Gene Clark
Two Sides To Every Story

Three years after "No Other," Gene Clark timidly reappeared. Upon close inspection, he seems to have emerged from solitary confinement, and ultimately we know that, in his battle against the emotional instability and addiction that destroyed him, his life was a constant retreat, seclusion, and isolation. Sure, by recontextualizing that close-up on the album cover, we can see that it was the look of the time (we're in 1977), but looking at him smile behind that big beard... Seeing that gray turtleneck that even Tremonti wouldn't wear, under a fire-engine red plaid jacket... Yes, plaid, like those of lumberjack shirts, only instead of being a shirt, it's an actual jacket, and it's made of quite thick fabric too!

That, at a glance, seemed to be the everyday life for Gene. Definitely, I dare say, one of his lowest points. And even this "Two Sides To Every Story" faithfully follows the trend. This is perhaps the most unfortunate album, even more so than its predecessors. Currently out of print once again, what matters most is that it's the most shabby, predictable, and unattractive album he had produced until then, and it's not enough to present the Appalachian traditional "In The Pines," made famous to the young masses by Nirvana, in the tracklist to increase its appeal. Nor does it help to know that Doug Dillard and violinist Byron Berline, the great Emmylou Harris, and Al Perkins, probably the greatest dobro player, played on this work.

"Two Sides To Every Story" is mostly a somewhat cute but nothing surprising album, mostly consisting of ballads that are overly sweet and predictable. The mid-tempo verve of the country-rooted "Kansas City Southern," the initial bluegrass "Home Rum King," with the usual standout Dillard, and the country-rock blues version of the classic "Mary Lou" do not manage to break the breath of an album simply too languid, even for the angelic Eugenio.

Notes of "Lonely Saturday" or "Silent Crusade" are drawn out so long that they risk becoming boring: no spark, no surprises, and the sentimentality of tracks like "Give My Love To Marie" (cover) and "Hear The Wind" becomes cloying. "Past Address" now, that's a true, perfect, Clark's song: the intensity and pathos increase over time, and Berline's violin is magical. And "Sister Moon," on the other hand, is the thank-goodness inevitable piece of musical architecture bearing Gene Clark's signature. Which sweetens the mush considerably.

Perhaps this work deserves to be listened to more times than my already numerous attempts, maybe I didn't understand the artist's approach to this album, the album of a man who simply secluded and almost erased his own tracks. As far as I understand, I believe good Gene was, at that time, perhaps a bit too relaxed, and here we all have the watered-down version of his artistic standards. Diluted music, softened, tamed, calmed in spirit, and less inspired. Like its author?