Monday, 3 February 2020

Recorded 30 years ago today...The Top of the Mountain: 'Your Fire Burning' (Part 1)

My look at "Your Fire Burning" will be divided into three parts:
Part 1: The Top of the Mountain: Introduction and Background
Part 2: Despair's Chains Unbroken: analysis
Part 3: Extant versions

Gene Clark & Carla Olson — "Your Fire Burning" from Silhouetted in Light
Recorded February 3rd, 1990, at McCabe's, Santa Monica, CA
Released February 1992

The Top of the Mountain 

In 2014, I began a seemingly endless series of posts that counted down my TOP 50 Gene Clark songs.  Almost six years on, I will now confide that I had mixed emotions about that whole series of posts—mainly because I'd knowingly put myself in the position of adopting a lazy, modern style that reflects the fast-food side of journalism: the dreaded listicle. 

At the time, I felt that this approach would not only allow me to cover a lot of Gene's best moments in a shorter span of time (now I'm inclined to think, what was the hurry?) but it would also provide the perfect opportunity to spotlight  Gene's often-ignored accomplishments from the 1980s forward.

And so looking back at the TOP 50 posts, I can laugh at some of the ridiculousness of the exercise: upon what basis did I decide that 'Polly' (#26) rated more highly than 'No Other' (#38)? And what of 'After the Storm' at #48, which barely made it on the list at all—yet I can remember commuting to work one day and having a sudden urge to hear that specific song over any other, and becoming frustrated when I realized I hadn't thought to sync it to my iPod.
And so while I freely admit the exercise was largely a sham, I did put a lot of thought into the top 20 songs, and especially the top 5, posted below (with embedded links to my corresponding blogpost for each):

1. Your Fire Burning
2. My Marie                        
4. Strength Of Strings          
5. Echoes

As you can see from the links, there's posts on this blog specifically devoted to each song—except the number 1 song. Even in the TOP 50 countdown, I limited my thoughts to a few words:

To my knowledge, there are only four extant versions of this song.  The first is a sketch demo, just over two minutes long.  It is included on the fan-created 7-disc "box set".  The second is a rather echo-ey demo featured on Gypsy Angel; the third was recorded during Gene's tragic "last stand" at the Cinegrill from April 1991; it gives us a glimpse as to how the song might've sounded when fleshed out by a full band. 
The fourth, recorded with Carla Olson at McCabe's in 1990, the one I've chosen as my number 1 Gene Clark song, is the closest we'll ever have to a definitive version.  Though rough in places it, like 'My Marie', stands as a testament to Gene's extraordinary ability to turn what might've been just another let's-just-play-get-the-money-and-go-get-a-drink gig into a one-of-a-kind, life-changing experience. 
At the end of the song, Carla Olson says only: "Gene Clark."   
Because nothing more needed to be said. 
Committed, passionate, dignified, blessed by the angels, this is, quite simply, as good as it gets. Here it is, folks, the top of the mountain.

Up until now I've avoided sharing my feelings about "Your Fire Burning." Oh, sure, I've trumpeted its brilliance at every opportunity; I went out of my way to spotlight it in my first story for Shindig!; over the years I've rhapsodized about it on numerous music sites and web groups, told friends about it, etc. But I've never talked about it at length. 


Well, perhaps it's because the song holds great personal importance to me; it looms large in my own personal mythology. It is inextricably tied to specific people, places and situations in my life. 
My reticence comes from the feeling that I'm too close to it; that I'm incapable of anything resembling objective assessment. The greatest fear, however, is that I won't do it justice, or capably explain its lasting significance to Gene's legacy.

Upon its release in 1992, the year after his death, it had the distinction of being the first previously unreleased song of Gene's that I'd heard from his latter-day output (the Echoes compilation, released in September 1991, featured previously unreleased material from the 1960s). Recorded on February 3, 1990—and released two years to the month later on Silhouetted in Light, in February 1992—it was recent enough to feel new and fresh to me...even as it signalled the beginning of Gene's remaining 15 months with us. 

And so the poignancy was built-in, unavoidable. For me, the song resembled something akin to sacred music: impervious to the slings and arrows of critical assessment. It could never be anything other than the top of the mountain; the finest, most distinguished of accomplishments.

Time has not dimmed this view. 

The mourned provides solace for those in mourning

In 1992, I had a roommate who worked in a record store.  To the best of my recollection, it was he who brought news of the imminent release of Silhouetted in Light. I seem to recall placing a special order for the album, so that I could get it as soon as it was released.

When it arrived, I quickly scanned the back cover to check out the songs Gene and Carla has performed that evening. "Your Fire Burning" made an impression on me before I'd even heard it.  For starters, it struck me as odd that Gene and Carla opened the show with a brand-new song (assuming the track list was kept intact); secondly, I was intrigued by the time of 6:41. (Note: I would not hear the No Other album until 1993, so the idea of a six-minutes-plus Gene Clark song was foreign to me.)  I quickly assumed that the excessive length would be due to introductions, on-stage banter, tuning, etc.

And it was under this assumption that I hit play on the CD and started to leave the room to get something, only to be stopped in my tracks by Gene's voice.

"'Your Fire Burning' in two..."

They were going right into the song? I turned around, sat down.  I listened.

The top of the mountain was within view.

The year of 1992 was among the roughest of my life. Apart from the fact that I—The Only Living Gene Clark Fanboy in London, Ontario—was still grieving Gene's death in a solitary vacuum, I was also besieged by a series of losses and disappointments that left me reeling. The arrival of 'Your Fire Burning' into my life felt like a posthumous gift from the spirit of Gene Clark himself, as though he were somehow capable of sensing my despair, and sending me solace in song. And while that was merely a fanciful thought to comfort myself in a time of distress, the reality of how the Silhouetted in Light album came to be recorded and ultimately released, is enough to make one believe in the abiding power of angels.

Scratched and nicotine-stained,
my personal copy of Silhouetted in Light
 betrays the extent to which I
turned to it duringin difficult times. 

The Butterfly Effect: how one small act gave us Silhouetted in Light

The Butterfly Effect: In chaos theory, the butterfly effect is the sensitive dependence on initial conditions in which a small change in one state of a deterministic nonlinear system can result in large differences in a later state. —Wikipedia

There are times when I marvel at the various ways in which a simple, seemingly inconsequential, choice can spark a chain of events that can create a huge impact further on up the road. Such is the case with the McCabe's version of 'Your Fire Burning', a song that was not captured in a polished studio recording before Gene's death. All extant versions are treasured, of course (and will be duly discussed in Part 2), but it is this version that first captured my heart and remains, to this day, the closest I've heard to a definitive recording of by Gene Clark. But the chain of events that led to its existence are a perfect example of the a positive manifestation of the Butterfly Effect.
In Timeless Flight Revisited, author Johnny Rogan asked Saul Davis, Carla Olson's husband and Gene's erstwhile manager, about the circumstances under which the tape was made:
"At the end of the night, the sound person tapped guitarist Duane Jarvis on the shoulder and said, 'Would you like a tape?," Davis recalls. "He gave it to Duane and we we didn't even know about it. After Gene passed away, Duane called me and said, 'By the way, I have a tape from McCabe's.' I said, 'I can't believe it.' It was primitive but perfect as far as being a representation of that night and allowing us to put out something that people want to hear."
Was it a sudden impulse? Usual practice? Whatever the reason, had the sound person not had the presence of mind to throw a cassette into the soundboard, I would have never heard these precious six minutes and forty-one seconds of 'Your Fire Burning,' let alone the other performances captured on that distant evening, 30 years ago today.

And for that I am forever grateful.


This post is dedicated with love to my dear friend Taslim, who has helped me immensely in recent months. 

Sunday, 29 December 2019

Coming in January 2020, Despair’s chains unbroken: Your Fire Burning

January 2020 will see the arrival of the first instalment in a projected 3-part discussion of ‘Your Fire Burning’—a song that is of such massive personal significance to me that I’ve been hesitant write about it at length.

Until now.

Happy New Year!

If you enjoy my content, please consider supporting me on ko-fi! 

Saturday, 23 November 2019

Review: Farm Team - Grooves & Ruts (2019 release)

This is a slight diversion from my usual Gene Clark-related content. I'd like to post an album review I wrote about a recently released album entitled Grooves & Ruts, recorded by a Vancouver collective called Farm Team.

I wrote the review because I was deeply moved by the material.  I'm posting it here because I feel that it deserves a wider audience.

