DAVID CROSBY BY JOHNNY ROGAN

I met David Crosby only once, and briefly at that, in Denver in 1974, but his passing hurts not just because a rebellious spirit, wonderful harmony singer and great songwriter has been silenced but because Crosby will always remind me of my great friend Johnny Rogan, The Byrds’ foremost biographer. 

        Had Johnny not left us 2021, he would undoubtedly have been on the phone to me this morning to talk about Crosby, and for ages too. He would also have been called upon by someone to write something for a magazine or a website, an obituary, a tribute, an epitaph, or at the very least been asked for a quote by someone who was writing about Crosby and needed an expert to guide them. Since Johnny can’t be here to do that in person, I hope he will forgive me for using his 1,200-page Byrds book Requiem For The Timeless (Volume 1) as the basis for this post about Crosby, a tribute of sorts to both of them. 

        The Byrds was unquestionably Johnny Rogan’s favourite group and David Crosby was certainly Johnny’s favourite Byrd, and his favourite musician from CSN&Y too, even though he wrote a separate book, Zero To Sixty, about Neil Young. In Requiem you can read everything you could possibly want to know about Crosby, from his birth in 1941 to 2012, the year the book was published. Had its author been writing still, I’m pretty sure he’d have started work this morning on a new chapter for Requiem Volume 2 which tells the stories of the six former Byrds, now seven, who have passed away.

        That’s speculative, of course, but around 1980 Johnny caught up with Crosby, then addicted to freebasing, in London “at a small guest house in Denbigh Street” and tried to take him to a pub, The Lord High Admiral “to see a different world but he wouldn’t be distracted from his stash”.

        “His descent into freebase hell later in the decade could not disguise a resilient spirit,” writes Johnny. “He was a burning mass of passion, pride, hubris and regret, but blessed with a clear-eyed, almost painful honesty, that was genuinely moving. Always the most articulate of The Byrds, he gave me the best interview of my life. It was an extremely moving experience, never to be forgotten.”

        The interview lasted two days, afternoons and evenings, and in the course of their conversation Crosby showed Johnny a picture of the Mayan, his boat. “He suggested a visit to San Francisco and even dangled a tentative, if unlikely, book project. It was difficult not to be swept along by the sheer force of his passion. He seemed to care more about The Byrds and its legacy than [Roger] McGuinn did at the time, and was more trusting than [Chris] Hillman and a better communicator than [Gene] Clark.”

        Later in the book, referencing the same interview, Johnny writes: “Despite [the drugs] Crosby remained lucid, sharp, and thoroughly in command of proceedings, as though the drug was no more potent than a packet of cigarettes. …. [He] still looked in good shape, dressed casually but cleanly, ate well and was conducting his business affairs with assiduous skill and clarity. His acoustic performances were a joy to behold and his articulation onstage and off was undiminished by his habit. He could talk for entire afternoons and evenings, answering often difficult questions with a precision and perspicuity beyond the power of his fellow Byrds…

        “Always a barometer of emotion, Crosby could be arrogant, immodest, humble, aggressive and terribly loving. Temperamentally, he was the perfect foil for McGuinn. It was difficult to imagine two more strikingly different personalities: passionate forcefulness versus cool deliberation. Crosby’s passion for The Byrds, as for all his music, was positively tangible.” 

        The introduction to Requiem closes with Johnny acknowledging the greatness of The Byrds. “By then [the 1980s] they were part of rock’s history rather than its future. Nevertheless, their influence was everywhere and the phrase ‘Byrds-like’ had virtually become a cliché. By the end of the decade, their past was being reassembled in the manner of an archaeological dig, courtesy of the many unearthed tapes recorded during their golden era… Gloriously, their music continues to resonate with new meaning as well as reaffirming the beauty of a treasured past.”

        Thanks Johnny, and David. 

(The photograph of David Crosby, taken in 1965, at the top of this post appears in Requiem For The Timeless Volume 1 and is credited to CBS Records.)

CROSBY, STILLS, NASH & YOUNG – The Biography by Peter Doggett

The 50^th anniversary of Woodstock in two weeks’ time sees the publication of two substantial biographies of Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, one of them by my friend Peter Doggett whom I know from long acquaintance is a great admirer of the ‘band’. Woodstock and CSNY are synonymous but why the inverted commas? Well, I have always believed that the crème de la crême of rock bands are organic insofar as they grow from a seed. They assemble as beginners, learning how to play their instruments and produce music together, then struggle to achieve recognition while focusing exclusively on this goal, much like The Beatles, The Who, U2, R.E.M. and many more. The overriding conclusion of Doggett’s book, however, is that although once touted as the ‘biggest band in the world’ Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young were never really a band in this or any other sense.

