#live at Sin-é

[myst3ry-wh1te-b0y]

All live versions of any Jeff Buckley song ever are agonizingly painful to listen to AGHHHHHHHGGGH. Live at Sin-é, I'm looking at you.

[manitat]

[sweetdreamsjeff]

Jeff Buckley: Live at Sin-é (Big Cat)

Gavin Martin, New Musical Express, 9 April 1994

TALENTS sporting the imprint of famous genetic forbears inspire suspicion and derision in equal measure; look no further than Julian Lennon's career for elucidation.

Jeff's dad — the exuberant, libido-crazed, free-form funkateer and jazz stylist Tim Buckley — was a unique force; since his death, few have approached his highwire daring and adventure.

Now comes the son he hardly knew, holding court in a boho New York singer-songwriter showcase cafe, bearing an astonishing physical and aural resemblance to his father.

Elongated acoustic workouts, coaxed into being by vocal moans, cries, curves and yowling volleys. Big swooping diversions counterpointed with angelic gasps and gleeful tail-kissing departures — it's all a little uncanny, unsettling; eyebrows are raised, questions asked. This four-track EP — counted as an album, due to its length — is a bet-hedging work-in-progress introduction to the Buckley Jr groove thing. Though bristling with dynamic interplay between voice and guitar, it veers to the histrionic, making prospects for his future career seem both tantalising and daunting.

On 'Eternal Life', his highflying conceits narrow and harden into a simplistic new aquarian worldview, cheating the performance of the emotion it aims for. 'Mojo Pin' raids the Led Zeppelin ballad blues style to good effect, but his ten-minute scat rework of Van's 'Young Lovers Do' is a pointless and ponderous exercise in grandstanding.

Buckley is certainly a talent of his own making; Edith Piaf's 'Je N'en Connais Pas La Fin' is both focused and totally disarming. Live At Sin-é captures Buckley still shaping his identity, hopefully the promise it displays will come to fruition on his forthcoming (real) album. (6)

© Gavin Martin, 1994

[ratgill]

there is something horrific happening inside me

[hyacinthesiss]

men just don't yearn like this anymore 😔

[mariasont]

Please, Don't Prove 'Em Right Pt 2 - A.H

a/n: im not quite sure how i feel about this i feel like im really bad with resolutions but practice makes perfect and you all really wanted a part two so here we are i hope you beautiful angels like it:)

also if you commented on the first part which can be found here, i put you on the taglist for this one!

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotcher x fem!reader

summary: is it possible to forgive the man who broke your heart the most?

warnings: angst, creepy man in a parking lot, hurt lots of hurt, idk man i still wouldn't be able to forgive him for this, CURB STOMP

wc: 1.6k

The sound of your stupid heels against the pavement only served to fuel your irritation. A rough patch of asphalt snagged the stem of the shoe, jolting your ankle sharply. With a hiss and a muttered curse, you bent down, yanking off the insufferable things, all the while attempting to block out the thought of the grime that was now undoubtedly coating your skin.

Your stupid dress now dragged against the ground, collecting dirt, and your stupid makeup, once perfect, was now smeared by the tracks of your tears.

"Hey there, pretty lady, why the long face on such a beautiful night?"

The voice came from a man who materialized as if from thin air, towering over you. His clothes were worn, his tie hanging crookedly, and a predatory grin fixed on his face.

You tried to sidestep, your mood souring further, but he mirrored your movements, blocking your path, his eyes examining you with an unsettling sense of familiarity.

"Come on, don't be like that. A girl like you shouldn't be all alone. Let me keep you company."

His words were like oil, slick and unwelcome, making your skin crawl. You clutched your heels tighter, completely prepared to use them as a weapon if necessary. "I'm fine, thanks."

But he wasn't taking the hint, stepping closer, his breath reeking of booze. "No need to be shy. I'll treat you right--,"

This was it. Instead of being known for winning a Pulitzer, you'd be known as the girl who got kidnapped in the parking lot after the ceremony. The cherry on top of the evening.

"I think you're misunderstanding the situation. She's not interested."

