The Essential Crosby, Stills, and Nash (and sometimes Young) Playlist

At the heart of the matter lays this question: What of the venerable CSN (and sometimes Y) catalog can't be considered essential? They revolutionized the way contemporary music was presented — verifiably the first supergroup in a long line of supergroups (many of which, these days, aren't so super). They provided the soundtrack to free love and fervent revolution. They created the template for pretty much every songwriter who's ever gotten his folk on (especially those who like to use alternate tunings). The entire Déjà Vu album could be included in an essential playlist and no one would bark about it (so we pretty much did). How to choose?

Here's how: Grab the true essentials we can't live without ("Ohio," "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes"), add in the now immovable elements of the pop canon ("Teach Your Children," "Our House"), sprinkle in a few personal favorites (because we can), and argue about the rest ("You included 'Wasted on the Way' but not 'Pre-Road Dawns'?!" "You're an idiot: 'Just a Song Before I Go' is not essential.") We even threw in a tune we figure will piss off even the most passing of passing fans. You're gonna have to guess about that one.

Agree or disagree, we say this is the Essential Crosby, Stills, and Nash (and Sometimes Young) Playlist.


Photo of CSNY in concert (August '74) by Tony Morelli. Licensed under CC BY 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons.

David Crosby: On Opening the Doors to the Muse

Throughout most of his time in the music industry, David Crosby’s name has usually been followed by at least two others, Stephen Stills and Graham Nash, and occasionally a third, Neil Young. Though the majority of his work has been with groups — be it CSN, CSNY, or even the Byrds — Crosby has ventured into solo territory on more than a few occasions. While his last solo effort, Croz (2014), had a full band backing the prolific songwriter, he returned in October with something markedly different, something that highlights what he’s capable of creating when all production falls away and it’s just a man and a microphone.

Crosby’s new Lighthouse harkens back to his first solo album, If Only I Could Remember My Name (1971), which is exactly what producer and collaborator Michael League (of GRAMMY Award-winning pop/jazz ensemble Snarky Puppy fame) thought they could achieve with this latest project. Recounting first approaching League, Crosby says with a calm, centered voice that becomes gravelly now and then, “I thought I would ask him to produce the record, and it would be like hiring a master craftsmen with a gigantic toolbox, namely his band, which are an unbelievable bunch of players.” But League had another idea. “I said that to him, and he said, ‘Well, no, actually. I really loved your first solo album, and the direction I’d really love to go is acoustic guitar and bass and vocals. I think we can make that kind of record.’ And I said, ‘Well, that’s right in my wheelhouse. I would love to do that. That sounds terrific.’”

It’s funny how life always has other plans in mind. John Lennon, perhaps, said it best in that regard.

Whereas If Only I Could Remember My Name exhibits a folk sound distinctly pinned to its time period — with bright guitar, meandering rhythms, and introspective lyrics engaged with the political activity of the 1970s — Lighthouse has a much different feel, even while it borrows from its predecessor. It’s as sparse as it is meditative. Built largely around Crosby’s voice and guitar, the instrumentation doesn’t get fluffy and the arrangements remain stripped down to the essentials. If a song need be loud in order to be visceral, Lighthouse instead proves the opposite to be true. Even though they are arguably quieter because of the soft melodic phrasing he builds around his contemplative thoughts, Crosby’s songwriting still resonates physically. Listening to them, one can’t help but feel a pang in the chest or a pull at the heartstrings, to borrow a worn phrase, even though that kind of reaction tends to follow from louder or more thickly arranged music.

Then there’s Crosby’s reflective songwriting — the ace he’s always held no matter for whom he’s writing — which oscillates between his family-first mindset to current events like the Syrian refugee crisis. The album begins with a love song directed toward Crosby’s wife Jan, “Things We Do For Love.” It’s a sentimental reflection about how deeply Crosby feels for her. Of course, having written about love in many different ways over the years, it’s naturally shifted with each passing album. How exactly? “There was at least one snotty egotistical answer there, but maybe I should try,” he chuckles, trying to answer the question seriously when his inclination is to be lighthearted. “I’ve gotten better at it, that’s what I was going to make a joke out of,” he continues. “It started out, when I wrote about love, I was writing about romantic love. And now, when I write about love, it’s family. Family gets to be really big for you later on in life. It really gets to be wonderful.” But he doesn’t draw a sharp line in the sand between romantic and familial love. “That particular song is romantic love, too,” Crosby adds, “because it’s to my wife and I feel very romantic about my wife.” So romantic, in fact, that his wedding ring served as the song’s primary percussive instrument, and took on a greater symbolic role as a result.

