lEEuNDERWOOD

***Let us begin with a brief Lee Underwood biography.***
In the 60s and early 70s, Lee toured, recorded, and played lead guitar for singer/songwriter Tim Buckley, appearing on seven of Buckley's nine albums released prior to Tim's untimely death in 1975, and on four of the six CDs released posthumously.
In addition to writing poetry and short stories, Lee Underwood plays piano, enjoys hiking, camping and photography, and co-hosts a Fresno radio show with Preston Chase, "Between the Lines: Poetry to Take You Home." He has published poems in "In The Grove", "Light of Consciousness", "Zambamba", "The Central California Poetry Journal" and "Say Yes". Throughout the '70s and '80s he wrote extensively about jazz (West Coast Editor, Downbeat, 1975-1981) and Spacemusic (Body/Mind/Spirit, New Realities, Yoga Journal, others). He co- authored flutist Paul Horn's autobiography, "Inside Paul Horn" (Harper Collins, 1990), and received the Crystal Award for Music Journalism in 1991. .Lee Underwood presently lives in Oakhurst, California, in the mountains near Yosemite.
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Our interview is divided into Four Parts.
Part One consists of Lee's responses to a list of questions that I e-mailed to him a while ago.
Part Two debates the audience/performer relationship question.
Part Three revolves around "California Sigh".
Part Four contains follow-up questions and the conclusion of the interview.

PART ONE...THE EARLY DAYS

Our interview begins with Lee's responses to a series of questions on a variety of subjects related to the early stages of his career, his relationship with Tim, his views on Tim's first album and "Blue Afternoon", some technical questions, and a fond memory or two.
I must admit that what follows certainly reads like a shopping list, but what we actually checkout with, is a shopping cart full of informative insights.

Q...When did you first pick up a guitar?
Q...Who was your first teacher?
Q...What kind of music did you first play?
Q...Who were your musical influences?
Q...When did you first get on stage?
Q...What kind of band did you play with, or was it a solo appearance for you?
Q...When did you arrive in Greenwich Village?
Q...Did you live in Manhattan or did you just visit Greenwich Village to work in the clubs?
Q...How and when did you and Tim meet?
Q...Did Fred Neil hang out with you guys or were you close at all?
Q...Any favorite memories that you'd care to impart?
Q...Which guitars did you use on which albums?
Q...Did you and Tim ever sit and play acoustically together?
Q...Do you still feel that Tim's first album was just a bunch of teenage love songs ? I'm curious if your opinions of any of Tim's music has changed at all over the years? I thought that there was a lot of great guitar playing on that album for a first album attempt.
Q...Did you play lead guitar on all the tracks of that first album?
Q...Do you still feel that Blue Afternoon was an almost effortless album? I hear some of Tim's most incredible vocals on that album, don't you?
Q...On the album "Starsailor", was that your guitar on "Song To The Siren" or Tim's ?

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LEE UNDERWOOD'S RESPONSES ARE AS FOLLOWS:

LEE: Thanks for including me in your interview series, Jack. You have been doing wonderful things to honor Tim's memory and bring new insights to those of us who love his music.
I feel proud to be included among the fine group of people you have spoken to.

I had been playing guitar for about a year and a half before meeting Tim. Blues players and folk musicians were primary influences--Lightnin' Hopkins, Mississippi John Hurt, Sonny Terry & Brownie McGhee, and a terrific foot-stomping, contemporary seven-string guitar picker blues- shouter, Spider John Koerner. Among folk musicians, I loved Odetta, who showed me that folk music did not have to be simple-minded or unmusical. I also liked Pete, Mike and Peggy Seeger. Peggy showed me a few licks on guitar, and before that, Stu Goldberg (owner of Marina Music in San Francisco) taught me some chords and strums. I got into guitar and writing songs in late '64 . Throughout 1965, I played and sang solo gigs in coffeehouses in San Francisco. In the Spring of '66, I drove to NYC, where I met Tim through a mutual acquaintance, manager Sean O'Brien. Tim asked me to play guitar on his six-week gig at the Night Owl club in the Village (a gig held over for more than a month), and on his upcoming debut on Elektra. He and Jainie Goldstein and Larry Beckett lived in a Village apartment, while I lived in a rented room. It has been said that Tim hung out with Fred Neil during this period, and afterwards, in the period between Tim Buckley and Goodbye and Hello, and that Fred turned Tim on to heroin. During the first period, I never saw Fred. During the second period, Fred showed up at a Cafe Au Go Go show. As far as I know, they did not "hang out" together during either period, and I know Tim was definitely not into heroin. Like all of us during those early years, he smoked pot, drank a few beers, occasionally took acid (not for mere pleasure, but as a psychotropic activator which helped him explore his psyche in creative ways, i.e. songwriting). After the Night Owl, he and I and Jainie Goldstein and my girlfriend, Jennifer Stace, and Larry drove out to L.A., where we recorded "Tim Buckley". Although the songs on "Tim Buckley" were an unrelated assemblage of high school loves songs he and Larry Beckett wrote, that did not mean I did not like them. True, I was coming from the blues school, and my personal writings were more visceral than, say, "Wings" or "Valentine Melody." But as I worked with Tim on the material and got acquainted with it, I found that his music opened up a new dimension in myself-a gentle, ethereal, tender side I had never known before, perhaps especially in "Song of the Magician" and "Song Slowly Song." I think one of the great strengths of that album is its youthful, innocent quality. There is a beauty there that can never be duplicated. That sensitive, intimate quality of Tim's earliest music brought out the best in me and became my favorite emotional climate. My own sense of melodic lyricism was born on this first album, and became my greatest strength in his music thereafter. I did play lead guitar on that entire album.[The photo on the back of "Tim Buckley" was taken at the Night Owl. It includes some of the bass player's face and his electric bass (I don't recall his name, Andy something), but leaves out the drummer and me.] Initially, I was playing a D-28 acoustic six-string Martin guitar, but it couldn't be heard in the Night Owl, so Tim and I went to a pawn shop, tried out a few guitars, and I bought a second- hand Epiphone jazz guitar. Later, in L.A., I purchased a maple-neck Telecaster and a Fender Super Reverb amp (customized with two 12-inch ElektroVoice speakers).

