Posts Tagged ‘The Byrds’

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The fifth album from the grandfathers of American jangle guitar doesn’t have the notoriety or hits of Mr. Tambourine Man or Turn! Turn! Turn! Still, it may be the light heavyweight champion of their catalog, pound for pound the strongest punch of the bunch. That’s an especially impressive claim if you know the band’s chaos of the day. Notorious, indeed: Founding guitarist David Crosby was fired over their recording of Carole King’s “Goin’ Back” (ironically, this album’s only single), and Michael Clarke and Gene Clark eventually ping-ponged their way out the door too. Roger McGuinn and Chris Hillman managed to expertly fill in the gaps with session musicians and production wizardry, outfitting their folk rock with trappings of the baroque and psychedelia—found and generated noises, poppy saxophone, the occasional sludgy riff, even early adoption of the Moog synthesizer.

The Notorious Byrd Brothers saw the band and producer Gary Usher making extensive use of a number of studio effects and production techniques, including Phasing, flanging and the introduction the sound of the pedal steel guitar into their music for the first time on the album, making it  alsoone of the first album releases on which the Moog appears.

The Notorious Byrd Brothers rings out like a glorious chiming bell and remains one of the band’s most loved albums. Its consistency is amazing, with one song after another bending one’s mind and inducing a smile. “Artificial Energy” kicks things off in fine style. Co-written by McGuinn, Hillman and Clarke, it’s a perfect album opener. The last song recorded for the album, it bursts forth with punchy horns and driving drums. Yes, it’s about speed, and it’s safe to say the lyrics probably wouldn’t fly today: “I’m coming down off amphetamine, and I’m in jail cause I killed a queen.”

The band’s take on Carole King and Gerry Goffin’s “Goin’ Back” is perhaps the definitive version of the song. Elsewhere, “Natural Harmony” and “Draft Morning” bask in pure beauty. (Chris Hillman’s role as composer really began to expand on Notorious, as he co-wrote eight of this LP’s 11 tracks.) Another Goffin/King song, “Wasn’t Born To Follow” offered here in all of its countrified glory – would later feature in the movie Easy Rider.

“Get to You” and “Old John Robertson” are both country-tinged numbers that glow of the era they sprang from, while “Change Is Now” is one of the band’s most beautiful songs without question, and its jingle-jangle guitars resonate for the ages.

“Tribal Gathering” has David Crosby written all over it. He and Hillman worked up this two-minute gem in homage to the “Gathering of the Tribes” festival held earlier that year in San Francisco. “Dolphin’s Smile” conjures up its own psychedelic aquatic adventure over just two minutes, before the album ends on an eerie note with “Space Odyssey.” A otherworldly drone set to a sea shanty waltz, the track is driven by a swirling wash of keyboards and guitars.

David Crosby was fired by McGuinn and Hillman in October 1967, as a result of friction arising from, among other things, Crosby’s displeasure at the band’s wish to record the song “Goin’ Back”. David Crosby felt that recording the song was a step backwards artistically, especially when the band contained three active songwriters. Another factor that contributed to Crosby’s dismissal was his controversial song “Triad”, a risqué composition about a menage a trois , The song was in direct competition with “Goin’ Back” for a place on the album.  Crosby eventually gave the tune to the Jefferson Airplane , who included a version of the song on “Crown Of Creation” Although the Byrds did record “Triad”, the song’s daring subject matter compelled McGuinn and Hillman to prevent it from being released at the time.

The results feel particularly transfused into the body of R.E.M.’s Document, and suggest multiple points in the soundtracks of Wes Anderson’s filmography.

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The Byrds released their third LP “Fifth Dimension” the highly influential, albeit transitional, album released on July 18th, 1966. Most of the album was recorded following the February 1966 departure of the band’s principal songwriter Gene Clark so the majority of the songwriting went to guitarists Jim McGuinn and David Crosby. Even with the two writing, they recorded four cover versions and an instrumental. It was however the first by The Byrds not to include any songs written by Bob Dylan, whose material had previously been a mainstay of the band’s repertoire.

Fifth Dimension was widely regarded as the band’s most experimental album to date and is today considered influential in originating the musical genre of psychedelic rock with tracks like Eight Miles High and Mr Spaceman. It was also the first time the bands logo appeared with the psychedelic artwork.

