After years of thinking (quite selfishly) how tragic it was that Jeff Buckley only gave us two beautiful albums plus a few bits and pieces, I started to think that even though his old man died young as well, he released 9 albums and that there was almost certainly an untapped resource just asking for the tapping. I've only got a couple so far (Goodbye and Hello, and Greetings from LA) but the similarities with Jeff are amazing. They both have this sort of (and I'm sure I'm not the first to use this term in reference to the Buckleys) 'sad beauty' about the melody and changes which just never fails to give me a lift. This song is a prime example of that.

At odds with his two fold reputation as a folk-baroque balladeer and avant garde explorer Buckley turns in a tortured ballad worthy of the Reverend Al Green. Imagine a libidinously charged Astral Weeks and you're part way there.