I suppose some of my favorite memories revolve around the two years or so we spent in Venice, California, in a pink house two blocks from the ocean. There in Big Pink, named after the Band's album of the same name, and later on Park Place, Jennifer painted pictures (including Tim's portrait, used as the cover of the recently released "Works in Progress"). Larry used to visit Big Pink with his girlfriend, Manda, a painter who later became his wife. Another high school friend of Tim's, writer Dan Gordon, hung out and partied with us, as did several other friends. Jennifer's son, Michael Cavanaugh, learned how to play piano at this house. The whole lot of us toodled down to the beach every day, laid up in the sun, body surfed the waves, walked up and down the beach collecting seashells, or up and down the boardwalk looking at Venice Beach characters, or ambled around Pacific Ocean Park, the amusement park with a roller coaster, ferris wheel, merry- go-round, restaurants, game booths. We'd come back home and Tim and I would play music together. Later at night all of us would get high and listen to Dr. John, Aretha Franklin, Fred Neil, Jimmy Hendrix. It was a time of great love, creativity and optimism.

You asked about "Blue Afternoon", a much misunderstood album. It was not "effortless." A great deal of effort was put into it. We gave it everything we had and performed as well as we could. And, no question about it, some of Tim's very best songs appear on that album, including "Blue Melody," which he sang in nearly all of his live performances until the end, "Cafe," which he also sang off-and-on until the end, "I Must Have Been Blind" and "The River." However, it was in some ways a difficult album to do. We had already embarked upon a new conceptual journey. "Tim Buckley" emerged from folk music. "Goodbye and Hello" helped create the folk-rock genre. "Happy Sad" drew from jazz influences. During the "Happy Sad" period, Buckley had begun exploring vocal improvisation, moving further and further toward avant-garde jazz and contemporary classical music. With "Lorca", he introduced some of the odd-time signatures, extended song-forms and melodic dissonance that emerged from those experiments.
We were well on our way with avant-garde concepts when Jac Holzman sold Elektra Records and Tim's manager, Herb Cohen, set up a new label, Straight Records. Herb knew "Lorca" was going to bomb in the marketplace, and needed a commercially viable album from Tim with which to launch the new label. He asked Tim to dip into his grab-bag of old songs, which Tim did. That's how "Blue Afternoon" was born. (Confusion results here, because although "Lorca" was recorded first, "Blue Afternoon", recorded immediately after "Lorca", was released first.) It was difficult to do "Blue Afternoon" because it interrupted the creative momentum that had been launched with "Lorca". "Blue Afternoon" was a conceptual throwback to Happy Sad. It interrupted the directional flow and forced us to regress to an earlier, now-outmoded period. In other words, having begun the "Lorca" journey, which led directly to "Starsailor" and the abstract avant- garde period that followed, it was hard to turn back, regroup, and record the "Happy Sad"-type music of "Blue Afternoon". This is not to say that we did not enjoy the music, or that we did not do our best. We did, on both counts. But it was a shift of direction backwards, which felt unsettling, and we had to record it quickly-Herb needed the album right away. We worked hard, we worked fast, and I, for one, am glad we did it. Otherwise, those terrific songs would simply have settled into oblivion and never have been heard. It is also proving to be a more popular and deeply loved album over the long haul than it was at the time. Back then, except for one review in the New York Times, it was panned or ignored. Today, many people want to hear it, and it will undoubtedly be re-issued in CD along with the rest of the catalogue. Meanwhile, immediately after we finished "Blue Afternoon", we moved forward again, directly into further developments of the avant-garde concepts, and into "Starsailor".

In answer to your earlier question...It was Tim's guitar on Starsailor's "Song to the Siren." On "Works in Progress" however, I played guitar along with him on that song. Let me also add that bassist John Balkin played a major role in helping Tim conceive the arrangements on several of "Starsailor's" tunes-particularly the criss-crossing vocal lines on some of the upbeat pieces- and especially the overlapping vocal tracks on "Starsailor."