Arguably the most famous song on the album was “Eight Miles High”, an early excursion into psychedelic rock. Musically, the song was a fusion of John Coltrane influenced guitar playing courtesy of lead guitarist then Jim McGuinn and the raga based musical structure and vocals, inspired by the the Indian music of Ravi Shanker. Written mostly by Gene Clark in November 1965, while The Byrds were on tour in the U.S., the song was pivotal in transmuting folk rock into the new musical forms of psychedelia and raga rock. Regardless of its innovative qualities, however, many radio stations in the U.S. banned the record citing the title to be a reference to recreational drug use ,The song’s lyrics actually pertained to the approximate cruising altitude of commercial airliners and the group’s first visit to London during their 1965 English tour

Happy 51st Birthday to The Byrds LP “Fifth Dimension”!!


They started out as a folk-rock band equally influenced by the Beatles and Bob Dylan. But it didn’t take long for other artists outside of the usual pop confines to creep into their music. The Byrds’ first two albums  “Mr. Tambourine Man” and “Turn Turn Turn” , both released in 1965 included expertly played folk-rock songs, an instrumental distinction thanks to Roger McGuinn’s 12-string guitar sound and lots of Dylan covers. But by 1966’s “Fifth Dimension” , they were ready to move on.

The album’s centerpiece was “Eight Miles High,” inspired by Indian sitar master Ravi Shankar and free-jazz legend John Coltrane, and included a guitar solo that was as close to avant-garde improvisation as mainstream music got in 1966. It tested the waters for the Byrds’ next record, “Younger Than Yesterday”, which was released in February 1967.

Fifth Dimension had been the group’s first real psychedelic piece, but “Younger Than Yesterday” is the more accomplished album, a record of wild experimentation that was worlds away from the jingle-jangle rings of “Mr. Tambourine Man.” From the backward tapes and raga influences to the horns and, in a sign of things to come, down-home country rhythms that grace a couple of the songs, the album found the band working with new producer Gary Usher for the first time at its creative peak. The mind-tripping “C.T.A.-102,” a song about extraterrestrial life that uses an electronic oscillator to make its point, pretty much sums things up.

All but one of Younger Than Yesterday‘s 11 songs were written by a band member this time (the lone exception was another Dylan cover, “My Back Pages” this time). Gene Clark, the group’s most prolific songwriter, left the band before Fifth Dimension‘s release, though he did contribute to “Eight Miles High” and a few songs leading up to that LP’s sessions.

The album also marked the emergence of the band’s bass player Chris Hillman as a talented songwriter and vocalist, He turned out to be the standout writer on the Byrds’ fourth album, composing four songs on his own and one with McGuinn, the album-opening single “So You Want to Be a Rock ‘n’ Roll Star” (which included a trumpet solo by South African musician Hugh Masekela, another sign of the band’s burgeoning influences outside of their roots). David Crosby who was kicked out of the band the next year, also wrote four songs.

The Byrds’ move toward country which would become closer with their next album, The Notorious Byrd Brothers , until their full-on embrace of the genre with the classic “Sweetheart Of The Rodeo”, all began here. Hillman, who’d go on to the Flying Burrito Brothers with Gram Parsons, following his one-album gig with the Byrds, was a major architect of their sound moving forward.

His contributions to Younger Than Yesterday which was recorded in less than two weeks at the end of 1966 helped shape the album and the band’s future. He had a hand in the album’s two best songs — “So You Want to Be a Rock ‘n’ Roll Star” and “Have You Seen Her Face” and provided the foundation for what came next. But the Byrds were still a group, even if they were falling apart, and Crosby’s jazzier, more challenging entries can’t be discounted. It was his growing interest in more worldly music that took the Byrds into more unconventional territory here.

The three singles pulled from Younger Than Yesterday didn’t get higher than No. 29; “My Back Pages” would be their last trip to the Top 40.  Although it was largely overlooked by the public at the time of its release, the album’s critical standing has improved over the years and today Younger Than Yesterday is considered to be one of The Byrds‘ best albums. The title of Younger Than Yesterday is derived from the lyrics of “My Back Pages”, a song written by Bob Dylan, which was covered on the album.

The Byrds

The Byrds have had bigger hit songs like their recording of Bob Dylan’s Mr. Tambourine Man which reached number one, as did their cover of Pete Seger’s Turn! Turn! Turn! but among the band’s self-penned tunes, none are more enduring, or as misunderstood, as Eight Miles High.