         On the very first page of his introduction he calls them a ‘collective’, not a term I’ve seen used before in this context but one which defines their situation perfectly. Their only struggle was between themselves for dominance. Their focus was partial at best. They were not three together or for each other, as one of their loveliest songs seemed to imply. In the beginning they were three individual musicians who after apprenticeships elsewhere met by chance and discovered their voices produced an astonishing harmonic resonance – their ‘trick’, as Doggett calls it. Then, to reinforce the brand, they added a fourth member who too quickly for comfort eclipsed them all.

         The tender, illusively autobiographical lyrics of ‘Helplessly Hoping’ are therefore misleading, implying a unity of understanding and purpose that was never consistent in CSNY. In the spirit of the times, however, the song conveyed so much more: primarily their fierce opposition, shared by their fans, to the bad shit that coincided with their evolution, the war in Vietnam, Richard Nixon and the blue meanies who didn’t like men with long hair, recreational drugs and sexual freedom. This too was ambiguous, with David Crosby and Graham Nash certainly on the side of the righteous but Stephen Stills and Neil Young less so. Nevertheless, the timing of their arrival magnified their celebrity by placing them at the heart of America’s sixties countercultural revolution which reached its apogee with Woodstock, at which CSNY famously appeared, and culminated in the tragedy of Kent State, which inspired one of their greatest songs. All of this has added greatly to their legacy and gives Doggett’s book a historical charge lacking in biographies of rock acts who had the misfortune to graduate in less turbulent times.

         On the face of it, CSNY’s celebrity is out of all proportion to their miserly output. During their ascent and supremacy, the six-year period from 1968 to 1974 covered in great detail here, CSN produced one great studio album, and with Young on board produced another which was pretty good but not so great. A live CSNY album followed and that was it, unless you count compilations, further live recordings and subsequent less celebrated – but not necessarily substandard – reunion efforts over the succeeding years that Doggett wisely mentions only briefly in a coda (in contrast to the rival but inferior* CSNY biog also just published, CSN&Y: The Wild, Definitive Saga of Rock’s Greatest Supergroup by David Browne).

         The CSN&Y story is nonetheless very complex, involving the comings and goings of the four individuals as well as a huge cast of other musician pals, many girlfriends and ambitious managers, often multiplied by four. The task of the biographer is further complicated by unreliable or contradictory testimony from the four principals who remember everything differently, this in large part due to the vast quantity of drugs ingested at the time and in lesser part to score settling, a state of affairs that continues to this day with Crosby only recently complaining that none of his friends talk to him anymore. A five-page postscript is devoted to how this impacts on the book.  

         To overcome these difficulties Doggett assiduously lays out the contradictory testimony from interviews, some of them his own, and autobiographies (by all bar Stills) and like a forensic scientist gathers his evidence, draws attention to inconsistencies and reaches conclusions with the proviso that regardless of what you might have read elsewhere, his

version is most likely to be the truth. I believe him, too, not least because Doggett has been studying the subject for decades and is rigorous in his analysis, as befits a former editor of Record Collector magazine at a time when, for accuracy, its Beatle coverage and discographies were the best in the world.

         Piecing together the story of CSNY is a bit like doing a jigsaw. The labyrinthine journeys that brought them together involve The Byrds, The Hollies and Buffalo Springfield, of course, but Doggett doesn’t have the space to dwell overlong on the histories of these groups, only on the formative years of the four, none of whom had what might be termed conventional childhoods. Depending on whom you believe, Crosby left or was fired from The Byrds for his overbearing manner, while Nash felt The Hollies were too lightweight for the post-Pepper era. Stills and Young, the key members of Buffalo Springfield, became dissatisfied because the group failed to realise its potential. The first three found one another in LA, probably after a Hollies gig in February, 1968, at the Whiskey club which opens the book, and for the next few months traversed the globe meeting up whenever and wherever they could. Doggett is spectacularly good at detailing all the travelling involved – it’s almost as if he was given a folder containing the stubs of all their airline tickets to and from LA, New York and London – an early indication of the research he must have undertaken to fit the pieces together.

         Young joined after the first album was recorded but before they’d played live, ostensibly to boost the stage sound. Thereafter he’s a bit of a ghost, here today, gone tomorrow, resolutely his own man. Stills, the most skilled guitarist, most ambitious and most industrious, tries to assume a leadership role but is undermined by Crosby’s wilful tendencies and Young’s Will-o’-the-wispishness. Nash adopts a resigned but generally composed attitude to his colleagues’ rampant egos, as befitting an Englishman, but he stands his ground when pushed too far. The infighting is exacerbated by drugs, especially when cocaine displaces marijuana, and their relationships with women. Pliant groupies are everywhere but more permanent bonds became muses and influenced the collective’s productivity, partly because some affairs overlapped: Crosby and Nash both courted Joni Mitchell, who comes out of the tale with more honour than most; Stills and Nash both courted Rita Coolidge; Stills courted Judy Collins, who inspired his magnificent ‘Suite: Judy Blue Eyes’; Crosby lost his true love in an automobile accident; Stills married the French actress Véronique Sanson; and Young lived with American actress Carrie Snodgrass. By the end of the book all these relationships, and more, are over.