PART TWO...THE PERFORMER/AUDIENCE RELATIONSHIP
Jack(Jzero): Lee, as you well know, Tim lost his audience in 1970. I, along with many others, represent a different type of fan than most of our forum members. You see, we were there watching and listening to Tim and the band at Central Park, and Philharmonic Hall at Lincoln Center, and Carnegie Hall, and the Fillmore East. We couldn't help but feel that we were a part of it too. But, we were on the other side of the stage. We were buying the tickets and buying the albums and listening to Tim's music for hours on end. We have a completely different perspective than you and I'm afraid that I'm one of those fans who temporarily left Tim after "Starsailor" came out. I returned to Tim's music with "Greetings", but I was totally disenchanted and I felt that I lost a good friend when Tim's music went in a different direction. I can now appreciate "Starsailor" to some extent, but as a youngster I was lost.
When I started the forum, I had a reason and a goal to reach within a certain time frame. My intention, strictly as an ardent fan, was to see if I could find out why Tim didn't become the icon that he should have become. In my mind there were two reasons why it didn't happen. I was angry and I just wanted to blame someone, and now I see how selfish and foolish that mind set was. Nevertheless, I started this project with the pre-conceived notions that the "Lorca"/"Starsailor" albums and poor management were the culprits. I've been at this for nine months and instead of coming to a decisive conclusion, I've now added a third reason. That reason would be Tim's own fear of success and inability to handle fame. Allegedly, Herb Cohen felt that you "jazzers", as he referred to Tim's band, had Tim under your spell. I personally don't believe that, after having heard everyone's take on Tim's love for jazz and the jazz greats. I do however have some tough questions for you about that "Lorca"/"Starsailor" period.
I apologize if any of them offend you. I really do apologize in advance because I've come to appreciate you and your talent a great deal in the last six months.
Q...I know that Tim was an artist only looking to grow, but why didn't he care about his audience(you know, the people who had supported him and praised him for over 3 years)?
Q...I also know that he felt that he was going to die young, but why destroy the career that he had worked so hard to build?
Q...You guys had to know that if "Lorca" bombed then "Starsailor" would bomb also. Was Tim cognizant at all of what his contemporaries were doing?
Q...Did he lack a competitive nature or was he (after only three albums)already tired of competing?
Q...What spawned this "let the public be damned" attitude?
Q...Was it management?
Q...Was it the label?
Q...Was it his personal life?
Q... He literally threw it all away. He could have gotten into jazz a little more gradually and gotten away with it. Why didn't he see that he was going in the wrong direction commercially after "Lorca" bombed? Why didn't he care about that?
Q...Some people say that the "jazzers" were leading Tim by the nose. He was younger and pressure from band members was the reason for his choice of direction. Was he that weak?
Q...Will you take this opportunity to debate these theories or will these questions be left unanswered?
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LEE UNDERWOOD: Thanks for giving me an opportunity to talk about that issue, Jack.
More than a few people share your feelings about the matter, so when I say "you," I mean not only you personally (whenever it fits you in your own mind), but a more general "you," whenever what I'm saying fits the larger group of people who feel as you do. It seems to me that you are basing your comments and questions on a fundamental negative assumption: that Tim did something "wrong" both artistically and commercially when he created the concepts and music that went into the Lorca/Starsailor albums. And you would like an explanation. I don't think I would be off-base if I said you (and others who feel the same way) felt disappointed, resentful, baffled and offended, first with Lorca, then with Starsailor. Disappointed, that Tim was not giving you more of the kind of music you had come to love in earlier albums, notably Happy Sad and Goodbye and Hello. Resentful, that he was giving you instead, a kind of music that you couldn't relate to, didn't understand and therefore didn't like. Baffled, by the sheer strangeness and unorthodoxy of the music. And offended, that he not only did not seem to care about you and your hurt feelings, but he seemed at times to even be defiant and hostile when you complained about the music and the concept and refused to support him either as a listener or a consumer. You indicate that instead of feeling dazzled by the new vocal techniques and compositional/improvisational innovations, you felt "disenchanted." You felt as though you had "lost a friend." And yet, look closely at what happened. It was you, was it not?, who insisted that he give you what you wanted--more of the music you already loved. It was you, who wanted him and his music to fit your mind set, rather than adjusting your mind set to his. It was the collective you who felt he should be more like a conventional entertainer who catered to your expectations, tastes and limited capacities for enjoying the new and unusual in music--after all, he "owed you," because you had "supported and praised him" for over three years, and now here he was, refusing "to care about his audience." You blame him for leaving you, when, in truth, it was you who turned your back and abandoned him when he ventured into territory that was too new and strange for you to comprehend, embrace, understand and enjoy.
You ask, "Why did he destroy a career he had worked so hard to build?" Why don't you ask instead, "Why did WE destroy his career?" You might have said what a number of receptive, enthusiastic listeners did say--"Wow, look what he's doing with his voice. Look how he's creating new song forms. Look how far he has transcended conventional pop music and left his orthodox, blues-oriented, conventional peers behind. Look how fast and how far he moved, first into jazz (with Happy Sad), then into avant-garde jazz and contemporary classical music (with Lorca and Starsailor). Look at the adventurous new musical dimensions and bedazzling psychological domains he is revealing to us. Look at how new and exciting and original and thrilling this new music is. By listening to it, by giving myself to it, by letting it touch me and deeply affect me, he makes me into a whole new person. Wow, this is great!" Instead of reacting like that, you abandoned him and accused him of abandoning you. He loved you so much that he gave you something new instead of repeating the same old pop formulas--his own, and the other rock 'n' rollers--and yet you refused to open yourself to the music and follow his lead. Instead, you decided to feel "disenchanted." You could have felt respected, challenged and dazzled, but you didn't, and then you blamed him instead of yourself and your own limitations. You stood in the presence of genius, and yet wanted from him only the repetition of what you already felt comfortable with. He gave you diamonds. You wanted pebbles. As philosopher Arthur Schopenhaur once put it, "The man of talent is like a marksman who hits a target others cannot hit, but the man of genius is like a marksman who hits a target others cannot see." You say you know "he felt he was going to die young," and that you know he "was an artist only looking to grow," and you say, "I can now appreciate Starsailor." That is, you say you can see now what he saw then, but this "now" is 30 years after the fact. Was he supposed to wait for you to catch up before he gave you his masterpieces? That was the point. It wasn't a "damn the public" attitude--he loved you, but he knew there was no time, he couldn't wait for you, he had to get it done while the vision was with him. And it wasn't that he "wasn't competitive," either. To the contrary, he was taking on the entire mass-mind domain in the recording industry, in radio, concert production, other pop musicians, and, most of all, you, the audience, the people who supposedly "loved him" and regarded him as your "friend" (as long as he fit your preconceived ways of thinking and feeling). He was daring to pursue a new vision, a unique way of seeing and hearing. He stood alone after you and his other so-called friends turned their backs, because he believed in the beauty and intensity of his music, and he respected you enough to give you something new instead of merely doling out the usual musical pap of the day. He had enormous hope for the music, and enormous confidence in himself and in the power and grace and beauty of what he was doing. He wasn't merely trying to churn out hits or manipulate your tastes and preconceptions for dollars. He was giving himself up to something much greater than himself, to something grand. He never felt better than he did when creating and fulfilling the Lorca/Starsailor concepts. George Bernard Shaw in Man and Superman described this feeling of strength and creative integrity when he said, "This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one;. . .the being a force of Nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy."

