Fly Away With Them Byrds, Johnny And Mary Come Lately's...

 

Alright, some folks are checking out some of the alt Byrds albums that I've done..but instead of going into the original posts...and then maybe in a couple of days some others...here's the deal I'm proposing. Call it the box set deal. In this here post you get a chance to snap up the entire Byrds Alt Album Series of the One Buck Guy plus the companion album Twilight. That's six alt albums, covering the period from Sweetheart Of The Radio onwards to the end of The Byrds with the self-titled Asylum album in 1973. One Hundred Years From Now, the Sweetheart Alt, now has the correct, Farq-ised artwork. And of course, as virtual liner notes, you have lots of reading material in the original posts to go along with listening to the albums.

So, what a deal, right?! (Especially for Newbies around here). Get the entire alt Byrds library in one fell swoop. And make OBG's download link-renewing life easier, also in one fell swoop. Everybody wins! So, grab those Byrds and fly away...

PS: So those last days I have been busy updating download links for old posts, but new music isn't far behind, promised! Be back tomorrow for music involving a British band named after their rhythm section...

The Byrds come full circle, now even more in style...

At long last, we come to the end of the Byrds' twilight years, and the end of my associated series of alternate albums, chronicling the band's adventures from the recruitment of Gram Parsons in late 1967 to the last album to wear the Byrds name. When Asylum announced that the classic five-piece line-up of the original Byrds would reunite and record an album, expectations were flying high. Way too high, as it turns out. When the record came out and was passable, rather than great, critics came down hard on the adventure. Of course, by 1973 things had changed so much that any direct continuation of where the band had stopped in 1966 would have been illusory. There was no return to innocence. Nor was such a thing ever planned. The reunited band was a band only in the absolute loosest sense of the term. With all of them (besides Michael Clarke, who was just happy to be there and collect a sizable check) having eyes and attention on other projects and David Crosby thanks to Crosby, Stills & Nash having risen to a status of immense power, the get together was modeled like the latter, a semi-recurring side adventure while everyone else was also doing their solo careers and projects. 

Since everyone was still tied into other things when David Geffen initiated the Byrds reunion (McGuinn was wrapping up with the CBS Byrds and Hillman with Manassas), there was little time spent rehearsing and playing with each other, not to mention collaborating or co-songwriting. When the not very inspiringly titled Byrds came out, the album sold well, returning the band to the Top 50 in the album charts after Farther Along's abysmal performance, but the critics savaged the record. It seemed a trifle, bereft of inspiration or conviction, a record made by a bunch of rock stars to make themselves richer, employing an affable but ultimately disppointing country rock sheen on a number of pedestrian songs. 

The album also bore all the hallmarks of a compromise due to egos and old war wounds involved. As this was more or less Crosby's project (as the official producer), he had not very subtly sidelined old foe Roger McGuinn. McGuinn gets a mere two lead vocals and is completely absent from the b-side of the album. The greatest beneficiary of the old McGuinn-Crosby grudge was Gene Clark who - as a sort of neutral person in the middle - got four lead vocals, including on the two Neil Young songs on the album. Hillman had deliberately brought his worst songs, basically two outtakes from Manassas' Down The Road sessions, and kept his better compositions for a future solo album, feeling the others were doing the same. 

Now, obviously I don't share all the gripes with the album, it is much better than it is generally given credit for. The playing and singing at times is marvelous and does remind you of the magic of the original Byrds. But the strains of ego-soothing and the lack of effort or good will from some members do show, as the album could and should have been better. There is some really good stuff on the album, but 'really good stuff' wasn't what people wanted, they wanted the genius and adventurous attitude they associated with The Band That Started It All. But the makings of a good album are there, and with some care and some little twisting and fixing we might just get there. So, let's take a look back towards the end of the recording of the album and how things might have turned out differently and better: 

The sessions had proceed as planned, with producer Crosby paying little mind to the classic Byrds sound and due to old grudges actively trying to minimize McGuinn’s contributions. The fate of the project changes during a playback meeting with David Geffen. Geffen is flabbergasted by what he hears, remarking “This doesn’t sound like the fuckin’ Byrds”. When Crosby wants to give him the old spiel about the band changing and evolving, Geffen wants to hear none of it. ”Where’s McGuinn?” he asks, after realizing that the voice most associated with the Byrds is missing in action for three quarters of the album. So Geffen wonders about how to get a product that is more to his liking and, more importantly, distinctly more Byrds-ian. Scheduling new sessions with the group members, who are all off to other obligations proves impractical, if not impossible. An off the cuff remark from McGuinn about how “back then, we sounded like the Byrds” referring to the sessions for an aborted Gene Clark single in 1970 sparks an idea in Geffen’s mind. 

