Issue No#309 August 24-September 6th 1982 The Music Paper of New York and New Jersey CSN Turn Their Third Decade By Bill McIlvaine Long before the eighties rolled around, Crosby, Stills and Nash
were on the run from their past. For a band that was so loved,
had exerted so much influence and that had crystallized the hopes
and fears at the turn of the previous decade, their present was
always mercurial, their future was always uncertain. A wonderful
irony was at work: the band that personified harmony in rock music
- who in fact influences the rest of the rock community to make
the concept of complex three part vocal harmony an all-too-quickly
overdone gimmick - and who stood, more or less for the sixties'
theme of political rhetoric, spiritual searching and rural and/or
marine bliss, couldn't stay together long enough to make more
of the music they supposedly lived for. This was a keen disappointment
to their fans, who came in time to live with the fact that CSN
albums and tours occurred about once every third orbit of Halley's
Comet. Of course, there were all those solo albums and Crosby-Nash
albums (and even that rarity of them all, a Stills-Young album),
but anybody with half a brain knew the real magic was in that
number three. But let's get serious for a minute. Has there ever been a single
band whose legacy rested on so little actual product? Not counting
Deja Vu with Neil Young, there have only been three CSN albums
in 14 years, and David Crosby, Stephen Stills and Graham Nash
seem to be remote, inaccessible and godlike. Which I found out
is true, and maybe not so.... ******************************************* It had the makings of a classic how-I-didn't-get-the-story story.
The eleventh hour phone calls, the conspiratorial arrangements,
the whole on-and-off nature of the business, didn't exactly ease
my mind about where these guys were coming from. There were rumors
the tour wasn't going well; that the concerts weren't selling
out (that was untrue), that the big three, as usual weren't getting
along. The tour had been going for a couple of weeks and there
had been relatively little fanfare. It seemed everything was being
kept on a low profile, as if they didn't want the press to get
too close. My suspicions were not allayed when I arrived at Nassau
Coliseum at 6:30pm, less than two hours before the show and attempted
to break the line of security with the secret information I had
been given. No luck, nobody's here, never heard of M------, we
don't have your name etc, etc. Christ, I think, Anwar Sadat should
have had security this good. I finally place a call backstage.
A smartass voice answers. "M----'s not here, we only take messages
for him." I give him my message. "Give me the number of the phone
you're at and wait," comes the reply. Twice with the noise around
me I can't make out what he is saying. "Are you an ex Moonie?"
the smartass says. Great, this is not going to be easy, the way
it was supposed to be. After more wrangling and jangling of the phone, the trick is turned.
I never heard of anything going off on time in rock and roll anyway,
I think as I head downstairs. These people are all alike. Living
in a fantasy world. Just imagine the sumptuous spread they've
got down there, and they're probably not really here yet anyway..... A skinny guy in black jeans and a V-neck T-shirt approaches me
in the hallway. With his graying hair clipped in a fashionable
new wave haircut, I almost don't recognize Graham Nash. After
some pleasantries and some banter about the security hassles,
we head back to the band room, where things aren't as glamorous
as you'd suppose: an almost pathetic spread of uninteresting-looking
food on a tiny table in the corner, packing cases full of clothes
blocking the aisles. A few demimondes are lounging on the sofas
with various band members: Joe Vitale, the drummer, is flaked
out on another couch; everybody who passes by waves his hand if
front of his face to see if he's awake-or alive. Mike Finnigan,
everybody's keyboardist in LA, clunks by in a huge pair of cowboy
boots; Michael Hanna, the other keyboardist, chats quietly on
a sofa, his long legs nearly touching his chin. In the midst of
the confusion (not exactly what I would call pre-road downs),
I ask Nash if releasing a new CSN album at this time had made
him feel nervous. "Not really," he says pleasantly, puffing on a joint. "It all
stems from the music. We knew it was good, and we knew the singles
were there. We've kept pretty visible doing things like the MUSE
concerts and Peace Sunday, so people still know who we are. We
were not nervous about coming out again. I think we learned from
the last album, CSN, that we can do it again. We were only nervous
about the economics of the situation. A lot of groups aren't selling
out right now and I am glad to say that we are." True to Nash's statement, CSN is just about the hottest ticket
in town (along with Elton John), and Daylight Again, their new
album is one of the runaway success' in a depressed music market.
It has the distinction of outdistancing the vaulted REO Speedwagon
, and stands a good chance of being CSN's 1st No. 1 album. (unless
Fleetwood Mac refuses to budge from the top spot, which was the
only thing that kept CSN from No. 1 five years ago). In these
gloomy times, it appears that the magic harmony of Crosby, Stills
and Nash is a better bet than ever. "Well it's only our third album in 14 years, which could work
against us," Nash replies, "but we have to believe in it first.
We never marketed ourselves, and you can't take yourself for granted.
We didn't know how people were going to feel about the last album,
but we did it because we had the music together for the first
time in eight years. This time it took us five." Nash admits, though, that perhaps for the first time, the band
thought more consciously about a hit single, even though Nash
himself had been responsible for CSN's most commercial hits, "Teach
Your Children", and Marrakesh Express". On Daylight Again he came
up with the signature "Wasted on the Way." "I saw that as a single from the start," he says. "We'd been away
for five years so I wanted to be instantly recognizable on the
radio. Our voices were there. I'm proud to say we pulled it off,
man." He allows himself a self-congratulatory chuckle. "We still
got it." The question in everybody's minds though, is how these mythical
CSN albums come together. Do they happen spontaneously without
much planning, or is there something floating around in everybody's
mind that clicks at the same time? "It's never in people's minds all the time," replies Nash firmly.
