‘It’s Never Over, Jeff Buckley’ Review: Amy Berg’s Documentary Reverently Captures the Late Rocker With the Voice of an Angel

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Just as every musical instrument is unique, so too is the human voice. However, Jeff Buckley’s voice stood out exceptionally. It was captivating, ethereal, and seemed to touch the very heavens with its skillful mastery. His voice was unlike any other in pop and rock, suggesting that he may have been given a special instrument of his own. Although he was influenced by others, his range spanned four octaves. When he sang in the higher registers, using techniques reminiscent of a theremin and a rapid vibrato, he evoked the spirits of his two most admired idols, Nina Simone and Robert Plant, while also embodying the passion of an angel sent by God.

In Amy Berg’s moving documentary “It’s Never Over, Jeff Buckley,” we witness Jeff Buckley singing in various scenarios: concerts, studios, and even casually. As we marvel at his powerful voice, the film uncovers a surprising aspect of him that may not be immediately apparent if you only listen to his one album, “Grace” (1994).

Picture in your mind the defining Jeff Buckley sound, and it’s likely his more contemplative, dreamlike songs will come to mind, such as his captivating rendition of “Hallelujah.” This particular version is so thoughtful in its delivery that each word feels carefully chosen. It was this style that initially captivated small crowds at Sin-é, a cozy East Village venue (it could seat around 30 to 40 people) where he was discovered. People remember that when he performed at Sin-é, it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Buckley had just as much of a passion for rock music as he did for being a hip indie singer-songwriter. In the documentary, there’s a moment where someone queries him about his musical inspirations, and he responds with, “Love, rage, sadness, happiness…and Led Zeppelin.

Robert Plant’s high singing wasn’t just for show; it was a tribute to black blues singers who used higher pitches as a means of empathy and seduction. Moreover, Plant employed these lofty notes to convey a sense of destruction. Contrastingly, Buckley’s sound was multilayered. He aimed to imitate female vocalists, yet he also sought to emulate the ’70s heavy metal icon whose voice symbolized raw masculinity. When Buckley sang softly, he was soothing and hypnotic, but when he combined his voice with fast-paced rock music (such as the title track of “Grace”), the outcome was nothing short of transcendent. Despite being part of the grunge era, Buckley embodied something distinct: a freedom that was poetic.

While alive, Jeff Buckley was often regarded as a niche rock star, or a musician admired by fellow musicians. In the movie, David Bowie is heard saying that he believed “Grace” was the finest album ever produced. Photos show Paul and Linda McCartney visiting him backstage, suggesting his growing stardom. The documentary seems to portray Buckley as on the brink of becoming an extraordinarily popular star. Watching “It’s Never Over, Jeff Buckley,” it is hard not to be captivated by Jeff Buckley’s voice. By the film’s end, one cannot help but wish for a chance to rewind time and save him, so he could experience the life he deserved.

In May 1997, Jeff Buckley, who had recently settled in a shotgun shack in Memphis following three years of touring, tragically drowned in the Wolf River. Due to his untimely death at age 30, many assumed drug use was involved, but a toxicology report found only one beer in his system and no drugs. His demise was not a result of drug abuse, but rather an unfortunate accident. The film adopts this viewpoint as well. However, upon closer examination of the narrative it presents, Jeff Buckley’s death appears to have a mysterious and chilling quality to it.

Amy Berg, a renowned documentarian known for her works like “Deliver Us from Evil” (2006) and “Janis: Little Girl Blue” (2015), effectively breathes life into Jeff Buckley in the documentary “It’s Never Over, Jeff Buckley.” She portrays him as an electrifyingly charismatic emerging rock star, yet also delves into the profound aspects of his life that gave it a nearly mythical quality. With his lean frame and striking features – dark eyes and a razor-edged grin – Buckley was reminiscent of James Dean, the iconic, tousled rock star of yesteryears, who may have been the last of his kind. People like him are idolized as divine figures, admired for their glamour, inaccessibility, and iconic status in rebellion and beauty.

Growing up, I carried a unique burden. My biological father was Tim Buckley, the acclaimed folk-rock artist of the late ’60s, who chose to be absent even before my birth. Raised instead by my mother, Mary Guibert (one of the movie’s executive producers), I found myself in an unusual situation, not due to the circumstances themselves but rather because Tim Buckley was never truly present. He was a musical legend whose absence and presence seemed to dance around me like a spectral apparition. His talent lived on, but his love remained elusive, leaving me feeling haunted by a ghostly father figure.

