There aren’t enough accolades or hyphenates to properly convey the wide-ranging brilliance of Betty Buckley. Carving out the start of a rare third act, impressive for anyone in any industry – much more-so for a talented woman navigating the finicky and unforgiving landscape of entertainment – Ms. Buckley has been basically everywhere for the past year – on the big screen in ‘Split’, on the small screen in ‘Supergirl’ and ‘Preacher’, on stage from ‘Cats’ to ‘Sunset Boulevard’ and on countless albums such as ‘Story Songs‘ and the upcoming ‘Hope’. Next week marks her return to Joe’s Pub in a series of shows to highlight the release of her new ‘Hope’ album. I’m still blissfully enchanted by her double-CD of ‘Story Songs’ so this feels like a very happy bonus, and proof that Ms. Buckley has never been one to rest on her laurels; she remains a potent and prolific force, capable of startling transformation and evolution, imbued with a sense of survival rooted in her Texas home and childhood and honed through decades in the entertainment world.
I’ve only had the pleasure of seeing her live a few times – several visits to her iconic residence at ‘Sunset Boulevard‘ and one Andrew Lloyd Webber musical tour in which she was clearly the star, bringing the house down with her extraordinary instrument. In place of that, I’ve feasted on YouTube videos and live recordings that come as close as possible to capturing her magnificent gifts.
Capable of ranging from the softest coo of a heartbroken meadowlark to the imperious belt of a demanding diva, her voice is divinity transmitted through sound. Lately her music has taken on greater import. Perhaps more than ever, the music that Buckley makes is of vital necessity. In a world darkened by division, where the worst of humanity seems to have been unleashed, her voice and her sentiments present a steely conviction emboldened by beauty, the heart of a survivor tempered by the soul of an artist. Through her remarkable interpretations, she reveals the power of a song to act as a balm upon our collective hurt, hitting some primal chord of how we connect to one another, through empathy, through understanding, through pain and love. The excited trill of a girlish laugh, the throaty growl of a demon-like fury, or the clear, sanguine tone of a note held so pure that it brings tears to the eyes of the lucky listener ~ these are the fertile fields where Buckley’s artistic merits find fruition.
This is a crazy time to be alive, and it sometimes feels like a very sad time as well – but when you need a reminder of all that we can be, the very best that human nature can convey, I listen to Ms. Buckley’s voice, and no matter how tattered and broken we may be, I always find a little bit of hope there.