He contacts Jim Dickson to find out more about possible Byrds and Byrds-ian tracks in A&M’s vaults, falling in love with the “She’s the Kind Of Girl/One In A Hundred” single that wasn’t. Dickson also points him to an outtake from Gene Clark’s Roadmaster album sessions, a recut version of “She Don’t Care About Time” that prominently features McGuinn, to the point where his co-lead with Gene is essentially a lead vocal. Seeing how that track never featured on a Byrds album, Geffen licenses it, together with the two tracks that the Byrds cut in 1970 (all recording separately, but still). To make space on the album, Crosby is asked to drop one of his compositions, which he refuses, to no avail. “Long Live The King” is dropped, Crosby’s complaints about the album now being unbalanced remain unheard, with Gene Clark – who brought the strongest material in the first place – profiting even more from the reconfiguration, getting 50 % of the lead vocals. Perhaps a quiet make-up gesture for the shabby way his material was pushed off the first albums (and the shabby way he was pushed out of the band). The new album features a much more prominent Byrds-ian sound and a better distribution of McGuinn’s presence throughout the album.

And so this is what Full Circle - once the working title for the album, but abandoned because Clark hadn't written it for the occasion and didn't want it to come off that way - is. A better version, and a more Byrds-ian album to end the band's run on a higher note. Having the tracks in place, off to the sequencing: Since Gene Clark gets half of the leads (obviously wouldn't have happened in real life, but quality trumps real life here), his tracks are put to alternate with every one else's and the re-instated title track would obviously lead things off. Since I wanted a punchy opening, next is Chris' "Things Will Be Better", which is actually a really nice power-pop number that doesn't deserve the auto-derision its author retrospectively put on it ("Awful stuff."). Then it's time to meet head Byrd Roger, even if "Born To Rock'n'Roll" stays a relative mediocre song. (Chris again: "Terrible. Yuck!")

Crosby's Joni Mitchell cover gets his first apparition out of the way, as the entire Byrds cast is wheeled out one after the other in between Clark's stellar work. Then we end side a with the aforementioned "She Don't Care About Time" which brings more McGuinn to the table. Side B then launches with the lovely "She's The Kind Of Girl" that really brings you back to 1965 (fittingly, since the song was written before the Byrds where even signed), then we hide Hillman's "Borrowin' Time" - admittedly a weaker track - before Crosby's well-done reworking of "Laughing". McGuinn gets to do the folkie-Byrds with "Sweet Marie" before the fearsome fivesome sign off with their greatly underrated take on Neil Young's "(See The Sky) About To Rain", whose glorious coda - mixed startingly louder than the rest of the song - is pure Byrds. 

Full Circle catches The Byrds - at least fleetingly - in their last moments of glory. Further and further removed from the unrealistic expectations heaped upon it in 1973, the album - especially in this version if I dare say so - holds up as a real good listen. See if you agree.   

P.S.: This might be the end of the alternate album Byrds here at One Buck Records, but not the end for its participants showing up here. There will be more Roger McGuinn to come, more Gene Clark of course, and I just finished working on reconfigured versions of the next closest thing to the Byrds: the semi-successful reunion as McGuinn, Clark & Hillman. So, Byrds-fans, as usual, stay tuned...

The alt album Byrds series goes farther along...

Now that we enter the true purple period of the Byrds twilight years, it's storytime with Uncle OBG once again, who tells you how things could've gone down way back in the early 1970s...

The year is 1971. The place is L.A. The Byrds have convened during a short break in their immense touring schedule to begin recording their tenth studio album. The sessions did not go as well as for the predecessor. Several Byrds members were distracted, going through divorces. And producer Terry Melcher, a veteran working with the band - having produced their first two albums and the two most recent ones - was in a state of turmoil and torment as well. About two third through the recordings, Terry Melcher, citing 'exhaustion' checks himself into a mental health facility, after years of wine, women and drugs amplified rather than soothed down his (justified) paranoia that the Manson family really was after him when they went on their murder spree. With the sessions unfinished and the Byrds scheduled to go right back on the road, the Byrds strike a deal with Columbia Records: They promise to go back into the studio as soon as possible to finish the album. In the meantime, Columbia gets to pick from the completed Melcher material to issue a stop gap single, but "Glory Glory" b/w "I Want To Grow Up To Be A Politician" doesn't trouble the charts in any way. When the Byrds reconvene in the studio and listen back to the Melcher material, they decide to go in a less elaborate direction and rather try to put the simpler, earthier sound they have on the road on the record. Columbia execs insist that for more commercial viability at least 40% of the album has to come from the Melcher sessions and has to be left with his production intact. The Byrds agree and otherwise proceed to cut the rest of the songs for what will become Farther Along in the summer, with the hybrid album hitting shelves in late 1971... 

Well, things didn't quite go down like this, of course, as Melcher poured on the overdubs on the Byrdmaniax tracks while the band had hit the road again and most of the band - but especially the traditionalist axis of Gene Parsons and Clarence White - were flabbergasted when they heard the results. And their decision to quickly record a more appropriate follow-up later in London in unseemly haste - basic tracking and recording was done in just five days, with most songs written or finished to be written within the same short time frame - was an overreaction to the arch pop excesses of Byrdmaniax. 

