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Rating: Authentic cult-hero for all the aficionados of the West Coast epic, but not only: it's no coincidence the Teenage Fanclub dedicated their "Gene Clark" in their album "13" to him.
The singer-songwriter native of Missouri is primarily remembered by the general public for the seminal experience with the Byrds, which he and Roger McGuinn brought to the throne of US rock in the mid-60s, until the famous panic attack before a flight to Minneapolis put an end to that adventure. Clark, a self-destructive genius like Rocky Erickson, Barrett, or Brian Wilson, did not remain trapped on the thirteenth floor: he pursued a peculiar artistic path settling in California, far from the spotlight, in a precarious emotional balance with the lingering effects of alcohol abuse always present. A career as artistically splendid as it was ill-fated in sales, which, however, makes him one of the three or four definitive songwriters of "americana," thanks in particular to the masterpiece "White Light."
The album under discussion here marks his solo debut of 1967, particularly unlucky due to CBS's decision - which hadn't quite digested his divorce from McGuinn - to release it the same week as the Byrds' "Younger Than Yesterday," not to mention the co-credit with the Gosdin Brothers (who only provide vocal melodies). Among these grooves, Gene sways at his best between folk-beat reminiscences and West Coast suggestions expressed through his crystalline pop talent in small gems like the disenchanted "I think I’m gonna feel better," the exquisite "The same one," and the delightful arabesque of "Is yours is mine." Furthermore, he writes the grammar of the nascent country-rock with humid bluegrass flavors that inlay the album’s 11 compositions. This is thanks to the help of future Byrd Clarence White (yes, the very one who would scatter Nashville aromas on "Sweetheart of the Rodeo" the following year) and Doug Dillard, with whom the following year Gene would embark on the "fantastic expedition," considered by many to be one of the cornerstones of the genre that Gram Parsons was forging at the same time. Listening to the innovative nuances of "Tried So Hard" (seasoned with White's amazing bluegrass guitar, melting the jingle-jangle legacy into sublime rural sweetness) or the spirited "Keep on Pushin'," it's clear that the seeds of the genre had already been planted.
Above all stands Gene's melancholic and vigorous voice, dripping with talent and humanity like few others, guiding us through the circles of lost souls, peaking in the supreme melodic pastiche of "Echoes": but without forsaking the joy of movement, the freshness, and the breath of clear open air after the rain. And, like in all of Gene Clark's work, there's never a dull moment.
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