Released in 1966, “Eight Miles High” has been called the first psychedelic rock song. However, Roger McGuinn, who wrote the track with fellow Byrds members Gene Clark and David Crosby, disagrees. “It’s a unique song, sure,” he says, “but psychedelic wasn’t something we were trying for. It’s a big misunderstanding. If anything, I consider it to be the first jazz-rock song, or even jazz-fusion. But psychedelic? No, I wouldn’t call it that.”

McGuinn also dispels the widely held notion that “Eight Miles High” refers to drugs, the idea of which got the song banned on radio stations. In addition, he talks about the influence that Ravi Shankar and John Coltrane had on him during the writing of the track, along with how the version of the song that millions of listeners have heard over the years isn’t really the one the band intended to release. We Recorded it at RCA with Dave Hassinger as the engineer, but Columbia Records had a strict policy that they only used their house engineers, so we had to re-record it. It became a real sticking point between us and the label. So, in fact, we really did have kind of a demo—the RCA version is the demo. We went to the Columbia studios and redid it. Both versions are pretty good. I think the first one has more spontaneity, and the second one is better rehearsed.

We’d been doing pot and LSD at that point—everybody was experimenting with things. There wasn’t anything deliberate or intentional about that in the title. I didn’t really mean anything by it, except for the airplane trip to England that we’d been on. It was more about the trip than the drugs. The only drug reference is the word “high.”

We flew over to England—it was our first time there, our first concert tour—and a promoter had called us “America’s answer to the Beatles.” That’s a hard label to live up to. It’s all right for the studio, but it’s not so great on stage. The press was already out to get us, and we got bad reviews for the tour.

We did get to meet the Beatles—George, John and Paul. I don’t remember Ringo being around. Paul even drove us around to different gigs. I got to ride in his Aston Martin DB5, which was a thrill. Lennon asked me about my little glasses. He was interested in them because he wore prescription glasses, but he didn’t want to wear them on stage like Buddy Holly. From that standpoint, it was a great tour—well, except for myself getting the flu.

After coming home, Gene had some chord changes—the E minor, the G and the D. We started to write a song about the tour, but then I said, “Let’s make it about the airplane ride.” I’ve always been into airplanes and technology. Gene was kind of afraid of planes, but we decided to do that—make it about the plane ride. He asked me, “How high do you thing this plane flies?” And I said, “Maybe 39,000 feet”—that would be seven miles high.

At the time, the Beatles had a song called Eight Days a Week, so Gene thought eight was a cooler number than seven. I said, “Sure, let’s change it. Poetic license—who’s gonna care?” I didn’t think that the radio stations would do the math. The DJs said, “Commercial airlines don’t fly eight miles high. They must be talking about some other kind of high.”

‘Incapable of divesting his work of resonance and beauty’ … Gene Clark.

1. Echoes
Having midwifed the more exhilarating variety of psychedelia as the co-writer of Eight Miles High, Gene Clark left the Byrds in early 1966 a move triggered, in a much noted irony, by a fear of flying. The following year came Gene Clark with the Gosdin Brothers, a glorious countrified psych-pop album, and more than distinctive and original enough to establish him as a major act in his own right. In a decision probably more clumsy than malicious, but one that prefigured the misfortunes of Clark’s entire subsequent career, Columbia Records timed its release in direct competition with his old band’s Younger Than Yesterday, on the same label, and it tanked. Its lambent, artfully scored opening track, taking a stately stroll through the twisting paths of inner space, was perfect for its moment. Alas, its moment never got to hear it.

2. So You Say You Lost Your Baby
Lost love was Clark’s creative engine; his former bandmates had always looked forward to his turbulent personal life going awry, because of the songs they’d get out of it. This hallucinatory stormer, also from his debut LP, is an urgent, pounding, organ-driven (in several senses) account of the tripped-out mind as much as the cracked-open heart. Clarke was a superb vocalist, one who merits consideration alongside Scott Walker and Nina Simone. As a lyricist, he needed to be heard rather than read; his ornate, often mystical and sometimes overwrought writing can fall flat on the page, but it soars on record.

3. Polly
Ever ahead of a game he somehow always ended up losing, Clark had included country and bluegrass on his first album, well before the Byrds recruited Gram Parsons and recorded Sweetheart of the Rodeo. Two years on, he teamed up with bluegrass banjo maestro Doug Dillard, and a band including future Eagle Bernie Leadon plus other leading sidemen of the new country-rock movement, for a splendid pair of rootsy albums, The Fantastic Expedition of Dillard & Clark and Through the Morning, Through the Night. Their quality and influence would later be acknowledged with the inclusion of two songs from the latter on Robert Plant and Alison Krauss’s 2007 Americana hit, Raising Sand. One was the title track, the other, this. Dillard and Clark’s haunted, gorgeous original is slow, clear, stark and heavy with longing – country music’s primary emotion, for which Clark, with his rich, tempered vibrato and yearning lyricism, had a particular affinity.

