POP MUSIC : Wading Beyond the Gene Pool : His late father was a famous folkie, but singer-songwriter Jeff Buckley is charting his own course.

You’d never know by talking to Jeff Buckley that he is one of the most acclaimed pop arrivals of the ‘90s, a singer-songwriter whose emotionally charged tales of romantic innocence and obsession remind you of a radical mix of Leonard Cohen and Edith Piaf.

From his tone during an interview near closing time in an Italian restaurant here, you’d think Buckley’s 1994 debut album, “Grace,” had been savaged by critics.

“Critics . . . ,” he says pointedly. “They’re like traffic cops. They say what they have to say, then leave, and another guy moves in and he has his say--and it’s often just the opposite. The result is either critical acclaim or critical murder, and neither has any bearing on my music or direction.”

Blessed with some of the most photogenic cheekbones since Sting, Buckley, 28, leans back and lights a cigarette, pushing strands of his long hair from his face.

He’s quiet for a few seconds, as if awaiting the next question. Instead, he’s just warming up for Round 2 on critics.

“The thing about a music career is that it ain’t over until the fat lady sings. Look at all the times people threw in the towel on Dylan--or Neil Young. Remember when Young was doing things in the ‘80s like ‘Trans’ and the rockabilly album and being completely lambasted by critics who now think he is wonderful again? They’re having to eat crow, and the funny thing is they don’t even recognize it.”

It’s the kind of philosophical tirade you would expect from a veteran artist, like a Dylan or a Joni Mitchell, who has lived through decades of both critical praise and indifference.

But that’s not Buckley’s story. He’s still in the first blush of critical embrace. Even if parts of “Grace” are hazy and histrionic, the album carries the stamp of an artist with a sweeping, slightly mystical personal vision.

Praise has been especially glowing in England, where the respected pop monthly Mojo named “Grace” the album of the year and Q magazine hailed it as “an enthralling, endlessly playable piece of work . . . the missing link between (Van Morrison’s) ‘Astral Weeks’ and (Nirvana’s) ‘Nevermind.’ ”

Isn’t Buckley flattered?

“Of course I am,” he says, shifting in his chair as if annoyed at himself for admitting it. “At the same time, I’m not ‘Grace.’ That album is like a brick onto itself. It’s like a coffin that I put certain feelings and observations in so that they can be capsulized forever. I wanted to put them there so I would be free to move on.

“There are times when what you do will be mysterious to everyone . . . times when you have to change directions before people are ready. Just because someone does something that critics don’t like or understand doesn’t mean you’re failing as a musician. It probably means you’re growing.”

One of the truisms of pop music is that if an artist’s music has strong personal characteristics, you will probably find the same traits in the artist. In interviews, Michael Stipe of R.E.M. can be as interesting yet as elusive as Stipe the songwriter. Offstage, Bono of U2 is as passionate and involving as Bono the singer.

And Buckley--the son of ‘60s folk cult hero Tim Buckley--can be as strong-willed and focused as Buckley the performer.

Onstage, he drifts into his own world, singing with a self-absorption that tells the audience he is a distinct and demanding performer. In the restaurant, Buckley speaks with equal intensity--whether on the folly of critics or the search for his own creative vision.

“The first time I saw him onstage, I was amazed at how raw and unconventional he was,” says Dave Lory, who co-manages Buckley with attorney George Stein. “Even in rehearsal, the way he approached a song was totally different from the norm. You could see he wasn’t trying to copy anyone else.”

About his musical journey, Buckley says: “The whole secret in searching for your own voice is to have faith in your deepest eccentricities, your dumbest banalities, your epic romanticism. . . . Accept what’s inherently inside of you without fear. If you don’t find that voice as an artist, you are leading a life that is a secondhand life, which is basically a mild form of torture and decay.”

Though it’s the last thing Buckley probably wants to hear, his voice and his intense, eclectic direction are likely to remind some listeners of his father, who was a prized member in the ‘60s of the Elektra Records roster that also included such experimental rock forces as the Doors.

In the latest edition of “The Rolling Stone Record Guide,” the elder Buckley is described in ways that could apply today to young Jeff: “Dreamily handsome, possessed of a genuine, if eccentric poetic gift, capable of singing a veritable choir of voices and brandishing an archetypally romantic sensibility.”

During the interview, Buckley tenses at the mention of his father, who died of a drug overdose in 1975 at age 28.