The man of the hour. You knight in a suit and fucking tie. The stranger's gaze shifted to him, and for a moment you saw the hesitation, the calculation of a prey assessing whether he can take on his predator. The man finally scoffed--a sound meant to be dismissive, but even he couldn't mask the defeat. With a sneer, he walked away.

You released a pent-up breath, one you hadn't realized you'd been holding.  Aaron turned to you. "Are you alright?"

"Am I alright? You know what fuck off, Aaron." Your words came out laced with a venom that shocked even you, their acrid taste lingering on your tongue. The tears you'd been staving off now flowed freely. You jabbed the certificate into his chest, the paper wrinkling under your fingers. "I won, by the way."

Your turned on your heel, not waiting to see his face. The concrete was frigid under your bare feet, but your pride swallowed any reaction.

"This isn't the place to be alone and without shoes." Aaron's voice followed you.

You came to an abrupt stop, anger bubbling through every surface of your body as you spun around to face him. "Neither is the Pulitzer ceremony where I'm supposed to have a supportive husband."

"I'm so sorry, honey. I got caught up with that case and there was—,"

"Aaron, stop," you cut him off, tears burning the corners of your eyes. "I can't hear more excuses because you know what? I give you excuses all the time, and you take advantage of it. You take advantage of me and the chances I give you. And you just... you just keep letting me down. All I wanted was for you to be here for this one thing. That's it. And you couldn't even do that."

"I messed up, I know," Aaron said, his usual eloquence failing him. "There's no case, no job, no damn good reason for me not to be there. I failed you, and it's not something I can just fix with an I'm sorry, but I am I'm so sorry."

The floodgates open, and you're sobbing. "I hate this. I hate that I want to forgive you. But I can't... I can't because I know you'll do this again. And every time, it chips away at me, at us, until there's nothing left."

"Oh, honey," Aaron says, reaching out, but you shrink away, the space between you filled with more than just air.

"P-Please, don't," you gasp, the tears relentless. "I can't... I just need some space. I'll get my things and stay with my sister, okay?"

You walk away, the knot in your throat growing tighter, the distance between you stretched out and you can feel his eyes on you. You slide into the driver's seat, starting the engine, and glancing in the rearview mirror. Aaron's figure lingers there. A wave of nausea hits you. Isn't it wicked when the very thing you love inflicts the greatest hurt?

The drive home was silent, the stereo left untouched. Your fingers clenched and unclenched around the steering wheel, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths that you couldn't seem to control. The reflection of your tear-streaked face was lost in the blur of streetlights streaking past. Your mind replayed every missed anniversary, every birthday, every empty seat beside you. You were tired of being alone.

Before you knew it, you were sitting in front of your garage. Each movement was a chore--unbuckling the seatbelt, opening the car door, the garage door, and finally the front door.

You stop dead in your tracks, eyes roaming over the living room. Balloons lie strewn about the floor, streamers dangling from the mantel. Almost every surface glimmers with the soft glow from the intermittent flickering of battery-operated candles. Aaron had an insistence on fire safety, which always negated the use of actual candles.

Tears threatened to spill again as you closed the door behind you, your steps leading you down the hallway to the kitchen. A congratulations banner hung over the island, done in Aaron's chicken scratch handwriting but it made your heart give out all the same.

The scent of chrysanthemums, your favorites, wafts through the air before they come into view--large, splendid blooms of pink and yellow cradled in your largest vase. Your hands, trembling, ran over the accompanying card, fingers fumbling to unfold it.

For My Pulitzer Prize Winner,

I realize I'm writing this before the ceremony, maybe I'm jinxing it, but in my heart, I know you will win. I know this not just because of the undeniable quality of your work, but because of the sheer force of will and passion that drives you. You are the greatest thing in my life, and every day, you inspire me to be the best version of myself.

When we first met, you told me your favorite flowers were Chrysanthemums. I remember asking if it was because it was your birth flower, but you shook your head and told me about your favorite story instead. You told me about a book that showed the beauty and strength in being unique, and that sometimes, it takes a bit of time for the world to recognize the splendor of what's different.

This has been your journey—filled with moments of doubt, but ultimately, a triumph of self-belief and talent. You've blossomed in the most extraordinary ways, and tonight, the world sees what I've always seen.