Farm Team is a vehicle for singer-songwriter Simon Paradis, a musician I first met in London, Ontario in the late 1980s. Simon & I played in a band together for approximately two years in a band called Month of Sundays.
Simon Paradis (far left) with
Month of Sundays, December 30, 1989
at Call the Office in London, ON
Apart from being an extraordinary guitarist, he was sharp, quick-witted and funny as hell. His guitar playing had an immediately recognizable, unique style, and yet it was also well-rounded, with blues, jazz, rock chops to burn.  Simon could play it all, and what's more had the scholarly knowledge to back it up. He was no bullshitter, he was the real deal.  In those days, there were lots of hapless musician wannabes in London (of which I was one) but Simon was a guy that emanated that undefinable star quality that few possess, and which he, to his credit, seemed blissfully unaware.

Those impressions are all written in past tense, but as I recently told Simon, time and circumstance have only served to reinforce this belief. I hope you enjoy the review and the music it describes.

It is important that we support independent artists.

Farm Team — Grooves & Ruts

(Simon Paradis)

(Canada Council for the Arts)

Although nominally credited to Farm Team (a loose collective of seasoned Vancouver musicians), Grooves & Ruts is, at its core, another impressive offering from singer/songwriter Simon Paradis.  And for Paradis—a veteran session player/producer for over 30 years who has, in recent years, amassed a formidable back catalogue, both as a solo artist and half of Stanton/Paradis—this 14-song, 52-minute work stands as a uniquely compelling personal statement about the resilience of the human spirit.

Paradis’ extraordinary creative run is welcome, not only because he is a gifted, insightful musician and songwriter, but because it represents a miraculous comeback in the aftermath of a near-fatal, life-altering 2007 workplace accident (the harrowing details of which are chronicled in this CBC article from 2018). After reading about myriad impediments he (and wife/writing partner Kara Stanley) faced during his recovery one cannot help but view the album as the ultimate manifestation of Paradis’ passion for music, both as a force for renewal and reclamation of one’s self.
Musically, Grooves & Ruts ‘14 3rd Ave’ begins with an exquisitely hazy wash of pedal steel, courtesy of Paul Rigby (Neko Case, A.C. Newman); it opens the album like eastern-facing curtains on a bright summer morning.  Shortly thereafter it’s joined by acoustic guitar, brushed drums, tasteful bass and Paradis’ folksy vocals, and melts into a warm, inviting mid-tempo vibe that is largely reflective of the album’s overall approach.  While certain influences are obvious—The Band, The Flying Burrito Brothers, Neil Young, to name but three—they are never aped gratuitously; merely offered a respectful tip of the hat in Paradis’ pursuit of his own vision and sound. One also feels less overt influences at play, as if the DNA of innumerable blues, jazz, country—even pop—masters were commingling inside the bones of the songs.

Paradis’ voice, like the material itself, possesses a disarming vulnerability: there are moments when it shakes and quivers—but never does it falter.  And when he needs to, Paradis digs deep, summoning both ghosts of pain and angels of mercy, in the soaring choruses of ‘Boats’ and ‘Night is Here’.  Where the former might be taken as an allusion to his post-accident recovery period (“I’m leanin’ hard into the wind,” he sings in a world-weary voice), the latter offers love and reassurance during one’s darkest hour. Sung in plaintive tones, augmented by glorious backing vocals that reinforce the concepts of support and selflessness at the song’s core, “Night is Here” is a stunning testament to the power of love as a healing force.

But Paradis knows it’s not as simple as saying love conquers all.  The album is rife with disillusionment, disappointment, pain, suffering, and the bittersweet remembrance of how things were before—all of which is made excruciatingly clear in one of the album’s most poignant moments, “Save Me”.  “This one is a study in juxtaposed realities,” Paradis said in an October 2019 interview. “Right after my accident, while in rehab, I realized that my ‘dreaming self’ hadn't made the same adjustment my physical self had. I had been a fully able-bodied person for 38 years of my life, so when I went to bed, I was able to stand, walk, run in all of my dreams, only to wake in the morning to find the (wheel)chair at the foot of my bed.”

Juxtapositions like this suffuse the entire album: there are befores and afters, gains and losses, pains and pleasures, highs and lows, darkness and light, rockers (the searing 'Mr. Hopeful', with Paradis wailing "Love, love, an elemental force!") and ballads ('Sweet Melinda'), questions and answers.  So it seems like more than a coincidence that such juxtaposition carries over to the song titles themselves. And it is here that one finds the most satisfying takeaway from Grooves & Ruts: sung by a man who nearly died in a tragic jobsite accident, and who subsequently faced a long, arduous convalescence, “I’ve Been Better” sounds like the wryest of answers to one of life’s most innocuous questions: how are you?  Tellingly, the album-ending track, “I’ve Been Worse,” a reprise of the former, might very well be Paradis’ equally wry response to the same innocuous question—except this time from a more hopeful perspective: that of a man who nearly lost everything, but now celebrates the reclamation of his life in song.

Grooves & Ruts is available from CD Baby.

Sunday, 10 November 2019

Raven 'bout Gene: Kai Clark talks about his new tribute album, Silver Raven

Roughly coinciding with 4AD's mammoth reevaluation of Gene Clark's 1974 masterpiece No Other (released last week) and what would have been Gene's 75th birthday on November 17th, son Kai Clark is poised to release Silver Raven, an 11-song tribute album that traces his father's career in music. Suffice it to say each of the handpicked tracks—popular classics, Byrds-era favourites, under-heard gems—hold special significance for Kai. With guest performances from his dad's former colleagues Carla Olson and Byron Berline, and spirited backing from the members of the Kai Clark Band, the album is both a loving celebration of his dad's accomplishments and a welcome opportunity to introduce Gene Clark's music to a new generation of fans.

(More info on the Silver Raven album)

It's been over five years since Kai Clark last chatted with The Clarkophile; in that time, much has changed, in terms of his father's legacy. Kickstarted in part by the dual successes of Paul Kendall's wonderful documentary, The Byrd Who Flew Alone and Beach House and Co.'s magnanimous one-off tour of the No Other album, it's apparent that we are witnessing a significant reassessment of Gene Clark's entire oeuvre and his place in rock's pantheon. To wit, a steady stream of archival releases, enough to please any Clarkoisseur (The Lost Studio Sessions; Back Street Mirror E.P.Gene Clark Sings for You; Here Tonight: The White Light Demoshas rather convincingly demonstrated the value of material that remained unreleased during Clark's lifetime.

These releases constitute much more than play-once-and-file-away curios for Boomer diehards. They are evidence of a long-overdue re-evaluation of Clark's importance as a serious artist.
It is evident that both fans and cognoscenti have finally conferred upon Gene the kind of respect and attention he was rarely afforded in his lifetime. In many ways, not the least of which is its enormity (both in size and cost), 4AD's lavish box-set treatment of No Other is the final piece of evidence needed to make a rock-solid case: Gene Clark can no longer be regarded as a "cult artist."

Clearly, for those of us who love Gene Clark, this is an epochal moment, if not a universally acknowledged seismic shift in the foundation of rock's hierarchy. Gene's message has been heard.

And so it was my great pleasure to spend an afternoon in October talking with Kai about his new project. But I also wanted to dig a little deeper and find out about Kai as an individual, as opposed to Gene Clark's son, who is also the public face of the Gene Clark Estate (brother Kelly eschews the spotlight).  Kai and I ended up talking about everything from chopping wood (from which he'd just taken a temporary break) to his childhood, his wife, Amber; their children, and their plans to leave California for Nashville to pursue his solo career in earnest. And, of course, we also discussed Gene Clark's transformation from cult hero to acknowledged songwriting genius.

Kai is gracious and affable; always consummate gentleman.  He spoke with great affection for his father's music, and provided details about the songs selected for the project.  Unfortunately, I'm not at liberty to reveal the full track list of Silver Raven just yet, but I will say that Kai selected wisely: there is something here for anyone who has ever been touched by Gene Clark's vast body of work.

Q: While we know quite a bit about your dad, I'm not sure everyone out there knows a lot about you. So I was wondering if you could tell the readers of the blog a little bit about your family?

Kai Clark: I think a lot of people didn't really know that my father had two sons. I mean, it's not like he really spoke about it much. Only the people that were close to him really knew that he had a family. And I think part of that was probably due to, you know, the bitter separation between my mom and him. It was devastating for him, I'm sure, them splitting and my mom leaving with us kids. And so I think that life was kind of separate from my father.

