Man, I love Tim Buckley. He’s often lumped in with other folk artists of the era, but I think that’s entirely wrong. While he strummed a guitar and often sang lovely and sad ballads, Buckley could turn on a dime and be the scariest, most intense motherf–ker in the room. That voice, when it rises and cracks and wails, comes from a private hell that I don’t want to ever go near. Incredibly powerful stuff.