Love, Aaron

Tears speckled the paper as you dabbed at them with your sleeve, trying to clear the blots. Your focus moved to the present, wrapped neatly and sitting beside the flowers. You tugged at the ribbons, unraveling the wrapper paper with deliberate gentleness.

A shaky giggle slips out as you draw out the book. Chrysanthemum by Kevin Henkes. But what really starts the tears isn't the book itself, not, it's the familiar loops and lines of your nine-year-old self's handwriting.

This is my favorite book because it's about being special. I am special too.

This was the copy you had as a little girl, the on you lost. How did he find it? Turning the page, another stifled sob breaks free. The margins are crowded with affectionate notes penned by your family, friends, colleagues, the BAU team, and Aaron.

Fuck.

The door creaked open and clicked shut, and in no time at all, he was standing behind you. He stopped, a few steps away, as if too scared to close the distance and scare you off.

"Did you do this?" Your voice was soft, book clutched to your chest.

The pause stretches on, his breath the only sign of life. "Yes."

You turn to him, searching his eyes. "Why?"

"Why?" Aaron repeats, as if it were a stupid question. "Because I love you."

He takes a cautious step forward, like he's all too aware you're getting that shaky feeling in your stomach that's telling you to run.

"I am so sorry. You have every right to be mad, to be upset with me, and I get it. But I love you, and I want to work on this. It's tearing me apart to see you like this."

"I'm scared, Aaron." You voice breaks. "Scared you're going to do this to me again."

He steps closer, close enough to share the same breath. "I'm scared too," he admits. "But I'm more scared of losing you. I'll prove it. Today and every day after."

The room is still, the only sound the ticking of the clock. You're standing at a crossroads, the kind you read in books and see in moves, the power to forgive or walk away. You watch him, the man who is the love of your life and also the bane of existence, and you see it in his eyes. Something you haven't seen in a long time—fear. Not the fear of consequence, but the fear of loss.

It's a humanly glimpse into the man you fell in love with, the man who you know is still there beneath his layers of work.

"I'll be waiting."

Maybe you could be considered stupid, naive, with no self-respect. Maybe one day you'll curse yourself for not walking away. But maybe, just maybe the man you love will make his way back to you and prove the rest wrong.

regular taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253

comment taglist: @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @simpingformiddleagedmen @222hwilsss @michasia24 @vsplanet @himboelover @dangerousprincessharleyinhawaii @gibson-g1rl @gghostwriter @lilozg-123 @uranometrias @miley1442111 @welcometothemaraudersspam @ladycaramelswirl @callmekanytime @maxiismp @delusional-4-fake-people

[eternacrueldad]

⠀⠀日✦⠀⠀ೄ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Maybe⠀⠀I'm⠀⠀too⠀⠀young⠀⠀. . .

[liriostigre]

Jeff Buckley's poem, “New Year's Eve Prayer,” performed at Sin-é, Manhattan, NYC, 1994.

You, my love, are allowed to forget about the Christmas you just spent stressed out in your parents' house.

You, my love, are allowed to shed the weight of all the years before, like bad disco clothes. Save them for a night of dancing stoned with your lover.

You, my love, are allowed to let yourself drown, every night, in bottomless, wild and naked symbolic dreams.

You, my love, in sleep can unlock your youth and your most terrifying magic; and dreaming is for the courageous.

You, my love, are allowed to grab my guitar and sing me idiot love songs if you've lost your ability to speak. Keep it down to two minutes.

You, my love, are allowed to rot and to die and to live again, more alive and incandescent than before.

You, my love, are allowed to beat the shit out of your television, choke its thoughts and corrupt its mind. Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill the motherfucker! Before the song of zombified pain and panic and malaise and it's narrow right-winged vision and it's cheap commercial gang rape becomes the white noise of the world, turn about is fair play.

You, my love, are allowed to forgive and love your television.

You, my love, are allowed to speak in kisses to those around you and those up in heaven.

You, my love, are allowed to show your babies how to dance full bodied, starry eyed, audacious, supernatural and glorified.

You, my love, are allowed to suck in every single endeavor.

You, my love, are allowed to be soaked like a lovers' blanket, in the New York summertime, with the wonder of your own special gift.

