The Souther-Hillman-Furay Band
The Souther-Hillman-Furay Band

When phenomena fade, only a few manage to maintain their past popularity. Today, from the whole root movement of that last century, spanning the sixties and seventies, the masses remember a few names: Bob Dylan, Neil Young, and perhaps Joan Baez, thanks in part to her love story with the bard from Duluth. Then, there are a series of "I've heard the name" or "Who? The one with the big mustache? The ones who sang...?". In the end, those not 'in the know' struggle to recall the quartet Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, without recognizing any faces, possibly except for the lone Canadian. They can barely remember Joni Mitchell, and not for her glory moments, but for Roger Waters’ concert during the fall of the Berlin Wall. Oh, and Kris Kristofferson because he’s the daywalker’s friend in "Blade". Then, if Baez appears on Raitre to cover one of Morandi’s hits, you might think there’s no reason to delve deeper into the music genre and its other protagonists.

In 1974, we were still near the golden age of west coast rock, but already many figures no longer enjoyed their bygone fame. However, the artistic production of these individuals often continued unabated, and I had previously concluded that a sensible parsimony in record releases, especially once the good times were over, could have benefited many of them.

The glory left for the greats of that "epic" is scarce, so imagine what was left on the table for the second and third lines! Chris Hillman has always been one of these: second behind Gram Parsons, Stephen Stills, and Roger McGuinn, third in the Byrds when Clark was no longer there, but the lineup still included Crosby, unranked when the Byrds were complete; from the sixties until 1976, there wasn’t a solo record to his name. And Richard Furay? His story was a bit different: he, as an utterly resigned third behind the towering Young and Stills, "took advantage," along with another subdued companion Jim Messina, of the Buffalo Springfield split to unleash his creativity in what became a band of enormous stature, Poco. At least he claimed his share.

In 1974, the two veterans joined soft-rocker of root extraction, J.D. Souther, and formed this "supergroup for insiders." A tepid, reassuring success would greet the three, who for this reason would choose, always and inevitably the following year, to repeat the formula of this "The Souther-Hillman-Furay Band." Deities would intervene to make them lose the desire to continue: the god of money (lack of success) and the god of Christians, who shortly thereafter turned Richie Furay into a devout Christian rock-root minstrel, eventually transforming him into the Protestant pastor he is today. Their debut album consists of healthy, robust soft rock, drawing from the noble past of the two most renowned authors and updating it to radio needs.

J.D. Souther of the trio is the most overtly soft soul, delivering one simpler and catchier tune after another, particularly "Border Town," sunny and summery, in the sense of carefree and, why not?, a tad trivial. His roots run shallow but are in the same ground where his two colleagues’ roots are immersed, so his "Pretty Goodbye" is a former country-folk ballad that aspires to become much more complex and intriguing, but intention and result can differ. His is also the delicate closing folk-pop ballad "Deep, Dark And Dreamless." True to his standards.

Chris Hillman is hesitant: on one hand, he doesn’t want to lose his bluegrass identity (the modest ballad "Heavenly Fire"), while on the other, he seems most eager to return to being a beach-going youth, with the playful and boisterous rock of "Safe At Home" and the excellent "Rise And Fall."

The three musicians are not heterogeneous: they choose to rely on easy rock for the swift pieces and a mix of country and folk for the ballads; all three offer examples of both categories. The best of the trio, in terms of writing quality, is Richie Furay, who immediately serves the radio-friendly cause with the pleasant opener "Fallin’ In Love," starting in an emblematic way: it seems like one of those rocking pieces that make you want to air guitar along, then suddenly shifts towards pop rock, losing some power. His "Believe Me" is West Coast sound at its finest, in the most noble sense, nothing to envy of his "superior" Stephen Stills and the much more famous trio CS&N. Finally, "The Flight Of The Dove" is a juicy and well-structured mid-tempo that flows with genuine pleasure.

Behind these three is practically almost the entire rhythm section of Manassas, the fourth lines, the pawns. In front of Furay and Hillman, invariably, the kings and queens.