55 Years Later: Revisiting The Byrds’ Expressive & Experimental ‘The Notorious Byrd Brothers

With over half-century hindsight and given the tumult within the ranks of The Byrds circa 1967, it’s a wonder they completed an album at all, much less one as superb as The Notorious Byrd Brothers (released 1/15/68). But this fifth album of the iconic American band’s was in fact a natural progression from its splendid predecessor Younger Than Yesterday, itself the result of valiant efforts to withstand the shock of losing a founding member and chief songwriter Gene Clark the year prior; bassist Chris Hillman stepped up as a formidable composer and stylish lead vocalist, while David Crosby also upped the ante with his own original material.

But the latter had also generated friction within the Byrds by insisting on the inclusion of his ignominious tune “Mind Gardens” on the prior record: to feature this abomination in place of the glorious “Ladyfriend” (ultimately released as a less-than-successful single) is simply an inexcusable lapse in judgment. Croz continued on with new songs and new conflicts as a recording of a new Byrds album began, abstaining from participation in the sessions for days at a time and arguing about song selection vis a vis his own compositions and others. 

Having submitted his “Triad,” only to see it refused, the growing tension ultimately resulted in Crosby’s departure from the group. The Byrds’ version of this ode to a menage a trois led by the author appears on the expanded Legacy Edition CD, reminding not only that Jefferson Airplane covered it on their Crown of Creation album later this same year, but also that it appeared in virtually the same arrangement fronted by Grace Slick. Crosby knew how to effectively use his voice, if not always the remainder of his given talent(s) in the proper context.

What Crosby left behind, however, was that which cemented the social relevance and adventuresome musicality of The Notorious Byrd Brothers’ sound. With rich vocals and glimmers of chiming twelve-string guitar, the gentle beauty of “Draft Morning” and “Dolphins Smile” are arguably the two best self-composed numbers on this LP; along with an homage to the counter-cultural in the form of “Tribal Gathering,” Crosby’s material ironically helped forge Notorious into a cohesive statement of purpose, even without any discernible (distracting?) concept in place. In hindsight, it is only the dwindling commercial prospects of the once high-profile Byrds that relegated the effort to lesser renown than some of its peers, this despite the fact it was so fully representative of its time (and now doesn’t sound the least bit dated.) 

Perhaps that’s why the outspoken future compatriot of Stills and Nash decried how the Byrds otherwise continued to nurture their penchant for outside material. Granted the dual pens pen of Gerry Goffin and Carole King were a surprising source for “Goin’ Back” and “Wasn’t Born to Follow.” Yet with the delicately atmospheric likes of Hilman’s “Natural Harmony” and his similarly-harmony-laden collaboration with McGuinn, the somewhat eerie “Change Is Now,” original Byrds material grounded the album. And, short as it is under two minutes duration, Crosby’s “Dolphins Smile” deepens and broadens the cohesive unity of the LP: together with floating group vocals, tranquil and disquieting guitars that alternately cascade through the air and pierce the silence render redundant the sound effects of gunshots at the cut’s conclusion.

Those tracks flow naturally from the “Artificial Energy” opener, its infusion of brass (plus piano) a seeming nod to the Beatles’ “Magical Mystery Tour”(one of a few such back and forths between the two groups over the years). This all somehow sounds just like and nothing like the Byrds, however, to the extent that even the most obvious hint at the next phase of the Byrds’ adventure, the sprightly country number called “Old John Robertson,” featured pedal steel mixed with the sound of a harpsichord; like the touch of orchestration on “Goin’ Back,” the arrangement only reinforces the group’s well-established eclectic reach. 

As is what lies at the other end of the eleven cuts. Prominent use of Moog synthesizer shaped the arrangement of “Space Odyssey;” based on an old sea shanty, it was yet another sci-fi-oriented tune from the band that gave us “CTA-102” and “Mr. Spaceman.” The early use of the electronic device was just one of the effects so judiciously applied by producer Gary Usher and facilitated by original engineers Roy Halee and Don Thompson (and further mixed so expertly by Vic Anesini for the aforementioned reissue). With the able presence of session players like the brilliant drummer Jim Gordon, the Byrds maintained its persona as a band even as its personnel dwindled and, as a result, The Notorious Byrd Brothers is perhaps the most insinuating psychedelic work of its epoch, as graceful and gentle as any of the group’s best previous efforts.

Gram Parsons’ enlistment in advance of the groundbreaking country-rock hybrid Sweetheart of the Rodeo only brought more dysfunction to the rapidly-dwindling team when the record was issued in August of 1968. Contractual disputes resulted in the removal of three of his lead vocals from the final release, just one more factor that contributed to his departure from the Byrds before the album actually came out. 

Subsequently moving on to form the Flying Burrito Brothers with Hillman, this radical shift left McGuinn to soldier on as leader of constantly shifting personnel under the Byrds moniker til, during the course of the reunion of the original quintet in 1973, he was convinced (largely by Crosby?) to abandon that ongoing initiative effort. 

Ironically, that latter effort was as disjointed as the later lineups’ were increasingly unified over time (see 1969’s Ballad of Easy Rider). Accordingly, a cover photo ostensibly picturing a horse in Crosby’s place alongside McGuinn, Hillman, and drummer Michael Clarke (who would depart before the Notorious sessions were complete) mirrors the bitter tumult within the band, almost a perpetual phenomenon since the original quintet’s formation. 

In contrast to the fitful progress of the ensemble through its third album, 1966’s Fifth Dimension,  the fifty-five-plus years that have passed since the release of  The Notorious Byrd Brothers has only solidified its stature as a supremely cogent piece of work. Hearing it with discerning retrospect now, it sounds as though it should rank as a pinnacle of artistic expression in an era full of them.