He goes on to explain in true CSN fashion, Daylight Again did
not start as a CSN project, but rather as an aborted attempt at
a Stills-Nash collaboration." "We've made albums every way you can. Me and Steve were planning
to do one together simply because we'd never investigated that
aspect of CSN before. We had the songs together and we discovered
that we missed Crosby. So rather than sit on some stupid, misplaced
pride, we called him up and asked if he wanted to do it, and he
said sure he would. When it's right it's right." That elusive, haphazard rightness has been the hallmark of CSN's
recorded career. The times when it's not been right have been
pretty nasty. Nash's last solo album, Earth and Sky, was originally
to have been another Crosby-Nash album, until a falling out occurred
between what had always seemed to be CSN's most natural friendship.
"If they want to sing, fine; if not, I don't care. I don't have
time for bullshit," Nash said at the time. And there was the infamous
case in 1976 when the 1st CSN reunion sessions somehow turned
into the Stills-Young Band album, Long May You Run, with Crosby
and Nash's vocals, actually being erased off the tapes. Resentment
and anger smoldered after that one. But sitting here in the dressing
room I can't see anything like that. Stills is actually the life
of the party as he bustles in and out of the room, trying on clothes
for the show that's less than an hour away (he settles on white
jeans, battered cowboy boots and a conservative black jacket).
He politely deigns to be interviewed, but winks and says, nodding
toward Nash, "Don't tell him too much." Nash returns the grin.
Stills continues to be a fireball around the room, glad-handing
and backslapping. Someone has a portable radio from which Latin
sounds are pouring. Stills, George "Chocolate" Perry, CSN's bassist,
and two or three other people grab loaves of bread and bunches
of grapes and begin impromptu jam sessions shaking the bread and
fruit like gourds like gourds, tambourines and maracas. No doubt
about it, tonight atleast, this group is loose. Meanwhile in the midst of the partying, David Crosby is nowhere
to be seen. But also in the midst of the partying, I'm asking Nash about his
song, "Into the Darkness", which I say is one of the hardest rock
songs he's ever done. "It was an angry song," he confirms. All of your life You've been making your payments Alone on the phone with your business arrangements Into the darkness Soon you'll be sinking What are you doing? What can you be thinking? "I wrote it partly for myself, partly for someone in particular
and partly for everybody," he explains. "These things have to
multi-layered, a foot deep and a mile back. But I'm really writing
it for myself. If it doesn't satisfy you, it doesn't satisfy anybody." Is CSN aware, I ask - really aware - of how they are perceived
as some "old folkies", and was Daylight Again intended to lay
some of that to rest? "Well we've all be influenced by what's happened the last five
years," Nash replies. "For sure. Music to us has always been a
process of osmosis-unless you're a brick wall. We've all been
listening. We used synthesizers more on this album, and we're
using them on the road for the first time. It's a nine piece band,
counting ourselves, and I think we are surprising alot of people
with how good we are." With showtime approaching and indicating his precious (and it
is) throat, Nash begs off and I stay a few minutes to watch Stills
and Nash chat amiably in a corner (still no sign of Crosby). Stills
has filled out from his Woodstock days, it's true, but his boundless
energy in the dressing room is contagious. Nash, at 40, is still
rail-thin. Someone's mentioned that today is Crosby's birthday
(his 41st by my calculations). Yes, CSN are old enough for rock
and roll rest home, but they're putting on a good show right here. In the arena strains of classical music are pouring from the PA
as the hall fills up and balloons are batted around. I had been
curious to see who came out for this show. Would it be guys with
long beards and their hair still in pony tails, girls in shawls
and granny glasses trying to remember 1969? Thirty-ish types not
settled into post-sixties conformity? Perhaps to my surprise,
I hardly see any of that. This might as well be an Aerosmith concert.
CSN might be old-timers but they sure are connecting with the
kids. And they proved it for the next two and a half hours, as they
brought the kids to cheering, stomping, fists-in-the-air elation
with an immaculate performance. The harmonies sounded flawless,
though distorted by the volume. Nash and Crosby frequently returned
their salutes, and Stills played to the crowd like a ham. He took
his solos to every corner of the stage, often having to put a
burst of speed in order to get back to microphone in time. He
jumped and did splits in the air, appearing to have the best time
he'd ever had. Nash, positioned between Stills and Crosby, drove
the band vocally and with rock & roll gusto, telling the crowd
frequently how they loved them. Crosby still remained largely
static, accepting the plaudits of the crowd with smiles and shrugs.
His voice however, never sounded better. As expected it was CSN's greatest hits: "Chicago", "Just a Song",
"Long Time Gone", "Guinnevere", "Cathedral", "Deja Vu", "Carry
On". There was Stills "Love the One You're With," which opened
the show on a raucous note. There was a magnificent and moody
"Wind on the Water." Crosby took the lead vocals on "Leeshore,"
which almost sounded like the Moody Blues. An acoustic interlude
featured the Beatles' "Blackbird" ("because the guy who wrote
it could not be here tonight," Stills told the crowd ), a hand-clapping
"Wasted on the Way" and more furious clapping on "Suite: Judy
Blue Eyes, " which found Stills added Oriental and blues flourishes
and performing some recklessly tricky guitar picking. "For What
It's Worth," the 16-year-old Buffalo Springfield nugget, was almost
unrecognizable in a slow blues/funk rearrangement. But it remained for Nash's "Teach Your Children" to close the
performance, with Stills holding the mike out for the audience
to sing the entire refrain, which it did flawlessly. Yeah alot
of it was showbiz; these guys are veterans, after all. But the
bigger part of it was genuinely the music, what Crosby, Stills
& Nash have always been at their best, just music. And this time
they made it look easy, the way it's supposed to be.
