Late on a rainy Friday afternoon, Jeff Buckley is one interview away from a return flight to Paris.

He’s been anticipating questions about his folkie father, famous in the 1960s, and when the subject of the late Tim Buckley inevitably comes up, he nods wearily. "Do with it what you will," he says.

"As an artist because I can only relate to him as such & there are things that he’s done that are really beautiful and things that he’s done that I don’t like all that much. Just like any artist," says Buckley, slumped and folded into a couch at the Hotel Arabella in Frankfurt, Germany.

"But, no; I have a whole different ilk that I’ve been in love with. Such as Patti Smith, Armed Forces by Elvis Costello, Bad Brains, Stereolab, Miles Davis, some house. Just things that I love. I don’t really own any of his albums & I don’t, as a matter of fact."

Buckley is the voice, the soul and the psyche behind Grace, a 10-song album that exudes a gritty warmth as it unleashes waves of shivers down the spine. His extraordinary voice, an instrument capable of uninhibited passion and the epiphany of redemption, is the thread that weaves the songs into a cohesive musical tapestry.

Grace is Buckley’s debut album, one of the most eagerly anticipated firsts by a new artist. Now signed to Columbia, the slight, delicate Buckley was intently pursued by legions of record company dealmakers after generating an industrywide buzz with his showcase performances at New York’s Cafe Sin-e in 1992.

But Buckley scoffs at the idea that those performances were singularly stellar. "Some of them totally sucked," he says. "I’ve had all kinds of times there. It’s just a gig. I wouldn’t go there expecting anything just to have a good time."

Today, his live performances differ from his early shows at Cafe Sin-e. For instance, he’s put aside his old habit of talking at length to his audiences about "anything, anything that came to mind. ... I don’t ramble on endlessly for 20 minutes talking about stories it’s not the place," he explains, adding, "Oh, I talk. All I was saying is, I’m more focused. Like, I don’t want to bore 800 people at once. It’d be very heartbreaking."

Buckley grew up around music during what he called "a really ragtag, hand-to-mouth" existence as a child. His mother, who was married briefly to Buckley’s father, was a classically trained cellist and pianist who played "anything from Mendelssohn to Chopin to the Beatles and Elton John."

His mother’s love of music was a contributing factor to a hard life as "a single mom, busting her ass anyway she could for two kids" because she played "tons and tons — instead of doing the housework, which was one of the things that broke up her second marriage."

Young Jeff also fell under music’s spell. "It just really understood me well, music," Jeff says. During his high school years in California, he played with variety of bands that performed gigs at area Air Force bases and whose repertoires ranged from hard-rocking AC/DC, Led Zeppelin and UFO tunes to the Police. One band he belonged to did only Rush covers.

"I soon got out of that," he says of the Rush tribute band. "Kind of weird."

High school itself wasn’t the most stimulating or happy atmosphere for the budding musician. "If you’re an outcast, the only thing outside of high school is pretty much the whole world. So, actually, the learning is a bit more interesting if you know how to work it right."

Now a dedicated New York denizen and, more specifically, a habitual of the Lower East Side, Buckley says to wants to grow, learn more and "be better at what I do" as an artist. To hear him talk about music, his relationship with it seems mystical, yet as tangible as a connection with another person.

"Music comes from the psyche no matter what kind of music you do, it taps into that place," Buckley says. "The psyche is the source, your life, your dreams and your soul are the source. So every time you disturb the air with music, it’s just a ladder that climbs down and down and down and down, the deeper you get into it.