When, in March of 1968, Buckley appeared to sing a solitary version of Song to the Siren at the end of the Monkees TV show, the premises of this formidable work were already all down. Even those for which he became one of the many artists wiped out by the stupid and most ferocious publishing industry of the first half of the seventies.

The connection between pop music, especially the one Californians made, and the more intense shapes of contemporary music were strong in that incredible decade, in which all the best and the worse for many decades to come took shape and consistency. The sixties of 20th century are years in which the complexity of the processes of human evolution was more clearly and easily seen. Years in which it was possible that artists placed themselves as bridges between the unhearable cosmic sound and the human ears, years in which the sound of the human voice could be normal even in the West.

When the angels, whom they choose of living between men, succeeded in avoiding to be treated like dogs “as a principle”, it happened that the sound of their voice could be published, distributed, diffused on planetary scale. It could happen that they entered our homes, where we were always in search of sounds that could correspond to the Real category of “True”, “Authentic”, therefore nourishing and reconstituting. But even in those years the public life of the angels could not last over a long time span, humans they do not wish for themselves and their own sons a “salvation”, but rather just the best of comfort.

Therefore, this Chaty Berberian of a pop world, this vehicle of serafinians energies, came to be treated  as a traitor of the godspell, discarded as a fool and excluded from the greater opportunities of the record market. Many years after, a peer with the same last name faced a destiny much similar but, being less innocent times, he also dismiss itself in a less cruel and miserable way, he came up on the other side of the river in fact, and he got away anonymous again.