Flying Burrito Brothers – California Jukebox

The Burritos’ seminal 1969 debut album, The Gilded Palace Of Sin, continues to cast such a long shadow over country-rock that it’s easy to forget the group has been around in one form or another ever since. The only original member in the current Burritos lineup is pedal steel player “Sneeky” Pete Kleinow, but fiddler/singer Gib Gilbeau has been in the band since ’73, when he replaced Rick Roberts (who had himself replaced Gram Parsons), while John Beland (guitars, other instruments, vocals) joined in 1980, after several years as leader of Rick Nelson’s Stone Canyon Band. Beland and Gilbeau formed the basis of a Burritos lineup sufficiently well-behaved that they were deemed palatable by the Nashville establishment and managed to score a series of country hits during the first half of the ’80s.

Despite the tenure of the three principals, I still find it difficult to think of the band that made the new California Jukebox as the Flying Burrito Brothers. Sneeky Pete was a big part of the original band, but his contribution was an expansion of the vision of Parsons and Chris Hillman. The disappointing truth is, Kleinow’s presence on the new album is barely discernible, those remarkable hallucinogenic steel sounds that were once his signature not even hinted at.

There’s nothing remotely visionary or groundbreaking about this unit, the most noteworthy aspect of the album being that they had the good taste to cover the Louvin Brothers (“My Baby’s Gone”), Lowell George (“Willin'”), Neil Young (“Dance, Dance, Dance”, from Crazy Horse’s self-titled 1971 album), Sonny Landreth (“Back to Bayou Teche”), Louris/Olson (“Two Hearts”) and Jay Farrar (“Windfall”). Unfortunately, these renditions range from the merely rote in the case of “Willin'” to downright unconscious, as the cryptic language that lurks below the twangy surface of “Two Hearts” sounds laughable sung by the clearly baffled Beland.

Landreth and the venerable Charlie Louvin make appearances on their respective compositions, bringing some personality to the mostly bland surroundings but unable to prevent the tracks from sounding relatively secondhand. Also making a cameo appearance is Waylon Jennings, who adds some spice to Rodney Crowell’s “I Ain’t Livin’ Long Like This”, upstaging new Burritos singer Larry Patton in their tradeoffs, as does Louvin on “My Baby’s Gone”. A San Antonian who played with Beland and new Burritos drummer Gary Kubal in Bobby Bare’s touring band, Patton comes off as authentically hillbilly in vocal character but wooden as an interpreter, getting lost in the mythopoetic topography of “Windfall”.

Patton’s best performance is on the original title tune, on which the singer nostalgically recalls the early days of the country-rock movement during a bittersweet sightseeing tour that visits such historic sites as the once vital, now abandoned Topanga Corral and Palomino.

These are veteran musicians with legitimate ties to the inventors of country-rock, but none of the latter-day Burritos possesses the degree of inspiration needed to take the band beyond the sort of anonymous competence you’d expect of journeymen. I’m afraid these are the grounded Burrito Brothers.

At least they don’t dress up in hand-me-down Nudie suits.