Roger McGuinn 3: Roger McGuinn & Band

In the ‘70s, you made an album a year, as long as the label was willing to keep you signed. So Roger McGuinn put a band together from some country rock players and recorded Roger McGuinn & Band. It’s a strange package to begin with, as he’s the only person shown on the front cover; they are shown looking down at him from the monitors on the back. But he meant it with the title, because most of the songs were indeed written by his otherwise not-very-notable supporters.

The familiar jangle we expect from him is buried on the opening “Somebody Loves You”, a generic rocker, but is lightly picked on his cover of Dylan’s “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door”; Roger himself had played on the original two years before. “Bull Dog” isn’t the first sung he’s sung with a canine lead character, but this one is certainly used in a more menacing way than Old Blue was. “Painted Lady” is a pleasant example of ‘70s soft rock, but it’s not clear why he needed to record another version of “Lover Of The Bayou”, though it certainly kicks.

Calypso isn’t the strong suit of most rock ‘n rollers, so “Lisa” comes off like one of Stephen Stills’ worst ideas, or Jimmy Buffett’s entire catalog, but Roger wrote this all by himself. The keyboard player’s “Circle Song” is basically “Peaceful Easy Feeling” with more dobro and banjo, while “So Long” is another by-numbers highway anthem. Speaking of which, “Easy Does It” may well have been inspired by a bumper sticker he saw, but he manages to make the sentiment work. Another retread closes this side, in this case “Born To Rock And Roll”, last heard on the Byrds reunion album and not much better here.

Any other band might have been proud of Roger McGuinn & Band, but we expect more of Roger McGuinn, with or without a band. He was clearly still finding his way, though it did give work to an up-and-coming producer who would helm future hits by Boston, Charlie Daniels, and Quarterflash, among others. (In a late effort to showcase the band, the expanded CD includes live versions of “Wasn’t Born To Follow” and “Chestnut Mare”.)

Roger McGuinn Roger McGuinn & Band (1975)—2½
2004 Sundazed reissue: same as 1975, plus 2 extra tracks

Byrds 15: Live 1969 and 1971

If it happened at any other time but the late ‘60s, the Byrds would have ended after David Crosby left the band, and the remaining members would have issued their work under another name—the Sweethearts, perhaps, after the album where things truly changed. Once Chris Hillman bailed, and Roger McGuinn was the only Byrd left, the band we knew only three years before was done anyway. Yet, the band called the Byrds that featured a phenomenal lead guitarist named Clarence White on five albums cannot be so easily discarded. That combo was truly unique for its time, playing both traditional country songs and rock amalgams, well before the Eagles ran with the concept. Granted, the Flying Burrito Brothers were working a similar experiment, but they too suffered from revolving band members.

Today, two different artifacts have become part of the Byrds canon, and both come from the era featuring the group we’re going to call the Sweethearts. Live At The Fillmore — February 1969 compiles highlights from two nights at the Fillmore West, right after Dr. Byrds & Mr. Hyde came out. The sets were heavy on that album and Sweetheart Of The Rodeo, with a few other country covers thrown in alongside a medley of “Turn! Turn! Turn!”, “Mr. Tambourine Man”, and “Eight Miles High”, and ending with “Rock & Roll Star”, “He Was A Friend Of Mine”, and “Chimes Of Freedom”. From the opening “Nashville West”, Clarence wails and Roger keeps out of his way.

The only lineup change until the final Byrds album for Columbia was Skip Battin on bass; that incarnation of the Sweethearts (catchy, isn’t it?) was already represented on the first two sides of (Untitled). By now they didn’t sell records in America, but flourished in the UK. A well-performed set was extracted from Roger’s vaults for Live At Royal Albert Hall 1971, released on the psychedelic-centric Sundazed label, and it’s clear how far they’d come as a live act since the Fillmore show. Just as on (Untitled), they begin with “Lover Of The Bayou”, and move through their older Dylan covers with newer tracks. Things go acoustic to show off Clarence’s prowess there, through a couple of traditional songs and “Mr. Tambourine Man”. (By now Gene Parsons would leave the kit to play banjo, and their road manager covered on percussion.) A lengthy “Eight Miles High” jam has to wait through an extended bass solo for the song itself to emerge. While not on the same level as in the folk-rock era, their vocal blends shine throughout, right through the closing a cappella take on “Amazing Grace”. We even get to hear them called back for several encores.

These two albums nicely complement the studio albums of the period, and show strengths that were sadly lost in the mixes. And anytime we get to hear Clarence White, everybody wins. Both are worth seeking out.

The Byrds Live At The Fillmore — February 1969 (2000)—3
The Byrds Live At Royal Albert Hall 1971 (2008)—3½

Byrds 14: Box Sets

Towards the end of the ‘80s, with the likes of Tom Petty and R.E.M. reviving interest in the Rickenbacker, the Byrds began to attract attention from a younger generation. Just in time for their induction in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, as well as a new Roger McGuinn solo album, and following successful lawsuits in favor of the band members not named Clark or Clarke came a four-disc box set covering the band’s tenure on Columbia.

Simply titled The Byrds, albeit with individually titled discs, the set begins with (naturally) “Mr. Tambourine Man” and moves all the way through Farther Along. Because the existing CD reissues of the albums were a little spotty, the sound was greatly enhanced, with many of the early songs presented in wide stereo and with extended endings, some of which had been revealed on the independent Never Before compilation from a few years before. That set also boasted some previously unreleased tracks, and many of them (such as “The Day Walk”, “She Has A Way”, and “Psychodrama City”) were included in the box in context.

As with most sets of its type, the earlier material vastly outweighs the later material, with the first five albums covered on the first two discs. A live radio take of “Roll Over Beethoven” sung by David Crosby isn’t much to write home about, but the real enticement was the inclusion of several Sweetheart Of The Rodeo tracks with Gram Parsons’ original vocals, as opposed to the common album tracks redubbed by McGuinn. The remainder of the discs speeds through the Clarence White era, still giving him some overdue recognition, and still sounding very different from the original incarnation of the band.