Byrds of a feather … Gene Clark (second right) with the Byrds in an overliteral London photoshoot in August 1965.

4. The Virgin
In 1971, Bob Dylan was the elephant in every singer-songwriter’s room, and he was bound to loom particularly large when the room belonged to a former Byrd. Clark was always too singular, too idiosyncratic, to be a straight-up Dylan imitator, which is perhaps why Dylan, who unjustly scoffed at Donovan, held him in such high regard. The plain, folky, largely acoustic album White Light was as close as Clark ever came to sincere flattery of Dylan – and while it wasn’t all that close, it stands among the finest of that era’s many records unmistakably beholden to the master. On opening track The Virgin, the measured, honeyed, philosophical tale of a girl in the big city, his inflection veers towards Dylan’s – but he never gives himself over to pastiche. Nor would he ever, even when it might have benefited him. Perhaps he genuinely didn’t know how.

5. She Don’t Care About Time
Clark often reworked his own songs. His later versions of Feel a Whole Lot Better and Train Leaves Here This Morning are wonderful, but this is the ne plus ultra of his revisions. Still feeling his way around country rock on the recordings that would be collected on the Roadmaster album, in 1972 he turned to a classic he wrote for the Byrds, the epitome of all things jangly, and rendered it something else entirely. Baroque and suffused with tenderness and wonder, it is one of those overwhelming tracks devotional not only in a romantic but in a quasi-religious sense. The best known such number is, perhaps, the Beach Boys’ God Only Knows – and you wouldn’t want to live on the difference between that and this. It was also a foretaste of what Clark would do next.

6. Life’s Greatest Fool
What Clark did next was produce one of the greatest albums ever made. No Other (1974) eventually became synonymous with the phrase “lost masterpiece”. Initially celebrated for its obscurity – it was deleted by Asylum in 1976, reissued in 1991, then given the bells-and-whistles treatment in 2003 – it is now celebrated for its magnificence. It was in every way a magnum opus: epic, sprawling, poetic, choral, rococo. It cost a small fortune to record, and the already erratic Clark never got over its commercial failure. Its opening song is an exuberant, foot-tapping country-gospel anthem stuffed with counterculture folk wisdom, its downbeat lyric defied by its pure joie de vivre.

7. No Other
Gram Parsons, in some ways a parallel figure to Clark, had a vision of a cosmic American music; Clark lived to fashion one of his own. The title track of his masterwork pulses, glows and rattles in a thrilling meld of country and funk, gospel and rock, with echoes of the Family Stone, Staple Singers, Gimme Shelter and Abbey Road (Anglophilia being a strain unacknowledged in Americana, but not by Clark). It’s unique not only in his own catalogue but perhaps in all of pop music.

8. Some Misunderstanding
Here it is: the centrepiece of the No Other album and indeed of Clark’s career: a slow, eight-minute cry from the heart, reflecting on the perils and pleasures of a life lived too extravagantly. For Clark, who would surely have recognised William Blake as a spiritual progenitor, the road of excess had at last brought him to the palace of wisdom – and what a palace his is. It is a song to be dwelt in, to walk about within, exploring its chambers, curlicues and turrets. It is in most ways the antithesis of his sharp, concise writing of a decade previously, yet what stayed with Clark throughout was soul and soulfulness.

9. All I Want
Come the 80s, Tom Petty and REM were making the Byrds’ 60s sound fashionable again. In 1982 Clark recorded what would be released two years later as the Firebyrd album (later expanded and issued in the UK as This Byrd Has Flown). Again, circumstances (and perhaps self-sabotage) conspired against him; even when blatantly courting the main chance and invoking his past at every turn, he couldn’t catch a break. All I Want sounds like a prototype for later, poppy hits by the Traveling Wilburys and former bandmate Roger McGuinn; an updated, 80s-style Byrds. It is, by Clark’s standards, facile, a plaintive courtship of radio play. Yet it illustrates how he was quite incapable of divesting what he did of resonance and beauty.

