The Restitution And Celebration Of A Sex God

Late period Tim Buckley is routinely dismissed by Rock Critics, but here on th' Isle O'Foam© those sad fucks are accorded less respect than nailticians. They can't bring themselves to say gee, dese albums sure is swell! because they're keen to display their knowledge of that all-important back story, the context of the artist's life and career. And, they're paid to be clever. The truth is always dumb, in-your-face, never complicated and clever.

These albums were seen as a betrayal of Buckley's sensitive, folksy, troubadour roots. Fanboys and critics alike resent it when the artist does what he wants, as opposed to what they think he should do. But if anyone was qualified to be a strutting, howling Rn'B soul-funk sex machine, it was Buckley. These albums are flat-out fantastic. His vocal chops are as astonishing as they ever were, and he's backed by in-the-pocket rhythm sections on songs as challenging as any he wrote. But funkier, dammit!

Unfortunately, both Greetings From L.A. and Look At The Fool suffered from uninspired and downright dull sleeve art from Cal Schenkel, who clearly missed Zappa's art direction (he got Sefronia right, so I left that one alone).

Tim died broke at 28. God rest his beautiful soul.