To bring it all back home, so to speak, the final 20 or so minutes of the set are given over to new recordings featuring the three senior members. Live recordings of “Turn! Turn! Turn!” and “Tambourine Man” with Bob Dylan (from a Roy Orbison tribute, of all things) are a sloppy setup for four studio tracks: a new recording of “He Was A Friend Of Mine”; the obscure Dylan cover “Paths Of Victory”; “From A Distance”, concurrently covered by Bette Midler in a Grammy-winning performance; and “Love That Never Dies", which was basically a teaser for McGuinn’s upcoming Back To Rio album. (Heralded as a comeback at the time, it hasn’t worn well, save two songs contributed by Byrds disciples: Elvis Costello’s “You Bowed Down” and Tom Petty’s “King Of The Hill”.)

Each of the Columbia albums was overhauled in the ‘90s, and most of the rarities in the box were included on their respective expansions, but it was still surprising that a second box set dedicated to the band came out a mere 16 years later. In addition to a DVD of mimed clips from the vintage era, the four discs in There Is A Season go a little wider on the history of the band, starting with six tracks from the Beefeaters and the Jet Set, a.k.a. the Byrds before they were the Byrds. Some of these were already available on various collections dubbed Preflyte, and while they have some of that harmonic charm, the pieces aren’t all there yet. More live material from the Clarence era shows their prowess, and two songs from the 1973 “reunion” move the spotlight back to Gene Clark. Yet for some reason, they choose to close with “Paths Of Victory” from 1990.

Much of the rare stuff was already covered on that first box, and is repeated on There Is A Season. As it pushed the first box into deletion, it’s the only comprehensive set available for physical purchase. There is more emphasis on Gene, but some of the swaps in the way of album tracks are questionable.

The Byrds The Byrds (1990)—4
The Byrds There Is A Season (2006)—4

Byrds 13: McGuinn, Clark & Hillman

While nobody really noticed, the influence of the Byrds managed to subtly seep through the music of the ‘70s. Crosby, Stills & Nash carried the torch on the radio and arenas, with Crosby’s old band becoming more of a footnote in his biography. The Eagles certainly picked up some of the harmonic touches, and a band called Firefall, formed from the aftermath of the Flying Burrito Brothers, had some breezy hit singles just this side of yacht rock.

So when Roger McGuinn, Chris Hillman, and Gene Clark decided to collaborate on an album, it less resembled the classic Byrds sound than the open-shirted, mildly discofied trend that was commercially viable in 1979. On paper, it could have been considered as much a Byrds album as anything released under that name after Sweetheart Of The Rodeo, but both the album and the combo were named after the three members. If you’re looking for the Byrds, this isn’t it. If you’re looking for a superstar summit, this is isn’t it either. If you long for the chime of that Rickenbacker 12-string, you’re out of luck.

The first warning sign is on the back cover, listing the Albert brothers as producers, and good ol’ Criteria Studios in Miami—Stephen Stills’ home base and knob twiddlers of choice, for his solo albums as well as the recent CSN reunion. The first sound the listener hears when dropping the needle on side one is a timbale, and sure enough there’s Joe Lala all over the mix, just like on those Stills projects. None of the three guys are credited with playing any instruments, though we can assume each played guitar, on his own songs anyway. None of the songs are credited as collaborations, which is no big deal.

Chris Hillman’s voice came a long way from being stuck in the background, so his spotlights are probably the least excruciating, but again, they sound like Firefall, which was fine for the times, but less so today. “Long Long Time” deserves further evaluation. Who knows what that nightmare intro to “Surrender To Me” is all about, but it’s also the only song none of the guys had a hand in writing. However, he is sorely to blame for “Stopping Traffic” and “Sad Boy”.

Gene Clark was arguably the best songwriter in the band, as displayed on the first two albums, but didn’t have much commercial success on his own. For a guy who was such a pioneer and harbinger of alt.country, “Little Mama”, “Feelin’ Higher”, “Backstage Pass” and “Release Me Girl” come off as generic, albeit competent adult contemporary. (There should never be a saxophone on anything approaching the Byrds, and fake audiences only ironically.)

Just as with the last get-together, McGuinn isn’t the dominant voice. Though “Don’t You Write Her Off” was the first single, and it’s got a terrific chorus, the verses are only tangentially related to it, and the steel drums are just painful. He’s redeemed by “Bye Bye Baby”, the gentle folk lullaby that ends the album, and easily the truest tribute to the legacy.

McGuinn, Clark & Hillman has its defenders, and we can respect that. Many of the people who bought this album upon release needed something to tide them over while the Eagles took their sweet time on The Long Run. In a perfect world, and in this age of revision, a “less-discofied” version of this album would be a welcome addition to the history. As for the guys themselves, they were soon down to duo without Gene, further albums were dead on arrival, and the ‘80s were virtually Byrd-free.

McGuinn, Clark & Hillman McGuinn, Clark & Hillman (1979)—2

Gene Clark 7: Two Sides To Every Story

For most of his solo career, Gene Clark’s albums had all been worth at least hearing by many more than the people who took the time to do so. But yelling into a vacuum can only do so much, and sometimes one’s creativity suffers. By the time Two Sides To Every Story came out, he’d become a footnote to the record industry, and the album didn’t help his situation any. (RSO was the label, amazingly, and they did a better job pushing the Bee Gees and Eric Clapton.) Various stellar players appear, but it was likely just another session to them.

“Home Run King” is packed with imagery that hints at social commentary, but it’s lashed to bluegrass track that just doesn’t fit. “Lonely Saturday” is a step in the right direction, but it’s a well-worn theme. After a truly and unnecessarily jaunty bounce through “In The Pines”, he barely sounds like himself on “Kansas City Southern”, though the “lonesome sound” coda has promise. It’s not until the heartbreaking “Give My Love To Marie” by James Talley that we finally have something that ranks with his best.