10. Gypsy Rider
In 1986, five years before his drug- and alcohol-hastened death at 46, Clark recorded his final studio album, So Rebellious a Lover, with the roots singer Carla Olson. It includes this lovely piece, in the traditions both of biker and rambling-man’s-gotta-be-free songs. Yet it’s a world away in spirit from Born to Be Wild or Free Bird. It is as sorrowful a motorcycle tune as you’ll ever hear, and it invokes an almost unbearable sadness at the prospect of leaving yet another love. “She should have known by now / You’re just a vagabond,” laments Clark. “You may never pass this way again.” It is easy to read too much into words in hindsight, but it truly does sound as if he is performing his own elegy.

When Gram Parsons’ name is mentioned, it is often done so in association with those more well-known artists he influenced, such as The Byrds, who took Parsons’ lead during his brief tenure in the band for their groundbreaking album “Sweetheart Of The Rodeo”, or The Rolling Stones, whose admiration for Parsons shined through in their own forays into country music in the early ’70s.

Yet the recorded evidence of Parsons’ genius is frustratingly finite. As Keith Richards wrote in a tribute for Rolling Stone about his buddy, “I think he was just getting into his stride when he died. His actual output — the number of records he made and sold — was pretty minimal. But his effect on country music is enormous. This is why we’re talking about him now. But we can’t know what his full impact could have been.”

Luckily, in addition to his work with the Flying Burrito Brothers, Parsons made a pair of stellar solo albums before he died in 1973 that make clear why he is so revered. From “Grievous Angel”, the second of those albums which was released posthumously in 1974, came “$1,000 Wedding,” which stands as one of the saddest songs in history even though nobody is quite sure what transpires in it. Enigmatic though it may be, it demonstrates Parsons’ ability to add idiosyncratic touches to traditional material and perform it in mesmerizing fashion.

With a solemn piano tiptoeing in to begin the arrangement, Parsons starts his tale about a groom left standing at the altar under mysterious circumstances. All the narrator offers is that “the young bride went away.” Parsons makes things even more difficult to parse by switching haphazardly from third-person to first-person narrative. He hints at the protagonist’s friends perhaps joining him in some deception (“And he felt so bad when he saw the traces/Of old lies still on their faces”), but he never lets us know just what.

Most confounding of all, the narrator seems at times to be at the scene of a wedding gone awry and at others to be in the midst of a funeral. Certainly Parsons is toying with our expectations here and the fact that the most celebratory day in one’s life is held in the same location as the saddest. Parsons also takes country clichés like the mean mother-in-law and the preacher spewing fire and brimstone and balances them with the honest and raw sadness of the narrator, evident in his woeful delivery of the song’s closing couplet: “Supposed to be a funeral/It’s been a bad, bad day.”

For the record, this writer’s opinion is that the events being described are two separate occasions which the narrator jumbles into a single song. She initially did leave him at the altar, likely due to some sort of indiscretion he committed, hence his regret and wish to be put to sleep like the beasts in the preacher’s sermon. He’s there also for the girl’s funeral, perhaps not as fully attended as the wedding, which explains his concern that there isn’t the proper fanfare to mourn her.

Of course, you can take that interpretation with a grain of salt and blow it all into the Hickory Wind. What’s so great about “$1,000 Wedding” is that you can feel it plenty even if you don’t fully understand it. And what’s great about  is that he left us songs that are somehow as potent and vast as the shadow he cast on the music world.

The original band “The Byrds” consisted of Jim McGuinn , Gene Clark, David Crosby , Chris Hillman , and Michael Clarke. Photo circa 1965 . They had a string of successful hits as they made the transformation from folk-rock to a more psychedelic outfit. We all loved their early stuff. “Mr. Tambourine Man” “Turn! Turn! Turn! along with the self-penned originals, like “I’ll Feel a Whole Lot Better”, & “Eight Miles High”, and this one from 1967… one of my favorites songs ever.
If you haven’t already, check out today’s “Poster From The Past” that the Byrd are headlining over at Professor Poster‘s page!

So you want to be a rock’n’roll star Then listen now to what I say Just get an electric guitar And take some time and learn how to play And when your hair’s combed right and your pants fit tight It’s gonna be all right Then it’s time to go down town Where the agent men won’t let you down Sell your soul to the company Who are waiting there to sell plastic ware And in a week or two if you make the charts The girls will tear you apart What you pay for your riches and fame Was it all a strange game You’re a little insane The money that came and the public acclaim Don’t forget what you are You’re a rock’n’roll star


A cool vintage poster from Professor Poster:

A departure from the usual style of poster that the very talented artist, (and former wife of Bill Graham) Bonnie MacLean offers up for today’s “Poster From The Past”. The poster’s central image is of a human face with an American flag waving just in front of it. There is also part of a hand, a rooster and a figure playing a guitar. At the bottom, a small face peers out from behind a flower. There are birds as well as flowers also throughout this collage of pastel colors that smoothly blend together on a black background.