I was born in Mendocino and I lived there until I graduated high school.  I lived with my mom and then I would visit my dad in summers, often. Some summers we wouldn't do that, maybe 'cause he was on the road or this or that. So we would visit in the summer months when we were off of school and then we would be with my mom for the rest of the time. But often my mom and my dad didn't talk. So I actually have a funny story where my mom sent me on a Greyhound bus to stay with him in the late '80s and didn't tell my dad. I called my dad from the Greyhound bus station in downtown LA, which was like one in the morning—not a place you really want to be at. I called and my dad answered and said, "Hey, how's it going? Why are you calling so late?" And I said, "Well, are you gonna pick me up? I'm here at the bus station."  He says, "What do you mean you're at the bus station?" I said, "Well, I'm here at the bus station." He says, "Where?" And I said, "Downtown LA." And he didn't have a clue that I was even coming down. So yeah, it was pretty funny. I don't think he was very prepared, as a family man, you know, with the lifestyle he had.

When I graduated high school, I went to Lake Tahoe, where my mom was in a recovery program for her drug addiction, so I stayed with her for a while. I fell in love with Lake Tahoe. I loved the mountains up there. It's a beautiful place.

I've always pursued music, but to pay the bills, I've always had to work odd jobs. So I've been a waiter, worked in construction—I've done pretty much everything. Since I had been in the restaurant industry most of my life, I went to culinary school and graduated in 2004 from the Cordon Bleu in San Francisco.

Q. When did you meet (wife) Amber?
Kai Clark with wife Amber and children,
Taylor, Ava and Kaynon.

KC: I met Amber in 2007, here in Northern California. We had both had bad relationships.  She had gone through a bad marriage, and so we weren't really looking for anything too serious.  But we quickly realized how much we had in common and how good it was with each other. So we spent several years just enjoying life and traveling around.

She's amazing...she did choir for many years before she met me. When she started singing with me, I realized she had this great ability to harmonize. So it's very enjoyable to have a wife who's musically inclined. And after 13 years of singing with me, she definitely knows my style.

We had our first boy Taylor in 2010, and then we had our daughter Ava in 2012. Kaynon, our second boy, was born in 2015. And we've bought 20 acres up here, near the Sierra mountains. It's been a joy.

But I think as the kids get older, we're ready to move off the mountain. I've kind of burned out on the whole California music scene. I just don't feel like it's what it used to be. LA was a very hard music scene, I think. Northern California has a better music scene, but with my style of playing and everything else, I feel like California has kind of become this TV/American Idol kind of pop culture thing. It's not really the roots of music that I enjoy. So that's why we're considering moving out to the Nashville area next year.

Q. I want to talk about the new album. What was your and the band's attitude going into the studio? Was is intimidating to take on these legendary songs, or was it a relaxed atmosphere?

KC: Well, I think we had been playing enough of the material live for long enough—you know, I've been working with Jim Moreland, my drummer for close to 20 years now. I think we went into the studio knowing that this was something that we had wanted to do for a long time. Me, especially; I've had this kind of on my mind for years, but I never felt like I had the band or the opportunity—or maybe the knowledge and the experience—to do the album justice. I think the most intimidating thing about going in to record an album of my father's songs or songs he performed with, say the Byrds, was the amount of material that there is to look at.

Obviously, people are going to say, "Hey, why didn't you record this song"—because there's just so much, you know?  I felt like a lot of the song choices were not only because we played them live, or they were in our heart, but also songs that I thought really deserved more recognition than they had gotten on the original release. So there was a lot of factors that went into it. I don't feel like we were really intimidated at all. I felt like we were actually excited to go in and, and start recording an album of my father's songs...but I'm very critical of my own musical performances. Obviously living up to my father's performances is very intimidating in a sense, because his vocals were so unique and distinctive and he was just such an amazing vocalist and songwriter.

 Gene Clark's former duet partner Carla Olson
makes a guest appearance on Kai's new album,
Silver Raven.
But people are always going to relate it to the artists that did the songs originally. So obviously they're going to relate it my father, his performance on the original songs. And so that's—that's a little intimidating.

But we really enjoyed making the album and I think it was just the perfect time. And you know, I think it was just fate that it's coming up on my what would've been my father's 75th birthday.  Much of the stuff that's coming out, like the 4AD release of No Other, we didn't even know about that when we started this project.

Q. Right. I mean it just seems to be falling into place all at once.

KC: Yeah, for sure. And I love seeing the recognition. If you look at Gram Parsons, just as an example, I mean the recognition he gets is amazing, you know what I mean? And of course, with due respect, he was a great songwriter and another pioneer of combining different kinds of music. But I think Gene, my father, definitely deserves that respect in music history and also in music songwriting and creation of new music by blending different genres. You know, he was definitely pioneering some stuff.  With the No Other album, you look at that and—nobody was doing anything like that at the time. So I think that he was definitely always thinking ahead.

Q. The lavish box-set treatment being given to [No Other], to me this would have been unthinkable 10 years ago, 20 years ago.  This would not have been done. And to me this just feels like kind of sweet vindication for his work.

KC: Well, there's always the people that are going to critique it— there's definitely people that'll be like, you know—it's almost like they don't want Gene Clark to be a mainstream name because they are attracted to the mystical aspects of his career as a cultish underground genius: this unknown (other than the Byrds) master of songwriting. So I think there is an aspect of my father that is very appealing; that his career with wasn't bigger than it was.

Q. Are you saying some fans romanticize the fact that his career wasn't more successful?

KC: I just mean that because of his obscurity some people believe it makes him more attractive as an artist in their view. They may believe that commercializing him will take away from the beauty of his work.  And yes, they believe it makes it more romantic in a sense.

But I think my father was looking inside of himself for the songs, but he also was looking outside for the recognition that he wanted. I think he wanted people saying "You wrote a masterpiece"; you know, the pat on the back. And I don't think he really got that in his lifetime. It's sad, but at the same time, many artists pass away long before they got the recognition they deserve. And that's the way it works sometimes. So I'm definitely excited to see [his music] going out to a new generation; seeing my father get a lot of the recognition that he deserved for so long.

Q. Yes, I mean, how can that possibly be a bad thing? I mean, to me, this is just like finally reaching the top of the mountain. I mean, Gene Clark goes mainstream. That's really cool to me.

KC:  I think what it does is open the door for people to discover more of his music because there's so much.

Q. But really, fame is a bit of a double-edged sword, in terms of how it affects you, because the more popular your father's work becomes, the more it draws nasty comments.

KC: Well, I think you've got to take the good with the bad.  The world is both a wonderful and beautiful place and also a very nasty place, especially in the public eye. There's two sides to every story, no pun intended.  But I mean I love the stories I hear. I often get contacted by people who say, "I got to meet your dad after a show and he took the time to like sign my"—this or that. And then you hear the other stories of, you know, he was a total a-hole. And that may have been due to alcohol or whatever situation he was in. I mean, you've gotta take the good with the bad and definitely, tragedy makes good headlines.

He definitely had qualities that I don't think people ever got to see because all they saw was what was either written in a magazine or in an article, or what the public's view of him was. So I got to see a lot of my father that people didn't get to see, which is special. And I think that people should know that he was very funny. He had a great sense of humour, he was always joking and laughing.  And he was very kind to people that normally people of his stature just kind of shun, because they get it get it all the time. You get the guy going, "Hey, sign this!" or people following you around.  It's gotta be a little annoying at times, but at my father was very good about that.

Q. Of the songs included set for inclusion on Silver Raven, do you have a personal favourite?

KC: Well, 'Silver Raven' is special to me, not just because it's off the No Other album, but it was probably the very first song in my father's that I ever learned to play, partly because it's three chords. [laughs] But the magic of my father's music is you could have three chords, but the vocals could take you on this journey.

For me it was special because I was going through a hard time in high school.  My mom was using drugs and my dad was not in my life very much. And I used to go over to this guy's house who had guitars all over, all around. And it was kind of like a little escape for me; I could play all these guitars he had. There was an old cowboy guy named Chuck, who used to be a pro rodeo rider—good old cowboy guy. He would always tell me, "Hey, you gotta play that song 'Silver Raven.'" And every time I'd go over there and pick up a guitar, I had to play the song for Chuck.  It became special, you know, because of that.  It was like this song that had this history with me, that always stuck with me.

Sincere thanks to Kai Clark
For more information on Kai Clark and the Silver Raven project, click here.

