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
Thinking soo hard on her soft eyes and memories of the signs that it's over. It's over.
All flowers in time bend towards the sun, I know you say theres no one for you, But here is one
I couldn't awake from the nightmare That sucked me in and pulled me underPulled me underOh... That was so real.
A tune has to resonate with whatever is happening around it.
Sometimes if somebody you feel you need... the whole universe tells you that you have to have her, you start watching her favorite TV shows all night, you start buying her the things she needs, you start drinking her drinks, you start smoking her bad cigarettes, you start picking up her nuances in her voice, you sleep in safe sometimes the most dangerous thing... this is called Mojo Pin.
There's the moon asking to stay long enough for the clouds to fly me away
Love heals all wounds and not just time alone.
I want to be ripped apart by music. I want it to be something that feeds and replenishes, or that totally sucks the life out of you. I want to be dashed against the rocks.
Music is endless and even though I've heard a whole bunch of music from so many different places and fallen in love countless times with all kinds of different music.There's still something about it,I guess it's called Freedom.
Music should be like making love. Sometimes you want it soft and tender, another time you want it hard and aggressive.
love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.
Kiss me out of desire, but not consolation.
All flowers in time bend towards the sun, I know you say there's no one for you, But here is one.
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.