Of course, Tim suspected you would reject Lorca/Starsailor music. Of course he knew it "wasn't commercial," because he knew you. But he wasn't playing the businessman game. He was a genuine uncompromising artist on the one hand, and he loved you, the listener, on the other. He refused to exploit you by going backwards creatively to his old music or pandering to your pop-music tastes, and gave you brilliance instead. He dared to step out of the immediacy of his own his day and time, dared to compete--not within conventional values and structures, but outside those protective conventions, on his own terms--and dared to follow the sound of his own musical vision until he fulfilled it. From mid-1968 until early 1972 he did everything he could to make his Starsailor music successful. He gave three and a half years to it--more time and effort and creative energy than he devoted to any other of the five musical phases he explored during the course of his nine brief years. Listeners wanted him to be "an icon" because they wanted to like someone who was a big deal in other peoples' eyes. They wanted to like music that other people liked, too. "See what a big deal he is? And isn't his music great?" In other words, they wanted to use Tim and his music to inflate their own egos. When Tim came out with Lorca and Starsailor, they couldn't do that. He wasn't understood and embraced by everybody else. Listeners had to choose between remaining in the herd or stepping outside into the cold, alone, where Tim was, sailing among blue stars, beckoning you to summon up courage and imagination enough to follow. Some listeners did. Others didn't. Those who couldn't understand did not blame themselves for being unable to get it, nor did they blame themselves for becoming turncoats. Instead, they pouted and cursed, and blamed Tim. Seems to me that most of them haven't gotten over it to this day. They are still "feverish selfish little clods of ailments and grievances" complaining that Tim didn't devote himself to making them happy. More and more, however, I see people waking up to what he accomplished, and that warms my heart and gives me hope that it is not impossible for people to awaken, grow and evolve.

As for management, how can anybody "blame" Herb Cohen? He didn't like the Lorca/Starsailor music any more than you or your friends did. He came at it purely from a business standpoint: these musics did not fit industrially proven models of what is "commercial." He wanted Tim to change--in fact, as discussed elsewhere, he insisted Tim dig up some previously created songs and record Blue Afternoon immediately after Lorca, so he (Herb) could get an album of conventional material out there before Lorca's release. And then, when Tim went ahead and recorded Starsailor and insisted on further developing the Starsailor concepts in live performances, Herb refused to be his manager. First of all, "blame" in any sense of the word is not appropriate, and I think the notion of "culprit" is dead-wrong, because Tim was not doing something wrong in the first place; secondly, Herb did everything he could to make Tim return to orthodox pop music. So how can you or anybody else "blame" management? Herb did what he could, and Tim was making the bravest most musically positive statement of which he was capable. So Herb threw him away. And there was Tim, stranded, but unbroken; by himself, but courageous. As psychologist Wayne Dyer once wrote, "Willingness to confront fear is called courage. . .Courage means flying in the face of criticism, relying on yourself, being willing to accept and learn from the consequences of all your choices. It means believing enough in yourself and in living your life as you choose so that you cut the strings whose ends other people hold and use to pull you in contrary directions." I know Buddy Helm said that allegedly Herb called us "jazzers" and said we held Tim under our spell, that I and John Balkin and other Starsailaor musicians were leading Tim by the nose, that Tim was younger and peer pressure was the reason for his choice of direction. I am not convinced it was Herb who said that, and not Buddy himself, but it probably was indeed Herb.