         Then there’s the money which in turn leads to profligacy. We are told that when Nash arrived in LA to turn the ‘trick’ into something tangible, he left almost all his cash in the UK and this leads to a characterisation of him as the least materialistic, a trait he shares to a certain extent with Crosby except where sailing boats are concerned. Young and, especially, Stills are more acquisitive and when it is pointed out by management that the inclusion of Young massively increases their box-office potential there is a good deal of angst when Young goes his own way.

         Throughout his book Doggett offers a comprehensive guide to the songs, their genesis, their evolution and, in many cases, a shrewd critical assessment, and he’s also good on the concerts, many of which are substandard due to iffy pitching and guitars going out of tune. Indeed, I can’t recall reading a rock biog before where tuning is such an issue. Although clearly a fan, he doesn’t flinch at pointing the finger of blame at whichever individual is responsible for several shows disintegrating into an appalling mess, so much so that when listening to playback tapes one or more of those involved either throws a tantrum or breaks down in tears.

         All of which clarifies why temperaments boiled over and CSNY didn’t last long, at least in the first flush of their calling. It’s a bumpy ride but immensely absorbing if you’re interested in the workings of this most mercurial collective and why they imploded as often as they did. Apart from the coda, Doggett’s book concludes with the quartet going their own way after the 1974 stadium tour which just happened to be the only time I caught them in action, at Denver’s Mile High Stadium on 25 July that year. In my Melody Maker report of that show I mentioned that Stephen Stills had been quoted as saying that the first time they went out on the road was for art, the second time for the girls and this, the third, for the dollars, but Graham Nash took exception to this. “We’re doing it for the music, man, because all of us know that none of us can make as good music together as we can apart,” he told me in no uncertain terms. He was probably right but so is Peter Doggett when he points out that CSNY have spent approximately two of the past 50 years as a functioning band and the other 48 fending off questions about why they are no longer together. That’s because they were never really a band in the first place.

---

* At least according to my former MM colleague Richard Williams who reviewed both books simultaneously in last weekend’s Guardian Book Review magazine.

STEPHEN STILLS INTERVIEW - Part 2

Here’s the second part of my Steve Stills interview from 1976. 

The tracks on the Stills/Young album suggested they had been written while in Florida. “Yeah... Neil is a pretty immediate sort of a cat. My songs on that album were written somewhat before but Neil’s were mostly done there. My ‘water’ song, the one about diving (‘Black Coral’) was actually written after I’d gotten into some very deep diving. I have been down 288 feet.

“For Neil it was a departure from some of his darker moments, mainly because we had a great time and looked forward so much to going in the studio. I think it was very educational for me and him both because we picked up on what was right about the way we each recorded and also corrected some of the things we had been doing wrong.

“Neil had me going for the guitar parts at the same time as we recorded the backing track... the way we used to have to do it. We did that album live in the studio with very little overdubbing at all.”

When his throat healed, Young began rehearsing for another tour with Crazy Horse – scheduled to begin midway through November – and Stills found himself alone. It was the time, he decided, to try out a solo tour.

“I didn’t plan to do it this year. It was something that I kept saying I’d do later on, something I kept putting off because I thought I could always do at one stage. When Neil split – he’d been planning all along to do a tour with Crazy Horse later this year – I had to do something, so... well, it was right for my own acoustic thing.

“I did three shows, two in theatres and one at a college, and after the college show I thought... not quite. If they want to boogie I can’t stop them. So I’m getting a bass player and drummer for the bigger shows. They’ll only do five or six songs at the end so it’ll still be basically me.

“I’ve gotta walk out on the stage and get myself going all by myself. So long as I know what the first three songs are, I’m OK. After that... well, so long as I’ve made it that far the show will be all right. I don’t think I want a band, a big band any longer.”

Earlier this year Stills had agreed to do a European tour that would include a date at Cardiff Castle – a date that was advertised in the press but cancelled at relatively short notice. According to Stills, it was the opportunity to record with Young in Miami that caused the cancellation.

I told him he was advertised to play a big outdoor show in Cardiff. “That’s news to me,” he replied, seemingly ignorant of whatever was planned in England. “I know I have to go over there because that time, when I cancelled, it was really a little close to the recording date to cancel, but it wasn’t right at the last minute.

“But look... if Neil was ready to record, I had to go for it. Before we did that album he had a whole tour of the States planned with Crazy Horse and he ditched that. We just decided to go for it because we were excited about it... we all were excited about it... David and Graham, too.

“We’re all too sensible to give up thoughts of getting together again. We’re like brothers and we have tiffs. It’s always been like that with me and Graham and David and Neil. Sometimes we’ll get mad at one or the other and blah blah away, but six months later we’ll meet and... hey, you know, we’ll say ‘good to see you... what’s going on’... but that’s all ancient history.