But it might have been better if they had gone down like that, as today's alt album easily covers the most problematic stretch in Byrds history. Byrdmaniax is pretty much as awful as everyone says it is. Weak songs and a ridiculously overblown production make for a terrible mix, with the lowest amount of keepers of any Byrds album, which is reflected in my choise of only including five of its tracks in my version of Farther Along. However, and I explained why in my intro to the Byrds alt album series, I love the original Farther Along, so I really only threw off the bad stuff which basically comes down to their super-dull cover of "So Fine" and Gene Parsons' misguided roadie comedy song "B.B. Class Road". "Bristol Steam Convention Blues" is fine, but surplus to requirements since the superior "Green Apple Quick Step" is included. "Precious Kate" was right on the cut line, but some typically lovely guitar playing from Clarence White had it come down on the right side of that line.  

One of the biggest disappointments of the last two CBS Byrds albums is how little Gene Parsons contributed. After having secret or not-so-secret highlights on Ballad Of Easy Rider ("Gunga Din") and (Untitled)/Phoenix ("Yesterday's Train") he had no songs on Byrdmaniax and the two songs he had on the original Farther Along were far from his best. He deserves to be present on this Byrds album that represents the end of his tenure, but I edited "Get Down Your Line" down and shaved off the 'groovy' (or: annoying) ending pretty drastically. Surprisingly, considering his increasing reputation for including wacky novelty songs ill-fitting for the Byrds, Skip Battin gets three songs on my version of Farther Along, the two superior ballads from the two albums, as well as "America's Great National Pastime", which was the last single the CBS band would issue. Johnny Rogan, in his standard work on the Byrds, Timeless Flight Revisited, reserved his biggest scorn for that song, hyperbolically calling its inclusion "inexcusable" and "the severest loss of musical identity the Byrds ever suffered". Dude, what? I think Byrdmaniax's "Tunnel Of Love", a shameless Fats Domino rip-off and seeming Battin solo outing, would qualify as having nothing whatsoever to do with the Byrds sound, whereas "Pastime"'s sound can be somewhat placed in the band's country rock canon. Plus, you know, novelty song or not, the track is endlessly catchy and does have some funny lines. 

McGuinn gets some of the highlights here: Even in compromised form (i.e. heavily overdubbed with a female choir), "I Trust" is an underrated song from the time frame, as is the slighly psychedelic "Antique Sandy" with his doubled lead vocals. "Tiffany Queen" isn't a great song per se, but it's a pretty kick-ass opener and, as "Pale Blue" reminds us, McGuinn always had a hand with ballads.

The real hero, though, is Clarence White this time around, singing Jackson Browne's "Jamaica Say You Will", a song he brought to the group, and while Melcher's orchestral overdubs drown out a bunch of the Byrds, notably Gene Parsons, whose drum skills Melcher found severely lacking, the swirling orchestration makes for a good listen either way. White's cover of Larry Murray's "Bugler", is one of the best recordings of the twilight years Byrds and the clear highlight of any version of Farther Along. Speaking of: The title song, an old hymn brought back into the consciousness of the L.A. country rockers by The Flying Burrito Brothers, is another highlight - just a beautiful way to ride out the career of the CBS Byrds. "Farther Along we'll know more about it...farther along we'll understand why...".

So, the OBG version of Farther Along tries to wring a satisfying album from two not satisfying ones. For the cover art I wanted something that recalled the sepia simpleness of Farther Along's original cover, so I used the image originally used for their second Greatest Hits compilation. The Byrds might not have been at their absolute best in 1971, but a lot of this music is much better than you might think, and the OBG version of Farther Along hopefully proves that...

PS: The run of the CBS Byrds might be over, but the alt album series of The Byrds is not. Coming up: A better version of the 'classic line-up' reunion for Asylum Records...

  

Q: What kind of Byrd flies really high? A: A Phoenix!

When the Byrds entered the studio in 1970, they were cautiously optimistic about the sessions for their new album. Unlike the two predecessors, which were more or less cobbled together, they finally had a whole arsenal of impressive new songs at their disposal. The source: Ironically, one of Roger McGuinn's biggest misses and disappointments. Having spent most of 1969 - when not on tour with his band - on writing the hippie musical Gene Tryp, McGuinn finally had to accept that no company wanted to mount the production: too expensive, with a number of ambitious set pieces that demanded various decors. The fact that McGuinn, despite his rock star pedigree, and writing partner Jaques Levy were unknown and unproven in the musical world probably also played a role. So Gene Tryp was dead, but from its ashes rose...a Phoenix!

