedy of this beautiful and talented man dying before he reached his prime touched me. Hell, I probably had a day off school for this an’ all. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realise that I really was an insufferable nause. Anyway, a resurgence of interest in Buckley’s music means that a whole new generation has been hearing that gorgeous voice and Googling that gorgeous face. Time well spent.
(For Kerry and baby George – good taste… xxx)