Tim Buckley
Happy Sad

THE REVIEW

Dear Laura,
it saddens me to think that it's been two years since we last saw each other and just the thought of your golden curls makes my heart weep. I've heard that lately, you feel sad, discouraged; you look out the window and try to understand your role on this jagged sphere called "world". Probably yours is a pure state of grief. I must confess that I too find myself in the same whimsical situation. This immense spleen that envelops us is distressing, wild, it is the negation of life itself. I often think about earthly and heavenly matters but most of the time I get lost in the enigmatic labyrinth of my thoughts; fortunately, I find solace in music. It reminds me of good old Tim. An artist, as you well know, who did not receive the deserved merits and recognition during his short life. But as we know, death is a fair dispenser of glory.
And I find myself more and more often with this CD in hand, with this damnedly fascinating face, with the stare lost in the void, no trace of vitality in the eyes, total absence, suspended between reality and the unknown; and in the top right, the writing "happy/sad". Lately, I wear out my old stereo a lot with this album; and every time it's a new emotion. The total silence I strive for serves as a preamble to the first track, "Strange Feelin'", a song too beautiful to be insulted with fleeting and futile words like the wind; oh Laura, you don't know how much this song mirrors my mood:

I have a strange feeling / deep in my heart / I can't tell you what it is / but I know it won't go away / it happens every time / I give you more than I have / but now all I need is just a bit of time to sing this song / and I'm convinced we'll find a way to make this strange feeling disappear

 The voice is relaxed, wonderful as always, perhaps a bit resigned; but on the other hand

  ...like a lid is the sky low and heavy, crushing the soul that moans in its infinite tedium, ...

... but I don't even have time to think about it as "Buzzin' Fly" starts, after all, a cheerful song, whose intent seems to be to chase away the demons of malaise; thanks to its liveliness it serves as a rightful intermezzo to take a mental break. But it is all in vain: it's the sad "Love From Room 109 At The Islander (On Pacific Coast Highway)" and "Dream Letter" that testify that illusion cannot last forever.
Tim Buckley was a genius, and only a genius like him could pull out from the magic hat "Gypsy Woman", that is, magic that surpasses reality. The consciousness starts to function again but we do not perceive it, the most hidden instincts awaken within us: here we are dancing around the fire of madness, captivated by a feeling of unmotivated happiness, a bit like that of children.

Laura, I must, however, underline that many people call these magic LSD or heroin. But the saddest thing is that they're right. Everyone knows what ended. But please, don't fall into this trap too, you who are an innocent creature, do not walk the paths of deception.
The journey ends with "Sing a Song For You". You don't know how many times I would have wanted to dedicate this song to you. Because deep down, perhaps, looking out that window, one can glimpse a beautiful sun painted on a sky that is ever more blue. We are like blind men trying to regain sight, deaf who would like to hear, mute who would like to speak, to shout; I hope that a ray of sunshine will enter one day from that window, even if just to illuminate a small corner of your gray and empty room. Hope is the last Goddess to die.

With this, I bid you farewell, and reply soon!