Dillard & Clark
Through the Morning, Through the Night

Compared to the debut album's repertoire, which was almost entirely original, the second effort by the duo Dillard & Clark consists predominantly of covers. For this reason, it is deemed necessary not to venture into flights of fancy, giving precedence to the technical-executive aspect, as well as the stylistic, of "Through The Morning, Through The Night."

The esteemed Dillard & Clark company - plus Leadon, half of the original Byrds, and four-fifths of the Flying Burrito Brothers, which was later grouped along with a series of session men into a cauldron named "the Byrds family" - takes two steps forward compared to its predecessor, each in a different, indeed opposite, direction. In fact, it performs more bluegrass than in "The Expedition," while at the same time sounding more electric than the year before.

Doug Dillard wants to promote his fiancée as a vocalist, which doesn't sit well with Bernie Leadon, who will limit himself to fulfilling his duty without writing a note and then say goodbye. Even Dillard does not participate in the creative phase, leaving the poor Gene with no choice but to draw from his own repertoire and rely on the fathers of the genre. And when I say fathers... I mean Bill Monroe, the leader of the Blue Grass Boys, the band from which the genre took its origin and name; I mean the superduo Reno & Smiley, one a vocalist, the other a banjo player, practically the duo that D&C were inspired by; I also mean the anthem "Rocky Top" by the Bryant spouses...

The opener "No Longer A Sweetheart Of Mine" is captivating, a standard melody of the tradition and a flagship of Reno & Smiley, here made more captivating and tonic by the new arrangement. "Rocky Top," sung, as it should be, by a woman's voice, namely Dillard's fiancée, is executed at the top speed of a sidecar. A little faster, and it would have been suitable for Alvin and the Chipmunks. In the other classic "Four Walls," the duo doesn't transform country into country rock but into American pop rock. Even cosmic American pop rock, if it had more pedal steel and less fiddle.

On the front of the original tracks, seductive or not, one cannot certainly say that Gene Clark is not faithful to himself: take the title track, strip it of the elaborate arrangement, leave just an acoustic and why not?, given the character in question, even a tambourine: it's folk, it's the perfect Clark's song. You can immediately see that whether he likes it or Not, Gene has a different background, another approach, equally American but distant from country. "Corner Street Bar," then, it's unclear if it's a boogie march or a hillbilly rock. The whole thing is beautiful and confused. But then Eugene immediately redeems himself with the superb "I Bowed My Head And Cried Holy," a perfect example of the contemporary (coeval) country that Clark, on paper, would not have been able to write.

And if "Kansas City Southern" is an almost perfect Byrds' song—if only McGuinn's jingle jangle were there instead of Dillard's banjo—it's equally true that "Polly," a marvel among marvels, will be revisited along with the title track by Alison Krauss and Robert Plant in their enchanting "Raising Sand." Listening to it, I'm not interested in knowing whether, maybe at least for a moment in his existence, Gene Clark was truly a country artist, just as I find it pointless to ask myself why the last track is "Don't Let Me Down" by the Beatles, another delicacy very inclined to our tambourine man. I'm content to think that all these passages—folk rock, beat, psychedelia, bluegrass—were nothing but steps toward liberating the inspiration of a superb author and performer, who thus would experiment with all his courage, giving life to the super-acoustic "White Light" and "No Other," in which he embraces all of guitar pop with a very personal approach and revolutionary formulas. Not to mention the valuable transition album "Roadmaster," released only in Europe.

Thus, the sidecar ride ends here. The gas had run out. But if you have wings like the Byrds, it's not such a grave matter.