Phoenix was for a long while the working title for the 1970 album of the Byrds, before a snafu while prepping the artwork and sending it to the printer's ended up with the album being called (Untitled), much to the surprise of the band itself. But Phoenix was a fitting name for a band that played with renewed purpose, on the best and most consistent set of songs (on the studio record) they had since the days of the original band and The Notorious Byrd Brothers. Roger McGuinn had a single credit on The Ballad Of Easy Rider, but thanks to the Gene Tryp debacle, all of a sudden he was flush with great songs. All the McGuinn songs on this album were originally Gene Tryp songs, and they all range from good to great. 

If you've read my intro to the Byrds alt album series you know that it was the majesty of "Chestnut Mare" that relaunched my love for the Byrds, and it is generally acknowledged as the best Byrds song from the years after the original group broke up.It's also arguably the last truly great Byrds song, even though there is plenty to like on the last Byrds albums. Included on Phoenix along with the usual suspects from (Untitled) is "Kathleen's Song", a song that was slated for inclusion until the eleventh hour (and showed up as a printed title on some back covers) and the studio version of "Lover Of The Bayou" with some suitably menacing lead vocals and harmonica from McGuinn, turning the Byrds into southern swamp rockers in the Creedence Clearwater Revival mode for about five minutes. 

But what really sets the studio half of (Untitled) and by proxy Phoenix apart is the consistent quality of the contributions by the subsidiary members of the Byrds (minus one, more on that later). Having contributed the excellent "Gunga Din" to The Ballad Of Easy Rider, Gene Parsons continues his winning streak with "Yesterday's Train", a lovely meditation on reincarnation, inspired by band partner Battin's Buddhist beliefs and co-written with him. Speaking of the devil: While latter-day Byrds albums, especially Byrdmaniax, were torpedoed by the sometimes questionable taste and sound of Battin's co-writes with partner in crime Kim Fowley, this is not true for (Untitled)/Phoenix. Their ode to a randomly killed hippie, "You All Look Alike", ably sung by McGuinn, was nicely restrained considering its authors. And "Well Come Back Home" was lovely and moving, even though here on Phoenix it is shorn of its long Buddhist chant outro which is interesting once, but which you will not want to listen to repeatedly. It's interesting that the most 'jive' and novelty-song minded member of the Byrds contributed the two most timely and politically charged songs of the album. 

Clarence White stepped up with his version of Lowell George's "Truck Stop Girl", after George gave him a tape of songs from the at the time still moths away debut album of Little Feat. He also contributed "Take A Whiff On Me", which became a concert favorite for years to come. And speaking of Lowell George. Having access to his demo tape, the band also cut a warm, beautiful version of "Willin'" with Gene Parsons on lead vocals, yet disppointingly it stayed in the can. Not so on Phoenix of course! To make place for these songs, "Hungry Planet" from the original (Untitled) line-up gets kicked off, another contender for worst Byrds song (and way too long to boot), where McGuinn had taken a song from the Battin-Fowley team and then tried to improve it with some melody changes and Mood noodling. "None of us liked the way it turned out", noted Battin drily, and he's right. The song as presented sucks, and while it's not clear that the Battin original would have been better, I have the feeling McGuinn's intervention just made things way worse. 

Phoenix uses the longer, alternate versions of "Yesterday's Train" (I hesitated long time which version of "Train" to include, as they are both great in their own right) and "All The Things", and it ends with something McGuinn always wanted to do as a conclusion to an album. He always wanted to end one of their albums with an a capella rendition of "Amazing Grace" but somehow never made it, so the One Buck Guy did it for him! And for once I'm also really happy with how the cover art turned out, simple and elegant, as I had hoped. 

So, Phoenix, rising from the ashes of the Byrds cratering career. It really was the last great moment from the band, one that deserves even more praise than the warm welcome and good sales figures (Untitled) got, because by now many old Byrds fans had already tuned out or turned to hipper bands. It's nothing short of a lost classic, even more so I say without pretenses of being humble, in this version. So, follow that byrd, that Phoenix flying really high one more time...

Alt Byrds, get on your bikes and sing the Ballad Of Easy Rider

Easy Rider, the movie, was a blessing for the Byrds. After the ups and downs of the preceding year and the low-key Byrds relaunch with Dr. Byrds and Mr. Hyde, the reconfigured group could use a boost of publicity, which Dennis Hopper's film gave them. While most viewers probably didn't figure out to what degree the original band influenced the conception of the characters and their dynamic - Billy, the mustachoid, paranoid longhair was a stand-in for David Crosby, while the more stoic, grounded Wyatt was based on McGuinn - their music was put into focus again. There was the title song, sung by McGuinn (and helped on harmonica by fellow Byrd Gene Parsons) as well as McGuinn's cover of "It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding)", and a key montage of both bikers riding was set to "Wasn't Born To Follow" off The Notorious Byrd Brothers, its title becoming a sort of unofficial slogan of the movie's characters and attitude. All of a sudden the Byrds were back in public view, and thanks to the Easy Rider link, back to being hip with the kids. There was just one problem.     

