Given his father's history in New York, it was inevitable a few ghosts would haunt him. Once, he stopped into "some bodega-type record shop" and saw Dream Letter, the Tim Buckley concert album. Whether out of sorrow or pain, he immediately walked out. Killing time at bookstores, he would look up his father in rock history books. "I'm always testing him," he wrote in a letter to Tim's friend, Larry Beckett. "Born, wrote, sang, changed, changed, grew, grew, grew, ignored, rejected, revolution over evolution, gotta move, don't have much time, critics, rejected, dead ... revered. You fucks."