INTRODUCTION
In these accelerated days of video blogs, tweeting, and other social media communiqués, the image
is impossibly quaint. Hunkered down in a café or on a bus or plane, a young man pulls a spiral-
bound notebook from his bag and begins scribbling whatever thoughts come to mind. Out pour lists
of chores, ideas for poems or love letters, silly doodles, or keen observations of his surroundings.
When it’s time to move on, he stuffs the pad back into his bag, where it will be retrieved another
day for further jottings.
is impossibly quaint. Hunkered down in a café or on a bus or plane, a young man pulls a spiral-
bound notebook from his bag and begins scribbling whatever thoughts come to mind. Out pour lists
of chores, ideas for poems or love letters, silly doodles, or keen observations of his surroundings.
When it’s time to move on, he stuffs the pad back into his bag, where it will be retrieved another
day for further jottings.
Befitting someone who unfortunately didn’t live to see the twenty-first century, Jeff Buckley
was one of those diarists. During the last decade of his life, he would routinely grab whatever was
available—usually one of those wire-bound notebooks we all had in high school, although stray
pieces of paper would sometimes suffice—to hash out his thoughts and buttress his memories.
Jeff’s journals were his forum for debating with himself on which ways to turn, musically and
emotionally, and they reflected whatever mood he was in: calm and meditative (precise, legible
calligraphy) or stressed (oversize, caffeinated lettering). In ways that felt private yet with one
eye cast on his own history, he continually documented his life, albeit in a more discreet way
than subsequent generations, who would have no qualms posting their musings on YouTube.
was one of those diarists. During the last decade of his life, he would routinely grab whatever was
available—usually one of those wire-bound notebooks we all had in high school, although stray
pieces of paper would sometimes suffice—to hash out his thoughts and buttress his memories.
Jeff’s journals were his forum for debating with himself on which ways to turn, musically and
emotionally, and they reflected whatever mood he was in: calm and meditative (precise, legible
calligraphy) or stressed (oversize, caffeinated lettering). In ways that felt private yet with one
eye cast on his own history, he continually documented his life, albeit in a more discreet way
than subsequent generations, who would have no qualms posting their musings on YouTube.
In some regards, Jeff’s life could be seen as fairly straightforward: talented child fulfills his
dream of becoming a musician before passing away at a tragically young age. Of course, his story
was far more complex than that. Born in 1966, the son of musician Mary Guibert and singer-
songwriter Tim Buckley, Jeff came of age in and around Orange County, California. His bond with
music was apparent practically from birth (he could sing songs in key at the age of two). By high
school he was already a proficient guitarist. After graduating, he moved to Los Angeles, attending
a music school; afterward, in search of his musical identity, he played reggae, jazz fusion, and other
genres. (To eschew comparisons with his musician father, he initially avoided singing and focused
on his guitar.) After appearing at a tribute concert to Tim Buckley in New York in 1991, he was
“discovered” by the music business and began weekly performances at Sin-é, a storefront coffeehouse
in the East Village. Word of mouth spread so fast that it became difficult to see him: the first night I
dream of becoming a musician before passing away at a tragically young age. Of course, his story
was far more complex than that. Born in 1966, the son of musician Mary Guibert and singer-
songwriter Tim Buckley, Jeff came of age in and around Orange County, California. His bond with
music was apparent practically from birth (he could sing songs in key at the age of two). By high
school he was already a proficient guitarist. After graduating, he moved to Los Angeles, attending
a music school; afterward, in search of his musical identity, he played reggae, jazz fusion, and other
genres. (To eschew comparisons with his musician father, he initially avoided singing and focused
on his guitar.) After appearing at a tribute concert to Tim Buckley in New York in 1991, he was
“discovered” by the music business and began weekly performances at Sin-é, a storefront coffeehouse
in the East Village. Word of mouth spread so fast that it became difficult to see him: the first night I