If limited creativity and songwriting had already been a problem on the preceding album, this issue rears its head again on Ballad of Easy Rider. Badly. Band leader Roger McGuinn was busy writing songs - just not for The Byrds. He was still working with Jacques Levy on their hippie re-imagining of the story of Peer Gynt, the dashingly hip retitled Gene Tryp. Thus, McGuinn arrived to the recording sessions for what would become Ballad Of Easy Rider with absolutely nothing in his pockets. The one song he brought was the film's title song, half-written by Dylan, six months old at that point and already issued as a solo track for the immensely influential Easy Rider soundtrack. 

So McGuinn had to rely on the rest of the group, and they came through. Gene Parsons contributed the road travelogue "Gunga Din", a minor Byrds classic that is woefully underrated and has, I think, never shown up on any of their multiple retrospectives. John York wrote the fun "Fido", a song that would indirectly and unwillingly bring him into trouble (more on that later). And Clarence White dusted off an old Baptist hymn for his first lead vocal as a Byrd. After Dr. Byrds And Mr. Hyde had established the new-look Byrds as McGuinn's by having him sing all lead vocals, one of the pleasant surprises of Ballad of Easy Rider was the discovery of the band's other voices. However, the Ballad of Easy Rider with its mix of covers and minor-key originals could never catch the attention of the counterculture youth in the way the movie had, even with the movie-tie in and liner notes by Peter Fonda. Other than a general sense of wanderlust, there isn't much that connects the Ballad to the movie and its themes and the Byrds arguably squandered their best shot at becoming and staying relevant again.  

I, like many Byrds fans, have an almost unreasonable love for the album. It's obvious how empty the cupboard was - no Byrds album has more outside songs, and it does have a cobbled-together feel, because, well, it was cobbled together. But it's fine playing and mellow vibe has always appealed to me. In many ways, it is the warmest and friendliest of Byrds albums, a relaxing experience after the odd mix of harder rock and country on Dr. Byrds and Mr. Hyde. If you like Clarence White's guitar playing and string bending, you'll be served here. The Byrds' odd, half-speed take on "It's All Over Now Baby Blue" for example is elevated almost entirely by White's beautiful guitar work. 

For this version of Ballad of Easy Rider, I got rid of the two weakest tracks of the album. "Jack Tarr The Sailor" is, in my opinion, in contention for worst Byrds track of all time. Not because it's unlistenable or anything but it doesn't sound much like a Byrds song, also due to McGuinn's odd attempt at a British accent. And "Armstrong, Aldrin And Collins" was literally just half a song, and not a very good one at that. In its place are some of the songs that could've been contenders. At least one should've made the cut: I don't understand why we needed "Jack Tarr" when a version of the lightweight but pleasant "Mae Jean Goes To Hollywood" by then unknown songwriter Jackson Browne was in the can.

 And while McGuinn was dreaming of combining the past and the future since before Sweetheart Of The Rodeo, the band finally got a track down that did that, setting a banjo-picked version of the old folk traditional "Fiddler A Dram" to a backing track played on McGuinn's beloved Moog. It's an odd little song, but has a certain charm to it that made me place it on the album. These guys were space cowboys before, let them be space folkies!

Other tracks came down to choices. For some reason, the Byrds selected a particularly nasal vocal delivery by White and kind of sludgy take on "Oil In My Lamp", when a quicker, much sprightlier and to my mind much better take of the song existed. It even has a hint of the old jingle-jangle sound in its opening moments! The other swap came down to personal preference: McGuinn's take on "Tulsa County" is fine, and Byron Berline's fiddle a real treat - but I prefer the original version sung by John York, who brought the track to the recording sessions.

 Alas, it fell victim to politicking: Terry Melcher wanted York to sign over the publishing rights to "Fido" to him, and when York politely declined, all of a sudden he was to be replaced on lead vocals by McGuinn because quote-unquote McGuinn "sounded more like a cowboy". Yeah, sure, Terry. Either way, I love York's drawn out "oh's ("I don't know-ho-ho-ho / just where I'll go-oh-oh-oh") on the original version so that one gets the nod. He sounds plenty like a cowboy to me, but then again I don't have a publishing rights tiff with him! Speaking of "Fido": I was never particularly fond of the drum solo in that, so it got led behind the shed and shot. Sorry 'bout that, folks. 

So, this is the Ballad Of Easy Rider according to the One Buck Guy. Go on a test ride down some sweet country roads along gently flowing rivers with these guys...wherever that river goes, that's where I want to be...(don't we all...?)...flow, river, flow... 

