On that downhill road-to Kim Fowley, to songs about Antique Sandy and Precious Kate, to the day when the agent man collects what you owe him. I was, lots of times, and I guess I will be again, but mostly to demonstrate my devotion. The new songs are unworthy except for the anomalous McGuinn showcase "Chestnut Mare," the harmonies are faint or totally absent, and the live performance that comprises half this two-record set. I love them-or do I mean him?-too, but it finally seems to be ending. All the rock dynamics are fading, and what replaces them is thoughtful but not compelling. It improves with listening, especially at high volume, but Roger McGuinn does seem to be returning to his roots, which unfortunately lie deep in commercial folk music. I'm sorry to report that this is the poorest Byrds album. Never before did concept-master Roger (né Jim) McGuinn efface himself so disastrously on a Byrds album-and never after, either. David Crosby's "Mind Garden" is a completely unlistenable acid meander, while four (three too many) innocuous folk-rock cum countryrock tunes by Chris Hillman are a familiar-sounding example of how an uninteresting self does its number. But this April '67 failure suffers from two related '67 maladies: pretentiousness and self-expression.
The Byrds' Greatest Hits, a profit-taking retrospective from later in the year, sounds like a triumph of produced and programmed rock and roll, while The Notorious Byrd Brothers and Sweetheart of the Rodeo, which followed it in '68, are two of the most convincing arguments for artistic freedom ever to come out of American rock. The Best of the Byrds: Greatest Hits Volume II B.
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