In the film, it’s mentioned that Mary first heard Jeff sing when he was just an infant, and Jeff himself reveals that he became enchanted with music upon hearing Diana Ross’s rendition of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.” Later, we learn that Mary took young Jeff to watch Tim perform once, but their encounter resulted in Jeff staying with his father for a week. However, Jeff was eventually sent back alone by bus. Tragically, Tim, who struggled with personal issues, passed away due to a heroin overdose in 1975.

1991 marked a significant moment for Jeff, who was then 24 years old. At St. Ann’s Church in Brooklyn, he joined numerous artists in paying tribute to his father through music, an event he initially felt hesitant about and didn’t want to draw attention to himself. However, the power of his voice resonated within that church, ultimately capturing the audience’s attention and making it seem as though he had stolen the show. This performance attracted a multitude of musical heavyweights, leaving Jeff with an impressive collection of 60 business cards. The music industry was clearly intrigued by him, given his promising potential to surpass his father in artistic greatness.

Despite not initially seeking fame, it turned out to be an unavoidable consequence for him as an artist (as one cannot achieve fame without desiring it to some extent). As the movie demonstrates, his performances at Sin-é were understated, casual, and accompanied by the hum of an espresso machine. However, he eventually garnered widespread acclaim. He was approached by record labels, eventually signing with Columbia, a prestigious label known for housing artists like Dylan and Springsteen, where he produced “Grace,” an album that combined original compositions with some of his signature cover versions.

When “Grace” was unveiled in August 1994, not only launching Jeff Buckley’s career but essentially shaping his identity, he had chosen to distance himself from his father’s shadow. He would bristle at the suggestion that he was merely continuing Tim’s legacy; instead, he asserted his individuality as a musician. However, as we delve into Jeff Buckley via the archival resources — the photos and particularly the ’90s video clips — curated by Berg with her signature captivating touch, and through the raw interviews she shares of two of his significant romantic partners and muses, Rebecca Moore and Joan Wasser (both musicians), we find ourselves drawn into a tale unlike any other in rock. Buckley embodied the epitome of a rock star in appearance, and as he embarked on the “Grace” tour, fans worldwide were captivated by him. Yet, his voice was more than just an impressive tool; it served as a testament to who Jeff Buckley truly was.

Buckley’s deep connection to singers such as Nina Simone and Edith Piaf, and his unusual talent to embody their artistry, was more than just a passion for music. It held a psychological dimension. He was captivated by what he perceived as the supremacy of women. Each of his powerful notes was a tribute to their greatness. On some level, this aspect of him was shaped by the father who left him. He admired women and harbored mistrust towards men.

However, let’s consider his personal masculine essence. He was an alluring embodiment of rock superstardom, yet he harbored deep ambiguity towards his own masculine identity. He reveled in it, but at the same time, he was linked, albeit not a grunge musician, to the generation of Kurt Cobain. Cobain, who occasionally donned dresses on stage, had a complex relationship with his masculinity that verged on self-criticism, bordering on masochistic tendencies.

These young male rockers often embraced progressive ideas for their era, as they openly aspired for a future that would embrace femininity. However, the latter part of Jeff Buckley’s life takes an enigmatic turn in the documentary. His behavior grew erratic and impulsive, leading some to speculate that he might have suffered from bipolar disorder or experienced a psychotic episode. These are only theories, as we can never truly know for certain.

What the film undeniably reveals is a series of phone calls Buckley made in the weeks prior to his death, during which he expressed apologies and sought closure – a pattern that seemed like saying goodbye. Listeners hear his last voice-mail message left for Mary Guibert, where he appears to pay tribute to his mother with an unsettling finality.

A clip from the movie shows Buckley conversing with friends, but when asked about his plans for the future, he expresses a peculiar inability to envision it. He simply cannot imagine where he’ll be in 10 years.

The most striking aspect of Jeff Buckley’s death, as explored in David Browne’s excellent book “Dream Brother: The Lives and Music of Jeff and Tim Buckley,” was its uncanny resemblance, in a karmic sense, to his father’s death. I don’t think Jeff’s death was a suicide, but it seems to have stemmed from his reckless actions (no one swam in the Wolf River). Therefore, it could be argued that on some level, Jeff was embodying his carefree approach towards his own masculinity.

However, Jeff, the charismatic rock star akin to James Dean and a devotee of Robert Plant, yearned to honor his masculine essence. He didn’t wish to doubt it. In essence, he aspired to reconcile with the father who had abandoned him. Consequently, his actions inadvertently echoed Tim’s departure – from the world, and from Jeff. Jeff Buckley was a profound artist, and his demise was a sorrowful event, both on a personal level and for rock music. Yet, part of the sorrow is the lingering sense that Jeff Buckley perished so that his father could embrace him.

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2025-01-28 04:17