Byrds Alt Albums, Part II: Some people call them the space cowboys

This album shouldn't exist. Not in a 'what the hell was he thinking' or in a sacred cow kind of way. This shouldn't exist - and didn't until a couple of days ago - because creating an alternate album from the Dr. Byrds and Mr. Hyde Byrds era is extremely difficult, bordering on impossible. During this period of reconstruction, when the Byrds finally were Roger McGuinn and whoever he hired,inspiration and songwriting were at an all-time low. Dr. Byrds and Mr. Hyde has the feel of a bit of a dog's breakfast, and for good reason, because really it was a collection of bits and bops. "Drug Store Truck Drivin' Man" was by the time of releae almost a year old, co-written with Gram Parsons who left the band right before the release of the precedent album, Sweetheart Of The Radio. "Child Of The Universe" was written for the movie Candy, a counter culture sex comedy and if the cupboard hadn't been so bare, probably would have stayed there. "Nashville West", their instrumental salute to the old band of Clarence White and Gene Parsons (who already played the tune in their sets) sounded like pure filler. Speaking of: The closing medley was pure filler, recorded at the last minute to stretch out the feeble running time. Consequently, there is only a single outtake from the time that doubles also as one of the worst, or at least most akward Byrds songs of all time ("Stanley's Song"). So, not a great position for an alternate album. 

That's why originally I was going to skip this era entirely and go right to the 'Ballad of Easy Rider' era. Then, I thought about posting the early version of the album that surfaced about three years ago. This was described as an acetate, though our old pal Farq over at False Memory Foam island doubted the veracity of that statement. He also figured that the mix was a pitch too low  and fixed that, something that he got into an internet shouting match with with the guy who posted that version, if I remember correctly. I was going to post both mixes for comparison reasons, then realized that while I do have two versions of these tracks, both seem to be pitch-corrected. Either which way, it wasn't a satisfying solution as far as alternate albums go. (If you haven't picked up that early version from False Memory Island or elsewhere, give me a holler...)

So, instead of relying on a wealth of extra material, I had to get creative, and did. First order of the day: restructuring. Dr. Byrds And Mr. Hyde is indeed as shizophrenic as R.L. Stevenson's antihero. Half of it is country, following on from Sweetheart Of The Rodeo, or rather One Hundred Years From Now over here at One Buck Records. The other half is more surprising: Some very light touches of psychedelia in the aforementioned movie songs and - for the first time in Byrds history - some comparatively hard rock. So, old dog doing old tricks and all that, I decided to split the tracks according to their musical alignment - side a with the harder rocking and more psychedelic tracks, side b with the country material. The cover art and new album title came straight from what the band wanted to do for the album and did on the back cover. They are astronauts who turn into cowboys, thus you could possible go and say they are...space cowboys! But don't call them Maurice. 

Admittedly, I kneecapped my own concept right away by leading off with "This Wheel's On Fire", but not the heavily psyched out version found on the original album, but rather the first version recorded the same day, which is more straightforward, more country and also played quicker. Clarence White hated the album version of the song and producer Bob Johnston's production and mix, calling it "the most embarassing thing I've ever been part of", which seems a little exagerrated. But yeah, like White and Gene Parsons, I also prefer the more straightforward version. So, psychedelia, shmelia. But, as you will realize, the first thing you'll hear on Space Cowboys will be neither version of "This Wheel's On Fire", but rather the short part of "Your Back Pages" that originally opened the closing medley. I thought it'd be nice and reassuring to hear a bit of the 'old school Byrds', before the more adventurous stuff starts. 

Goofy, clean-shaven Gene Parsons will never not be creepy...

From there we dip into the slight psychedelia of "Candy", an underrated song rejected for the movie of the same name, with lovely harmony vocals by John York, my secret favorite Byrd. It is featured here in a slightly longer version whose longer outro features some of the ghostly vocals and driving guitar that then take center stage in "Bad Night At The Whiskey", so these two link up nicely. "Stanley's Song" might quickly wear out its modest welcome, but the beginning is rather nice, so I grafted this onto "Child Of The Universe". The last track of side a (a.k.a. the 'Space side)' is a total invention, taking the intro of  the psych version of "This Wheel's On Fire" and marrying it to the looser alternative version of "Baby What You Want Me To Do" that was of course part of the closing medley and is also surprisingly noisy, all things considered. Side B, the more relaxed 'Cowboys side', is way more straightforward, with all songs being the originals from Dr. Byrds And Mr. Hyde.  

Dr. Byrds and Mr. Hyde (and thus Space Cowboys) isn't a great album, but it has great moments. They didn't pursue that direction, and the question of whether people needed or wanted noisy guitar rock from The Byrds is an open one, but "Bad Night At The Whiskey" is a fantastic rock song with its ghostly background vocals, driving guitars and bitter lyrics. "King Apathy III" mixes rock and country to great effect and certainly belongs on the list of underrated Byrds tunes. And if the comic exaggerations of "Drug Store Truck Driving Man", aimed at Ralph Emery ("This one's for you, Ralph...) who had belittled the Byrds after their Grand Ole Opry gig, don't amuse you..well... 

So, does Space Cowboys make a flawed album better? As said above, the odds were against me, so I tried to make the album more unified from a structural standpoint and more interesting. Did it succeed? You tell me...