“In any band, a lot of the internal bickering is directly proportional to the pressure. We never competed with each other as much as people thought. We used that energy in an entirely different way. What we wanted to do was please the others and many times when we failed, we’d fight. It wasn’t a rivalry so much as wanting to please each other, so everybody got super-critical of themselves.”

Stills admits that he is currently taking a look at his career and taking stock. “I’m not as good at being a star as I am at being a guitar player,” he said after some thought. “There are certain things about my career, my job if you like, that I don’t like at all. I recognise the other part of this job, the part that isn’t the music, and some of it is a little distasteful to me. Some people can pull that off perfectly, but I... well, I don’t look on myself as that sort of person.

“I just... I wanna play my axe for people and that’s it. That’s the bottom line, appearing in front of people, doing your job like that, which is what I’m doing on this tour.”

Last year Stills moved from Atlantic Records to CBS, a surprising move considering his long relationship with Ahmet Ertegun’s legendary record label and what he describes as a deep personal friendship with Ertegun.

“With Atlantic it was always... when are you going to do another CSN&Y album? Columbia has me as a solo act so there’s a little different attitude in the company. They let me record with Neil... they said ‘fine’.

“You can’t deny a great record,” he went on, raising criticism of his albums without being prompted. “If the public like a record they’ll buy it no matter what the critics say. A critic can cause trouble because if distributors read a review that’s bad they won’t pick it up. Maybe distributors will order one hundred thousand instead of two or whatever, but what happens is that those are sold in a week and they have to re-order. That happens to me every time.”

The interview concluded, I motioned towards a Martin guitar on the bed and asked Stephen to show me how he played ‘4 + 20’. He picked it up and retuned it – took him about ten seconds flat – and picked out the intro. He’d lowered all the strings bar the A and D, the bottom E to D but I wasn’t sure of the rest. Either way, the guitar was now in a D tuning and it sounded wonderful, ringing out as clear as day in his room. Steve didn’t sing for me, just finger-picked the accompaniment exactly as it is on Déjà Vu. It was at moments like this that I realised I really did have the best job in the world.

STEPHEN STILLS INTERVIEW - November, 1976, Part 1

The only member of CSN&Y that I interviewed at length during my MM years was Steve Stills who always called me ‘English’, the name he coined for me when I saw the whole group in Denver in 1974. Two and a half years later he remembered me and was still calling me ‘English’. He was very friendly, which always augurs well for a decent interview, and he spoke candidly about the undulating relationships between CSN&Y. This interview took place in his room at the Carlyle, a lovely old (by US standards) hotel on Madison Avenue where he was staying, and which was only a few minutes stroll from my flat on 78^th Street between Park and Madison. It is in two parts, second half tomorrow. 

“Do you have a brother? If you had, you’d know there’d be a sibling rivalry in the family between two brothers. You’d row about it, but because you’re a family you’d stick together... and maybe six months would pass, but you’d be back again, wouldn’t you? You can’t cut off a brother.”

Stephen Stills was using the metaphor to explain how things stand with relationships between himself, Neil Young, David Crosby and Graham Nash, and he’s being very sincere.

The point he is making is that no matter how many harsh words are spoken, no matter how much dirty laundry is washed in public and no matter how many reports of irredeemable splits appear in newspapers, they will always be together in some form or another. Tempers may fly, he says, but far too much water has flowed under the bridge for them ever to cast each other off completely.

Right now Stephen Stills has no partners to change. He’s touring the US completely solo, just him, six guitars, a banjo and a piano plus his voice. Like the characters in the famous Edward Hopper painting, he’s a nighthawk, and he checks into a hotel for the day, closes the curtains and sleeps away the daylight hours. Strangely for such an accomplished musician, it’s the first time he’s toured solo.

“I’ve always known that I’ve been capable of it, but I’ve never done it before. Right at the moment I’m between bands and it seemed like the thing to do. I think, though, that I’m gonna get a bass player and drummer to come along with me, too. We’re doing a lot of colleges, so I’ll need them. In theatres I can carry this very, very easily, but in basketball joints the kids... well, for the kids it’s football season, homecoming... they want to get up, you know. I can do it, but let’s say I’m indulging myself.

“The whole set is with acoustic guitars and piano, so I’m thinking in these bigger places... hell, where’s my electric guitar? I’m just playing whatever appeals to me... I start with three songs and go from there, whatever I want. I dunno what audiences think... sometimes they’re drunked up and want some rock and roll, but I’m making sure the promoters let the audiences know that it’s just me.”

The accent, then, is on the guitar playing? “Well, I worked so much live last year that I actually started to get pretty good at playing the guitar. I like to play guitar, like lead guitar for a change and I began playing things that were way over my head. On acoustic guitar, well that’s one thing, but on electric guitar there are a whole lot of players who are better than me. I think I play real good rhythm, and I fingerpick good.