You, my love, are allowed to receive praise.

You, my love, are allowed to have time.

You, my love, are allowed to understand.

You, my love, are allowed to love.

Woman, disobey, when little men believe.

You, my love, are Rebellion.

[toddandersontruther]

how am i just now finding this

this means sm to me.

i have a type🙏😝

[latinotiktok]

Propaganda:

Percy

-Percy Jackson porque yo lo digo idc (no hay explicación blanca para ese muchacho ese mae es latino)

-Percy Jackson from the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series. Has mad silver teeth energy.

-Percy Jackson. He's an outsider. He works hard to get where he wants to be. He's cool. He's funny. He's an icon. He's from New York. Must I say more.

-percy jackson pq ele é rato de praia e só se fode se isso não é a experiência unificadora da América Latina não sei o que é

-Percy Jackson. Eu sei que tem pessoas com argumentos legítimos para isso, mas estou indo apenas pela ~vibe~

-Percy Jackson porque es de nueva york yo digo que es puertoriqueño 🫡

-percy jackson. he has to be latino he lives in nyc and is coded to be a minority. personally think he's argentino but i've seen hcs for venezuela, brasil, and puerto rico. shoutout to tumblr user latinopercy btw

Percy Jackson, por que ele claramente é latino. Ele deveria ser especificamente brasileiro e carioca. Filho do DEUS DO MAR !!!!! bebendo um mate na praia!!!!! 

Percy Jackson. Mírenme a los ojos y díganme que no. Trauma con su papá ausente. Mamá adolescente. Un padrastro de mierda al que su mamá asesina. Un medio hermano al que al principio no quiere pero después adora. Le dan una espada y procede a desafiar dioses. Eso es muy de niño latino peleando con las autoridades del colegio. 

-Percy Jackson, not only he lives in the harlem (wich im told is v latino heavy in the us) just look at him!! the attitude, the sarcasm the underdogism the jokes the flavour the disrespect to autority cmonnn, meu filho brasileiro eu sinto desde os 13 essa verdade! me diz se a sally n tem mó cara de tia mãe do seu amigo da escola, bota ai um sandra nela e fechou. (pros brarg ainda podiamos vencer por percabeth aka percy brasileiro/annabeth argentina abram seus olhos!!) enfim façamos o que rick não teve coragem!!

-Percy Jackson. He just has the vibes. After all the bullshit my boy went through, he just deserves it, as a treat.

- percy jackson bc seeing a demi god kid have adhd AND be latino would be epic especially bc he's the main character of the series also when i first read the book i kinda did read him as latino bc of certain thing described in the book

-Percy Jackson. en el libro dicen que su madre y poseidon cojieron durante un verano pero su cumpleaños es en agosto, lo que significa que tuvieron que cojer alrededor de diciembre. eso solo tiene sentido si es del hemisferio sur así que en mi corazón es latino

Peter Parker

-Spiderman. ya sabés

-Spiderman (Peter Parker). Por vibes y porque en cada maldita esquina de Latinoamérica hay un tipo vestido de spiderman. Qué sería de nosotres sin él

-El hombre araña, literal no hay trencito de la alegría o pelotero donde no aparezca, no importa la edad si le preguntas a alguien por un superhéroe te lo van mencionar. Es básicamente como Goku pero de cómics, hay publicidades y graffitis de él por todos lados, vas a una parrilla y lo tenés ahí pintado al spiderman en un pared preparando unos choris. Tenemos canónicamente? nuestro propio hombre araña (Julián 💙) y tengo fotos de un hombre araña con la camiseta de la selección festejando sobre un camión. (Disclaimer soy argentina 😅)

-Peter parker de Ultimate Spiderman 2012 por que NO DEJO DE VER UNA PROPAGANDA DE BELDENT CON SU ACTOR DE VOZ. TODO EL CAST DE DOBLAJE DE USM ES ARGENTINO Y ME ATORMENTA.

-homem-aranha, tem forte presença no carnaval de rua brasilero e claramente sabe dançar funk

[bucketslutz]

Don't Be Late (<- click for chapter index)

Professor Logan Howlett x F! Mutant Student Reader AU

A Playlist inspired by the story.