 

The Byrds' adventures in stone cold country...

Your old pal and mine, FTIII has chimed in with some swell cover art that blows my low-budget b&w original (in which I was very disappointed) out of the water. As he would say "Should youse bums be desirous..." (and why wouldn't we be?)

Roger McGuinn knows about best laid plans of mice and men. His ambitions often outweighed the results he had to show for them. Like the musical Gene Tryp!, a hippie reworking of the Peer Gynt story, he was working on with Jaques Levy throughout most of 1969 and parts of 1970 that never came to fruitition. When Sweetheart of the Radio hit shelves in August 1968 and reintroduced the new, very different Byrds as all-out country players, this wasn't the record the ever ambitious McGuinn had planned. His big project after The Notorious Byrds Brothers closed the book firmly on the classic era of the band was to lead the Byrds into jazz and a vaguely defined "Space Music", composed on his beloved Moog. Well, Sweetheart of the Radio was...not that. As they say, plans changed. 

Plans mainly changed due to one Ingram Cecil Connor III, better known as Gram Parsons. As McGuinn half-humorously, half-horrified explained: "When I hired Gam Parsons, it was as a jazz pianist...I hired a piano player and I got George Jones in a Nudie suit!". Yup, that he did. And got way more than he bargained for. Parsons' love for country music reignited Chris Hillman's own soft spot for the genre, and while it took some convincing, soon McGuinn was on board, hatching another super-ambitious plan that, again, didn't come close to fruitition: an album presenting an all-encompassing American musical history of the 20th Century, starting with traditional old-time bluegrass, then country music, then rhythm'n'blues and rock'n'roll to finally move into - you guessed it - the music of the future, "space music". But Parsons' traditionalist country leanings soon put the kibosh on McGuinn's expansive plans and any notions of "space music". Instead it was all country, outfitted with enough rock energy to appeal to the counter-culture. 

But that, of course, wasn't the end of the story, either. Parsons more or less hijacked the group from underneath McGuinn's nose, not only dictating the musical direction, but also taking the lion's share of lead vocals, essentially refashioning the Byrds as his band and relegating McGuinn to a bit player, while simultaneously lobbying to include pedal steel player J.D. Maness as a full-time Byrd. Then fate, in the shape of a possible contract dispute with Parson's old label, Lee Hazlewood's LHI, intervened. Not being sure that Parsons had fulfilled his contractual obligations over there, CBS wanted Parsons' vocals to be wiped off the album, so McGuinn began re-recording all of Parsons' lead vocals. When the dispute got cleared up, only Parsons' sentinemental classic "Hickory Wind" hadn't been touched. To appease Parsons, two covers with his lead vocals, Merle Haggard's "Life In Prison" and 'You're Still On My Mind" were put on the album, but as Parsons himself rightfully pointed out, these pedestrian covers were recorded as warm-up numbers, not necessarily serious contenders for the album. Not to mention that a Parsons outtake such as "Lazy Days", could have been put on the album instead. In the end, this reversal of fortunes was no doubt something McGuinn was secretly happy about. His status as King Byrd had been re-established while forcing Parsons in the supporting role he was originally supposed to have. 

Sweetheart of the Rodeo remains a slightly baffling album, and for me personally, not a favorite of the band. Its importance in the band's discography and in the development and cultural acceptance of crossing the borders between country and rock'n'roll is undeniable and gives it classic status, but as an album of music it just doesn't do it for me. So this Byrds album logically is the first to get the patented OBG alternate album treatment. First order of the day: Chuck those mediocre country covers, while also re-installing some of Parsons lead vocal work. Unlike what has long been reported, not all Parsons leads were irrevokably erased (in fact, traces remain on the original album, with McGuinn and Hillman dubbed over them), so future expanded and deluxe editions wielded a number of tracks with Parsons' original lead vocals in tact. On the finished album, McGuinn had - in what became somewhat typical for him - imitated the source, aping Parsons' vocals rather than singing in his normal style, with questionable results. "The Christian Life" was an especially egregious example. The irony of Parsons - who probably knew every deadly sin's second name and favorite pet -  evoking Christian values and a life of purity was one thing, but in McGuinn's mannered ersatz vocal, the song sounded like pure parody. 

With Parsons' lead vocals on "You Don"t Miss Your Water" and "The Christian Life" restored, I now wanted to rebalance the album, so McGuinn's slightly psychedelic take on the folk standard "Pretty Polly" gets reinstated here. I split the difference between Parsons' own take on "One Hundred Years From Now" and the excellent album version that features co-leads by Hillman and McGuinn, so both get the nod, one as the opener, the other as the closer. Given its presence, it naturally becomes the new title song (I never liked Sweetheart of the Rodeo as a title much either). And there is some small amount of justice for Kevin Kelley, who got the short end of the stick when the band drafted in Clarence White who in turn asked for old bandmate Gene Parsons to join, so Chris Hillman had to tell his cousin that his services were no longer required. For years, Kelley's lead vocals on "All I Have Is Memories" were considered lost, but have now also been recovered, so Kelley at long last gets a highlight spot on the only Byrds album he played on. 