“I just get out there with six guitars, a banjo and a dobro, plus a 12-string and maybe one little electric guitar for the last number. I even have my music book with me at the piano in case I forget the words or something. Hell... I’m not proud.”

The last time Stills toured the US was this summer, but the tour, with Neil Young, was soon aborted, apparently because Young’s voice was giving trouble. As ever, though, there were reports of arguments between the two principals. Stills nods grimly.

“He got to oversinging a little bit and maybe there was too much pressure. It was all so sudden that I don’t know, but whatever happened was cool. Neil stopped the tour very suddenly, just cold like that, but up until then it had been going great.

“He got me in the dressing room before a gig and said... ‘All right man, you’re holding back. I wanna see you get out there and hit it more’... so I did so. Jesus... nobody on the road in the country was doing better business except Elton and Aerosmith, but who are Aerosmith? I haven’t even heard their records. I must be getting old but these groups come and go every day.”

The Young/Stills tour followed recording sessions in Miami that resulted in the Stills-Young Band’s Long May You Run album released just two months ago. Stills denies the stories that it was originally intended as a Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young album.

“No… that was wrong. It started out to be just the two of us, but during the sessions Neil had to go to Japan. On the way back from Japan he stopped in California and began hanging out with David and Graham. Then he suggested that all four of us make an album together, but that wasn’t right because by that time we’d got all the tracks and half the singing done already.

“Listen... David and Graham came down to Miami but they had an album of their own to do, so they had to go back to California. I thought... wait a minute, if we’re going to do this, if we’re going to do a CSN&Y album again, then let’s do it properly. You guys go finish your own album and Neil and me will do this and, when all this is finished, then we’ll get together again. If we were going to do one together, we’d start together at the beginning and not half way through.

“Hell, there was all that talk about Graham and me fighting but that’s no big deal. Neil went off into seclusion, but that’s no big deal either. He just gets that way. I was on the ‘phone with Graham last night and he asked me whether I’d seen some of the things he said about me. I said I had and that I thought it was some of the funniest stuff ever written. There was something about Graham wanting to punch me in the nose, but that’s so ridiculous. It’s all so petty, but the important thing is that they (Crosby and Nash) had a very successful tour and an album that was great. I saw them in LA and they were just fantastic. I went out and did a song with them at the end and it was all just really nice.”

STEPHEN STILLS - New York, 1974

 

With Crosby, Nash & Young having emerged from my archives over the past two days, it seems only right and proper to give Stephen Stills a shot. Here’s my review of his concert at the Carnegie Hall in February, 1974.

There’s really no substitute for experience in rock music and there are few musicians around with as much experience as Steve Stills who brought a new band to Carnegie Hall for two concerts.

         Manassas, it seems, has been temporarily abandoned in favour of an outfit which shows off Stills’ talents as a definite front man. He’s the lead guitarist, lead singer, writer and midway through the shows he appears solo for half a dozen songs which, for me, was the highlight of the two hour set.

         In the new group are Kenny Pasarelli (bass), Russ Kunkel (drums), Don Decus (guitar), Joe Lala (keyboards) and Jerry Aiello (keyboards). Pasarelli was a member of Joe Walsh’s Barnstorm band until quite recently, and Lala has appeared with Stills in various combinations of musical outlets several times before.

         During the show Stills played a series of different guitars – six I think – and methodically went through his musical history while introducing about four new songs. Gone, it seems are the days when his excesses caught up with him on stage: at Carnegie Hall he was a straightforward musician playing and leading with an authority which rubbed off on to the sell-out crowd, from the opening song ‘Love The One You’re With’.

         During the first electric session, the organ failed, which visibly annoyed Stills, though I’m willing to bet that half the audience were unaware of the problem. He mixed oldies like ‘Pretty Girl Why’ with new songs, the most impressive of which was ‘My Favourite Changes’ – a great descending chord sequence.

         Four different acoustic guitars and a banjo were placed around a chair during a short interval before Stills reappeared solo, and it was the following half hour that showed what a great talent he is. Though his voice sounded a little croaky, his guitar style – so deceptively simple but hugely effective – was a joy to hear. He gave us ‘Change Partners’, ‘Crossroads’, ‘You Can’t Catch Me’, McCartney’s ‘Blackbird’, ‘4 + 20’ and a new song by Neil Young which promises to be in the same class as ‘4 + 20’.

         It’s not until Stills actually performs on his own like this that you understand how skilled he really is. He’s casual in the extreme, lighting cigarettes during numbers and just tapping his foot to retain the time signature, and he creates an aura of respectful silence all along. He is undoubtedly one of the best guitar players rock has produced, equally at home on either the acoustic or electric instrument.

         The mood he established was marred only by the inevitable yelling for requests between songs. But Stills gritted his teeth and played what he wanted to play.

