Jeff Buckley, the quintessential “alternative” singer-songwriter of the 1990s, is more popular now than ever, if my college freshman niece’s Instagram stories are to be believed.

The unpredictable performer with Catholic influences, James Dean looks, a Mariana Trench-sized vocal range and a vaudevillian’s sense of stage patter died in a freak accident at the age of 30, with only one studio recording, Grace, under his belt.

Though certainly celebrated by those with taste in his lifetime, the too-soon-gone tragedy of his early passing makes a perfect fit for his heart-on-its-sleeve musical style. As a longtime fan I’d give anything for him to have survived and made more music for decades, but I understand the allure the beautiful corpse legend has for new fans.

It is, of course, someth

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