David Crosby: the Man with the Velvet Voice
My harmony vocal teachers, listed in order of importance:
1) my mom
2) David Crosby
3) everyone else
Today, we lost a giant. Founding member of the Byrds, and of course the legendary Crosby, Stills, Nash, & (sometimes) Young.
My list could clearly be expanded to include SO many more people in my life. I find, however, that adding just one more name would result in an avalanche of additional master harmonists (“well, now there’s no way I can leave out voice teacher X, bandleader Y, or famous singer Z…”), pushing it straight into the triple digits.
My high school choral director Betsey Lavway would be pretty high up on the expanded list, though, if only due to one conversation we had when she strong-armed me into signing up for her choir:
Me: “meh, that’s not really my thing. I’m a rock guitar guy.”
Her: “Brent, there are millions of guitarists on the planet, and the competition is ridiculous… if you can sing backup harmonies, though, you will vastly increase your odds of snagging the choice gigs”
Me: “hmmmm… well, okay… maybe…”
Her: “oh, there are WAY more girls than guys in choir.”
I signed up the next day.
I owe Betsey far more words at a later time: after all, she also gave me my first wedding gig, my first teaching gig, and — most consequential — my very first conducting gig. I’ll save this for another day, as I really, really need to talk about Crosby.
My mom gets the credit of turning me on to Crosby, Stills, and Nash. I had the pleasure of seeing CSN with her as a young person, and I was immediately captivated by their effortless harmonies and onstage rapport. The opening set by The Band (sans Robbie Robertson), similarly opened by mind and ears to their own style of idiosyncratic vocal beauty (we caught them just in the nick of time, too: singer/pianist Richard Manuel would sadly take his life in a hotel room only a couple of months later). I went home and even though I’d not played piano for a number of years, I could play/sing a passable version of “Our House” by the end of the week.
PHOTO: Shayan Asgharnia for the Wall Street Journal
I was lucky to catch CSN again when I was old enough to go with some of my pothead HS friends. A very different — but nevertheless awesome — experience. This show featured a newly sober and freshly prison-sprung David Crosby, who seemed utterly elated to be back on stage doing what he does so incredibly well. He practically walked on air.
I never got to see him again. I bought a ticket to see a solo show of his at the Paramount in Austin in 2020, but COVID shut that down. There were rumors that there might be a reschedule, but it is now clear that this will never happen. Sigh.
It’s been a crappy past few months: it would seem the majority of my recent blog posts are commemorating people who have passed on. This particular death hits pretty deep, though: I may have stayed up later than usual rewatching “David Crosby” Remember My Name” with a box of tissues nearby.
Oh, and Betsey Lavway’s assertion about guitarists who can sing backup harmony? She was 100% correct: as the years passed, I found myself periodically getting the edge on other guitarists (arguably better ones, at that) due to my harmonizing ability (bonus: I had a music career fallback position when tendonitis sidelined me for a few years in my 20’s). SO much of the natural development of my ears came from dialing in on the never-obvious-but-nevertheless-perfect notes that Crosby would effortlessly weave around whomever he sang with. It’s a masterclass in finding ways to vocally stand out while still blending in.
He was just that good.
People have been flooding the web with their own testimonies and favorite DC moments. I’ll join the proverbial choir with my own favorite Crosby track…
There are so many amazing songs and moments, but my all-time favorite is “Laughing” from his 1971 solo debut, “If I Could Only Remember My Name.” He arguably wrote stronger songs (the overproduced-but-otherwise-excellent “Delta” gets my vote for his best), but this track swims in a vibe that is pure magic (it certainly didn’t hurt that he had friends like Joni Mitchell, Graham Nash, and the Dead’s Phil Leah, Bill Kreutzmann, and Jerry Garcia backing him up on parts largely created on the fly). The verse and chorus are inarguably great, but — for my money — the payoff arrives in the extended outro: the floating cloud of “ah” and “in the sun” are simply to die for, as is Garcia’s otherworldly pedal steel solo. Sheer beauty when it first hit my ears at 15 or 16, and it kills me to this day.
Rest in power, dearest David. Thank you for the music.