Jeff Buckley
Jeff Buckley
Jeffrey Scott "Jeff" Buckley, raised as Scott "Scottie" Moorhead, was an American singer-songwriter and guitarist. After a decade as a session guitarist in Los Angeles, Buckley amassed a following in the early 1990s by playing cover songs at venues in Manhattan's East Village, such as Sin-é, gradually focusing more on his own material. After rebuffing much interest from record labels and his father's manager Herb Cohen, he signed with Columbia, recruited a band, and recorded what would be his only...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionRock Singer
Date of Birth17 November 1966
CityAnaheim, CA
CountryUnited States of America
I've always felt that the quality of the voice is where the real content of a song lies. Words only suggest an experience, but the voice is that experience.
I'm lying in my bed, blanket is warm, this body will never keep me safe from harm. I still feel your hair, black ribbons of coal. Touch my skin to keep me whole. If only you'd come back to me. To feel you at my side, wouldn't need no Mojo Pin to keep me satisfied.
I'm lying in my bed, blanket is warm.. this body will never keep me safe from harm.I still feel your hair.. black ribbons of coal. Touch my skin to keep me whole.If only you'd come back to me.To feel you at my side.. wouldn't need no Mojo Pin to keep me satisfied.
We're very excited about our new facility because it will be what we always wanted. Hopefully, we'll be able to expand and do what we have always shot for two brothers to run the business.
Thinking soo hard on her soft eyes and memories of the signs that it's over. It's over.
Maybe I'm too young to keep good love from going wrong, but tonight your on my mind, so you never know.
Lots of time I feel like I don't belong to this place.
Mon amourà toi toujoursDans tes grands yeuxrien que nous deux
To young to hold on and to old to just break free and run.
The Smiths hasn't been equaled. That goes for the composition of the songs, the lyrics, and the performance.
Words are really beautiful, but they're limited. Words are very male, very structured. But the voice is the netherworld, the darkness, where there's nothing to hang onto. The voice comes from a part of you that just knows and expresses and is.
All flowers in time bend towards the sun, I know you say there's no one for you, But here is one.
I sacrificed my anonymity for my father, whereas he sacrificed me for his fame.
Thinking so hard on her soft eyes and memories of the signs that it's over. It's over.