THE NUMBER FOUR/ 4 DAYS OF RAIN by the Flying Burrito Brothers

I'm on my holiday, deep in the Languedoc, in the South of France. Rain is the last thing on my mind and the last thing in the sky, altho' there was apparently a bit of a humdinger of an electrical storm the other night. I had been consuming and imbibing the best of the local produce and slept sweetly through. Since I have been away from my home all sorts of madnesses seem to have been visited on and/or by my country, and I'm not talking about the football. The temptation was to pontificate pompously on the foolishness of the small majority, but will bite my tongue; the foolishness seems mainly the arrogance of politicians prepared to gamble with anything for the sake of power, this time shooting a great big hole in their own foot, as they now have to juggle with an outcome never dreamt fully possible. Given no change there and such as it ever was, I am only sorry for laughing that you yanks might have a bouffant haired crazy in control soon. Not if we get there first!

Enough, here's the song:

What I have chosen might just seem to be yet another tired old song by a tired old band that tired old guys like me like to name-drop, as if there were a golden age when they were the sound of all for all, you know, like the Beatles or the Beach Boys. Or even, given most of them started off there in the first place, the Byrds. In truth the Burritos were more the anti-Beatles, probably bigger in Europe ever than at home. And usually, whenever they get a mention it is to praise the drug-addled rich kid "friend of Keef", Gram Parsons, dead way before his time. Don't get me wrong, I love the early Gram tinged version of the band, it's where I came in on 'em, but I hung on a bit longer, as Chris Hillman, ever the bridesmaid in all his bands, whether to McGuinn, to Parsons, to Stills, kept the brand alive until his thunder was stolen by Rick Roberts.

Replacing Parsons, sacked by Hillman, can have been no easy task, and the then unknown floridian Roberts had no track record to speak of, the Burritos flirting with just about every other ex-Byrd or Byrd-sidesman in their search, no small pool of musicians, and one they tapped upon for ever after.
Yet their 1971 self-titled 3rd album is arguably their strongest, a slew of Roberts and Hillman/Roberts compositions, along with a Dylan, a Haggard and one from the nearly but never quite a Burrito, Gene Clark. Most of the vocals are led by Roberts, with Hillman slotting into his familiar harmony role.
Just looking now at the track listing is making me tingle, remembering the thrill of discovering life with the brothers could continue.

I guess frictions were running high internally, as the band promptly then shed pedal steel whizz Sneaky Pete and soon to be an Eagle, Bernie Leadon. The next record was probably supposed to be titled emphatically, the live outing, 'Last of the Red Hot Burrito's', another absolute belter. However there seems to have been a U-turn in the skid pan, the recording being nearly free of reflective ballads, containing an enjoyable yet frantic hash of oldies, both Parsons' songs and standards, either as frantic electric country rock, Al Perkins proving himself a more than adequate replacement for Kleinow, or even more frantic bluegrass, with the likes of Byron Berline and Roger Bush guesting on fiddle and stand-up bass. There is not a sole Roberts credit in sight. Then Hillman left too, taking Al Perkins off to Manassas and Stephen Stills.

Details seem sketchy as to what happened next. With dates to fulfil, if no recording contract, Roberts took a rags and tatters version of the band on the road. I bought an odd double LP from this time, 'Live in Amsterdam', an awkward mix of Roberts songs and bluegrass battles. Here's the whole concert but the thrill had gone.

Roberts did a couple of solos, before forming barely country AOR band Firefall. The thrill remained gone. (At least for me as I gather they were quite successful.....)

Various Burrito bands surfaced, Flying and otherwise, usually with more promise and hope than delivery. I even bought some of the stuff, usually disappointed thereby, even the dream ticket collaboration, Burrito Deluxe, of Kleinow, perhaps already showing signs of the Alzheimers that took him, with Garth Hudson, tour of force keyboards man of the Band.

Finally, as it now seems compulsory that no band must ever end, please note this, the latest line-up. It may sound cruel but, no, me neither.

LIGHT: There's a light, a certain kind of light.......

Yes, you got it, "that always shines on me", fab 60s BeeGee perennial, that struck me as a better response to Andy's excellent Bruce piece below, which had automatically said Richard and Linda to me, before remembering that leads to darkness, and it is light we are celebrating. (Richard and Linda? Thompson? Must I talk you through everything? From "Shut out the light" it is one short step to"Shoot Out the Lights", oui?)

So we are talking about this, from, unbelievably, 1967, the 2nd single from their debut LP. Written by Barry and Robin Gibb, it peaked at 17 in the US and 41 in the UK. And it is undoubtedly a cracking song, but the arrangement? Well, let's say it was 48 years ago...........

So here's a whizz-band hurtle through some other versions that may, or not, have passed you by.

 First off, the Flying Burrito Brothers. Not on either of the first couple of studio LPs produced by the initial Gram Parsons fronted version of this possiblystillgoing (somewhere) band, this appeared on a compilation to commemorate their first break-up and the first few line-ups. I bought this as an incredulous teenager in the early 70s, shocked by the sheer country-ness of it. Lured in by the Byrds, they had seemed the logical next step, but it took me a while to rationalise that against my standard rock fare of the day. It was this song, however, that sealed it, the aching plaintiveness of the vocal stripping the sinew from my unsullied heart, in preparation for the adult world of let down and regret. As well as underlining what a piece of songcraft was the original.

Next, it's Nina Simone, and I confess I was a whole lot older before I could handle her spiky charm. I guess this arrangement hasn't dated that well, but that isn't the point, as she imbues the song with her smoky jaunt, suggesting a devil may care acceptance that doesn't, even for a moment, convince. (I would love to hear this cover covered by Me'Shell Ndegeocello, but it sadly wasn't on her Nina tribute of a few years back, not that I will let such a situation prevent me from promoting it!)

Finally a reggae-lite version by one-time Bronski Beat-er and Communard, Jimmy Somerville. In truth it is a slight interpretation, shown really to display his unusual and exquisite vocal range. And I like the video. And, if I'm not mistaken, it is Sarah-Jane Morris singing alongside him, whose lower register perfectly complements, if somewhat counter-intuitively.

So no room, I am afraid, for the version by Michael Bolton or Micky Bubbles. (In my book there is never any room for Micky Bubbles.........) Hope you enjoyed. And, Me'shell, if you are reading(!), how about a volume 2?

Find 'em all:
Bee Gees
Nina
Burritos
and Jimmy

(Oh, OK and Me'shell)

Fifty States: Colorado

The Flying Burrito Brothers: Colorado

[purchase]

I spent a month camping in Colorado once. It was amazing. Let me tell you something: being 24 years old, fishing for your breakfast, and playing the guitar under the stars at night is about as good as life gets. This song was written by Rick Roberts after Graham Parsons left the band. I don't really think it's a great song, but it's pretty OK.  However, thinking of that month I spent in those mountains makes me sympathize with Roberts' lyric as he longs to return to the state:

Hey Colorado is it too late to change my mind?

Also, during a younger and more innocent stage of my life I loved John Denver, so I'm including him here too. I can't listen to him anymore for some reason, maybe because life is too serious now or maybe because I'm too "cool", but there's a certain wide-eyed optimism to his music that has its appeal. Say what you will about the Muppets and the glasses, but this guy loved the outdoors and he loved Colorado.

John Denver: I guess he'd rather be in Colorado