If you've enjoyed this article, please consider a small donation at my Ko-fi page.

Tuesday, 9 July 2019

Wanna meet me for Ko-fi?

Hello, fellow Clarkophiles

As you may have noticed, I've introduced something new to the blog: a Ko-fi account.

Ko-fi is a service that will accept small donations (roughly the amount of a coffee—hence the name) on behalf of content-creators like me. It's not a paywall, a scam, or anything other than an inexpensive way to let me know in tangible terms that you care about this blog.

Now, I have mixed emotions about this, since it was never my intention to personally profit off of Gene's work. Over the years, however, as my posts have become more research-heavy and time-consuming, it has become harder to justify the time spent researching and writing posts for The Clarkophile when that time and effort might conceivably be spent taking on paid freelancing opportunities (over and above those in which I'm currently involved).

But I love this blog dearly; in many ways it's a living testament to, and open manifestation of, my love of Gene Clark. I want to keep it going for as long as possible.

As unlikely as it sounds, I've never met another Gene Clark fan in the flesh, face-to-face, and yet I'm delighted to report that, as of today, this blog has had nearly 350,000 page views. I am humbled by that, and I want to thank everyone who has ever clicked on a post.

And so, if you have ever read one of my posts and enjoyed it, maybe learned something new, or came to think of Gene's work in a new way, I would invite you to use the button below to take me out for a virtual cup of coffee.

Thank you.

Tom (The Clarkophile)

Wednesday, 1 May 2019

The Firebyrd Project Part 4: Conclusion

I'm going to conclude the Firebyrd Project today with a reveal of the material that could potentially be used in the creation of a near-definitive document of the era. What new information I have uncovered related to previously undocumented tracks is included below, and in previous instalments of this series. 

I have no doubt that, at some future date, a company will step forward with the necessary resources to take my ideas, build upon my work, and make them a reality. 

Mark my words.  

And now, imagine the following...

Thanks to Indigo Mariana/Neon Brambles for creating the cover mock-up.
Photo by Henry Diltz.

Raven in the Dark: Live, Studio & Demo Recordings from the Firebyrd Era, 1980-1984

CD 1

  1. Mr. Tambourine Man 
  2. Something About You Baby 
  3. Rodeo Rider 
  4. Rain Song 
  5. Vanessa 
  6. If You Could Read My Mind 
  7. I’ll Feel a Whole Lot Better 
  8. Made for Love
  9. Blue Raven 
  10. She Loves You
  11. Into the Night
  12. Kansas City Southern
  13. Dixie Flyer
  14. Something About You Baby
  15. Seventh Avenue Train
  16. Silver Raven
  17. Blue Raven
Tracks 1-9 Original Firebyrd release, 1984
Tracks 10-17 Gene Clark & The Firebyrds, Live 1983-1984

CD 2

  1. Over the Mountain 
  2. Strange and Different Way
  3. (Livin' in) Hard Times           
  4. Painted Fire 
  5. I Saw a Dream Come True
  6. Shades of Blue
  7. Crazy Ladies
  8. Midnight Mare
  9. I’ll Change Your Life
  10. If I Don’t Have You
  11. Love is Gonna Come at Last
  12. Young Love 
  13. I'll Feel a Whole Lot Better
  14. You're Gonna Miss That Somebody (aka Rest of Your Life)
  15. Straight From the Heart
  16. Easy Ride 
  17. Love Wins Again
  18. You and I
  19. Raven in the Dark

CD 2 Track-by-track notes

Over the Mountain (chorus only)
Exists as a 52-second snippet of a work in progress. But even as a brief fragment it is a stirring work, possibly envisioned as a No Other-esque epic.  From Gene's dramatic, quasi-operatic singing style and obvious spiritual/religious/metaphorical significance of mountaintops, to the crushing finality of Gene's last strummed chord, I have the distinct sense that this song was intended to be a major work.
The lyrics are difficult to discern, possibly due to Gene's problems with his teeth, but it is, for the most part, a commanding performance. There is a moment at the 0:10 mark at which Gene's voice breaks, yet somehow I can't help but be moved by it. Even when Gene's voice falters, as it does here, it still carries a considerable punch.

I envision 'Over the Mountain'  as a spiritual invocation of sorts, something akin to Brian Wilson's intentions for 'Our Prayer,' the leadoff track from SMiLE.

Strange and Different Way
Songs are open for interpretation, of course, but it's my belief that while 'Strange and Different Way' appears, at first blush, to be another one of Gene's songs of rejection, it's actually dealing with the same kind of metaphysical concerns as those later expressed in 'Pledge To You': intimations that a loving relationship that ends at a partner's death—i.e. final separation in this mortal life—amounts to mere prelude for blissful reconnection in the next:

I want my baby
She told me goodbye
And then she said maybe
We'll meet again on some bright sunshiny day
We'll be together
And we'll see each other
In a strange and different way.

I had a girl
I called her my lady
She meant more than all the world
She called me her baby
We'll meet again on some bright sunshiny day
We'll see each other
And we'll see each other
In a strange and different way.

This is one of the problematic inclusions in the set, as there is no way to determine its provenance.  Another in a seemingly endless series of fascinating mysteries in Gene's career.

(Livin' in) Hard Times
Painted Fire
I Saw a Dream Come True
(See discussion in previous instalments of this series)

The Glass House Tape

December 1980
Recorded with Rick Clark, Thomas Jefferson Kaye, Jon Faurot and Garth Beckington
Shades of Blue
Crazy Ladies
Midnight Mare
I'll Change Your Life
If I Don't Have You

One of the most appealing things about this five-song set is its simplicity: acoustic guitars, rich harmonies, with Gene taking the lead on all (and in fine voice, to boot). Like the Sings for You demos, the Glass House tape has acquired a mythical status among fans. It's high time that fans were given an opportunity to dispel the myth and assess the reality. The good news is that it is a much better-sounding recording than SFY, and the writing is, for the most part, top-shelf Clark. One's enjoyment of the material, however, is largely dependent upon one's tolerance for the presence Tommy Kaye, both as writer (e.g. 'Shades of Blue') and vocal arranger.
I don't mind 'Shades of Blue', but by the same token, I don't think it deserved to be recorded on two occasions, the second of which came in the recording made with John Arrias. Of the two, the acoustic Glass House take is the superior cut, if only because it is not lumbered with the Motels/Quarterflash-like production cliches that were by well past their best-before date when Gene recorded it in the 1989-1990 period.  Either Gene liked the song or Kaye somehow convinced him of its merit. Possibly both.

I had always hoped the GH version of 'Crazy Ladies' would prove definitive—and it might very well have been, had it not been for Kaye's heavy-handed vocal embellishments. To this day, the best versions remain the ones recorded by McGuinn, Clark (and Hillman) in the 1977-1978 time frame. 

'I'll Change Your Life' positively soars with Merseybeat ebullience; at some point, it could have (i.e. should have) been translated into a power-pop arrangement. 
'Midnight Mare', co-written with brother Rick Clark, is a bit of an oddity, but enjoyable nonetheless.  The spontaneous outburst of assorted whinnies, hoots and hollers—perhaps jarring upon first listen—are refreshingly spirited, even exhilarating. If the following mathematical equation acoustic guitars + lush harmonies + 1980 leads you to a disappointing answer of Air Supply or the Little River Band, rest assured this stuff is far nowhere near that cynical in execution or intent. 
'If I Don't Have You' is another classic Clark torch song, and would today be recognized as such, had had he had the inclination to record it for Firebyrd. I understand the artistic impulse is to move inexorably forward, never look back, but sometimes I wish someone had grabbed Gene by the lapels and said, "Gene, you must release this song."

Some may be wondering why I haven't included the legendary track 'Communications'. The short answer is that the most recent research undertaken by Rogan in his exhaustive attempt to uncover the truth (see footnotes for the track in Requiem for the Timeless Vol 2) suggests it dates from much later in the decade, towards the end of Gene's life, and was accidentally lumped in with the other five songs from 1980 due to, ironically enough, tape-trading miscommunications.
In truth, it sounds nothing like the other five tracks, and Gene's voice sounds weathered and on-the-edge, emotionally speaking, so I would tend to exclude it from this set.  Should definitive, incontrovertible evidence emerge that it was among the songs recorded for the GHT then of course I would insist on its inclusion.