[monjardin22damour]

Você é a personificação do pecado e por azar não mora ao lado.”

— Gabito Nunes.

🌻

You are the embodiment of sin and unfortunately it doesn't live next door."

— Gabito Nunes.

[valstarsandgalaxies]

’I can't tell him the truth. I can't tell him how i feel. It'd ruin everything and it wouldn't even matter at the end.’ He's getting married. He's getting married and it's not John, who will be standing opposite him. It hurts him just to think about it. It won't be John. And in his most desperate moment, he said: "I even thought you could be my best man." It wasn't a question, but it was. Basically what he was trying to say was 'Bucky, even if you're not the one I'm marrying, i need you there. I need you with me, so i could at least imagine it's you.' He's not sure, if that meaning is clear though. He feels sick. Sick from the cowardly decisions he made earlier. He loved John more than anything and still it wasn't enough for him to actually choose him. When that clicks in his head, he can't even look at himself. His body hurts, his heart hurts and he did it all to himself. But he'd rather have this pain and John as his best friend than not having John at all as if he confessed and John didn't feel the same way. It's weird, maybe he'll even find comfort in all of it.

"I'll be your best man." John said and hadn't really realised what that actually meant. It meant standing at the altar with Gale, but he won't be the one Gale's marrying. It meant that he'll have to watch Gale marry someone else and that John will only become secondary to him. It meant that whatever he thought they had before wasn't there and it's ending. He thinks back to the time when they lay together in John's bunk at the stalag, cause it was incredibly cold. They weren't the only ones, that's why it felt so safe somehow. It almost felt like a start of something more. At least that was what John thought. A few days later, Gale revealed to him this truth of him getting married and he realised that that situation was merely a composition to deal with the cold. Gale never joins him in his bunk again.

It was weird. Telling John while he was lying in his bunk. It almost felt like they were lying there together. Like John's arms were around Gale and Gale's arm around John. Like every part of their body is touching and things were different. But they weren't. John felt so far away and he felt himself backing up, going further from him. He was slowly going the other way and for the first time John wasn't chasing him. That was also new. John wasn't chasing him. Why? Why did he not run towards Gale like always? He supposes one gets tired of chasing after somebody who is only going further away from them. Your legs start to hurt after a while and you see no result. He understands that John gave up. He understands, but he wishes he didn't. Maybe someday that'd give him the courage. But he couldn't ask that from John.

John wants nothing more than to go back to the way things used to be with Gale. Them being close all the time, no one thinking anything suspicious about them. He wants to go back before all the terrible things have happened. He wishes more than anything that Gale would have come to London with him. He can't stop himself, but thinks how different things would have been. Maybe they wouldn't even be here, in the stalag. Maybe they'd still be in England, at Thorpe Abbotts. Or maybe they'd be dead. It's hard not to think about the time they could've had in London though. It'd only add to the amazing memories he had with Gale. It never happened though. But he still tries to cling to all he has. All the precious memories with Buck. His Buck. He's not sure Buck is his anymore though. And that thought hurts.

[c0ffinrehearsal]

who else up thinking about ‘lover, you should’ve come over’ specifically the live at sin-é, new york ny july/august 1993 version?

[1vidapoeticando]

Temos vários sonhos e objetivos na vida, e um deles é ter significado na vida, não só para as pessoas, mas pra provar para si mesmo que somos capazes...Que somos importantes...Passamos a vida toda, tentando fazer valer nossa existência nesse mundo, alguma pessoas só vivem, sem se importar... Eu travo todos os dias uma batalha comigo mesmo, e só vou parar quando não mais existir aqui nesse mundo..."Quem olha para fora sonha... E quem olha para dentro desperta"...

Tenemos varios sueños y metas en la vida, y uno de ellos es tener sentido en la vida, no solo para las personas, sino para demostrarnos a ti mismo que somos capaces ... Que somos importantes... Pasamos toda nuestra vida, tratando de afirmar nuestra existencia en este mundo, algunas personas simplemente viven, sin importarnos... Peleo una batalla conmigo mismo todos los días, y solo me detendré cuando ya no exista aquí en este mundo ... "Quien mira sueña ... Y el que mira hacia adentro despierta"...