So, One Hundred Years From Now it is, an album that I think genuinely runs better than the original Sweetheart, while also giving a pretty democratic view on the Byrds as a country group with balanced contributions by everyone. 

So, let's revisit those country roads with them country Byrds once more, shall we...?!

My original, very not awesome cover art...

The Byrds At Twilight - A Love Story In Reverse

It happens to all of us. We come to an artist at what is seemingly the wrong time in their career. We are either too early, or too late, or we fall in love with what is - according to public opinion - the wrong album. I came to the Byrds early, then late, then in the 'wrong' order. And I don't much care. The twilight Byrds - the band that was, at least according to a bunch of critics in long, steady decline ever since Roger McGuinn became head Byrd and, for all intents and purposes, only Byrd, plus a bunch of hired guns. Snobs still kind of dismiss this era, basically closing the chapter on the Byrds once Crosby left. Most still agree that The Notorious Byrds Brothers is a masterpiece - and it is - but everything afterwards splits opinions, not least because of the Byrds' hard turn into country music. The hiring of Gram Parsons and the Byrds full-fledged country rock adventure Sweetheart Of The Rodeo usually still escapes unscathed, mostly due to 'The Cult Of Gram', but everything after, starting with the often-maligned Dr. Byrds and Mr. Hyde is often considered minor work. People who dismiss this era of course totally miss out on the biggest weapon of the twilight Byrds - guitar slinger (or rather: guitar bender) Clarence White, one of the most talented guitar players of his, or any, era. The songwriting might have been wobbly sometimes - especially once Skip Battin and partner in crime Kim Fowley entered the picture - but the music often was still magnificent, in no small part to White's inimitable guitar playing. 

My first exposure to The Byrds was the 'right Byrds' - "Mr. Tambourine Man" and "Mr. Spaceman", both featured on one of the first CDs my dad ever bought, a compilation called California Sounds Of The 60s. That album was probably the single biggest influence of my future love for music from that era, a foundation for my love for both The Beach Boys and The Byrds. But The Byrds then disppeared for a long time - my entire adolescence - from my music hearing habits, only to come back in the weirdest avatar possible. Starting my studies, I stumbled in one of the bookstores adjacent to campus onto a huge bin with CDs for a buck - the One Buck Guy was born! But so was a newly rekindled love for The Byrds - via the worst means, a CD featuring completely fake songs by a couple of chaps of dubious intentions, ex-Animals bassist Danny McCullough together with producer Gerry Chapman. Their original songs were god-awful, and so were their Byrds covers. But you can't keep a great song down, no matter how hard you try. The moment I heard "Chestnut Mare", even in this ridiculously bad version, I knew it was a great song. The very next day I went to the record store and bought The Very Best of The Byrds, the U.K. compilation that was at the time the best and most complete Byrds compilation out there. And the rest is history.

Or almost. Because just as I rekindled my love for the Byrds, the band's re-issue program had reached the end of the Columbia era. So the first Byrds albums I possessed were Farther Along and (Untitled). And while (Untitled) rightfully is considered as the highlight of the twilight Byrds and has their last indisuputedly great song in the aforementioned "Chestnut Mare", Farther Along is considered to be pretty bad, or at least mediocre. But I love that album despite its massive flaws, from its sepia cover art to most of its songs. It's, by all objective measures, the 'wrong album' to fall in love with the Byrds, since it has almost nothing to do with the greatness of their classic era, but you love what you love. I continued to (re-) discover The Byrds in reverse, the last Columbia album from them that I bought was their much-heralded debut album Mr. Tambourine Man. And of course my fondness for the Byrds' twilight years has carried over to today and One Buck Records. 

This very long-winded introduction is the intro to the long-awaited arrival of the Byrds on this blog. I have featured some Byrds-related artists (Gene Clark, Manassas), but nothing from the band itself. I was blocked for months by ambitious plans for cover art on the first of what will be a series of alternate albums of the Byrds' twilight years. Well, all those plans fell through as I'm simply not very gifted in the visual arts department. So, with a resigned sigh I settled for something that had little to do with my ambitious plans, and decided to launch the project anyways. 

So, this will be your weekend double-header: Today's long-ish introduction to the Byrds project, and tomorrow the launch of the first of The Byrds' alternate albums, One Hundred Years From Now. But since some of you hopefully read all the way through my trip down memory lane, you deserve a little something for your trouble, so I compiled an album that covers the Byrds' twilight years, mainly through outtakes, alternative or live versions and single mixes, so as to have not too much overlap with the albums to follow. 

So, enjoy a first stroll down Byrds boulevard, then be back tomorrow to see the boys really saddle up...