Love is Gonna Come At Last
Young Love
I'll Feel a Whole Lot Better

In the 1984 period, for unknown reasons, Gene recorded a slew of bizarrely chosen cover songs: 'Living Next Door to Alice', a sappy story-song that became a hit for Smokie in 1976); 'Needles and Pins', written by Jack Nitzsche and Sonny Bono, made famous by Jackie DeShannon and the Searchers, but in this case, as astutely noted by Rogan, inexplicably faithful to Smokie's arrangement in the '70s; two well-chosen songs by Badfinger, 'Love is Gonna Come at Last' & 'Baby Blue'; 'Young Love', written by Ric Cartey and Carole Joyner, was a hit for Tab Hunter in the late '50s; 'The Closer You Get' was a hit for Alabama in 1983; and yet another remake of 'I'll Feel a Whole Lot Better'. (Should you wish to hear them, all of Gene's versions can be heard here).

'Baby Blue' is my all-time favourite Badfinger song. And while on paper it makes total sense—pairing the man who wrote some of the sweetest proto-power pop of the 1960s with one of the finest examples of the genre as it matured in the 1970s—Gene misses the mark completely, hence its absence from the set. In truth, it doesn't sound like he knows the song very well to begin with, and the production and backing is coldly antiseptic, devoid of anything even approaching soulful commitment.  On the other hand, 'Love is Gonna Come at Last' fares much better: Gene's voice rises above the robotic backing in a way that undercuts the titular expression of hope with world-weary resignation and an underlying sense of futility.  Check out Gene's guttural reading of the otherwise throwaway bridge in the song, in which he infuses genuine passion (largely missing from the other covers) into the following lines: "I live for tomorrow, what it may bring/I live through the sorrow, live in a dream."
The guitar playing, while hopelessly tied to the usual assortment of '80s pedals and effects, offers another high point to the track.

As Rogan says, 'Young Love' succeeds "in spite of itself." As performed by a man of 40, we understand it is a song sung in reflection of a time long past.  Gene's sincerity prohibits any sleazier interpretation. Unfortunately, the smoky burr that sometimes affected Gene's voice from around this point forward is on full display here, and is somewhat distracting once heard.

If you're keeping score, this is Gene's third re-recording of  'I'll Feel a Whole Lot Better' in as many years. To date, two of the three have been released: the 1982 NyteFlyte version came out on The Lost Studio Sessions 1964-1982; and of course, there's the ramshackle bar-band-like version on Firebyrd. I have included it in this set because it is, after all, Gene's signature song, and ultimately, it's interesting to compare the three versions. Sadly, while the countrified approach is certainly appreciated, Gene's rough-edged vocal simply doesn't work.  The musicians sound like inveterate rockers doing their best impersonation of country players...with predictable results.

You're Gonna Miss That Somebody (aka Rest of Your Life)

Rogan knocks this song as an unashamed Elvis pastiche, but I think Gene does a masterful job on it. We've heard the tinny version on the dodgy Silvery Moon album, but there exists at least two versions of Gene performing the song accompanying himself on acoustic guitar that are worthy of release.

Straight From the Heart
Easy Ride 
Love Wins Again
You and I
(The BUG demos)

For many years we've been under the impression that there were three songs issued on the BUG demos tape, but recently Whin Oppice disclosed that there was a fourth: a cover of Herb Pedersen's 'Easy Ride', which Gene had previously performed with Flyte at the Palomino engagement in 1982. 
I haven't heard Gene's version in its entirety, but suffice it so say it sounds like a winner: fresh, breezy and instantly likeable. Here is Pedersen's version, dating from the same year Gene recorded it.

Many fans are familiar with the other BUG demos, 'Straight from the Heart', 'You and I' and 'Love Wins Again'. I don't think anyone would be averse to their seeing official release. They are all solid, well-sung Gene Clark originals, and would nicely sit alongside his best song from the decade. In truth, a collection of Gene's 20 best songs from the 1980s—a time during which he was largely forgotten—would demand that critics and fans take another look at his body of work.  

Raven in the Dark 
(discussed in previous instalment)

Thank you to everyone who took the time to assist me in this project.
That's it for me for a while. Taking a break to work on my Bill Rinehart story for Ugly Things magazine. I'll be back sometime in the summer to delve into another aspect of Gene's career. 

Monday, 18 March 2019

The Firebyrd Project Part 3: Project update/Tolls and tales on Gene's road to The Firebyrds

Cassette tape from the Estate of Pat Robinson, 
from which the previously unknown, 
undocumented song 'Raven in the Dark' was discovered.
(From The Collection Of Whin Oppice)

Previously undocumented Firebyrd-era song surfaces

'Raven in the Dark' features Gene Clark's vocal and acoustic guitar

In a surprising and timely development, a previously undocumented Gene Clark composition from the Firebyrd era has been brought to my attention by Clark collector Whin Oppice.

'Raven in the Dark', featuring Gene on acoustic guitar and vocal, clocks in at 4:53, and is said to feature elements of two other Clark songs: the still-unreleased 'Crazy Ladies' (written circa 1977) and 'My Marie', co-written with singer-songwriter Pat Robinson circa 1986.

The song, which appears in the form of a home demo, is included on a tape consisting of 14 songs, presumably copied for Clark collaborator Pat Robinson circa 1984 (see image, above right). The Fuji DR-II tape, entitled "Gene Clark (Songs, Demos & Unreleased)" was among the items acquired by Mr. Oppice in a sale organized by the Mr. Robinson's Estate, after his death on August 16, 2016.

All of the songs on the tape are closely associated with Firebyrd era, including the Byrds' Preflyte version of 'You Showed Me,' which Gene revived with the Firebyrds in 1983 and 1984.

This marks the third occasion on which Gene name-checked the ominous black bird in one of his songs (the others of course, being 'Silver Raven' from 1974, and its Firebyrd-era sequel, 'Blue Raven', from 1984).

Because the title, 'Raven in the Dark' (with its image of a dark bird/Byrd flying unseen) constitutes such a perfect metaphor for Gene's experiences in the early '80s, I've decided that it will be incorporated into the ultimate title of the Firebyrd Project.

The remainder of the material on the tape is familiar/documented material, either from official or unofficial sources:
  • Tracks 1-3: NyteFlyte demos (since released on The Lost Studio Sessions 1964-1982)
  • Tracks 4-6: BUG demos (unreleased, 1984)
  • Track 7: Preflyte 
  • Track 8: This Byrd Has Flown
  • Track 9: Firebyrd
  • Track 10: Not sure which version this is, but various ones have surfaced over the years
  • Track 12-13: Firebyrd
  • Track 14 (reverse side of J-card): 'Rodeo Rider' (Firebyrd)
Sincere thanks to Whin, both for bringing this song to my attention and for sharing the J-card image.

Ahead of the reveal of my choices for bonus material in my imaginary 2-CD package, I have decided to write a brief overview of Gene's history as a live performer from 1965 to 1984. I felt that this would help establish context for what he was up against during this period of transition.

    The Reverse Arc of Fame: Tolls and tales on Gene's road to The Firebyrds

    Firebyrds Promo pic, circa 1984: L to R: Michael Clarke
    Matt Andes, Gene, Peter Oliva, Michael Hardwick
    One sometimes sees the pursuit of fame characterized as a long trip down a dark road, or maybe a difficult ascent to an ultimate peak.  These terms serve both as evidence of the time invested in the endeavour (sometimes known as paying one's dues), and the struggles encountered along the journey to the top—or, as John Lennon once described it to his fellow Beatles—"the toppermost of the poppermost."

    In the late 1970s/early 1980s—at a time when an evening spent catching live bands was considered a viable form of entertainment—venues held sway as a proving ground for aspiring groups to establish their credibility.  Being in a bar band was a little like being being stuck in rock purgatory: no guarantee of deliverance. An implied, ever-present danger existed that a band might become forever locked between two states: i.e. what one was (unknown amateurs) and what one aspired to be (famous). As John Entwistle mused in The Who's sardonic 'Success Story':
    Saturday night, I got a gig with the band
    Playing the electric guitar
    Someday I'm gonna make it
    Gonna be a super duper star
    Get a big flashy car
    And a house for my mum
    The big break better happen soon
    'Cause I'm pushing twenty-one

    Thus, over the decades, in what seems like a biblically inspired image, the most sacred of rock archetypes emerged: the godlike Brian Epstein saviour figure. How many bands, I wonder, were motivated by that one story? How many believed that if they worked hard enough, they too would ascend the arc of fame in that same way? How many bands believed that their saviour would emerge from the haze of cigarette smoke; one who stood apart from the sweaty, dancing melee, and felt compelled to use his tremendous clout to transform their lives?