That mood continues on side two with his own “Sister Moon”, which features Emmylou Harris prominently in the background choir. Even the synthesizer melds nicely with the strings. A cover of “Marylou” goes back to the honky tonk songs on side one; it’s good, but it will only inspire comparison to versions by Bob Seger and Steve Miller, and no thank you. It does make “Hear The Wind” more welcome, for all its ordinariness, but that’s not a label we can put on “Past Addresses”, which has all the ingredients in the right combination. The seagull effects notwithstanding, “Silent Crusade” is a very nice “I’m sailing away” song, and ends the set nicely.

We’d like to say even one of the Two Sides To Every Story is worth hearing, but where earlier albums put a unique spin on country rock and its potential, most of what we hear is cliché and ordinary. That’s too bad for the handful of standouts, but he probably knew he couldn’t get away with an album full of downers. So it goes.

Gene Clark Two Sides To Every Story (1977)—2

Gene Clark 6: No Other

Following the fleeting Byrds reunion, the Asylum label held onto Gene Clark, still trying to establish himself as a lucrative singer-songwriter. (They also tried another supergroup with Chris Hillman, Eagles cohort J.D. Souther, and Richie Furay, late of Buffalo Springfield and Poco, fronting former members of Manassas and drummer Jim Gordon, but since we’re talking about Gene Clark here, let’s get back to him.) No Other received the red carpet treatment for its recording, relying on plenty of session cats—Russ Kunkel, Lee Sklar, Joe Lala, even the Allman Brothers’ Butch Trucks—and unlimited studio time, and was promptly ignored upon release, most likely because it didn’t sound like anything else at the time. (The glam portrait on the back cover surely didn’t help.)

It’s a wide-ranging album, beginning with the country of “Life’s Greatest Fool”, which could have fallen off of any of his other solo albums, but is soon overtaken by the backing vocals of the Blackberries. The mysterious “Silver Raven” is too long to be a hit single, but could have been nicely tackled by, say, labelmates the Eagles for some welcome radio exposure. The funky title track rumbles into the frame like the soundtrack of a blaxploitation film; the verse even bears a mild melodic similarity to Sly Stone’s “Don’t Call Me Nigger, Whitey”, while the overall spirit of later Traffic pervades. “Strength Of Strings” takes even longer to formulate, beginning with a riff that becomes something of a tribal chant that seems independent of the song itself, until it’s revealed as the bridge.

But for the clavinet, “From A Silver Phial” is more country-rock, ending in a terrific wah-wah solo by Jesse Ed Davis. “Some Misunderstanding” runs for an epic eight minutes, fulfilling the “cosmic American music” espoused by Gram Parsons, especially after the fuzz-tone violin comes in. Speaking of which, “The True One” sports a melody and picking evocative of “One Hundred Years From Now”. It’s a relatively upbeat palate cleanser for the more introspective “Lady Of The North”, which melds all the styles heard so far.

All good songs, as might be expected, with lyrics that are anything but hokey, the constant is his lonesome voice, which maintains the same welcome, weary tone no matter the backing. Fast forward 45 years, and No Other had gained a reputation as one of those lost masterpieces certain obsessives like to revere. This time, the British 4AD label—which made its bones on such icons as This Mortal Coil and the Pixies—oversaw a remastered expansion of the album, with arty packaging to match and, in the deluxe vinyl version for those with the shekels to spare, even more session outtakes on SACDs (which we didn’t know they still made) and a Blu-ray with multiple mixes including 5.1 surround. Additional tracks included alternate versions of every song on the album, plus a remake of “Train Leaves Here This Morning” from the first Dillard & Clark album, which had been also covered on the debut album by—no kidding—the Eagles a couple years before.

Gene Clark No Other (1974)—3½
2019 Expanded Edition: same as 1974, plus 9 extra tracks (Limited Deluxe Boxset adds another 11 tracks)

Roger McGuinn 2: Peace On You

Whatever charms his first solo album had didn’t translate to sales, so his label dictated that Roger McGuinn submit to someone else producing his follow-up, and probably bring in some ringers too. In addition to Al Kooper, Dan Fogelberg—who contributed a song apiece—and Flo & Eddie (the latter’s last name spelt wrong), the musicians on Peace On You included Paul Harris and Al Perkins (most recently found in Manassas), Donnie Dacus (who’d soon be found around Stephen Stills himself), and the rhythm section of Russ Kunkel and Lee Sklar (next stop: Crosby & Nash), with the whole proceedings helmed by Bill Halverson (who’d already been associated with CSN). Even the back cover included hype-style liner notes reminding the consumer who he was and what he did, basically saying his name wasn’t enough anymore.

The joke in Charlie Rich’s “Peace On You” gets lost in its arrangement, and more so because it’s the title track. The lonesome “Without You” puts a drag on the proceedings, even with Donnie Dacus soloing constantly. Dacus himself contributed “Going To The Country”, which has promise in its picking, but he didn’t bother to write a chorus. Al Kooper’s “(Please Not) One More Time” is slathered in adult contemporary pop touches, but “Same Old Sound” is mostly notable because we finally hear the trademark 12-string play a solo.

“Do What You Want To Do” is a slightly better Allman Brothers homage from Dacus, but “Together” is more lovelorn moping that seesaws between downbeat picking and ill-advised double-time choruses. “Better Change” is the Fogelberg contribution, and a lot tougher than we expected it would be. “Gate Of Horn” is a tribute to the storied Chicago folk club where he fell in love with the genre, sadly shackled to a vaudeville-style arrangement that speeds up and slows down at various points. “The Lady” finally sounds like classic McGuinn, and about time as it’s the last track.

