BUFFALO SPRINGFIELD: BUFFALO SPRINGFIELD (1966)
1) Go And Say Goodbye; 2) Sit
Down I Think I Love You; 3) Leave; 4) Nowadays Clancy Can't Even Sing; 5) Hot
Dusty Roads; 6) Everybody's Wrong; 7) Flying On The Ground Is Wrong; 8) Burned;
9) Do I Have To Come Right Out And Say It; 10) Baby Don't Scold Me; 11) Out Of
My Mind; 12) Pay The Price; 13*) For What It's Worth.
Listening to Buffalo Springfield's debut in the
context of everything that surrounded it in those bubbling fall days of 1966,
one thing that might strike you is how decidedly non-psychedelic, perhaps even anti-psychedelic
it is. It is possible that some people back then might have thought of Buffalo
Springfield as «yet another second-rate Byrds imitator», but the Byrds
themselves were strongly bitten by the psychedelic vibe that year, writing
songs about spacemen and playing trippy Coltrane-influenced guitar solos —
leaving their second-rate imitators to lay the strongest claim for «best
roots-rock album» of the year, even if the term «roots-rock» did not exist back
then («rock» being still way too young to feel the need for any «roots»).
Of course, it's not as if Stephen Stills, Neil
Young, or Richie Furay had any ideological issues with psychedelia, and, um,
«for what it's worth», Neil occasionally includes a bit of droning, and every
once in a while, they fuss around with special effects on their guitar sounds,
from simple fuzz to trickier tricks (Leslie speakers?); since the word
«psychedelic» can be adapted to a very wide variety of meanings, you could try
and make a good case for this record as well. But that would most likely be an
exercise in sophism: Buffalo Springfield
is, first and foremost, just an unassuming collection of well-written songs
from a couple of young kids enthralled at the perspective of merging together
simple pop melodies, age-old folk tradition, and relevant-contemporary verbal
meaning. The Beatles, The Byrds, and Bob Dylan circa 1965 being their mentors
in this exciting business.
A certain amount of record executive pressure
is felt here — namely in the circumstance that most of Neil Young's songs are
being sung by Richie Furay; the powers that be imperatively decided that Furay
was incompetent as a songwriter (and it's not as if they were totally wrong on that one), but also
that Young was way too weird as a singer (come to think of it, they were sort
of right about that, too, except that «weird is good» in the artistic
paradigm), and this is why you don't get to hear Neil's own take on ʽFlying On
The Ground Is Wrongʼ until you get around to some of his solo live shows. But
that ain't much of a problem — Furay is a lovely singer indeed, and since
electric folk rock in 1966 was still largely associated with the earthy
sweetness of Roger McGuinn and the other Byrds, it is understandable how Neil's
high-pitched «womanly whine» would be deemed un-commercial.
The good news is that Stills and Young already
come up to the table as competent songwriters. While there is a certain level
of simplicity and innocence to these songs that would gradually be ushered out
by professionalism, Buffalo Springfield
does not feel like a generic Byrds
rip-off. Some of the songs, especially Stills', do come across as sort of
formulaic pop — but it is still an inventive formula. ʽGo And Say Goodbyeʼ
plays out like a country dance tune, with three differently toned guitar parts
that all try to sound like interlocking banjos — however, the verse and chorus
vocal melodies are sheer Beatles (in fact, the verse melody is reminiscent of
Harrison's ʽYou Like Me Too Muchʼ, and
the first verse talks about "the night before" — subconscious on the
rampage!), and even if that may not sound like much, the song immediately establishes
a solid special case for the Buffalo Springfield — where the Byrds usually
tended to have a fully integrated sound, these
guys actually sound like they're competing against each other from the very
beginning. A folk rock band with «feuding» members? Now we're talking!
Of the two songwriters, Young immediately comes
across as the «deeper» one, an impression that would, of course, be maintained forever
on — and an impression largely conditioned by the fact that the man was
probably depressed and psychologically wounded already as an embryo in his
mother's womb, which is why he is able to contribute a whole set of credible
downers (ʽNowadays Clancy...ʼ, ʽFlying On The Ground Is Wrongʼ, ʽBurnedʼ, ʽOut
Of My Mindʼ — even the titles speak for themselves) at the tender age of 21.
Even his solitary love song on the album, ʽDo I Have To Come Right Out And Say
Itʼ, is an under-the-bed serenade from somebody who's way too insecure and
afraid to tell anyone that he wants to hold her hand. Unfortunately, no Neil
Young-sung version of the song seems to exist, which is a pity, because Furay
sounds the refrain so tenderly and sweetly that it must have won the band quite
a bit of female fans! (But they'd all be Furay's, of course. Damn that Neil and
his "indecision").