We have several dreams and goals in life, and one of them is to have meaning in life, not only for people, but to prove to yourself that we are capable... That we are important... We spend our whole lives, trying to assert our existence in this world, some people just live, without caring... I fight a battle with myself every day, and I will only stop when I no longer exist here in this world..."Whoever looks out dreams... And whoever looks inward awakens"...

Fonte: 1Vidapoeticando 🌺 🍃

[maditalksmusic]

An Analysis of Jeff Buckley's Grace (1994)

I still remember vividly the first time I listened to Jeff Buckley’s “Lover, You Should've Come Over". It was a rainy winter evening in 2021, and I was in a bit of a music rut. Everything I’d been listening to on repeat for the last month or two had become annoyingly redundant, and in a rather torpid attempt to reinvigorate my consumption of music, I decided to put my Spotify-generated “Discover Weekly” playlist. A few songs went by that, weren’t bad per se, but certainly weren’t all that memorable. When that opening harmonium passage graced my ears, chills washed over me. I stopped my Pinterest scroll, turned up the volume, then laid back in bed and just listened. Six and a half minutes later, I found myself uncontrollably weeping. To this day, “Lover, You Should’ve Come Over” is still my favorite song ever made. 

Jeff Buckley’s charm lies in the fact that, as it was best said by Dominique Leone in her 2004 review of Grace for Pitchfork, he was “a songbird, like the kind that used to receive roses and blown kisses from the debutantes in the balcony after performances.” While technically classified under the extremely broad umbrella that is rock music, Buckley effortlessly blurs the lines of genre on Grace. He incorporates a myriad of sounds characteristic of not only rock, but also jazz, blues, and folk. He got his start in Los Angeles and then moved to New York City and joined guitarist Gary Lucas’ band, Gods & Monsters, prior to entering a record deal as a solo artist. Buckley performed at cafés at tiny venues around Lower Manhattan through 1992 and 1993, most frequently at Sin-é, which inspired the release of his debut solo EP, Live at Sin-é, in 1993. A standout from the EP is “Je N'en Connais Pas La Fin”, which translates to “I do not know the end” is a sort of cover of the original Edith Piaf song, loosely translated to English from the French lyrics. 

Released in August of 1994, Grace is Jeff Buckley’s first and only complete studio album. Since his tragic passing on May 29, 1997, songs from projects titled Sketches for My Sweetheart The Drunk and You and I were released posthumously in 1998 and 2016, respectively. The original version of Grace, distributed by Columbia Records, features ten tracks. However, in 2004, Columbia decided to re-release a “legacy edition” of the album, featuring an eleventh track, "Forget Her", that was never intended to be released. The ethics of that decision are still heavily debated, as Buckley himself stated that he despised the song and did not want it on the album, despite Columbia’s original attempts to convince him to release the track. 

Grace opens with the hauntingly fervent track "Mojo Pin", inspired by a dream of Buckley’s. It’s title is a euphemism for an almost overwhelming sort of addiction to someone, to a point where you have to have them. The term “mojo” originated in the Southern United States in the 1920s, adapted from the Gullah word “moco”, referring to magic, and came to be used as slang for heroin and other drugs in the 1960s. I don’t think this track would have functioned nearly as well anywhere else in the album - it starts off softly, reaching a desperate crescendo by the end of song as Buckley lets his vocals soar with the repetition of “Black beauty, I love you so,” in tandem with an intense snare finish, driving in the sheer emotional power that is held through the duration of the album. 

Following “Mojo Pin” is the album’s title track, "Grace", which sounds completely different, yet still manages to encapsulate the same wretched yet hopeful yearning that is interwoven throughout the whole album. “Grace” was inspired by Buckley’s experience saying goodbye to his girlfriend at the airport. It explores the interplay between the struggle with the passing of time and the ways that love can carry a person through those difficulties. As Buckley croons “it’s my time coming, I’m not afraid / Afraid to die” in the first verse, it’s easy to see death as a sort of beautiful conclusion instead of a violent end. Listening to Grace very closely resembles a religious experience, at least for me. The cover of Leonard Cohen's 1984 "Hallelujah"  featured on the album brings this sentiment to a very literal level. While it isn’t my favorite song on the album, Buckley’s cover is the most beautiful rendition I’ve heard. It remains one of his most popular songs and for many, is a gateway into his music. 

