Gram Parsons, it could be argued, gave us three things before prematurely handing off his mortal coil to sister morphine, the first being Exile on Main Street. Parsons spent a good deal of time with the Stones around the turn of the sixties, and had a substantial, if uncredited, influence on (what I consider to be) their best record. The second would be his faithful protege and vocal companion Emmylou Harris, who would, along with Nanci Griffith and Lucinda Williams, go on to redefine the notion of the female country singer-songwriter throughout the '80s and '90s. His third, and most important, contribution was to create the template for Country Rock itself - characterized in his absence by contemporaries Neil Young, Townes Van Zandt and John Fogerty - and by extension, the insurgent country genre that would emerge in its wake, expressed in turn by Steve Earle, Jason and the Scorchers, Uncle Tupelo, the Bottle Rockets, the Jayhawks, Whiskeytown... et al. All of this, of course, pales in comparison to Parsons' true legacy, and his greatest gift: a scant but precious body of work that holds up remarkably well to the present day.
Grievous Angel is, quite simply, a masterwork, and to be fully understood, has to be considered within the context of Parsons' earlier efforts. His contribution as a member of the Byrds, while never properly acknowledged, was substantial, and included the classic "Hickory Wind." It was with fellow Byrd Chris Hillman, however, that Parsons' vision began to come to full realization with the Flying Burrito Brothers. A subtly psychedelic re-interpretation of the Bakersfield school of country music, The Gilded Palace of Sin would prove hugely influential, even to artists outside the realm of country, such as Elvis Costello. Follow-up Burrito Deluxe, which coincided with Parsons' increasing drug use, was somewhat less remarkable and drew heavily on the band's live repertoire of honky tonk standards. Nonetheless, the record included a great version of the Stones' "Wild Horses" (Parsons and Hillman actually beat Jagger and Richards to releasing the song by a year; the Stones made them promise not to release it as a single as a condition for allowing it onto Burrito Deluxe). Parsons' solo debut GP saw a reawakening for the singer, who by this time had, temporarily, kicked his heroin habit and taken on as performance partner Emmylou Harris, a development not much appreciated by Gretchen Parsons... GP included classics "We'll Sweep Out the Ashes in the Morning" and "Streets of Baltimore." It is, of course, Parsons' next record, Greivous Angel, that we're considering here. Recorded with members of Elvis Presley's band and released four months after the singer's death, GA sees the full realization of both Parsons' synthesis of country, rock and pop (a synthesis he called "Cosmic American Music" and perhaps expressed best on "I Can't Dance"), and his seamless vocal rapport with Harris. "Return of the Grievous Angel" is a neo-Bakersfield classic, "Brass Buttons" a languid, bluesy torch song dating from his days as a folk singer in Boston and "Love Hurts" an unforgettable number that would, by way of Scot-rockers Nazareth, spawn countless make out sessions at high school dances throughout the '80s. The gospel inflected "In My Hour of Darkness" closes the record, as well as Parsons' career and life, with an appropriately melancholy grace.
There is, naturally, a post-script here: Parsons died of an overdose in Joshua Tree, CA. His body was taken back to Los Angeles, and his step-father arranged to have it flown to New Orleans for burial, in order to capitalize on Parsons' inheritance of his family's Florida citrus fortune. Parsons had made a pact with Phil Kaufmann, by which whichever one of them died first, the other would take the body to Joshua Tree National Monument and burn it. Kaufmann borrowed a friend's hearse, drove to LAX, where Parsons was awaiting passage to New Orleans, and managed to finagle Parson's body from the airport personnel, with the inadvertent help of a Los Angeles police officer. Said pact was carried out, and Kaufmann was later fined $750 for the theft of the casket.
Some other thoughts:
#430, Cheap Trick's At Budokan: The record that launched Cheap Trick to superstardom in America. Not much else I can say that you won't get from a good listen or two... So do it.
#428, Radiohead's Kid A: In Rainbows notwithstanding, I've never really been much of a Radiohead guy, and Kid A probably isn't going to make me into one. The record starts off slowly, but "The National Anthem" begins to redeem it with a decent groove and some raucous horn improvisation. "How to Disappear Completely" has a nice meditative quality, building itself to a string crescendo that affirms Jonny Greenwood's classical training, but the song ultimately fails to make its punch connect. The austere beats of "Idioteque" do a reasonably decent job of propping up Yorke's apocolyptic lyrical musings, while "Morning Bell" plays with interesting textures, but ultimately fails to see them to their logical conclusions. The harp in "Motion Picture Soundtrack" is more gimmick than gravy, and "Treefingers" just makes me wonder why I'm not doing something more important with my time. That said, there will certainly be more Radiohead-conversion opportunities coming up. I'll keep you posted...
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