         The set concluded with another electric session which included ‘Bluebird’ from his Buffalo Springfield days, a spontaneous drum solo and a rock and roll jam to finish. The new group were tight and musical and all that Stills could hope for in a backing band, even though there were times when they looked a little frightened of their leader.

CROSBY & NASH – Central Park, New York, September 1976

I saw quite a lot of CSN&Y during my spell in America, either collectively, in various combinations or as individuals. Here’s a review of a David Crosby and Graham Nash show at the Wolman Ice Skating Rink in Central Park from September 1976. This was a summer only venue that presented dozens of shows from, I think, June to September, and sponsored by Schaefer Beer. I saw loads of shows there in 74, 75 and 76, Springsteen among them. Here’s my report of the C&N show.  

Neil Young and Steve Stills may have blown out their tour in a flurry of sore throats and, reportedly, short tempers, but the "other half" of CSN&Y, David Crosby and Graham Nash, continue to play, live and sing together in agreeable harmony.

          The Crosby-Nash band played the first of three concerts in New York’s Central Park on Wednesday evening and offered two and a half hours of excellent music, ranging through early CSN&Y material, jointly written songs, and solo work. Much of their success could be put down to the excellent accompaniment – Danny Kortchmar (guitar), David Lindley (violin), Russ Kunkel (drums), Craig Doerge (keyboards) and Tim Drummond (bass) – but it was the personalities of the two principals that held the show together.

          David Crosby, a trifle paunchy these days, is a homely Uncle Harmony with his walrus moustache and cheery grin, while Graham Nash, beardless for once, still retains a naive enthusiasm and obvious admiration for the musicians who surround him. He looks healthier, too, his spare frame having filled out some since the CSN&Y tour of 1974.

          The concert lasted two and a half hours, opening with an electric set before an acoustic interlude and rocking out again at the end. Kortchmar’s playing throughout came a close second to the harmony singing, though the highlight of the show was Nash’s ‘Wind On The Water’, closely followed by a spacy ‘Déjà Vu’, and the two encores, ‘Chicago’ and ‘Teach Your Children’.

          Both Crosby and Nash have allied themselves with underwater photographer and ocean wildlife campaigner Jacques Cousteau in an attempt to save whales, dolphins and other species of sea-dwellers from extinction. ‘Wind On The Water’ echoes these sentiments, and during the song a film by Cousteau was projected onto a giant screen at the left of the stage; a particularly effective setting amidst the greenery of the park.

          Crosby offered a brand new song, ‘King Of The Mountain’, during the acoustic set, which compared to the spicier electric songs was rather dull, and Nash, ever-cheerful and lively, seemed more at home with older pieces like ‘Our House’ and ‘Marguarita’. During Crosby’s ‘Guinevere’ the awed appreciation of the crowd was almost frightening.

          A lengthy, free-form introduction heralded ‘Déjà Vu’, which afforded Kortchmar ample opportunity to shine, while Crosby followed with ‘Almost Cut My Hair’, never one of his best songs in my view. He made up for its melodic shortcomings by shouting the lyrics into the microphone so loud they could be heard in New Jersey. The message was all that mattered.

          Nash encouraged all to join in on the choruses of the two encores and, unlike on Four Way Street, the audience did just that. Lindley’s violin has taken over from the slide guitar on ‘Teach Your Children’, but the song has aged well and, because of its simplicity, makes an ideal closer. A third encore was demanded but the audience were told to go home because of the strict regulations concerning shows in the park. No-one would have complained if they’d played for another hour.

NEIL YOUNG & CRAZY HORSE – Palladium Theater, New York, 1976

Here’s one from the archives, from Melody Maker, November 1976. If I remember rightly this was the show when Young appeared in front of what appeared to be gigantic speaker cabinets, like the photo below which I found on the internet. This was the first time I had ever heard ‘Like A Hurricane’, one of Young’s all-time greatest songs, during which wind machines blew a gale across the stage. It was one of the great concerts, which I still remember from my last full year on MM, though I seem to have been a bit uncharitable about Crazy Horse.

Only an artist with the charisma and talent of Nell Young could perform with a lacklustre band like the current Crazy Horse and still come through with his head held high. Perhaps I’m being uncharitable to Young’s most faithful musical allies, but the simple truth is that Young himself is so damn good he totally obliterates anyone else on stage with him.

         At the first of four sold-out concerts at the Palladium Theatre on Thursday evening, Young dominated to such an extent that Crazy Horse – Frank Sampedro (guitar), Billy Talbot (bass), and Ralph Molina (drums) – seemed in awe of their leader, and were straining to keep up with his energy.

         The show was divided into two halves, acoustic and electric, and the atmosphere was extremely casual. I’m told that on the current tour Young changes his repertoire almost every night, often including brand new songs that are sometimes written hours before each concert, or simply throwing in anything he likes from his vast recorded catalogue.

         Either way, Thursday night’s show offered eight songs in the first half and ten in the second, and, because many of the acoustic numbers were drastically abbreviated, it seemed short by most standards.