It was 46 years ago on this day back in 1967, an INCREDIBLE dance/concert took place with The Byrds, The Electric Flag and BB King, playing at The Fillmore Auditorium.. what a line-up! The following two nights the venue switched over to the Winterland Arena just a couple of blocks away. Light show performed by Holy See! This is BG Fillmore poster number #96 in the old series and was printed just one time.


Triad” is a song written by David Crosby in 1967 about a ménage à trois, a subject perfectly in keeping with the “free love” and hippie philosophies of the day. The song was written while Crosby was a member of the rock band The Byrds, who were at that time recording their fifth studio album, “The Notorious Byrd Brothers“. 

On this studio demo above of the song recorded by just Crosby and his Martin guitar its a softer acoustic demo of this song…recorded at a studio in Hollywood, he came in barefoot with a guitar straped across his back…and I set up 2 for him and one for his Martin, and he just did it . 

Although the band did record “Triad” and perform it live during a September 1967 engagement at the Whisky a Go Go, it was eventually not included on the final release of “The Notorious Byrd Brothers” album.  According to Crosby, Roger McGuinn and Chris Hillman felt that its subject-matter was too controversial with McGuinn allegedly deriding the song as a “freak-out orgy tune. However, this has since been denied by Hillman who has stated “I don’t think it was a moral decision. The song just didn’t work that well. David Crosby was drifting and bored and he wanted to do something else, and that song just added fuel to the fire. “Notorius Byrd Bros” would have broke big if they had kept this song and ditched that awful opening track “Artificial Energy” …..Triad was perfect for its time and would have put the Byrds right back at cutting edge status. I think the exclusion of this song from Notorious was the nail in the coffin for his days as a Byrd. And his behavior at Monterey didn’t help or his guesting with the Springield there didn’t help. Or his being adamant against ‘Goin’ Back’ being on Notorious. Regardless, David had emerged as a writer of great skill and his songs needed to be heard. They were and still are!  – Although the decision to keep this song off the Notorious LP may have played a minor role, it was the power struggle between McGuinn and Crosby that led to David’s dispatch from the group.

There had been growing animosity between Crosby and the rest of the band throughout 1967. Tensions had arisen from several factors, including Crosby’s displeasure over the band’s wish to record the GoffinKing composition Goin’ Back, his fraternization with fellow L.A. musicians, and his controversial remarks to the audience during The Byrds’ performance at the Monterey Pop Festival. These factors, along with the discord over “Triad”, contributed to McGuinn and Hillman’s decision to fire Crosby in October 1967. Crosby then gave the song to Jefferson Airplane, who recorded it on their 1968 album,Crown of Creation.  Airplane did it after the Byrds told Crosby they were not going to include it on their next album.  He got pissed off and gave it to airplane. 

A Live version of the song “Triad” was later included on Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young‘s 1971 album, 4 Way Street
David Crosby certainly shone more brightly as a solo artist with CSN; but the Byrds moved on to pioneer the genre of Country-Rock which, despite the insulting lack of recognition from the industry today, ultimately shaped the future of the Country music genre.
Also here is a version of “Triad” by the Icicle Works it is great!  the band recorded “Triad” as a medley with another Byrds’ song, Chestnut Mare, on the 1989 Byrds’ tribute album Time Between – A Tribute to The Byrds.
‘Why should we all stop at three’ . Now that’s a good last line for the song!
Fantastic song.

Gene Clark & Roger McGuinn – Full Concert Recorded Live: 3/4/1978 – Capitol Theatre (Passaic, NJ) This is a very fine set, good songs from Gene Clark and Roger McGuinn who also played together in The Byrds and some very fine covers, among them three Bob Dylan songs are included.

1 – Release Me Girl
2 – Silver Raven
3 – Don’t You Write Her Off
4 – Jolly Roger
5 – Chestnut Mare
6 – Crazy Ladies
7 – You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere
8 – Lover Of The Bayou
9 – Train Leaves Here This Morning
10 – Mr. Tambourine Man
11 – Bag Full Of Money
12 – Turn! Turn! Turn! (To Everything There Is A Season)
13 – Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door
14 – So You Want To Be A Rock ‘N’ Roll Star
15 – Eight Miles High
16 – Band Exit

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