    You never know who may be listening to you

    This archetype I've described above was so deeply set in our collective consciousness that it was used by Paul McCartney in the song 'Take It Away' (see video below) from the 1982 album Tug of War.  In it, the mysterious Epstein-like figure is referred to as "some important impresario" in a manner that both romanticizes and reinforces the rising arc of fame I'm describing herein.

    If you've ever read a biography of a successful rock band, invariably there's a chapter that focuses on the group's early days, playing the clubs and bars.  It was a right of passage that could foment the seeds of a band's success, or hasten its erosion and demise. Tales of the road—the excesses, the bad food, coffee runs in winter, the triumphs, the indignities, the hilarious situations, the ribald stories of sexual conquest—are the sorts of things that build character, solidify friendships and engender a sense of camaraderie within groups (the Beatles' adventures in Hamburg being the most celebrated, romantic and hilarious...the image of a cap-wearing John Lennon reading a newspaper in his underwear
    never fails to get a laugh out of me). The degree of fondness by which the lean times are recalled, however,
    often depends on whether these hardships eventually led to widespread success.

    Not everyone gets to look back at their salad days and smile.  Not everyone makes it to the toppermost of the poppermost.  In 1982, Paul McCartney could afford that (some would say smug) look back at his past hardships.
    Video below: You may recall the star-studded video of 'Take It Away' (from the Tug of War album) featuring former Beatles producer George Martin, a very badly permed Ringo Starr (!!!) and actor John Hurt in the role of the "important impresario"

    And that infrastructure is largely dependent upon belief in the idea that fame comes in the form of a rising arc: humble beginnings--> dreams of stardom-->early trials lead to success-->struggle, nagging self-doubt, unforeseen circumstances-->influential patron voices faith-->deliverance and stardom. The concept of the rising arc of fame existed for the Beatles in their early days, and to my knowledge, continues in various forms to this day (e.g. bedroom performances of cover songs posted on YouTube going viral, etc.).

    But for others (including Gene), the rising arc within the classic rags-to-riches narrative—in which hard work, perseverance, and raw talent leads up the path to the top of the mountain—was cruelly inverted. In truth, Gene was plucked from relative obscurity to join the New Christy Minstrels; the Byrds had a hit record less than a year after forming.  Compared to what he would face in later years, Gene Clark crested the arc of fame without breaking a sweat. Yes, the band toured—but only after they were stars. There was no trial by fire on the club circuit. For Gene Clark, the traditional arc of fame did not apply.  The lean times, the times of struggle, came long after he had already achieved world-wide fame and fortune.

    Compared to what he would face in later years, Gene Clark crested the arc of fame without breaking a sweat. 

    A nameless face in somebody else's show 

    The Byrds hit the big time without ever having to pack up their gear and leave the L.A. area. They had no experiences comparable to those faced by the Beatles in Hamburg. That's not a knock at them; it is simply the way things worked out: right place, right time, right connections. In any event, knowing what we know now, it's difficult to imagine those five guys—Clark, McGuinn, Hillman, Crosby and Clarke—embarking upon, much less less surviving, a rigorous travel schedule and years of struggle, without the benefit of a number-one record behind them. As noted by authors before me (and Gene himself in the perceptive kiss-off line from 'Echoes'), the Byrds were five individuals with vastly different personalities, temperaments and backgrounds; what hardships they did experience became, in their hands, another opportunity to promote further discord and alienation. Concepts of loyalty and camaraderie were virtually unheard of within their ranks (Clark and Clarke being the most notable exception). Theirs was a marriage of convenience.  Whenever the Byrds faced adversity, it was usually exacerbated from within.  If a gleefully detonated explosion amidships wasn't perpetrated with the intention of scuppering the ship on which the Byrds had sailed to success, it was surely to test its seaworthiness (I think Rogan's description of the chaotic video shoot for 'Set You Free This Time' is the perfect example of this).

    The Byrds flew to London after reaching the toppermost of the poppermost.
    Photograph: Victor Blackman/Getty Images

    In any event, the most immediate result of Gene's departure was the immediate cessation of all Byrds-related pressure (touring-related or otherwise). From that point forward it's worth noting that, while he did perform live on occasion (with the Gene Clark Group, in either of its incarnations) during the first couple of years of his solo career, Gene's earnings from his Byrds days enabled him to sidestep the stresses inherent with life on the road (except for a few notable occasions with his partner in crime, Doug Dillard).  At that particular point, there was no immediate financial need for him to eke out a living as a live performer, so it's not surprising that he did not spend months or even years on the road like some of his contemporaries. And after Columbia unceremoniously dropped him in 1967, he had no label support anyway.

    Surprisingly, this trend continued into the early 1970s—even in the face of the heavily hyped Asylum Byrds reunion.  It's really quite astonishing to think that during the course of his much-ballyhooed machinations to reunite the original five, David Geffen failed to include a specific touring requirement in the band's contract, if only as insurance on his investment in the event the album was a failure. Surely this was de rigueur, even in 1973? Just over a decade later, in 1984, the Jacksons embarked upon a successful tour in support of the critically ravaged Victory album.  One would assume that all concerned knew going in that the potential impact of bad reviews upon sales would be lessened by dint of their full commitment to promotion and live appearances. When the Byrds album faced reviews that were, generally speaking, lukewarm at best (prior to its becoming a staple of used record shops), no tour materialized, and the "band" went their separate ways.  Presumably, Gene was well paid for this experience (and rightly so); a feat managed without having to reactivate any of the touring-related stresses that contributed to his departure in early 1966.  It also kick-started a series of events that would bring about his magnum opus, No Other. In that respect, the Asylum Byrds album was an unqualified success for Gene.

    He's been the first, he's been the last 

    Above: In 1975, a decade after he had first
    attained worldwide fame and fortune
    with the Byrds, Gene was forced to hit
    the road like other struggling musicians:
    packed tight in a broken-down Dodge van,
    without the assistance of a label, or a hit record,
    to help him along. He would face
    a similar predicament only
    a few years later, in the Firebyrd era.
    But in 1974, the commercial failure of No Other changed everything.  It is astonishing to think that at a time when he had just created what is today widely regarded as his masterpiece, Gene was essentially forced into earning a subsistence-level living by packing up his gear, getting behind the wheel, and taking himself and the Silverados out on the road. And so while contemporaries like CSNY played to vast crowds in stadiums, and Dylan and The Band stormed across North America in triumph, Gene laid aside his pride and did his time on the road. [Note: In 2014, I wrote about Gene's post-No Other road experiences in a piece that was included with the downloadable bonus tracks for High Moon's re-release of Two Sides To Every Story. It includes quotes from interviews I did with Silverados bassist Duke Bardwell, drummer Marc S. Singer, and bassist for KC Southern Band and later the Firebyrds, Peter Oliva. You can download it here: Backwoods Gothic: Survival in the Rock 'n' Roll Wilderness]

    From limos and planes to small talk, cheap beer and wine

    By virtue of his performances alone, one senses that Gene's back-to-basics tour of colleges and auditoriums with Roger in 1977 and 1978 hit the right balance between the stresses and pleasures of touring. Recorded evidence proves Gene was a consummate professional, who added as much passion to Roger's material as to his own. The audiences are respectful, attentive, appreciative, seemingly aware of the legacies and ongoing relevance of the two men. Two guitars, two stools and two voices was all it took, and the results were uniformly sublime. It seems to me that Gene was happiest when performing his songs in an atmosphere of simplicity. The formation of McGuinn, Clark & Hillman, and the subsequent release of their eponymously titled album, however, catapulted Gene back into the limelight, and the torrent of activity appeared to undermine Gene's sense of balance: out were the two simple stools, in came a drum riser, bright lights, the Albert Brothers, Miami, a hectic PR schedule, endless TV appearances, limos, planes—and the coup de grĂ¢ce: a large-scale tour.
    Back to basics with McGuinn-Clark (1977-1978):
    two stools, two guitars, two voices.

    (Living in) Hard Times: Bar Band on the Run (1984)

    Focusing on possible live bonus material for the Firebyrd Project

    Sadly, to my knowledge, there is no professionally recorded audio of Gene Clark's appearances, either solo or with the Firebyrds, in the designated period (approximately 1980-1984). Anyone thinking of undertaking this project needs to be aware of that fact from the get-go.  Release-quality board tapes do exist, but they're a poor substitute for multitrack recordings, being flat, sterile representations that cannot benefit from a proper mixdown.