         In the opening half-hour he was greatly nonchalant. He strolled on from stage right in a shabby leather jacket, check shirt and denims, loping around and squinting through his hair. The first song was new – I think it was called ‘Laughing Lady’ – and it set a tone of simplicity that lasted until the electric set.

         Playing rudimentary guitar, always in the key of G, or vamping at the piano, Young delivered throwaway versions of ‘Tell Me Why’, ‘After The Goldrush’, ‘Too Far Gone’ (a new song about a bar in North Carolina), ‘The Needle And The Damage Done’, ‘A Man Needs A Maid’ and ‘Sugar Mountain’. Each song either faded out or came to a sticky, informal conclusion, Young grinning away and trading quips with the noisy audience.

         To be perfectly honest, he reminded me vaguely of Loudon Wainwright as he strained to hit high notes and jigged from one leg to the other in a rather comical fashion. That it was spontaneous was obvious; of the five guitars surrounding him only three were used, a twelve-string and a banjo remaining untouched.

         He encouraged the audience without success to sing along to ‘Sugar Mountain’, and, obviously disappointed with the response, he quit the stage with a remark about hoping his electric set would be better received.

         It was. From the opening notes of ‘Are You Ready For The Country’ there was magic in the air and, although the band were hard-pressed to keep pace, Young was on fire for the next 60 minutes. It was his guitar work rather than his vocals that shone; he pumped out effortless solos, making the best possible use of open string harmonics, maximum reverb and occasional feedback.

         Most of the electric material was either new or from Zuma. The highlight was a new song called ‘Like A Hurricane’ which combined a strong melody line with an ascending chord sequence that reached climax after climax. While it was played, a wind machine at stage right blew across the musicians, creating an eerie, outdoor effect that harmonised perfectly with the music.

         Elsewhere we had ‘Down By The River’ and ‘Cinnamon Girl’, both powerfully rendered despite the sluggishness of the rhythm section, and ‘Helpless’, the only let-up from the constant rock and roll barrage, which featured Young at the piano. On the other songs he alternated between a black Les Paul for the piercing lead work and a huge Gretsch White Falcon for the mellower tones.

         The encore was ‘Cortez The Killer’, which featured a lengthy solo introduction from Young, strings ringing out like cathedral bells in the night. He left the stage without a second glance at the end.

         It was a wonderful evening, though one can’t help wondering how much better it could have been had Young been challenged by his accompanists. Still, even though the rest of his sometime musical colleagues (Stills or Crosby & Nash) surround themselves with the finest session talent available, Young’s choice of a simpler, more direct approach constantly produces better music. A live album is badly needed.

CROSBY, STILLS, NASH & YOUNG, Denver, 25 July, 1974

While the Stones, Who and Led Zep battled it out for the title of biggest UK band in the US during the early seventies, there was only one contender for biggest US band: Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. Unstable and prone to outbreaks of verbal squabbling between themselves, CSN&Y nevertheless set aside their differences and undertook a huge tour of the US in 1974. Seeing them on 25 July that year from the side of the stage at Mile High Stadium in Denver was a highlight of the year for me, and I can still remember looking out over that huge crowd as the music made by two Americans, one Canadian and one delighted Englishman washed over them.

         Flown in from New York courtesy of Atlantic Records, I stayed in the same hotel as the group and in the afternoon interviewed Graham Nash. Stephen Stills had been quoted as saying that the first time CS&N went out on the road was for art, the second time for the girls and this, the third, for the dollars, but Graham took exception to this. “We’re doing it for the music, man, because all of us know that none of us can make as good music together as we can apart,” he told me. Unlike Crosby and Stills, Nash was thin and wiry, and he spoke so passionately that I couldn’t help but believe him. Stills wandered into the room at one point, and was very friendly. Nash introduced us. “This is Chris, from Melody Maker in London.” “English, huh,” said Stills, thereafter that day calling me ‘English’, never Chris. I didn’t mind.

         Later in the afternoon I found myself in the lift with Neil Young, a pure coincidence, but was too overawed to speak. He was thin and wiry like Graham, and travelling separately from CS&N, in a home-on-wheels with his wife and dogs. “Each night he packs up his guitar, wife, baby son and dog and hits the road,” Crosby told me after the show.

         It was a warm night and watching the show from the side of the stage, gazing out over a crowd of 60,000 or more, was one of those once-in-a-lifetime rock experiences. At 9 pm, three-quarters of an hour after The Beach Boys, CSN&Y appeared to a standing ovation, and for the next three hours they joyously celebrated their reunion alongside Tim Drummond on bass, Russ Kunkel on drums and Joe Lala on congas. The ovation washing over them, the four principals moved to the front, Stills to the left and Young to the right, with Crosby and Nash in the centre bobbing between mikes and occasionally sharing. They opened with Stills’ ‘Love The One You’re With’.