The problem with loading the deck with all-star talent is that they swamp the tracks, so that if not for his trademark nasal twang—which does become tiresome after a while—one might not know Peace On You was a Roger McGuinn album, even on the songs he did write, usually with Jacques Levy. Instead, it resembles Stephen Stills once he started to run out of gas, and maybe the same players had something to do with it. (The eventual Sundazed reissue added a bonus track in an earlier version of “Rock & Roll Time”, which would be redone two albums later.)

Roger McGuinn Peace On You (1974)—2
2004 Sundazed reissue: same as 1974, plus 1 extra track

Roger McGuinn 1: Roger McGuinn

Maybe Roger McGuinn knew the Big Byrds Reunion wasn’t going to amount to much, as he didn’t seem to contribute much in the way of songwriting to that collective. After all, he had a solo career to kick off, and he did so mere months later with his self-titled debut. More to the point, he made sure to include all the music styles he insisted were of interest to him.

The folkie plaint of “I’m So Restless” is sheer parody, wherein he asks Bob Dylan, John Lennon, and Mick Jagger (in that order) how he should comport himself. He even got Dylan to blow harmonica on the track. For severe musical whiplash, it’s tough to beat “My New Woman”, which is basically a full Byrds reunion in a strange meter with jazz sax man Charles Lloyd honking freestyle throughout. Roger likely found “Lost My Drivin’ Wheel” on a Tom Rush album, but he did try it first with the Clarence-era Byrds. Charles Lloyd returns for “Draggin’”, which is about a drag race—complete with Bruce Johnston adding Beach Boys-style “oohs”—but upgrades it to airplanes, to the passengers’ collective horror. “Time Cube” continues the Moog experiment left dormant at the end of The Notorious Byrd Brothers, but these days it just jars against the banjo, and we always think a kettle is boiling in the background.

A timely tribute to hijacker D.B. Cooper, “Bag Full Of Money” sounds the most like countrified Byrds, and also dates from as far back as Farther Along. “Hanoi Hannah” tries to be a cutting blues about a soldier in Vietnam, but has a lot of timing issues. A children’s choir is almost never a good idea on any album, and it mars the cover of Spooner Oldham’s “Stone”, featuring the man himself on piano. Spanky MacFarlane (the singer, not the Little Rascal) joins in on the sea chanty “Heave Away”, and we stay in the islands for “M’Linda”, which sounds like something Stephen Stills would try to ape on his albums. His arrangement of “The Water Is Wide” turns the melody inside out, but David Crosby’s harmony keeps it just this side of adult contemporary.

Ultimately, Roger McGuinn is too all over the map to really impress, though there are some good parts. Occasional collaborator Jacques Levy is credited throughout, so some of the credit and blame can be shared. Like most of Roger’s ‘70s output, the album was largely ignored in the digital era, though several tracks were included on a 1991 compilation. Predictably, it was the Sundazed retro label that finally gave it a CD upgrade, complete with liner notes and two extra tracks: a solo strum through the traditional “John, John” and a full band version of Jackson Browne’s “Jamaica Say You Will”, this time where he sings it himself.

Roger McGuinn Roger McGuinn (1973)—3
2004 Sundazed reissue: same as 1973, plus 2 extra tracks

Byrds 12: Byrds

The Byrds may not have been the first supergroup, but they spawned several, most of which had splintered by the time Roger McGuinn had driven the original brand into the ground. Now that all five original members were available, they were free to reunite for a brand new album on David Geffen’s new Asylum label, carrying forth the tradition of L.A. country-rock. Simply titled Byrds, it lists the full names of the five on both the cover and the labels, lest there be any doubt.

Gene Clark had the most to gain from any boost the reunion could provide, being the least commercially successful on his own. The album opens with his “Full Circle”, an apt title thankfully not used for the album as a whole, but demonstrating how much his songs meant to the band. “Changing Heart” is country-flavored with good counterpoints. He also takes the lead on a jaunty rejig of Neil Young’s “Cowgirl In The Sand”, while “(See The Sky) About To Rain” appears a full year before Neil’s own version.

Roger’s songs are pretty thin, “Sweet Mary” being another collaboration with Jacques Levy (who’d helped with “Chestnut Mare” and a few others) and “Born To Rock & Roll” an unconvincing sentiment despite several attempts to record it over the years. His dominance over the proceedings was likely quashed by David Crosby, whose first lead vocal is on a decent waltz arrangement of Joni Mitchell’s “For Free”. For some reason he re-does “Laughing” in much the same arrangement as on his solo album, except for some Rickenbacker and other harmonies. “Long Live The King” is his only new songwriting contribution, much harsher and more forgettable than his patented stoner style.

Chris Hillman had gained a lot of confidence from the Burritos and Manassas, and contributes more mandolin than Roger does the Rickenbacker 12-string. “Things Will Be Better” is a half-decent contemporary rocker, while “Borrowing Time” is a ringer for the Grateful Dead playing Cat Stevens. (Michael Clarke contributes drums, and the fact that they’re barely noticeable is a compliment to his honed skill.)

The album was soon overlooked, and the band split again; Crosby was soon busy with trying to reform CSNY anyway. Roger was already gearing up for his solo career, finally, and Gene kept hacking away. Hillman, meanwhile, got sucked into another Buffalo Springfield hybrid on the Asylum label; the Southern-Hillman-Furay Band gave him equal billing with Eagles songwriter J.D. Souther and Richie Furay, fresh from Poco, with three former Manassas members, plus Jim Gordon on drums on the first of their two albums.

Nonetheless, Byrds is really not as bad as reviews of the time said, and certainly better than the last handful of albums released under the name. While hard to find, it gets reissued from time to time to gain new audiences and appreciation.

Gene Clark, Chris Hillman, David Crosby, Roger McGuinn, Michael Clarke Byrds (1973)—3

Gene Clark 5: Roadmaster

Even though his next album contained contributions from all five original Byrds, current Byrd Clarence White, several Flying Burrito Brothers, and even Spooner Oldham, Gene Clark had to wait over a decade for it to be released in America or even the U.K. Roadmaster was compiled from sessions going back a couple of years, effectively closing out his stillborn A&M deal.