    I Saw a Dream Come True
    (Living in) Hard Times
    In terms of our chronology, it appears that Gene's final, full-concert appearance with McGuinn, Clark & Hillman took place on or around October 12, 1979, in Alliance, Ohio¹At this show he performed two new songs, 'I Saw a Dream Come True' (a 1984 version of which appears on the downloadable bonus tracks included with the above-mentioned Two Sides release) and '(Living in) Hard Times', which appears on the fan-created 7-disc "box set" bootleg. Based on the quality of the songs, and their appearance in the chronology at a truly pivotal moment (i.e. marking the end of the MC&H era), both of these songs should be considered for the Firebyrd Project—but not necessarily these versions. To wit, I have concerns about these specific performances: I have not heard the October 12, 1979 version of the former, so I can't safely vouch for it. I have, however, heard the performance of the latter, and while I like the song, I have reservations about the quality of the source tape (unofficial, of course) that appears to make Gene's voice wobble as if struggling for notes. This might conceivably be due to a technical issue, either at the event (e.g. poor monitors, Gene was routinely used as the soundman's guinea pig) or in the copying/ transference/degradation of the recording.  That's for engineers to work out, unless a better-quality tape should emerge.
    Recommendation: If it is determined the wobbliness is due to an erratic performance on Gene's part, I would suggest a thorough search be undertaken for a nicer home-demo recording, or something along those lines.

    Gene reemerged with Jesse Ed Davis at McCabe's Guitar Shop on April 19, 1980, to perform before what was, by the sounds of it, a small handful of people. At this show he performed a lovely version of 'I Saw a Dream Come True'.  I invite you to check out this version, posted below by longtime Gene Clark fan Howard "Skip" Way:

    Gene is in good humour here—somewhat surprising, given the recent unpleasantness of having been phased out of McGuinn, Clark & Hillman (the City album, credited to “Roger McGuinn, Chris Hillman, featuring Gene Clark” had been released in January 1980).  He’s also in fine voice, with Jesse Ed providing tasteful, sympathetic backing throughout. Knowing what we know now, it is unbearably bittersweet to hear these two old friends, once kings of L.A. music scene, reviving past glories while facing the beginning of a brand new decade that would prove so difficult for both.

    Painted Fire
    While most of the set is made up of surefire winners and no-brainers (i.e. a logical mix of Gene’s better known songs with songs the two recorded together during the White Light and No Other eras), it’s nice to hear the two buddies revive ‘Stand By Me’, an outtake from sessions for the former. One can imagine the memories it conjured for Gene and Jesse a decade later. Some of the songs in this audience recording are marred by coughing, talking and other incidental sounds. The only new material in the set comes in the form of the lesser of his two parting gifts to Messrs. McGuinn and Hillman, 'Painted Fire' (the other being the superior ‘Won’t Let You Down'). I like this song much more than I used to, and I believe it's all down to the uncluttered instrumentation and Gene's gutsy performance of it here.  The City version is pure jive, by comparison.

    The more intimate venue may have indicated a backslide in terms of his career prospects, but Gene sounds unfettered and present. It stands as a refreshing counterpoint to the hokey piano-tinkling studio version produced by MC&H.

    If You Could Read My Mind
    She Darked the Sun
    By the tail end of 1983, Gene found himself in what had to have been a wearying position, one that was remarkably similar to the one he faced in 1975. With 1982's NyteFlyte project shelved after an unfocused stand at the Palomino (albeit one that produced a breathtaking version of 'If You Could Read My Mind') and the completion of five Jim Dickson-produced demos (recently released on The Lost Studio Sessions 1964-1982) that failed to draw attention from labels, Gene was forced to reassess his prospects as a recording artist.

    The sporadic recording sessions for Firebyrd hadn't yielded a finished product (or label interest), and Gene needed to earn a living.  In the wake of punk and new wave, it was probably wise for him to adopt a straight-ahead, no-nonsense rock band approach to touring. Eschewing the kind of rollicking bluegrass he'd played in '75, and (wisely) dumping any of the slick-but-forgettable MOR material he'd played in McGuinn, Clark and Hillman days from 1979, Gene opted for a basic unit: bass, guitars and drums (limited keyboard/occasional pedal steel by Mike Hardwick, until his eventual departure).

    Listening to tapes of various shows, and taking in the various lineup changes (it's unbelievable to think so much upheaval took place in 1983-1984 period), a clear downward arc takes shape in my mind. The first shows, while occasionally sloppy and frenetic, are listenable, pleasurable; Gene seems filled with enthusiasm for his new album, while the band creates a holy bar-band racket behind him (it is interesting to hear Gene and Michael playing songs for which they share a history, for example, 'She Darked the Sun', in an arrangement similar to the one recorded with the Flying Burrito Brothers in 1970, also included on The Lost Studio Sessions).  Upon reflection, I've decided that I was a little hard on Michael Clarke in my previous post.  Beyond his technical shortcomings, Michael brought a considerable amount of raw physical power to the table, a quality that's often lacking in more professionally trained drummers. Visceral power always works well in a bar-band atmosphere.  That's not a back-handed compliment, it's the truth.

    Blue Raven
    Dixie Flyer
    Gene seems excited about the new material (e.g. 'Blue Raven', 'Dixie Flyer') and makes multiple references to a "new album". At a January 16, 1984 show at the Continental Club in Austin, Texas, Gene introduces 'Tommy Kaye's 'Dixie Flyer' as "a brand new song off a brand new album"; during the introduction of 'Blue Raven' he says, "Here's another brand new song. Got a new album coming out in a couple of days," after which he pauses, and then, appearing to mock his own statement, adds, "Couple of days?  Yeah, right..." (The sarcasm may indicate Gene's frustration with finding a suitable label, but in any event, Firebyrd would be released in March of 1984). Interestingly, 'Dixie Flyer' did not figure in the final track list. Maybe he came to resent the amount of subpar material Tommy Kaye was foisting on him?  Who knows. But it seems worthwhile to note that Tommy's considerable influence upon Gene, apart from his ill-fated reappearance during the sessions with John Arrias later on, began to wane after his involvement with the Firebyrd L.P. Personally, I've never considered Tommy a major talent. Apart from No Other, I'm unable to name any other song or album on which his touch was instrumental in the creation of a truly great work. In many respects, I think Gene's insistence upon his involvement in Two Sides To Every Story was a major misstep.

    However, in regards to 'Dixie Flyer,' I'm of the belief that a live version of the song should be considered for inclusion in the set over the studio take released on This Byrd Has Flown. This is purely out of a sense of preserving historical accuracy—in that Gene kept it in the set until the final shows in January 1985—not from any personal fondness for the song.  Plus in these live versions, Gene's voice and personality are clearly and keenly felt, which is a refreshing change from the rather soulless studio version, which stands as ample evidence of Tommy's schlockier predilections.

    You know, I knew a fellow a few years ago.  I met him actually in 1965 in London, England, at a club called Blaises. I was playing there [August 6th, 1965—Clarkophile] with my old pal back here on the drums. And there were these two guys that came into the audience. And they both had on suede leather-kinda Levi's jackets and sunglasses and it sorta looked like John Lennon and George Harrison to me, you know. And that's who it was. And so afterwards, John had came upstairs, and he says, "I want to talk to you." And he handed me one bottle of wine. And he says, "Come on, we got some talkin' to do." And we spent a lot of time together up there. I really loved that guy. And I'd like to dedicate this song to everybody, and to John Lennon, because he wrote this song.

    —Gene Clark, February 3, 1984, Shirley MA, introduction to 'She Loves You'

    She Loves You
    Into the Night

    The spectre of John Lennon’s assassination hangs over Gene’s work in the 1980-1984 period. By all accounts, Lennon's murder hit him extremely hard and catapulted him into bouts of depression and deepening substance abuse. In the above-transcribed introduction to 'She Loves You' in 1984, Gene still sounds shaken and sombre. And there's something more than a little sad about hearing him say "I really loved that guy" to a roomful of buzzing barroom patrons.

    As we shall see in Part 4 of the Firebyrd Project, the Glass House tape, recorded in December 1980, features a soaring homage to 1964-era Fabs in the form of 'I'll Change Your Life'. Less easily identified and articulated, however, is the spooky aura that surrounds these songs.  It is a spookiness that I felt even before I found out they had been recorded in that awful month, that seemed to last a year.

