Somehow it doesn't matter that these two bands have gone through enough internal and external hassles to cover the New York Metropolitan Opera for the next ten years. They just keep producing wave after wave of fine music.
The Byrds, of course—under the aegis of McGuinn the Survivor—are renowned for a rich, thickly-textured instrumental sound and equally distinctive vocal harmony. Every new Byrds album seems a continuation of the last; few surprises occur—instead, it's just like a visit with old friends.
Steve Miller's music, in contrast, seems more jigsaw-puzzleish. Rather than the Byrds' unending stream—with the water never the same, yet always the same—Miller's
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albums and individual tracks seem more like a Work in Progress, little disparate pieces that fit together in odd ways, bits on a later album relating back to something on
Sailor, say, and linking it to
Brave New World. One of these years, the whole opus will fall into place.
But musicians like to confound critics. Everyone who's written about the Byrds has detected, in retrospect at least, their all-along C&W soul; now McGuinn is denying that as mostly mythical, as having been merely the influence of Parsons and Hillman on the group. His claim won't wash for Dr. Byrds (cut after their departure), but it just might for Ballad of Easy Rider—because this album exhibits several cuts with a whole "new" sound.
Unfortunately, it's also only intermittently successful. The title cut, for example, adds strings (!); but it flows gently, sweet Dylan, brief and to the point, and McGuinn's voice truly makes you feel free. "Fido" comes next—"Bird Dog" revisited—with cowbells and conga rhythms and a definitely non-Byrds harmony (evidently McGuinn's no longer requiring the other voices to complement his). Followed then by old-time Byrds-gospel, "Oil in My Lamp." Jaunty guitar interplay, but a paltry song. McGuinn's feeling vocal and Clarence White's hick picking bring it all back home with "Tulsa County Blue": "I don't know just where I'll go . . ." A bizarre rendition of "Jack Tarr the Sailor" closes out the top side.
The bottom side's equally confused—strong and sure for "Jesus Is Just Alright" and a slow-as-molasses-or-Fudge "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue." For the latter, McGuinn contributes a much more inventive vocal than he did for Easy Rider (the film), and White's guitar spices and spruces everything up. But the rest's a long dying fall—nice enough, but from the Byrds you expect more and better.
From the Miller band, on the other hand, you never expect as much, so it's always a pleasure and somehow a surprise to hear a good new Miller release. Brave New World proved so much better than it had a right to be after Boz Scaggs' departure. Your Saving Grace is even more outstanding—due in no small part, I expect, to the presence of Nicky Hopkins on five o
One of the Byrds' strongest LPs sounds like the work of a full band, thanks to Clarence White's string-bending and the group's funkified country and blissed-out ballads. The title cut crackles with brilliance, and the "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue" cover practically tucks you in and kisses you goodnight. "Fido" is their second good song about a dog (the first: "Old Blue").
