Gene Clark: A Byrd Who Couldn't Fly, Part Three

After the Byrds went their separate ways again, Clark returned to his home in Mendocino to write. With thirteen or fourteen songs, Clark had a double album's worth of material that he demoed for Asylum. With Thomas Jefferson Kaye producing, Clark commenced recording his new songs in April 1974. Yet again, Hillman was present, as were LA session kings "The Section" (guitarist Danny Kortchmar, bassist Leland Sklar, drummer Russ Kunkel and keyboardist Craig Doerge) and Jesse Ed Davis among what seemed like a cast of thousands. Producer Kaye, noted for his excesses, encouraged Clark to expand his sound. As such, the folky country-rock that had worked so well for Clark on White Light and Roadmaster was still present, but so were a series of genre bending experiments full of overdubs and sound effects. Gospel harmonies pervaded throughout. The eventual title track, "No Other", was a noble experiment, a transcendental rhythm and blues number full of mad synthesizers and heavy percussion. "Lady of the North", written on a cocaine high with Doug Dillard, was a sax-infused paean for the wife he would soon lose to his addictions. "Silver Raven", probably the best track Gene would ever write, was purportedly about the mortality and the downsides of an ever-changing world of technology. "The True One" was a parable about the nature of karma. After spending $100,000 on an artist whose last great success was nearly a decade past, Asylum was miffed at the results. Only nine tracks had been recorded and they weren't easily marketable, Geffen subsequently halted the sessions. Eight of the nine recorded tracks would end up on No Other, with a remake of Dillard & Clark's "Train Leaves Here This Morning" left off.

For the first time in his solo career, some of the reviews were negative. The nature of the arrangements, the production techniques, the garish 1920s style collage adorning the front cover: No Other was certainly a different beast than anything Clark had done before. Perhaps, though, Clark was ahead of himself as Fleetwood Mac's multi-platinum 1975 self-titled release (their first with Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks) was, in some ways, aurally similar to No Other. It seems as if Gene Clark would perpetually be one or two steps ahead artistically and one thousand steps behind commercially. A rare tour wasn't even enough to get the album off of the ground. Asylum didn't promote the album and it sank like a stone. Clark stayed with Asylum long enough to record another set of demo recordings, which allegedly mixed country-rock and folk with rhythm and blues and proto-disco, but was met with a lack of enthusiasm and, yet again, he was without a record deal. Soon enough, David Geffen saw to No Other's deletion.

Rather than try to seek out a new contract first, Clark returned to the studio in early 1976 with Thomas Jefferson Kaye. While his Byrds fortune wasn't what it had been, it still allowed Clark to cut an album's worth of new material without the need of a label. "Sister Moon", "Lonely Saturday" and "Past Addresses" were windows into Clark's soul as he struggled to live through the aftermath of his divorce. "Silent Crusade" was ostensibly about the necessity of religion. Anomalous to every other album up to that point, one of the best tracks was the cover of James Talley's "Give My Love to Marie", sung in the guise of a dying coal miner lamenting how little he had in spite of a lifetime of hard work. The album as a whole amounted to a significantly toned-down No Other, though this could have been due to the limited budget or perhaps an effort to record a more commercial album. After finishing up in the studio, Clark was offered several deals were offered but none were quite what he was looking for. The album was eventually picked up by Robert Stigwood's RSO label. With releases from Eric Clapton and the Bee Gees scheduled for the fall of 1976, RSO held off releasing the album until February 1977. Excessive touring at home and abroad didn't make Two Sides to Every Story a success. Soon enough, Clark would be knee-deep into the least artistically successful part of his career.

Clark's former bandmates McGuinn and Hillman had albums of their own to tour behind in 1977. A European promoter put one (Clark's KC Southern Band), one (McGuinn's Thunderbyrd) and one (Hillman and his band) together, though most concertgoers expecting a Byrds mini-reunion would be disappointed, only once did the three former band mates appear together. Still, the joint tour set the stage for a more permanent reunion. McGuinn and Clark asked and received their release from their contract and teamed up to play shows together, joined by Hillman on several dates and, on one date, by Crosby. After the failure of Hillman's second solo album to have any significant effect on the charts, Asylum released him from his contract, freeing him to join with Clark and McGuinn.

The first part of 1978 was spent playing concerts in Canada, the United States and Australasia, after which the threesome signed a six album deal with Capitol, signing as "McGuinn, Clark & Hillman" owing to a gentlemen's agreement by the classic Byrds lineup never to use their group name without all five present. With Ron and Howard Albert producing, the threesome cut a nondescript contemporary album in the style of Crosby, Stills and Nash's 1977 CSN (another Albert Brothers production) with a bit of the Eagles thrown in. Clark dominated the songwriting, contributing four tracks to Hillman's three and McGuinn's two. If there's one thing that McGuinn, Clark & Hillman showed, it was that the former Byrds were distancing themselves from the music that had provided them their legacy. There was a minor hit in America, McGuinn's "Don't You Write Her Off", but touring behind the album would be a hassle, with Clark missing as many shows as he had made. After cutting two tracks for a follow-up (one titled "Won't Let You Down"), Clark left his Byrdmates. McGuinn and Hillman would finish City with the Alberts and go on to cut McGuinn-Hillman with Hillman's brother-in-law Jerry Wexler behind the boards after that. Soon enough, they would split up themselves.