The reunited Byrds open the album with two songs, but only the 12-string gives any hint who’s playing. Though “She’s The Kind Of Girl” is sunk by the prominent flute, “One In A Hundred” has more of the vibe, if not the substance. The Burritos are on “Here Tonight”, Chris Hillman’s harmony and Sneeky Pete’s pedal steel prominent for a sublime mix. “Full Circle Song” is another jangly gem, and would get another shot later in the year.

The title track is a sardonic workin’ musician’s lament from Spooner Oldham, but most of the album continues in the sad country-folk vein he’d been mining all along, culminating in a half-speed remake of “She Don’t Care About Time”. Even Flatt & Scruggs’ “Rough And Rocky” and the country standard “I Really Don’t Want To Know”, are slowed down to mournful paces. Of his other originals, “In A Misty Morning” is desolate but determined and “Shooting Star” deserves wider notice, though “I Remember The Railroad” is filler.

Despite all its potential, Roadmaster isn’t one of those hidden masterpieces rock snobs like to tout. Its general wimpiness makes it clear why the label didn’t want to promote it, but as a part of the larger Byrds story, it has its place, which is why we’re talking about it here. Quite simply, it sets the stage for the band’s full-fledged reunion.

Footnote: both the British release on the Edsel label, and even the eventual American release on Sundazed, which usually goes above and beyond to seem authentic, ignored artwork from the album’s original Dutch release in favor of anachronistic photos of Gene at his most Byrdsy. Like it or not, we assume the auteur picked it in the first place for a reason.

Gene Clark Roadmaster (1973)—3

Flying Burrito Bros 4: Last Of The Red Hot Burritos

The Burritos may have been done, but they still had contractual obligations. For a final tour, Chris Hillman brought in Al Perkins on pedal steel and Kenny Wertz on guitar and banjo to replace the departed Sneaky Pete and Bernie Leadon respectively, plus a couple of Wertz’s earlier bandmates, Byron Berline on fiddle and Roger Bush on upright bass. These two would be incremental in the band’s set, as heard on Last Of The Red Hot Burritos.

Released as last gasp after Hillman ran off to Stephen Stills’ Manassas project (bringing Al Perkins with him), the album presents possibly the closest thing to the original spirit of the band, melding country and rock and with a healthy supply of Hillman’s beloved bluegrass. Beginning with a sprightly romp through “Devil In Disguise”, “Six Days On The Road”, and “My Uncle”, they were facing a highly appreciative, raucous crowd. The acoustic, overtly bluegrass portion of the set includes “Dixie Breakdown”, “Don’t Let Your Deal Go Down”, and “Orange Blossom Special”, and is just as well received.

The band rocks again on “Ain’t That A Lot Of Love” and “Don’t Fight It”, which fit right in with the Memphis tracks on their first album, while a swampy take on “High Fashion Queen” is a nice diversion. Chris does a nice job singing “Hot Burrito #2”, to which Perkins thankfully adds some fuzz, and the set ends with the obscure James Carr tune “Losing Game”, which features piano that wasn’t onstage.

Last Of The Red Hot Burritos was elsewhere sweetened before release in the studio, with additional piano as well as guitar to “Orange Blossom Special”. Rick Roberts is a decent singer, but doesn’t have the same harmonic blend with Hillman as Gram Parsons had. The packaging was odd, with a gatefold that features photos of everyone who was ever in the band, and liner notes based around interviews with Gram and Sneaky Pete. It’s still a nice bookend to the band, especially if you ignore the revamped version of the group that would stumble around the late ‘70s and on. (Over the years the Burritos’ legend has only grown, but it would be another four decades before further live documents officially emerged—most notably an “authorized bootleg” from a year before Last Of The Red Hot Burritos when Bernie and Sneaky Pete were still in the band.)

The Flying Burrito Bros. Last Of The Red Hot Burritos (1972)—3
The Flying Burrito Brothers Authorized Bootleg/Fillmore East, New York, N.Y. – Late Show, November 7, 1970 (2011)—3

Byrds 11: Farther Along

Undaunted and still tied to a contract, The Byrds made another stab at a decent album almost immediately after releasing the disappointing Byrdmaniax. Farther Along is nowhere near as labored as their most recent work but, as should be obvious by now, it bears little resemblance to the band of only a few years before.

While “Tiffany Queen” puts Roger’s drawl front and center while spinning Chuck Berry riffs on his 12-string Rick, the other guys fill in most of the rest. Gene Parsons contributes “Get Down Your Life”, which has a good loping verse but unwisely goes double-time for the choruses. Clarence White sings proud and clear on the title track—which Byrd watchers probably recognized from the second Burritos album the year before—then Gene yells the truly obnoxious “B.B. Class Road”, an anthem about the crew co-written with one of their roadies. Clarence reclaims the side with “Bugler”, another pretty tearjerker about a dog.

Speaking of obnoxious, Skip Battin’s “America’s Great National Pastime” was inexplicably chosen as the album’s single. Roger returns for “Antique Sandy”, which is marred by the spacey effects on the choruses. He does a better job on “Precious Kate”, and good for Skip for letting him sing it. A plodding country arrangement of the ‘50s song “So Fine” takes up space, lifted by Skip’s decent reading of “Lazy Waters”. A brief album ends with another instrumental bluegrass workout, “Bristol Steam Convention Blues”.

The latter-day Byrds had (and have) their fans, so for them, Farther Along is a decent closure to that period. The band would stumble along for a year or so (even recording some tracks that would be added to the CD’s reissue) until McGuinn finally pulled the plug. Everyone soon found work, whether on their own or with the Flying Burrito Brothers, but Clarence’s story ended way too soon. Loading up after a pickup gig in July of 1973, he was struck and killed by a drunk driver.