And then you ask, "Was [Tim] that weak?" Tim was a very bright guy. From day-one, he gathered intelligent, well-educated people around him. He knew he wasn't going to learn what he needed by going to public schools. Instead, he chose to gather knowledgeable people around him, and learn what he needed from them. As he changed perspectives, moving from folk, to folk-rock, to jazz, avant-garde and funk-rock, he changed the people and teachers around him. Most people lasted through one, maybe two of the five phases before running out of information and insight. I lasted through four. He inhaled their knowledge, utilized whatever he regarded as relevant, combined it with his own talent, intelligence and creative perspective, and evolved as a human being and musician. He opened himself to those who could give him information and received from them whatever they offered of value--peer pressure? Emphatically, no. It was he, not they, who set the course and led the way; he, not they, who decided what was valuable and relevant; he, not they, who made the decisions about concepts and directions. At every step on the journey, including his final funk-rock period, he was the one who carried the flag forward. Weak? Hardly. He was one of the most responsible, courageous, imaginative human beings and musicians I have ever known. Seems to me he deserves a heck of a lot of respect for this--in fact, if he had been weak and deferred to peer pressure during the Lorca/Starsailor period, he would have bowed his head to the collective you and Herb Cohen and some of his personal so-called friends who also abandoned him; he would have bowed his head to Jac Holzman and other record company executives; he would have catered to popular tastes instead of conceiving and recording Lorca and Starsailor, and then daring to spend the following two years playing Starsailor music in public whenever he could. He was never under anybody's spell. He was his own man, and deserves to be respected for that. I, for one, tip my hat. He had balls.

After spending all the time and energy he could in fulfilling the Starsailor concepts, the time came to change. Where could he go after the abstract, cerebrally exciting, avant-garde extravaganzas of Starsailor? To the opposite extreme, of course, namely funk-rock dance music, sex-drenched rock 'n' roll. His wife liked it. Herb liked it. You liked it. Greetings From L.A. was born in late 1972 as another natural evolutionary phase in the on-going musical journey. Yes, it partly had to do with money, because by this time the collective you had rendered him broke, but it also had to do with music--he had always come up with new ideas, phasing from one dimension into another, and he was doing it again. He had fulfilled the Starsailor concepts, and now it was time to move on. In this case, his funk-rock music merged everything he had developed in the past with everything new he was working on in the present: great songs, spectacular Starsailor vocal improvisations, crotch-rock rhythms, passion, humor. To my mind, this last phase had it all: sex, heart and smarts. It lasted through three albums, ending with his death in 1975.

Of course, as soon as Greetings appeared, a whole new batch of grumpy listeners came out of the woodwork, calling Buckley a sell-out. Different music, same situation. No matter what Tim did, those who would not allow themselves to follow and experience Buckley's changes inevitably condemned him instead of themselves. What a shame, not only for him, but especially for those who missed him along the way. Every single one of his aesthetic/stylistic periods offered a different kind of beauty, intensity and value. Listeners who allowed themselves to be touched by each stage gained everything Buckley had to offer. In my opinion, he offered more than any other single singer/songwriter of his day. I am reminded of pianist Bill Evans' words, "My creed for art in general is that it should enrich the soul. It should teach spiritually by showing a person a portion of himself that he would not discover otherwise. . . That's the real mission of art." I think Buckley did that in a dozen different ways. Perpaps the most complex of those ways was the music contained in Lorca and Startsailor, and, indeed, sometimes listeners need a little help. I can understand and appreciate that. Although I wrote the following passage a few months ago, some readers may have missed it. Maybe it would be helpful if we included it here--

"It is true that much of the music on Tim's Starsailor album is difficult, complex, and far-removed from conventional forms of popular music. Listeners who approach Starsailor unprepared for Tim's extraordinary innovations on this album may find themselves a bit confused, even intimidated...but only initially. If they give themselves and the music a chance, by listening more than once and by opening their hearts and minds and tapping into their own sense of adventure, they will discover why Tim himself regarded this album as his masterpiece. They will also find out why writer Michael Bourne of Downbeat Magazine gave the album five stars and a rave review, and why writer Lester Bangs of Creem Magazine said of Tim, after listening to Starsailor, "I steadfastly maintain that Tim Buckley is one of the most underrated and misunderstood musicians ever to develop out of the dead-end of rock into the free-form fusion of rock and jazz coupled with his already original sound." Tim had already explored folk music, folk/rock and mainstream jazz. With Starsailor, he dared to move into territory that was completely uncharted in pop music. He created new song forms on this album, and dove into odd time signatures (moving away from conventional 4/4 rhythms, into 5/4, 7/4 and 10/4), and combined basic harmonies with dazzling original discordant criss-crossing melodic lines. Tim also wrote some of the most vividly impassioned lyrics he had ever penned. I was proud to be included on this project. At that time, I was exploring new techniques and new sonic approaches to music in general and guitar music in particular. I used both hands on the fretboard, playing criss-crossing lines that created percussive atmospheres, enharmonic sound-washes and brightly colored tonal textures previously unheard of. My own technical and musical innovations, and my adventurous creative spirit at the time, complimented Tim's. We were definitely in sync with one another at this point in our careers. Together with bassist John Balkin, trumpet and sax players Buzz and Bunk Gardner, tympani-drummer Maury Baker and engineer Stan Agol, we created extraordinary music that to this day has remained unmatched. Interestingly enough, Jeff Buckley was thoroughly enamored of Tim's vocal and conceptual innovations on "Starsailor". Although Jeff often criticized his father in public, he intelligently and wisely chose Tim as his mentor. He listened over and over to Tim's music, especially Starsailor, and incorporated many of Tim's original techniques into his own arsenal of potent and exceptionally beautiful skills. Listeners who love Jeff's music are in many instances loving Tim's music too, perhaps without being aware of it. Those people who give Tim's Starsailor music a receptive, open-minded hearing will find themselves transported into a psycho-sonic inner world that will prove both incredibly exciting and profoundly nourishing. If we are brave enough and adventurous enough, we can discover for ourselves the power, grace and beauty that Tim and his musicians and the sound engineer on this album found almost thirty years ago. Clearly, the music still lives. It is here with us now... as vital and beautiful as it was in 1970. The music itself is alive and singing...all we need are the ears to hear it--once this music touches us, we will wonder how we could have missed it in the first place! "
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JACK(Jzero): I don't believe one word you just said...LOL... Just kidding.
Gee-Lee, I think I hit a nerve there. I thought that I was Tim's biggest fan. You pounced on those questions like a bulldog on a fresh cooked leg of lamb. Seems like you wanted to say those things for years. I'm glad I gave you an opportunity to vent your feelings at my expense. I'll get even with you somehow LOL. ...Excuse me while I wipe the egg off my face and bow at your feet. I'm not worthy...I'm not worthy...I'm not worthy!!!
All kidding aside Lee, you made some incredibly good points in your argument. I think that everyone would agree with most of what you said. I have to tell you that it wasn't easy asking you those questions. Your responses were captivating to say the least. You clearly made several points that gave me and those who felt as I do a real lesson in understanding.