         The show was three hours long and divided into two halves with a 15-minute break. The first half, the longest, opened with an electric set and switched to acoustic, with the second half all electric, and different combinations of CSN&Y took songs in turn. Those numbers where all four played and sang together were undoubtedly the highlights.

         Crosby’s ‘Wooden Ships’, with Young at the grand piano, followed ‘Love The One’, then Nash went over to the keyboard for ‘Immigration Man’, Stills taking the guitar solo. A new Neil Young song, ‘Traces’, followed with Young playing a huge Gretsch White Falcon and trading guitar breaks with Stills. Crosby stepped up next for ‘Almost Cut My Hair’, screaming out the vocals above the combined backing. For this song, Nash moved over to the organ, but again it was Stills’ guitar that carried the weight. Young’s turn came next with ‘Cowgirl In The Sand’ and the first electric set ended with all four joining together for ‘Pre-Road Downs’.

         Five minutes later an assortment of acoustic guitars (about a dozen) were set up around two stools and four mikes. Firstly Young appeared alone to sing ‘Only Love Can Break Your Heart’ and ‘Old Man’, then Crosby followed with a new song called ‘For Free’, and Nash followed with two songs at the piano, ‘Simple Man’ and ‘Prison Song’. For the latter he was joined by the whole band and they stayed in place for Young’s ‘Sugar Mountain’ which inspired a mass sing-along, rightly so as we were in the foothills of the Rockies.

         Stills offered ‘Change Partners’, sung by the whole band, and ‘Questions’ which he played alone. I’d have preferred ‘4 And 20’. The acoustic set closed with ‘Suite: Judy Blue Eyes’, all four tearing into this mythical song and, although some of the harmonies were occasionally a little off-pitch, they handled this long and difficult piece with the kind of assurance that comes only from those who’d created it.

        For those who experience it only occasionally, there is something positively awe-inspiring about standing on a stage a few feet from rock superstars playing to an audience in excess of 60,000; the vast sea of faces stretching out into the distance, the waves of adulation they release, the deafening on-stage volume of the music. When CSN&Y walked off after the first half the applause from the massive crowd seemed to me to be as loud as the music.  
        The second half opened with Crosby’s ‘Long Time Coming’, followed by Young on ‘Don’t Be Denied’ and Stills with a new song called ‘First Things First’ on which he played congas. Crosby offered ‘Déjà Vu’ before Young played two more new songs, ‘Revolution Blues’ and ‘Pushed It Over The End’, on which both he and Stills soloed at length. The concert ended with ‘Ohio’, a great crowd favourite, another sing-along, but they returned for one encore, a lengthy version of ‘Carry On’, which proved equally popular.

         The cheers were deafening but after a quick wave they left the stage fast, Young heading for his camper truck and the others to black limousines. On the way past me Stills stopped for a second. “Hey, English,” he shouted. “What da ya think?” I couldn’t think what to say so I just gave him a thumbs-up.

          I lingered for a while as the crowd was leaving, kneeling down next to a monitor and scribbling away in a notepad, anxious not to forget what I’d just seen. After a while I put my notepad away and noticed a girl on her own, down at the front, gazing up at the crew clearing the stage. I shouted to her, asking if she’d enjoyed the show. “It was great,” she yelled back. “What are you doing later?” I asked. She shrugged. “Come to the party at the hotel,” I shouted and lobbed my hotel keys down to her. She caught them and laughed so I just hoped for the best.  

         There was a party in the hotel, in a reception room high up on the top floor. Stills kept calling me ‘English’ and Crosby didn’t stint on the wine. I’d taken my pocket tape recorder along. Where’s Neil, I asked David. “He’s two miles out of town by now and so high on the show that nothing can touch him,” he replied. “He’s out there so happy. He came and did what he had to do for three hours and knows he did it well. Nothing can make a man happier than that.”

         Crosby and Nash seemed the most enthused by the show, Nash especially. In fact, Graham seemed as high as a kite, rushing here and there and refusing to stop talking to anyone who’d listen. “It was a dramatic want to play music together again. A real need, man,” he replied when I asked point blank what motivated them to reunite. ”I think we realised about a year ago that we had a really fucking hot band if we wanted and we could really make this hot music. We missed each other, y’know. We missed that bounce off. When there’s four of yer up there and there’s Stephen at one side and Neil at the other and me and David in the middle. Just watching them converse with each other. That’s it, y’know. That’s it. Like tonight, when we did ‘Sugar Mountain’, we stopped playing and heard 60,000 people sing back at us. Do you know what a rush that is?”

         I knew. I was about 20 feet away from him. It was one of those pinch-me moments.

         I stayed at the party for a couple of hours hoping my friend with the key would show up but she didn’t. It was the only disappointment of a fabulously memorable night.

(This, of course, is a reworked version of a much longer story I wrote for Melody Maker when I got back to New York after the show.)