The Byrds Farther Along (1971)—3
2000 CD reissue: same as 1971, plus 3 extra tracks

Gene Clark 4: White Light

While he wasn’t as prolific as his previous bandmates, it seems that whenever Gene Clark had enough songs written, they were worth recording. That’s certainly the case with White Light, often referred to as Gene Clark due the title only appearing on the labels. Produced by Jesse Davis (temporarily shedding the “Ed”), it’s a lowkey volume of understated artistry, the highly poetic songs mostly speaking for themselves without any gratuitous embellishment or kowtowing to production tricks.

The album works best when it’s just his acoustic guitar and voice, as in “With Tomorrow” and “For A Spanish Guitar”. These alternate with more country-rock fare, like “The Virgin” and the title track, where most of the solos come from his own harmonica rather than the producer’s lead guitar. The unabashed love songs “Because Of You” and “Where My Love Lies Asleep” find a happy medium, the latter very much indebted to the Stones’ “No Expectations”. One surprise is his cover of “Tears Of Rage”, the Basement Tape tune that famously opened the Band’s first album. It’s followed in the same key, tempo, and instrumentation as “1975”, which must mean something.

White Light is worth hearing if you can find it. The Sundazed label, as well as A&M, has kept it in print, and the current streaming version adds five bonus tracks from a 2002 European CD, including an alternate mix of “Because Of You” and the most staid cover of “Stand By Me” you’ll ever hear.

Gene Clark White Light (1971)—3

Flying Burrito Bros 3: The Flying Burrito Bros.

The legend—or cult, if you will—of Gram Parsons has become so pervasive in the past decades that the third album by the Flying Burrito Brothers is often overlooked, and not just by us. This simply self-titled release was recorded after Parsons was bounced from the band, but it does carry over the rest of the lineup from the previous album, with the addition of a young songwriter named Rick Roberts. While unknown at the time, he blended with Chris Hillman’s vision of the band, enough to dominate the songwriting credits on The Flying Burrito Bros.

However, the opening track is a confident take on Merle Haggard’s “White Line Fever”, led by Hillman’s weary but certain voice. The beautifully yearning “Colorado” is enough to establish Roberts as a key addition, and every alt.country band worth its salt should have this in their setlists. Hillman’s “Hand To Mouth” is barely country, but the secret weapon is guest Earl Poole Ball on the piano. “Tried So Hard” is a Gene Clark composition from his first solo album, held over from the week and a half he was in the band, while “Just Can’t Be” is a sneaky, swampy one.

Loyal Byrds always fly home to the Dylan nest, and “To Ramona” starts side two, a barn-dance waltz designed to let Sneaky Pete Kleinow explore the possibilities of his pedal steel. “Four Days Of Rain” is another winner from Roberts, and it’s not until just before the final chorus that you realize the bass plays the same note through the verses. “Can’t You Hear Me Calling” isn’t much musically, but the verses make up for it. “All Alone” works a little harder to be deeper, then Bernie Leadon’s busy banjo carries “Why Are You Crying” for a bluegrass finish over non-standard chords.

Where Burrito Deluxe sounded alternately forced and half-assed, The Flying Burrito Bros. is a solid, enjoyable blend of country rock, and a definitely a progression, if not as inventive as The Gilded Palace Of Sin. Commercially, it didn’t matter. Soon after the album failed to ignite any interest, the band scattered, with Chris Hillman going off to join Stephen Stills in Manassas, Bernie Leadon joining a new band that would be called the Eagles, and Rick Roberts carrying the Burritos brand until starting a new project called Firefall. (The drummer? Erstwhile Byrd and Burrito Michael Clarke.)

The Flying Burrito Bros. The Flying Burrito Bros. (1971)—3

Byrds 10: Byrdmaniax

Still going, the Byrds kept the same lineup together to record another album. The striking cover of molten silver faces and wacky title Byrdmaniax don’t really represent the music contained within, but then again, the band hadn’t been predictable since David Crosby was still around.

Studio veteran Larry Knechtel’s strident piano opens “Glory, Glory”, another gospel adaptation; musically it’s joyful, which is the point, but Roger’s vocal doesn’t really stir, which also keeps “Pale Blue” from catching fire. “I Trust” is a little better, but more of the same. Skip Battin takes over for the rest of side one, first on “Tunnel Of Love”, which is decorated by too many horns and female choir, then on the kitschy “Citizen Kane”, featuring a Betty Boop-styled muted trumpet and incessant woodblocks.

While based in the same novelty territory, “I Wanna Grow Up To Be A Politician” has the right mix of satire and folk to go in the plus column. Skip returns to sing “Absolute Happiness”, which succeeds without a gimmick. “Green Apple Quick Step” is another Clarence White flat-picking showcase, and we could swear there’s an accordion in there; he also sings “My Destiny”, which slows things down again. “Kathleen’s Song” is a pretty McGuinn strum, unfortunately buried under orchestral swells. Clarence gets the last word with “Jamaica Say You Will”, which predates Jackson Browne’s own version by a year, and damn if Clarence doesn’t sound like the song’s author.

Byrdmaniax wasn’t a hit, and the band would soon complain that the orchestrations had happened without their consent. That doesn’t excuse their own performances, but then again they were under a lot of pressure to create product, having lost the clout that might have enabled them to buy some time. The expanded CD that came out in the shadow of (Untitled) didn’t offer much in the way of extras, just a tepid cover of “Just Like A Woman”, a gentle alternate of “Pale Blue” and another forced vocal by Clarence on a Gene Clark song, of all things. Per tradition there’s an instrumental hidden track, this time an alternate of “Green Apple Quick Step” as a better tribute to Clarence.

The Byrds Byrdmaniax (1971)—2
2000 CD reissue: same as 1971, plus 3 extra tracks

Stephen Stills 12: Pieces

The outfit Stephen Stills called Manassas had a lot of potential, but had imploded before really reaching it. Stills and main partner Chris Hillman were increasingly distracted by their legacies and other collaborators to sustain it past the year they were together. (These ears felt Hillman was unfairly kept to second fiddle status anyway.)