You also taught me something else through our little debate here. I've learned that I didn't really understand the Tim Buckley that I thought I knew. I was always aware that Tim was an artist, but only recently did I find out the true meaning of the word "artist". I've also discovered that the role of a true lover of art is one of a quiet observer. One can only watch and listen to a true artist and revel in the good fortune to have been able to grasp the meaning of what that artist is trying to say. My ignorance was profoundly brought to light in this dialogue, and I've become a better person for having learned that my opinions on anyone's art are no more important than those of a fly on the wall of a museum. Tim Buckley never compromised. His art always came first.

LEE UNDERWOOD: By bringing forth your insight that "the role of a true lover of art is that of a quiet observer", you put in a nutshell the way in which audiences can best perceive, understand and appreciate an authentic artist such as Tim. Seems to me, that is a tremendous service to both Tim and the audience, do you agree?
JACK(Jzero):Yes I do. Let's move on, shall we?
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PART THREE... "CALIFORNIA SIGH"

JACK(Jzero):Has anyone in this forum ever heard Lee Underwood's collection of acoustic guitar instrumentals entitled "California Sigh"? A copy of the audio cassette was sent to me by Dan Patrick of San Jose. I asked Lee when he recorded the album, if he wrote all the songs, and which guitar or guitars he used. I wanted to know what genre he was working in. I would say: New Age/ClassicalJazz/Folk/Flamenco. Sort of Steve Howe meets Andres Segovia and Oscar Oleman. I wondered whether there were any liner notes available for this splendid work and if the sounds of nature in the background were real or computer generated. Lastly, I asked Lee which brass-wind or reed instruments were used on "The Other Side Of Sunny" and "Midnight Blue".

LEE UNDERWOOD:It is amazing to me how sooner or later everything gets discovered. "California Sigh" is not widely known, primarily because it emerges from a particular stage of my musical life, one of my most cherished, heartfelt and decidedly non-commercial periods. From there, I went on to evolve in a variety of different ways. Once I left the "California Sigh" zone, I did not look back. Hence, Cal Sigh has become something of a little-known open secret. I played a D-28 Martin six-string acoustic guitar on Cal Sigh, composed all of the material, recorded it in 1988, released it independently, have only a very few copies left. The masters are no longer in existence. As a result, the cassette tapes have become collector's items. I don't know if I'm up for selling them or not. I suppose that will depend upon the individuals who want them. Synthesist Steve Roach did the engineering on that tape, and played synthesizer on "Midnight Blue," which is the most active, excitement-oriented piece on Cal Sigh. All of the other pieces are intentionally soft, gentle, and mostly simple in structure, presentation and mood. I sequenced the pieces, not in terms of commercial sensation-oriented order, but in terms of a single listening experience-candlelight, laying back, eyes closed, beginning with "Gentle Rain," relaxing, moving deeper into quietude, following the line of musical development from simplicity into quiet complexity, until the final three pieces include Kevin Braheny on synthesizer and melodic Electronic Wind Instrument for the supremely gentle "The Other Side of Sunny"; Steve Roach, synthesizer on the intense, dark-side "Midnight Blue"; and pedal steel player Chaz Smith on the lyrical, optimistic, nature-oriented final piece, "Aspen Trails." The streams, birds, wind-are all real, not electronic. Everything about the album is intended to be gentle, quiet, emotionally inclusive, optimistic, heartfelt. It has nothing to do with mental stimulation, emotional disruption, radio-music or corporate ideas of what is "commercial." It has everything to do with inner peace. As a result, many listeners conditioned by orthodox, mainstream approaches to guitar music do not quite know what to make of it. They are used to short, flashy, continually changing, bombastic, thrilling, electric, sense-blistering approaches to music, often with vocals. I call my low-keyed, all- instrumental acoustic pieces meditation music or serenity music. As you know, quietude in music is a radical departure from conventional popular music. If listeners listen to California Sigh from start to finish, they will experience it as a single musical experience, an inward psycho-spiritual journey, a heart-song as beautiful, quiet and relaxing as I could make it. I did not draw from individual or generic influences, but made the guitar stylings as personal and original as I could. I don't have favorite pieces. For different reasons, each one is unique and special to me, rather like children. The other pieces you mentioned, "Speedy Twang" and "Sexy Thang," come from yet another time, Santa Fe in the early to mid-'90s. It too was D-28 acoustic guitar, with amplifier. This period included Cal Sigh music, but also moved into more mainstream-oriented concepts, with 4/4 rhythms and a funkier orientation, with increasing technical flash, a different dimension, purpose and approach, accessible to more people than California Sigh. Again, there were no reference points for me, no Jimmy Page or anybody else, just personal evolutionary inner explorations that flowered into unique guitar music. During that time, I was playing solo guitar in Santa Fe's hotels and lounges, occasionally giving concerts, having a great time. I never made a full-length tape of this period. Ah, well. I kept playing guitar until three years ago. These days, I'm into piano.
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PART FOUR... FOLLOW-UP QUESTIONS AND CONCLUSION

JACK: It sounds to me like it didn't take much time for you to learn how to play the electric guitar. Were you a child prodigy?

