Byrds – Sweetheart Of The Rodeo

“We claim Gram Parsons as our unholy ghost, minister of the shotgun wedding of country and rock ‘n’ roll long before the Eagles crashed the reception.”

–No Depression Vol. 1, No. 1

If you accept this assertion, then Sweetheart Of The Rodeo is our Pentecost, the moment that rock ‘n’ roll became imbued with the high lonesome spirit of the country music of the white, rural, working-class. The fact that Gram Parsons was the Harvard-educated son of a wealthy family is irrelevant. Sweetheart Of The Rodeo sounded like nothing that had come before it, and nothing has sounded quite the same since.

Suddenly the phrase country-rock was part of the musical lexicon. Some may say that Bob Dylan got there first, and arguments for artists ranging from Ricky Nelson to Elvis Presley can be made. But Parsons, a charismatic young Southerner with a deep devotion to true country music, affected and influenced everyone from the Rolling Stones to the community of Los Angeles musicians who would go on to form the Eagles, Poco and hundreds of lesser-known bands, as well almost every band mentioned in the pages of this magazine.

As is often the case with moments of incredible artistic breakthrough, Sweetheart was a case of the right people all finding each other in the right place at the right time. In 1968, the Byrds were a band in transition. With the release of The Notorious Byrd Brothers, Roger McGuinn had finally achieved his artistic vision of “the jet sound” band he had articulated in the liner notes of 1965’s Mr. Tambourine Man, their first album. But as McGuinn asserted artistic control, resentments grew among band members and tensions flared. By 1968, David Crosby had left and Michael Clarke was on the way out. Into the breach landed Parsons, a recent arrival to L.A. from Boston with his International Submarine Band, a seminal country-rock outfit.

McGuinn’s traditional folk roots were a perfect match for Parsons’ country music passions. Their common desire to make music that would have a lasting impact intersected beautifully on Sweetheart Of The Rodeo. The album found the Byrds continuing their ongoing Bob Dylan tribute with “You Ain’t Going Nowhere” and “Nothing Was Delivered” from The Basement Tapes. Parsons was responsible for covers of the Louvin Brothers (“The Christian Life”) and Merle Haggard (“Life In Prison”) — and, perhaps more importantly, his own classic, “Hickory Wind”.

It was too good to last, of course. Shortly after the Sweetheart sessions, Chris Hillman stormed out with Parsons to form the Flying Burrito Brothers. The brilliant session guitarist Clarence White stuck around with McGuinn to form the nucleus of an all-new Byrds.

This reissue of Sweetheart is one of four Byrds albums offered by Columbia Legacy in the label’s latest revival of the Byrds catalog. All four — The Notorious Byrd Brothers (1968), Sweetheart Of The Rodeo (1968), Dr. Byrds And Mr. Hyde (1969), and The Ballad Of Easy Rider (1970) — are worth having, but Sweetheart is essential. Even if you already own and love the original LP, this 20-bit mastering of the original session and mixdown tapes will sound far clearer than the snap, crackle, pop of your old vinyl. And the rare photos, track-by-track annotations, and new historical liner notes by David Fricke are welcome embellishments.

The bonus tracks include “You Got A Reputation”, “Lazy Days” and “Pretty Polly”, all of which were previously available on a box set, and a previously unreleased instrumental, “All I Have Is Memories”. However, the real fun of this release is found in the previously unreleased rehearsal versions of “The Christian Life”, “Life In Prison”, “You’re Still On My Mind” and “One Hundred Years From Now”. All four tracks feature vocals by Parsons rather than McGuinn, who sang on the original release; these takes are basically Parsons teaching the songs to the rest of the band members.

The rough-around-the-edges sound of the band perfectly suits the rawer, keening sound of Parsons’ voice. On the rehearsal version of “One Hundred Years”, Parsons’ vocals seem to be reaching for the depths of emotion; his voice seems oddly disassociated from the band, which further amplifies the desperation implicit in the lyrics. The reason for this becomes apparent as the music fizzles to a close and Parsons asks the producer if he could hear the music through his headphones next time. Of course, gales of laughter ensue — but it’s also a rare and entertaining peek behind the scenes of rock ‘n’ roll history being made.