A reader responded to one of my posts from a few days ago, asking me why I hate Sweetheart of the Rodeo. I’m sorry if I gave this impression. I don’t hate it at all. It’s a very well played record. The songs are good. It’s just not my cup of tea. I’m about as far from being a country music purist as one can be, and Sweetheart strikes me as being a purist endeavor. This assessment is, of course, only relative to my taste. A real purist will tell you that Sweetheart is a rock ‘n roll record and not worth the time of day. At the time, many were not happy that the Byrds were allowed to play the Grand ‘Ol Opry. Subsequent Byrds albums remained in the orbit of c&w but were fused with rock much more liberally. Plus, Clarence White became an official member of the band starting with Dr. Byrds and Mr. Hyde, and even though he came from a country and bluegrass tradition, his playing is so dazzling, more than enough to make me forget all my reservations about country music…
It’s not accurate to say that I dislike Sweetheart, but I don’t really see it as a Byrds record. To me, it sounds like a Gram Parsons record with the Byrds as his backing band. I know that's unfair, but I think he was the dominant figure on Sweetheart, and this is quite likely the reason his tenure with the Byrds was so short. ...People will disagree with me when I say this, but Gram Parsons was a purist. He may have had a rock ‘n roll heart, but his first love was always country music. Even the Flying Burrito Brothers feel too pure for me, though they’re redeemed by scattered rock ‘n roll breathing spells. Let me put it this way: I imagine myself growing up in Los Angeles and being a senior at UCLA in 1967. Let's say I’m a huge Byrds obsessive. I’ve seen them play at Ciro’s Le Disc and other places on the Strip. Now the cops have shut most of that down. Let's say that I participated in the demonstrations and got my head cracked open. I can feel things changing, and I’m pretty sure I don’t like where it’s all going. The freedom of innocence seems to be receding. I wonder where all the fun has gone. I wonder if listening to Sgt. Pepper and going to Monterey last summer will end up being the last time any of us had any fun… New Year's day comes and goes. On a cool evening in February, I make the trek from campus to Music City in Hollywood. I see The Notorious Byrd Brothers in the window. I scrape enough out of my pockets to buy it even though I’m a starving student. It’s a new Byrds record, and I have to have it. I even find the money to also purchase Forever Changes, the latest from my other favorite group...
I take the LPs back to my dorm. I gather a few friends from down the hall. We pass around a reefer and listen intently. We’re stunned by what we hear. The music seems so in tune with everything that’s going on. The songs are catchy and poignant and perfect. God I love the Byrds! How do you make music this good? It’s perfectly self-contained, and concise, and infectious, and life affirming! Notorious is everything I want music to be…
Fast forward to the red hot summer of '68... The sping was bad enough. But things are worsening. The pace of deterioration is picking up. A high school friend of mine comes home from Viet Nam in a box. Now more than ever, I need music to keep me from going mad with sadness and fear and anger. Another Byrds album comes out. I remember how The Notorious Byrd Brothers made me feel. It still makes me feel this way. I crave that feeling, something to hang on to. Back at the record shop, I see Sweetheart of the Rodeo in the window. It’s got a drawing of a cowgirl on the cover. The artwork and title make me uneasy. You can’t judge a book by its cover, but we always do anyway, and this one looks like it’s gonna be different somehow. There have been flashes of country music on the last few Byrds records, but it’s always subtly integrated into their distinct sound. I take the record home. As I remove the LP from its wrapping, I have a moment of insight. Is it even possible to make music like the Byrds have made anymore? Can a world that’s become so ugly possibly nurture such beautiful sounds? I already know the answer to this question, but I savor that final instant of hope before the needle touches vinyl…
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