“Everything I know about him was secondhand, except for maybe a week, and even then I don’t remember much,” Buckley says sharply. “Genetics be damned. . . .I have completely different musical choices.”

Jeff Buckley was born Nov. 17, 1966, in Anaheim and lived most of the time through high school in Orange and Riverside counties. His parents were married only briefly and he was raised by his mother, who supported him and a brother from a short-lived second marriage in the early ‘70s.

Buckley developed an early interest in music, listening to a wide variety of albums, from the “Wizard of Oz” soundtrack to the Beatles and Joni Mitchell. During his teens he was in several bands, playing Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath music, before starting to write his own songs.

After high school he moved to Los Angeles, where he attended a musicians institute and worked at the front desk of the Magic Hotel, which is affiliated with the Magic Castle in Hollywood.

Despite his love of music, Buckley didn’t spend much time pursuing a record contract at that time, because he was disillusioned by things he saw happening to friends.

“They kept getting signed and dropped or signed and left on the shelf,” he says, lighting another cigarette. “The music business in L.A. was like a crapshoot. It was like going to Vegas and the money always belongs to the house. I just didn’t care. I just wanted to learn and compose things.”

Restless, he moved to New York around 1990 and fell in love with the city. Buckley remained largely under wraps until a 1991 tribute to his father at St. Ann’s, a Brooklyn church with a history of contemporary music events.

“I declined (to participate) at first because his life had nothing to do with mine,” he says. “If he wasn’t involved then, I didn’t know why I should be involved now. . . . To me, Ron Moorhead was my father.”

Moorhead was Buckley’s stepfather, and as a child Buckley was known as Scott Moorhead. (His family still calls him Scottie.) He reverted to his original name when his mother and stepfather broke up.

“I had no idea at the time that any of this would happen,” Buckley says of his music career. “I just wanted my own identity, so I asked my mother what was the name on my birth certificate.”

Despite his initial reservations, Buckley eventually agreed to perform at the tribute, which was organized by record producer Hal Willner. Buckley hadn’t attended his father’s funeral, and he saw this concert as a way to say goodby.

After teaming briefly in a band composed of some musicians from the progressive scene surrounding St. Ann’s and New York’s celebrated Knitting Factory, Buckley decided in early 1992 to focus on a solo career. Intent on developing his own style in Greenwich Village clubs, he experimented with musical forms, from folk and jazz to a trace of cabaret. He supplemented his own songs with music identified with such varied artists as Bob Dylan, Van Morrison, Nina Simone and Piaf.

The last had been a favorite for years.

“I saw her on a PBS special when I was around 16 and fell in love with her,” Buckley says. “I said, ‘That’s for me’--the way she seemed to be giving you everything onstage. There was something about her that I resonated with. She put what I was feeling into a certain clarity.”

Within months, record company scouts were packing tiny Cafe Sin-e, a Village venue that Buckley adopted as his home base. He signed with Columbia Records and began work early in 1993 on “Grace,” whose sales are now about 125,000 in the United States and 300,000 worldwide. The material ranges from a version of Cohen’s “Hallelujah” to seven songs Buckley wrote or co-wrote. The themes are chiefly about romance, often in fragile and sad terms.

More than most songwriters, Buckley places special importance on his vocals. Almost as if impatient with mere words, he searches for added vocal color to convey the intensity of the song’s emotions.

“I don’t separate the song and the voice and the music,” he says. “A good record is a marriage. People always talk about Dylan as a great songwriter, but he’s also an amazing singer. Take something like ‘Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.’ It’s only two minutes long, but I can play it all day long because it strikes something inside me. . . . It’s something that feels so true. That’s the goal, for me. You want to create a special place with your music and then transport the listener to that place.”

After a series of European shows, Buckley expects to return in late March to the States, where he is likely to tour through the summer. He will then begin focusing on the second album, which may not be released until more than a year from now.

Where many record companies would be pushing an artist to strike back with a second album as fast as possible to take advantage of the mushrooming interest, Columbia supports Buckley’s slower pace.

“I was floored by what I saw at those early shows,” says Don Ienner, president of Columbia Records, recalling the Cafe Sin-e appearances. “You could only sit back and imagine where he was headed, and the growth was in leaps and bounds once he got into the studio. Now, you can only imagine where the next album will take him.”

About the nature of that eventual next album and the reaction to it, Buckley says, in the teasingly mysterious aura of his music: “Who knows who is going to want to stay with ‘Grace’ and who is going to want to stay with me? . . . All I can tell you is that your expectations will totally deceive you.”