So in a year when Crosby, Stills & Nash were celebrating their fortieth anniversary (and Graham Nash and Neil Young put out their own box sets), it was nice for Stills to curate a third, lost Manassas album. Pieces presents a deeper glimpse at the band’s potential, touching on all the genres they attempted to cover while they were together. It also gives more though not equal time to Hillman.

Some of these are alternate versions, but not alternate takes per se. “Witching Hour” and “Like A Fox” are absolute gems astoundingly left off the first album; “Sugar Babe” is an excellent improvement on the track from Stills’ second album, whereas “Word Game” is given an unnecessary shuffle. “Fit To Be Tied” would turn into “Shuffle Just As Bad” in a few years, while “My Love Is A Gentle Thing” had already been heard on the CSN box and was started in 1970 and finished in 1975, which doesn’t explain what it’s doing here. “High And Dry” goes from a “bluesman with my guitar” growl to a faster arrangement with what we assume is a canned audience cheering. “I Am My Brother” is Stills alone with his acoustic.

“Lies” is a rockin’ Hillman alternate, while “Love And Satisfy” shows another side of his talent. He likely leads a bluegrass detour through “Panhandle Rag”, “Uncle Pen”, and “Dim Lights, Thick Smoke (And Loud, Loud Music)”, including an alternate of “Do You Remember The Americans”, and including input from sometime Burrito Byron Berline. For contrast, the brief “Tan Sola Y Triste” instrumental fits the Latin side of the band.

Had some of these tracks made it to Down The Road, the band just might have endured longer. Or maybe not. At any rate, it’s a treat to have the material on Pieces available. Its length and quality illuminate its predecessors, and that was the point.

Manassas Pieces (2009)—3

Byrds 9: Untitled

By the turn of the decade, the band calling themselves the Byrds had become a tight unit, particularly with the addition of new bass player Skip Battin (a relic at age 35 but not enough of a Manson lookalike to scare producer Terry Melcher). And what better way to show off their prowess than with a live document?

The album called (Untitled) brings together the best of all possibilities, prefacing an album’s worth of new material with two sides recorded live. Side one begins with “Lover Of The Bayou”, a new song from an unrealized McGuinn musical. Roger sounds equally raspy on their cover of “Positively 4th Street”, keeping the Dylan connection going. He steps aside for a decent blow through “Nashville West”, and then it’s a trip to the recent past with “So You Want To Be A Rock ‘N Roll Star”, “Mr. Tambourine Man” and “Mr. Spaceman”—songs barely three years old but already sounding ages away. An experiment that shouldn’t work but does is a side-long jam on “Eight Miles High”, which fades in from somewhere, teases the riff, and explores the cosmos for thirteen minutes before the first verse. If not for the 12-string, this could be easily mistaken for any other jamming band.

The studio portion is a mixed bag, ranging from above-average country-rock to less successful experiments. The forced metaphors in the otherwise classic “Chestnut Mare” don’t improve over time, but the exhilarating chorus cannot be beat, and it remains the last great song in McGuinn’s arsenal. “All The Things” and “Just A Season” come from the same well, and deserve more attention, but “Hungry Planet”, with its distracting Moog effects, is simply not enough of an idea gone on too long.

The other guys are given moments to shine, with varying success. “Truck Stop Girl” proves that Clarence White was a much better guitarist than he was a lead singer; the mumbled delivery doesn’t help the story any. “Take A Whiff On Me” is a countrified update of a Leadbelly song about cocaine, which was likely appreciated by everybody in Laurel Canyon. Gene Parsons’ croon is well-suited for “Yesterday’s Train”, particularly when it find chord changes that don’t bring “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere” to mind. Skip Battin brought some songs in to fit the morbid mood; “You All Look Alike” is bleated by Roger from the point of view of a hippie with a gunshot wound, while “Well Come Back Home” is one of the first songs to celebrate the Vietnam veteran, though its lengthy ending (complete with Buddhist chant) should have been faded sooner.

Overall, it’s a stronger collection than the last few, and is certainly enjoyable from a playing standpoint. It also managed to escape the stigma of the bloated double album. When its turn came around to be expanded at the turn of the century, the compilers generously added several studio recordings, including superior versions of “All The Things”, “Yesterday’s Train” and “Lover Of The Bayou”, plus a take of “Willin’” (written by Lowell George, as was “Truck Stop Girl”) a full year before it appeared on the first Little Feat album. Rounding out the (Unissued) disc are more live recordings, two of which post-date the album proper, including a truncated arrangement of “It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)”. Hidden at the very end is an a cappella arrangement of “Amazing Grace”; even this far along, they were all about harmonies.

The Byrds (Untitled) (1970)—3
2000 (Untitled)/(Unissued) remaster: same as 1970, plus 14 extra tracks

David Crosby 5: Voyage

The idea of a box set devoted to David Crosby is intriguing, simply because his actual musical output has been so sparse over his long career. But in 2006 Graham Nash was still Crosby’s biggest fan, so he spearheaded the project.

Voyage manages to compile the highlights of forty years on two discs, beginning with three songs from the Byrds. While he’s credited with co-writing “Eight Miles High”, most people will notice Gene Clark’s words and Roger McGuinn’s guitar, so it’s an odd place to start for a Crosby set. The rest of the disc sails through the first two CSN albums, his solo album, and the three duo albums with Nash. The second disc has a tougher time of it, given the little of value from the ‘80s and ‘90s past “Shadow Captain” and “Delta”. Basically, one track from each solo and CSN release is justified by the copious commentary in the liner notes. Both he and Nash are more excited about the CPR albums, with five tracks included.

