Buckskin fringes and paisley Nehru jackets, cowboy hats and Comanche war beads, Carnaby Street and Ivy League, open prairies and traffic jams, Gretsches and Fenders, country pickin’ and psychedelic ragas, Sunset Strip and Monterey Pop, harmonies and tantrums, Americans and Canadians. This was the Buffalo Springfield.
Few bands ever enjoyed the promise, potential and profusion of talent of the Buffalo Springfield. In the all too brief time they graced the 1960s music scene, the group left a remarkable musical legacy that extends far beyond their mere two years together. With a unique fusion of acoustic-electric folk, country, psychedelia, soul, and rock, the five members of the Buffalo Springfield rank among rock’s most innovative pioneers. Boasting three distinctively gifted singer / songwriters each drawing from a rich, colorful palette of musical experiences — from Greenwich Village and Yorkville folk to Appalachian bluegrass and country, rural southern blues, British Invasion rock ‘n’ roll, Latin American rhythms, and Motown R&B — the Springfield was the envy of its contemporaries and rivals to the likes of the Byrds, Beatles and Beach Boys.
Together Stephen Stills, Neil Young, Richie Furay, Bruce Palmer, Dewey Martin and later Jimmy Messina comprised one of America’s most beloved and respected 60s groups. Their body of music, recorded over three albums and a cache of unreleased studio tracks, remains timeless, impeccable and vital and their influence undisputed.
The serendipitous forming of the group in an April 1966 LA traffic jam is as much a part of their legend as their music. Arriving in LA in search of Stills, who he had befriended up in Canada a year earlier, Young, with bass player Palmer in tow, was northbound on Sunset Boulevard in a battered 1953 Pontiac hearse bearing Ontario plates when they were spotted by Stills and Furay heading southward. Somehow the two vehicles maneuvered their way behind each other and after much honking and shouting pulled over (some say into Ben Frank’s parking lot while others insist it was a Ben Franklin store) and exchanged hearty greetings. The four agreed to form a band then and there. Two days later Dewey Martin arrived from the Dillards to man the drums. Taking their name from a steamroller parked out front of their Fountain Avenue house, Buffalo Springfield was born. Within a week they were debuting at the Troubadour. A month later they were the kings of the Sunset Strip drawing lineups at the Whisky-a-Go Go and blowing all competition away. It was that fast, perhaps too fast; by May 1968 the group was no more, burned out in a flame of jealousies and egos.
From the get-go, the five members of the Springfield determined to kowtow to no one, playing all their own songs (okay, in the early months Dewey Martin did sing “In The Midnight Hour”). With three songwriters each capable of singing lead, there was no shortage of material, so much so that besides their three albums the group left more than another albums-worth of unreleased gems languishing in the vaults for three decades. The songs represented on this tribute CD offer fitting testament to the consistently high quality of the Springfield’s creative output.
The group’s debut single, Neil Young’s poignant “Nowadays Clancy Can’t Even Sing”, written in Toronto six months earlier, was the first song the embryonic group rehearsed back in April 1966 and tells the tale of Young’s own frustrations through the eyes of former high school classmate Clancy Smith. Noctorum capture perfectly the melancholy sentiment of Young’s moody folk-rock masterpiece. Initially intended as the B-side, “Clancy” was flipped at the last minute, relegating Stephen Stills’ “Go And Say Goodbye” to the backside. An early country-rock kicker, Buddy Woodward & the Nitro Express take the song right back to its bluegrass/country roots derived from a traditional bluegrass number “Salt Creek”. Bluegrass mandolinist and Byrds bass player Chris Hillman taught Stills the lick that propels the song. Listening to Buddy’s toe-tapping rendition one can just imagine Douglas Dillard guesting with the Springfield on 5-string banjo (Dillard did, in fact, appear with the band at a 1967 Melodyland gig).
Despite the relative failure of their debut single, ATCO Records nonetheless booked the group into the studio to cut an album in September 1966. Released before Christmas that year Buffalo Springfield was a stunning debut boasting all original material (7 from Stills, 5 from Young) and a sound that revealed the group already moving away from folk rock. While Young’s tracks continued his penchant for deep introspective lyricism, Stills songs remained the most commercially accessible, “Sit Down I Think I Love You” being the most representative of that style. A hit for San Francisco’s Mojo Men the following year, Riffbrokers give the song a harder edge while maintaining Stills’ pop sensibilities. Stills’ “So You’ve Got A Lover” was laid down in demo form for the debut album but never developed further (ultimately appearing on the acclaimed 2001 Buffalo Springfield Box Set). Western Electric (featuring country-rock aficionado and ex-Long Ryder Sid Griffin) offer a compelling countrified arrangement that raises the question: why was such a brilliant song discarded by the Springfield? Clearly the group had a wealth of material to choose from even at that early stage in their career.
Young’s songs from Buffalo Springfield get the bigger nod on this tribute with Edward Rogers expressing the youthful innocence of “Do I Have To Come Right Out And Say It”, one of three Young songs that Richie Furay sang on the album due to the guitarist’s lack of confidence as a vocalist. “Flying On The Ground Is Wrong” was a later addition to the debut album sessions nudging Furay’s “My Kind Of Love” from contention but with good reason. Once again contemplating lost innocence and frustration, Bill Williams captures the tenderness of the original in an arrangement reminiscent of Young’s later treatment with his country outfit The International Harvesters in the 80s while retaining that big Gretsch guitar sound characteristic of Young’s Springfield years. “Burned” was intended as another vehicle for Furay but by this point Young had begun to assert himself more, despite requiring dozens of takes to get the pitch right. This time the writer offers his musings on the price of fame, something the young musicians had yet to experience themselves. Walter Clevenger & The Dairy Kings add a bouncy Byrdsy jingle-jangle guitar figure throughout that energizes their interpretation.
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