    Just as he had incorporated an early Beatles number into his tour with the Silverados circa 1975 ('I’ll Be Back'), Gene worked up a breezy take of the Fabs' 'She Loves You'.  I find it very moving that on the two occasions in which Gene was forced to swallow his pride and head out on small-scale club-circuit tours ('74-'75/'83-'84), he reached back to the music that had initially transformed his life, as if drawing upon some sacred wellspring for sustenance and renewal. Consider this: at the same February 3rd, 1984 show from which the above Lennon anecdote was taken, Gene starts to introduce the next song, 'Vanessa': "I've always liked bad-girl songs," he says.  But he suddenly cuts himself off, presumably after getting a signal from a band member.
    "Oh, wait a minute.  Do we have to change a string?" he says. "Go ahead and change a string."
    But apparently, the changing of the string was taking longer than expected.
    "Well, this is a contest to see how fast this guy can change his string," Gene says, forcing himself to chuckle.

    You can sense that he's becoming uncomfortable.

    "You know what..." he begins to say, but does not complete the thought.  Instead, he pauses, and says simply, resolutely, "Okay,"—to a bandmate, the audience, or to himself.
    At that moment, Gene begins to strum chords and rhythm that might easily have been the intro to 'Tried So Hard'.
    "In the meantime, I'll play a li'l country song," he says.

    But he is not playing 'Tried So Hard'.

    The song is Lennon's 'I'll Cry Instead' from A Hard Day's Night.  Of the numbers played that night, this impromptu cover (never repeated) comes well before his introduction to 'She Loves You' and the heartfelt story about being upstairs at Blaises when John Lennon handed him one bottle of wine and said, "Come on, we've got some talking to do."

    Obviously John Lennon was on his mind that evening.

    'She Loves You' should be included in the set.  It's a mature, clever arrangement, one that maintains the energy of the original while not sounding at all juvenile when sung by a man fast approaching 40. By eliminating the accented stops, the song seems to glide through one's consciousness and take on new significance.
    'Into the Night', another cover (written by Liz Anderson and Jeff Rollings) comes across like a rather shameless knockoff of Quarterflash (or something as objectionable).  Somehow Gene makes it work².

    "Well, now, the problem is the Firebyrds have all just quit now...  Naw, I'm gonna do about two or three songs here with this little Ovation guitar..."  
    Gene Clark, Continental Club, Austin, Texas,
    January 16, 1984

    As 1984 wore on, attrition took its toll, as members came and went and performances became less professional.  It must have been hard to sustain any level of camaraderie with so many hired guns passing through the ranks (Peter Oliva and Michael Clarke appear to have served longest at his side, but gone were the Andes brothers, Matt and Mark; Trace Harrill,  Michael Hardwick...and other names that I've lost track of at the moment).

    Elsewhere, Gene's voice, after bearing the brunt of singing virtually every song night after night in front of a loud rock band, begins to falter. To me, he sounds exhausted and quite naturally less committed to the performance, going through the motions, in pure survival mode: get there, get onstage, get off. When one hears audience tapes of Gene's heart-rending solo performances of classics like 'Here Without You' and 'Silver Raven'—not to the rapt attention and heartfelt appreciation he deserved, mind you, but to the hootin' and hollerin' of beer-swilling denizens of joints named Woody's Roadhouse and Jumbo's, it's hard not to be gutted by the pathos. At a show in early 1984, a guy in the audience yells out "Lou Reed! Sweet Jane!" In the YouTube clip of 'She Loves You' posted above, the band is introduced as the "Thunderbyrds"—which, quite understandably, draws Gene's ire.

    After all he had accomplished, Gene Clark did not deserve this kind of ignorance.  These aren't examples of dues-paying; these are examples of a genius being cruelly disrespected.

    Sadly, in listening to these shows, one does not get the sense that Gene and his band were gaining any noticeable momentum. The performances from the late '83/early '84 period are, on the whole (based on the ones I've heard) tight and hard-hitting. But there's no evidence of buzz, that any momentum is being gained with these trips down the bar-band road³. And we already know that no Brian Epstein figure would magically emerge to pluck them from the bar circuit and lift them onto top-40 radio. Indeed, a disturbing trend seems to emerge.  For the average Byrds fan (not to be confused with a Gene Clark fan), 'Vanessa' seems to have been the tune you tolerated while waiting to hear a rousing version of  'So You Want To Be a Rock 'n' Roll Star' (ironically, a song that Gene neither wrote, nor played on, but saw fit to put into the set).  And judging by his next career decision—to embark upon the "20th Anniversary Tribute to the Byrds" tours—Gene appears to have made that same observation.

    For the time being, Woody's Roadhouse was as good as it was going to get.  The Firebyrds were now consigned to bar-band purgatory: set upon a treadmill that would never get better or easier, and could scarcely become worse, for as long as Gene decided to continue.

    At some point, Gene had to have wondered why he was subjecting himself to this kind of humiliation. Bars are proving grounds. What did Gene Clark have left to prove? Inevitably, those aspects of Gene's music that made him a bona fide artist, poet, and star of distinction, were forfeited. Thus, any regard for nuance, subtlety, intonation, dynamics and enunciation—the very things that made Gene's music so deeply personal, yet simultaneously reflective of universal conditions of loneliness, despair and doomed love; the things that made it feel like he was speaking directly to (or for) you—were lost in the din of clinking glasses and scattered hoots.

    Also lost in this environment: the fact that the still-mighty Gene Clark—a founding member of the Byrds, a guiding hand in the development of significant sub-genres like psychedelia, country-rock, folk-rock, and power-pop; an esteemed writer whose visionary poetry graced dozens of timeless classics in the '60s and '70s; a man who had met and earned the respect of peers like the Beatles—had been relegated to the role of coaxing drunken barroom patrons out of their chairs. "You know, there is a dance floor out here..."

    ¹According to MC&H drummer Scott Kirkpatrick, Gene did not make the trip to Europe in February 1980 for a scheduled tour (but reportedly "sat in" with them upon their return, at the Roxy, in March, 1980).

    ²Based on the uniformly high quality of the arrangements/performances as heard from various shows, plus the fact that both songs were recorded in the studio (though never finished), one has to wonder if 'She Loves You'/'Into the Night' is another example of a stalled/aborted/unreleased 45 in Gene's career.

    ³John Pattison of Toronto shares his recollections of seeing Gene and the Firebyrds at the Brunswick House in February, 1984. [Edited for clarity.]
    "It was the ground floor of the Brunswick House.  Couldn't have been more than 50-75 people there. It was very downmarket surroundings for such a legend. Funny thing is, I knew he was an important legend even at that time and was astonished at the humble surroundings. I was in awe of what he did with the Byrds (still am) and to this day I am in awe when I'm in the same room as an original Byrd (have met all 5).
    John Pattison saw Gene and the Firebyrds on the ground floor
    of the Brunswick House, at the corner of Bloor St. W.
    and Brunswick Ave., Toronto, ON, in February 1984.

    "The Brunswick at that time was maybe a bit of an odd place for Gene. I believe they had a live music policy but it was a place where university students drank at long tables with jugs of beer. I recall the vibe of the night was as if it was an oldies band, playing some old hits. Not taken the same as if it was the Horseshoe [Tavern, a more celebrated venue, which featured up-and-coming acts]. 
    I do distinctly remember thinking that the circumstances were below Gene's stature but I was happy to see him, of course. It felt as if the audience didn't really, for the most part, grasp that this man had made a huge contribution to music. I almost wanted to say to the crowd, "Do you know who this guy is?"
    Hard to believe that 19 years earlier he had been at the top of the pop world and hanging out with Lennon/McCartney.  To be fair that was at a time when the Byrds were too recent to be the legends they are now. 
    I was a big Byrds fan but found few fellow fans at that time. The room was small and Gene was only about 20 ft away from me. I don't recall what they played other than the Byrds hits.  For sure there were songs I did not recognize. Would love to see an old set list now. I don't remember totally but I was not acquainted with Gene's solo stuff except for Dillard and Clark. I only knew the five Byrds records. He definitely played some Byrds stuff from after the time he left the band.  He played "So You Want To Be a Rock 'n' Roll Star" for sure. It was kind of a drunken boisterous crowd. When I saw him in '86 at the Diamond it was much more fitting of where he should be and he had some high level people with him, e.g. Blondie Chaplin on lead guitar etc."