The 1980s were a strange decade for the rockers who had made the 1960s so special. After leaving McGuinn and Hillman in the dust, Clark had retreated to Hawaii and northern California to recover. Assisted by a rather anonymous backing group, sporadic solo sessions over 1982 and 1983 yielded enough material for a follow-up to Two Sides to Every Story. But after its 1984 release, Firebyrd was yet another commercial failure, albeit perhaps the one Clark album deserving of it owing to a handful of weak tracks. Featured on the album were two covers of tracks done by the Byrds. A version of "Mr. Tambourine Man" without the excised verses featured a piano lead in place of the 12-string, while pleasant, it could never be considered good enough to replace the Byrds' version. The same went for Clark's own "I'll Feel A Whole Lot Better". As for newer tracks, "Rain Song" used the metaphor of rain to speak of love lost. "Something About You Baby" was probably the most commercial track, an ode to rediscovering love unfortunately marred by rather pedestrian 1980s production techniques. "Blue Raven", its title and lyrics recalling No Other's "Silver Raven", was another lamentation of lost love. Ultimately, though the album showed Clark was still capable of producing fine music, like the tracks on McGuinn, Clark & Hillman, it would end up sounding more dated than the Byrds tracks from 1965 and 1966.

The 1980s brought Gene Clark a renewed appreciation for his and the Byrds' oeuvre. Clark's songs were hailed by the Paisley Underground and guitarists like Peter Buck and Tom Petty favored the jingle jangle of the Rickenbacker, helping to bring the music of the Byrds back into the public eye. In 1985, Clark teamed up with Michael Clarke in a 20th Anniversary Byrds Tribute, playing shows with a ragtag bunch of rockers including members of The Band, Firefall, the 1970's-era Beach Boys and two late-period Byrds. Instead of marketing the shows as the tribute shows they were, concert venues often billed the group as "The Byrds". It was the start of nearly twenty decades of court battles over who had the rights to the group name.

During a lull in touring with the "Byrds", Clark recorded a duet album with the Textones' Carla Olson, an acoustic offering titled So Rebellious a Lover. With each backing the other on three tracks each, it may not have offered a sizable number of new Clark tracks but it would be a highlight of his career nonetheless. "Why Did You Leave Me Today" is about the realization that monetary goods are meaningless without anyone to share them with. "Gypsy Rider" was a sympathetic portrait of a rootless biker that wouldn't have been out of place on any of his 1970s albums. "Del Gato", about a rebellious mixed-blood, drew upon Clark's claiming a bit of Native American blood. On top of their six originals, the duo cut four covers and one traditional number. Of these, "Almost Saturday Night", originally by John Fogerty, is the best track, with Clark and Olson harmonizing in the style of the Everly Brothers and Chris Hillman adding a fantastic mandolin part. The album as a whole was a breath of fresh air and a welcome addition to both the Clark and Olson catalogues. Finally, there was a modicum of commercial success to go along with the critical praise.

Though he was no more The Byrds than any of the other classic four, Clark would tour with his fake Byrds on the oldies circuit for three years. By the time he was forced to halt touring in early 1988, Clark had lost all of the original members of the tribute band. The reason for the halting was the alcoholism that had gripped Clark for years, the result being that half of his stomach and a sizable amount of his intestines were removed due to a serious ulcer. Clark, aware of the effects his tribute Byrds were having on McGuinn, Crosby and Hillman, quietly switched the name of the group to the Firebyrds shortly after resuming touring. Michael Clarke would eventually pick up the tribute, playing with various sets of his own bogus Byrds. Clark stayed neutral as McGuinn, Crosby and Hillman (who went so far as to cut new tracks for the 1990 Byrds box set as "The Byrds") battled Clarke in the courtroom. After Clarke's 1993 alcohol related death, other groups with and without one-time Byrds would tour as Byrds Celebration until 2002 when after years of legal wrangling, David Crosby finally secured the rights to the group's name.

On the heels of his success with So Rebellious A Lover, Clark's biggest windfall in years came courtesy of Tom Petty, who recorded a version of "I'll Feel A Whole Lot Better" for his first solo album, 1989's Full Moon Fever. Though the intentions from Petty were good, it wouldn't be so good for Gene Clark, for with renewed success came renewed troubles. Flush with cash, Clark quickly returned to his addictions full force. Still he continued to write, recording a set of demos in 1990 for a potential second duet album with Olson. The album would never come to fruition, though the demo tracks would later be coupled with a handful of 1983 demos and issued as Gypsy Angel: The Gene Clark Demos 1983-1990.

In January 1991, Gene Clark, Roger McGuinn, David Crosby, Chris Hillman and Michael Clarke were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. For one night, the band put aside all of their differences and sang "Turn! Turn! Turn!", "Mr. Tambourine Man" and "I'll Feel A Whole Lot Better" for the New York crowd. A full reunion was discussed as it had been several times in 1989 and 1990, but the Rock Hall induction was to be the last time the five would ever grace a stage together. Four months later, on May 24, Gene Clark became the first from the classic Byrds line-up to die, natural causes stemming from a bleeding ulcer at forty-six years of age. He was buried back in Tipton, his headstone inscribed with his name, the dates of his birth and death (only then would the ruse about his age that he had concocted three decades earlier be revealed) and the simple, fitting epitaph "No Other".

The story of Harold Eugene Clark is ultimately a tragic tale of a troubled life. A brilliant musician whose contributions were generally unappreciated for most of his career, he was dogged by addiction and dead just as his contributions were starting to get recognized. Posthumously, all of Clark's albums have been issued on compact disc, many in expanded editions. There's certainly no stopping any potential fan from getting their fix, though Two Sides to Every Story is currently out of print. Do yourself a favor and discover one of the greatest American songwriters of the past fifty years.