'It's never over, Jeff Buckley': A legacy beyond tribute

"No one has ever loved me more or better than he," said Mary Guibert, a single parent and mother of Jeff Buckley, about him. That is how—piecing together words from loved ones and archival interviews of the artist—one of the most anticipated documentaries for music fans, It's Never Over, Jeff Buckley, begins.

Director Amy Berg, ten years after her Janis Joplin bio-doc, Janis: Little Girl Blue, returns to the music world with an adoring portrait of another blazing talent who died far too young, leaving behind an influential legacy. Most artist documentaries attempt—but rarely manage—to capture the true and palpable essence of their subjects.

But for Amy, conveying the sense of his intensely tender nature was only possible because of how much she endeavored to locate it herself, focusing on the people who truly loved and admired Jeff Buckley more than anyone else. 

It is a deeply personal film—a life story told by the people who knew and loved Jeff. And much like his breathtaking, ethereal music, which soars to heights that overwhelm you with emotion, the documentary likely moves you from deep within, leaving you in tears.

Amy Berg perfectly captured Buckley's extraordinary rise in the '90s and his tragically cut-short life. We hear Buckley sing in every conceivable context: in clubs, in stadiums, in the recording studio, and even when he is just sitting around. We see how he loved and was loved, the joys and pains he experienced, and the sudden rupture of his life.

A pivotal moment in the film takes us back to the spring of 1991, when New York's underground scene gathered at St Ann's Church in Brooklyn to honor Tim Buckley, the avant-folk singer and counterculture figure who had died 16 years earlier at age 28. 

Producer Hal Willner assembled a heavy-hitting guest list, including Richard Hell, Bob Quine, and G E Smith, but the real tension centered on Tim's 24-year-old son, Jeff. As Willner notes in the documentary, "Dangerous situations appeal to me... I figured. But, hey, what's the worst that could happen?"

Jeff initially refused to sing his late father's song—the man who had abandoned him and his mother when he was an infant—saying, "No, I will never ever perform that music... I've got my own music." 

He only relented after his mother convinced him of the impressive lineup of artists attending. That choice changed his life: it caught the attention of the record industry, prompted his move to Manhattan, and introduced him to renowned artists.

That night, Jeff was a nervous wreck, hunched under his father's old coat with his hair falling over his face. He ended up singing the very song Tim had written about abandoning him and his mother, and in that moment, he stole the entire show. One of the greatest voices of the decade had officially arrived.

Amy Berg perfectly captured Buckley's extraordinary rise in the '90s and his tragically cut-short life. We hear Buckley sing in every conceivable context: in clubs, in stadiums, in the recording studio, and even when he is just sitting around. We see how he loved and was loved, the joys and pains he experienced, and the sudden rupture of his life.

But there were times I wished the director had delved deeper into Jeff's musical career, and other times I wanted the film to slow down so we could linger on more footage of Buckley singing. 

Occasionally, Berg cluttered the material with too much animation, layering words on the screen that slid by too quickly, even when Jeff's voice in the background conveyed the emotions more powerfully on its own.

The film's greatest strength lies in capturing the essence and vulnerability of the artist, which makes it stand out from the rest. One memorable segment explores Jeff's time in Memphis between tours and performances. His then-girlfriend, Rebecca Moore, recalled, "He would visit the butterfly garden at the zoo. Watching the zookeeper at work, he often worried. 

The chrysalises of the butterflies, he told us, weren't being handled gently enough." It is the kind of soul you want to protect from the world—just as he carved his own path outside of his father Tim Buckley's legacy while embracing his single mother with both arms.

On a different note, Berg's film, while emphasising Jeff's personal connections, also highlights his musical influence and those he inspired, establishing him as one of the most prominent figures of his time. He was a peer of Chris Cornell and famously drove Thom Yorke to go home and write "Fake Plastic Trees" immediately after seeing him perform. 

Jeff eventually found himself singing for the very artists he had grown up worshipping, including Robert Plant and Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. Even David Bowie weighed in, calling Grace, Jeff Buckley's only released album, the best debut album ever made.

To sum up his influence and the tragically short life he led: "Love, anger, depression, joy, dreams, and Zeppelin." Right before his death in an accidental drowning at the age of 30 in the Wolf River in Memphis, he was singing Led Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta Love" as he stepped into the water.