Stills provides the perfect extravert
counterpart to Young's introverted character — passionate and permutable as
hell: one minute he asks you to ʽSit Down I Think I Love Youʼ, then the very
next moment you already have to ʽLeaveʼ because all it took for the I-love-you
obsession to turn into I-hate-you rage was one small record groove. He also
pays a little more attention to song structure and hooks, where Neil seems more
concerned with overtones and atmospherics, and the two of them strike a great
balance so that the record neither threatens to drown in watery melancholia
nor to float away on the fluffy pop hook breeze.
But the real value almost always lies in the
potential of this band as a guitar outfit — not a lot of pop bands around that
time had two lead guitarists in the group with two distinct styles: ʽSit Down I
Think I Love Youʼ, if anything, is priceless already for its doubled guitar
break, first with Neil playing a grungy ʽSatisfactionʼ-esque fuzz solo, then
Stills cutting in with a soft, fluent, playful country guitar part representing
the other side of the protagonist's split personality. They also have a sense
of intertextual humor — right in the middle of the rocking ʽBaby Don't Scold
Meʼ, for just one bar, the riff from the Beatles' ʽDay Tripperʼ makes a guest
appearance out of the blue, in addition to the song featuring some
raga-influenced guitar playing (which, I guess, makes it the most proverbially
«psychedelic» number here, although that's not saying much). Why? Because we
can, that's why.
Actually, checking the dates, I see that most
of the songs here were recorded already after the boys must have had heard Revolver — but they were almost
certainly written when the band's freshest Beatles impressions were still from Help! and Rubber Soul, and it is amusing, in that respect, that Stills' ʽPay
The Priceʼ, with its fast tempo and mildly threatening lyrics, closes the album
in much the same fashion that ʽRun For Your Lifeʼ closed Rubber Soul. Which is to say, a somewhat underwhelming and totally
non-conceptual coda, but at least we don't see Stills promoting womanslaughter
(maybe he'd love to, but Atlantic Records wouldn't let him anyway). And which
is also to say that Buffalo Springfield,
as a whole, was not quite «on the cutting edge» when it came out in December
1966 — for that matter, were Buffalo Springfield ever «on the cutting edge»? — but who cares, when you've got these
two interesting and so significantly different personalities pooling their
talents, Lennon-Mc-Cartney-wise, on the same record?
Trivia time: in typical American fashion, the
record was mutilated just three months later, as a new re-release took the
band's newly successful single ʽFor What It's Worthʼ and inserted it as the
lead-off track at the expense of ʽBaby Don't Scold Meʼ — as if there weren't
enough free space on the frickin' LP to allow for 13 tracks instead of 12. Of
course, ʽFor What It's Worthʼ is not just an insanely catchy song, but it also
represents a certain «maturity stage» for Stills (he'd already tried the
«serious approach» with ʽEverybody's Wrongʼ on the original LP, but it wasn't
very memorable and sort of got lost in between all of his love songs and all of
Neil's mopey mini-epics), and in a way, it feels a little out of place on the
record (imagine the Beatles replacing ʽDrive My Carʼ with ʽTomorrow Never
Knowsʼ, or starting Sgt. Pepper off
with ʽRevolutionʼ), making the decision completely commercially motivated. That
said, there's really no conceptual side to the structuring of the record anyway
— and those mysterious ping... ping notes in the intro, followed by the
most delicately phrased and intoned "there's something happening
here..." in the history of world-changing pop music, still arguably remain
Buffalo Springfield's greatest contribution to humanity, as boring and trivial
as that judgement might seem to fans of Poco. Oh, and big thumbs up, of course.
This does sound more like a “band” effort than the next two albums, but relatively speaking. The Stills and Young songs don’t (and never would) sit entirely comfortably beside each other. Furay’s vocals do provide some sonic unity to the thing. The two writers bring their strengths to the table right away. For instance, Stills, at age 21, already sound like an authentic blues shouter on “Leave”. My favorites: “..Clancy” (good and weird, as you put it), “Flying On The Ground Is Wrong (released as an early single, quite well done, by Neil’s Winnipeg buddies, The Guess Who; and, of course, “For What It’s Worth”. The subtle creepiness of the song brilliant. I’ve always hated how CSN and CSNY totally destroyed that vibe when the played it live.
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