LEE: Initially, played acoustic guitar, then electric. Already knew basic theory and had learned relative pitch from earlier years, both of which helped enormously in learning guitar and in improvising.

JACK: I've recently turned someone on to Tim's music and I began by giving him a compilation tape of Tim's work. My friend(this newcomer to the world of Tim Buckley) upon first listening, made an interesting observation. He said that he thought the guitar playing and the sound on a few of the songs themselves were reminiscent of Big Brother & The Holding Company(the house band at the Avalon Ballroom). He saw similarities with the Airplane and the Buffalo Springfield. I had never noticed that before (I always considered Tim's music to be unique at every stage) and I was wondering if you, Lee (having played in San Francisco at that time) picked up a guitar vibe from the music being played by Sam Andrew of Big Brother or any of the other bands playing in town?

LEE: Listeners quite often approach new music with old ears, listening for what they already know and have already experienced. Thus, they miss the originality and/or uniqueness of what they are listening to in the present. They project what they know onto the new, and thereby miss the new and see only whatever they have perceived or projected onto it from the past. It makes them feel comfortable (and often egoistically superior), but it also makes it difficult for the artist to reach them. Artists are constantly confronted with this problem, although the good ones don't let it stop them from evolving. Listeners think they mean well when they hear "influences," but until they can hear and relate to whatever the artist is bringing to the work that is unique, special, new, magical, they miss. I don't think Tim had any of the influences your friend thinks he heard. I traveled to San Francisco as a folk musician, just as folk music died and 60s rock had begun to emerge, particularly with the Jefferson Airplane (whom I heard rehearse before their initial RCA contract). As a dedicated folkie and acoustic player (albeit late to the folk scene and outdated), I didn't tune into electric rock with any enthusiasm. I knew Sam Andrew (we both taught guitar at Stu Goldberg's Marina Music shop), but he was already into electric music and far ahead of me technically. I did not know of Big Brother or Buffalo Springfield until later. None of these groups were influences for me, and I think I can speak for Tim here, too. Tim came out of the folk scene. His primary reference points early on were Pete Seeger, Odetta, Fred Neil and, in a literary way (primarily by way of Beckett), Bob Dylan. Neither one of us was particularly interested in the rock scene at the time. Most of the rock bands were rooted in the blues form, endlessly recycling the same chords and licks mined from the same tradition, while we were doing what we could to flower as original conceptualists.

JACK: Who were some of your favorite rock bands of the late sixties?

LEE: I liked Buffalo Springfield when I finally heard them. Dr. John got to me (and to Tim, too). Aretha Franklin was not considered rock, but she sure knew how to cook. Creem (w/Eric Clapton on guitar) knocked me out when I heard them in New York, as did Mike Bloomfield (w/Butterfield). I thought Crosby, Stills and Nash were great, loved their harmonies and mellow modes. The ultimate favorite of mine to come out of that period was Pink Floyd. My main preferences and influences, however, preceded rock, and did not enter the picture with Tim until after Goodbye and Hello-another story.

JACK: How did the song "Hi Lily" enter Tim's repertoire?
LEE: It was just one of those great tunes he loved from early on, one of those poignant songs learned in childhood, carried over to the concert stage.

JACK: Did you ever play Max's Kansas City on Park Ave South in lower Manhattan?
LEE: I didn't, but Tim did, later on, with his funk-rock group in the later years.

JACK: Were you ever in there at all, and if so, what did you think of all that craziness?
LEE: Indeed, Tim and I got smashed in Max's Kansas City with Janis Joplin and Sam Andrew. Loved the crazies, not only in Max's, but of that whole period.

JACK: What kind of an influence did Larry Beckett have on Tim (musically and personally)?
LEE: That's a huge question, Jack, and for purposes of this interview might best be left in Larry's hands. He and Tim were very close friends and collaborators during their high school days together, and during the first two albums. After that, they parted ways, until Tim brought him back for a few tunes on "Starsailor" and the following albums. There is no question but that Larry's input with lyrics played a vital role in Tim's work, especially through the Goodbye and Hello period. After that, Tim developed himself and his music independently, exploring conceptual zones well removed from the early folk orientation he and Beckett shared in the early days. No question about it, Larry was and is a talented writer, a first-class word-slinger with a top-flight literary mind. He brought a dimension of intelligence and sensitivity to Tim's music that played a profound role in Tim's early development. They had one of the great friendships and working relationships of that era, and together wrote some of the most well-loved songs of Tim's entire career, including "Song to the Siren."