The third disc is titled “Buried Treasure”, and packed to capacity with demos and alternate versions. Early versions of songs from the CSN albums are interesting, including the basic demo of “Déjà Vu” with Graham that was embellished for the final album track. An alternate backing of “Cowboy Movie” with more Neil Young but the standard vocal isn’t as exciting as the “Kids And Dogs” outtake from his first solo album, while an alternate mix of “Have You Seen The Stars Tonite” from a Paul Kantner project of the same period provides some wider perspective. In a show of restraint, only two unreleased live performances with Nash appear, which leaves room for such rarities as “King Of The Mountain”, “Samurai”, and “Climber”. A lengthy live “Dream For Him” from a recent CSNY tour provides some low-key Stills-Young guitar dueling.

Anyone looking for the best of David Crosby should own all the original albums anyway, but Voyage gets by on the quality of the tracks. The rarities disc probably wouldn’t have sold as many copies on its own, so the set is recommended, and certainly enjoyable, if not absolutely essential.

David Crosby Voyage (2006)—3½

Stephen Stills 4: Down The Road

The first album under the Manassas name was teeming with music; their follow-up barely cracked a half-hour, putting the eggs-in-one-basket theory to test.

This album has been slammed over the years, and a lot of that has probably been due to Stills being everybody’s least favorite CSNY and the fact that Down The Road wasn’t Manassas (the album, not the band). While Stills continued to be the name on top and the spine, it was still a collaborative effort, with Chris Hillman a key foil, but most of the other guys pushed to the back.

Brief as it is, they can be commended for restraint, as most of the songs aren’t long enough to wear out any welcome, with the possible exception of the two Latin numbers, “Pensamiento” and “Guaguancó de Veró”. Stills’ tendency to emote in Spanish reached maximum tolerance back on “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes”, but he would not be dissuaded.

“Isn’t It About Time” and “Lies” provide a good one-two punch from Stills and Hillman respectively. The first Latin excursion gives way to a nice duet on “So Many Times”, and things don’t come back to that level until “City Junkies” in the middle of side two, despite its misleading title and off-time tambourine near the end.

The best parts of both Manassas albums would easily combine for a solid four-star collection. Instead, Down The Road was a comparative flop and the group split, Hillman taking half the band with him and Stills hovering around the possibility of another CSNY album. Or not.

Stephen Stills — Manassas Down The Road (1973)—3

Stephen Stills 3: Manassas

It should be no surprise that someone of Stephen Stills’ ego would arrive so quickly at the double album. While his name was the biggest, there were several key players collaborating, including Chris Hillman, confusing the Byrds-Buffalo Springfield family tree even further. But he’s definitely in charge, from his name twice on the front cover to his handwritten lyrics on the gigantic poster and the dreamy silhouette on the inner sleeves.

Manassas is the name of the album, as well as a catch-all moniker for the group. Basically Stills combined some of his favorite sidemen and created an album that’s much more in the spirit of playing than production. It’s a large ensemble, all credited on the cover, with several guitarists, two guys who came in with Hillman from the latter-day Flying Burrito Brothers, and the clattery percussion of Joe Lala smacking away. Now Stills could truly embrace all the music he loved, from blues to bluegrass, rock to soul.

Being a double album, each side is denoted as a specific suite. Side one, or “The Raven”, connects five songs without a break, mostly Southern California rockin’ boogie. Song Of Love” has lots of electric piano and dirty slide going from speaker to speaker. “Rock & Roll Crazies” is a little slower, segueing in the second half to “Cuban Bluegrass”, then “Jet Set (Sigh) is even slower than that, owing a bit of a debt to Joe Walsh. If you wanted more cowbell, “Anyway” offers that plus a growled vocal from Joe Lala. Something of a departure arrives at the end of the side with “Both Of Us (Bound To Lose)”, sung by Hillman and Stills over a melody borrowed from Neil Young’s “The Loner”, ending with a salsa jam.

With its country touches, the side dubbed “The Wilderness” must have thrilled Hillman no end, beginning with the bluegrass “Fallen Eagle” hiding an anti-war lyric. Despite the piety, “Jesus Gave Love Away For Free” sounds like one of CSN’s better moments, while the sublime “So Begins The Task” really should have been theirs. “Colorado” also sports some wonderful harmonies, particularly in the unexpected chorus modulation. “Hide It So Deep” is hokey country, complete with twang and a hint of syrup, while “Don’t Look At My Shadow” has something of a shaggy dog quality.

Side three, or “Consider”, is the strongest, beginning with “It Doesn’t Matter”, sung in close harmony and sporting a tasty Stills solo over vibes. “Johnny’s Garden” is a simple appreciation of the simple life (supposedly inspired by the same man who would be the basis of Peter Sellers’ character in Being There), while Hillman had been trying to record the tricky “Bound To Fall” for years. Even the appearance of a Moog here and on “Move Around” works as color without crowding. “How Far” is a standard Stills strum that echoes his first two solo albums. Bill Wyman appears on “The Love Gangster”, and gets co-writing credit. Allegedly he liked hanging around so much that he offered to join the band, which in hindsight was probably just as well.

Side four insists that “Rock & Roll Is Here To Stay”, and who are we to argue? “What To Do” is nearly sunk by the mushmouthed verses (which frankly remind us of McCartney’s “Long Haired Lady” and do not rock) but the chorus is still killer. “Right Now” has all the tension to nicely balance the lopiness of the rest of the album. At eight minutes, “The Treasure” (pointedly subtitled “Take One”) has all the potential to be overblown, but manages to keep churning without flagging, even through the extended coda. And on the closing “Blues Man”, Stills doesn’t dare put himself on the same level of those to whom he’s paying tribute.

As long as it is (over seventy minutes) Manassas provides quite a bit of quality, while cramming in each of Stills’ pet styles. It’s also a nice throwback to a time when an album could be experienced as a set of sides, rather than in one big chunk. On CD (or via stream) the listener isn’t as tasked with flipping and swapping discs, but that’s not to say it rivals, say, Exile On Main St. for an enhanced experience when listening to it all straight through without pause. It could easily have been reduced for a really tight single LP, but excess ruled the day.

Stephen Stills Manassas (1972)—3