Interestingly, three covers are featured on Grace. “Hallelujah” is known by the vast majority of listeners to be a cover, however "Lilac Wine" was composed by James Shelton in 1950 for the musical Dance Me A Song and "Corpus Christi Carol" is an English hymn written in the sixteenth century. Buckley’s version of “Corpus Christi Carol” is based specifically on an arrangement by Benjamin Britten. Both “Lilac Wine” and “Corpus Christi Carol” have become closely associated with Jeff Buckley as his personal sound still shines brightly through both songs, his unmistakable voice working beautifully with any variety of instrumentation. 

The juxtaposition of “Hallelujah” and “Lover, You Should’ve Come Over” immediately next to each other in the track list is a very clever sort of storytelling. Buckley’s cover of “Hallelujah” differs from others in that it doesn’t feel nearly as hymnal. The production is incredibly minimal, putting the width of Buckley’s vocal range on full display. It doesn’t feel like a church service so much as it is akin to finding yourself alone in a cathedral, reaching out from the depths of your soul to bathe yourself in the elusive notion of God’s love. It’s almost as if the music is trying to achieve some sort of salvation before it plunges into the heartbreaking ballad that is “Lover, You Should’ve Come Over”, a song that begs for forgiveness at the cost of mind, body, and soul. Much of Grace has its roots in Jeff Buckley’s relationship with Rebecca Moore, with some even considering her to be his muse. However, “Lover, You Should’ve Come Over” is most specifically about the end of their relationship. The track holds some of Buckley’s strongest songwriting, and quite frankly some of the best in history. “All my blood for the sweetness of her laughter” and “She’s the tear that hangs inside my soul forever” are some of my favorite lyrics out there. It’s a particularly gorgeous song on the record, but live, even if only seen through a decades-old recording, is soul-crushing. The performance Buckley did for JBTV Chicago in November of 1994 is forever seared into my mind. 

The conclusion of Grace has become a rather controversial topic due to the 2004 addition of “Forget Her” with the release of the Legacy Edition by Columbia Records. I enjoy the song independently, but I never listen to it as a part of the album. If  it was added at an earlier point in the tracklist it could debatably work, either between "Last Goodbye"  and “Lilac Wine” or between "So Real" and “Hallelujah”, though I believe Jeff Buckley’s original thought process on keeping it off the album was absolutely sound. The final two tracks, "Eternal Life" and "Dream Brother" on the other hand, tie up the album perfectly. 

“Eternal Life” is the ‘heaviest’ song on the album instrumentally, more aligned with a traditional rock song than anything else on Grace. It stands out considerably from the sounds on the rest of the album, even while those sounds are so wonderfully varied, but it does so well. Departing from the more autobiographical lyrics of many of the songs on the album, “Eternal Life” is focused on the struggles of being human, written as a product of Buckley’s anger, according to Genius over world events such as the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr, World War II, killings in Guyana, and more. It’s an expression of an anger shared by many at the time of its release, and an anger that many people today continue to feel as we see the horrendous effects of the Israel-Palestine conflict, the ongoing war in Ukraine, and feel the stress of the upcoming presidential election. “Dream Brother” is an ideal conclusion to Grace. The song serves as a warning in a sense, inspired by one of Buckley’s friends who left a pregnant girlfriend, telling him not to be like “the one who made me so old”, referencing his father, Tim Buckley, who only met his own son once and died of a drug overdose at 28. “Dream Brother” can serve as a reminder to us all to be accountable for our actions and allow ourselves to fully experience our emotions. 

The constant sense of raw and unbridled emotional vulnerability is what makes Grace what it is. I always do my best creative work after listening to some Buckley, because he’s an artist that can open you up and force you to dig into the depths of your psyche by means of song. That emotional vulnerability is the driving force behind Jeff Buckley’s ability to craft such enchantingly gut-wrenching music, and ultimately that is what every listener can take away from Grace.