JACK: Can we revisit the Fred Neil question? Do you agree or disagree with the notion that Fred Neil was one of Tim's mentors? {Mary Guibert said that she and Tim use to sit and listen to Fred play and sing at Herb Cohen's house while the pictures on the wall would quiver and shake. She also said that Fred taught Tim how to strum the guitar in the manner in which he played. Are you aware that Tim said on the Starwood tape that Fred Neil was one of the only real friends he had? He really seemed to like Fred. As you well know, Tim played "The Dolphins" at a lot of his live performances.}

LEE: It seems to me that the Buckley/Neil relationship has been exaggerated. Yes, Fred was at Herb's house when Tim and Mary stayed there in the early days, and Tim loved Fred's voice and songs. Later, at Big Pink in Venice, we often listened to Fred's albums, and Fred's music could be considered an influence during those early folk and folk-rock days. Also, Tim dearly loved the "Dolphins" song, and sang it throughout his career. As for guitar stylings, Tim learned from many musicians, but developed his own unique style, becoming a superb 12-string player along the way, something that should be pointed out and celebrated much more than it usually is. As far as I know, Tim did not "hang out" with Fred in the Village, as has been rumored, and again as far as I know, they didn't spend time together in the later days. I suspect--but cannot say for sure--that Tim's comment on the Starwood tape was not meant literally, but figuratively, in terms of the deep emotions expressed in "Dolphins" and other songs--a musical friend, a soul brother, as it were.

JACK: .On a much lighter subject; someone said that Tim told her that if he could choose another profession it would be professional baseball. Did he ever mention that to you?
LEE: He never said anything like that seriously to me. That comment sounds like one of Tim's semi-meaningful jokes, rather like Einstein's saying he wanted to come back as a plumber. However, I think Tim did play baseball in junior high or high school, and I know he played with the DiscReet record company team--shortstop--and was good at it!

JACK:What did you guys think of Blood Sweat and Tears' cover of "Morning Glory" and Linda Ronstadt's covers of "Wings", "Aren't You The Girl", and "Morning Glory"?
LEE: Not much.

JACK: Did Tim write "The Father Song" for the movie "Changes" or was it a personal glimpse at his inner soul?
LEE: He wrote it for "Changes", and it was a personal glimpse of his inner soul. I've done some extensive writing on Tim of late, much of which has to do with the relationship between him and his father. To be continued.

JACK: Would you mind telling us the real meaning behind the lyrics of "Pleasant Street"?
LEE: Inside the mystery, the beauty remains, yes?

JACK: One of our forum members asked me why you and Tim split up. I couldn't help him, so now I'm asking you...why did you guys part ways?
LEE: Tim and I didn't "split up," as some people put it. You may recall that Tim explored five different musical zones during the course of nine years, changing personnel and bands as needed for new musical concepts. Most of his musicians along the way lasted through one period. I was useful to Tim through four of his five periods over the course of seven years. When it came to the final "Greetings" period, I gave it a go, but it didn't work well. Rock 'n' roll was not my musical forte, and I still had work to do in cleaning up my personal stuff, getting straight and sober and stable. Tim needed funk-rockers for his band, which I understood perfectly well. After a six-week mid-1973 "Greetings" tour, he and I parted ways professionally. We remained the best of friends until his demise in 1975. He continued on the funk-rock path. I taught myself how to write, and became a well-known music journalist.
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LEE: I know there is a great deal I have not talked about, Jack-my personal life before Tim, my personal life after Tim, various ways in which I helped Tim learn about music, literature and his own extraordinary capabilities, various on-the-road anecdotes, highlights, lowlights, etc. But the story is about him, not me, with my story in his context being secondary. To the degree that my personal qualities and actions played an occasionally significant role in his development, they would certainly fit well in a book, where I can stretch out a bit more and plumb the depths and heights more thoroughly. Of course, others have jumped into that marketplace niche, and so my voice may remain unheard. That makes me feel sad, of course, rather profoundly so. Nevertheless, I persist in doing what I can to celebrate Tim and his music. If a publisher were there for a book of mine about Tim. . .

Tim was an extraordinarily bright young man, intellectually and creatively brilliant. He had a profound affect on me, and on so many others as well (drummer Buddy Helm's recent interview, for example, rings with love of Tim in every word, doesn't it?). I have listened to great artists in music's every genre, from all over the world. Not only art and entertainment musics, but ancient tribal, cultural and contemporary sacred musics as well. Of all of the singers I know of, not one has covered as wide a range of vocal exploration and achievement as Tim. He still moves me more than others do, and probably always will. His son Jeff is not to be overlooked either. Of all of the singers, he was the only one I know of who had the particular temperament, the voice, the quality of intelligence and the abilities to be influenced by Tim to the degree that he was. Jeff in his own right was a great singer, the very best of his day. He and Tim are twin blue stars in the heavens now, and I love them both. They graced our world with their beauty and made it forever a better place than it was when they found it. In closing, let me extend to all of your readers my heartfelt appreciation for the love and respect they have shown Tim. Over 30 years since Tim began, and nearly 25 years since his death, listeners are still resonating to the passion, tenderness, creativity, intensity and beauty that Tim Buckley brought to music and to our ears. His music holds such enormous truth in it-the truth of human love, longing, yearning, heartache and humor-that it remains in our lives even to this day. It will keep on keepin' on, too. That which is true remains forever. Tim Buckley is gone, but his Blue Melody sings on.

JACK(Jzero): Lee, on behalf of all our forum members, I'd like to thank you for this informative interview and for all the wonderful music that you have given us. It has been an extreme pleasure to have conversed with you and a privilege to have known you ...even if only for a short while. May you always stay "this side of sunny".