For a man who has experienced his share of personal and professional drama, ranging from health issues to a contentious public falling out with Graham Nash, Crosby understands family’s importance more than ever. “My wife and I have been together 40 years, and that’s an amazing thing in our world. Two of my ex-partners got into huge divorces last year in their 70s for Christ's sake, and I’m so glad I’m not driven to do that kind of thing,” he says, avoiding naming names and moving right back into his own matrimonial bliss. “It’s a joy, and it’s the only thing that’s as important as my music: my family.”

Besides singing about his personal life and the moments of joy he’s discovered there of late, Crosby’s political nature again arises on Lighthouse. He once said songwriters have a responsibility to play the part of town criers, those willing to call attention to something untoward going on in the greater social fabric. But getting people to pay attention when there’s so very much to pay attention to remains the larger question. “It’s very tough,” he admits. “Here’s the thing: You do feel the urge to do that town crier part of the job, but you can’t have that be all you do because your job is — even more than that — to make people boogie, and to make people feel stuff: Make ‘em wanna dance, make ‘em feel emotions, make ‘em feel the blues, make ‘em feel love, make ‘em feel triumph. And then, every once in a while, you can say, ‘Oh by the way, it’s 11:30 and all’s well, ‘ or ‘Oh by the way, it’s 11:30 and you’re electing that son of a bitch to be president?’ But if you do it all the time, then you turn yourself into a preacher, and nobody listens to preachers.”

Crosby doesn’t get preachy on Lighthouse, but the social activist does include two tracks focusing on contemporary affairs. “Somebody Other Than You” chastises politicians sending people off to war while protecting their own children, while “Look in Their Eyes” focuses on the Syrian refugee crisis. For a man as outspoken as Crosby has been on Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump, it seems like a missed opportunity to avoid taking aim, even obliquely, at a man exposing the racist underbelly still rampant in the U.S. It’s something he doesn’t remain silent about for long. “I’m surprised and very disturbed by it,” Crosby says of Trump’s popularity, not mincing his words about those who support him. “It’s an aberration, but it reveals how many people there are who are really almost illiterate or essentially quite stupid. Or they would not buy this guy. This guy can’t even control his face, let along his mouth. You can read everything he thinks right on his face. It’s very disturbing that there is that much ignorance and that much stupidity out there, that they can have a party of a whole candidate’s worth of people who don’t get it. It’s kind of shocking.”

Perhaps some kind of song about Trump will make it into his next album, which he’s working on with his son, James Raymond. “James and I are just about to finish it. It’s called Home Free, and we have it just about down.” That project will follow closely in Croz’s footsteps and include a full backing band.

At 75 years old and with over 50 years in the music industry, songwriting still brings the brightest color to Crosby’s world. “I don’t know how I got to here,” he admits, when discussing how the muse continues to choose him after all this time. He likens the moment to leaving all the doors and windows in a house open to catch a breeze. By remaining open to creativity, Crosby finds it continues to stop by for a chat, and he’s more than ready to listen. “I know that the music comes to me, and that it is a joyous process for me to make songs. I just love writing songs,” he says. “These are very visceral forces to me. I don’t really understand how come they’re so strong, but they’re there and I have to pay attention to them because it’s a gift I’ve been given and I don’t want to not use it.”

 

For another side of the coin, read Amanda's Artist of the Month feature on Graham Nash.


Lede illustration by Cat Ferraz.

Graham Nash: Pursuing the Hopeful Path

It’s been 14 years since Graham Nash released his last solo album, Songs for Survivors. In the interim, the 74-year-old has experienced rather significant challenges — both personal and professional — all of which have naturally informed his new album, This Path Tonight. Not only are Nash and his wife Susan Sennett divorcing after 38 years of marriage, but the singer/songwriter also called the future of Crosby, Stills, and Nash into question when he admitted to Dutch magazine Lust for Life in early March that David Crosby had treated him “like dirt” and he wouldn’t be participating in any future CSN records or shows.

As harsh as those comments seem given his typically amiable demeanor, they might have as much to do with the creative place he’s in as a solo artist. The tough experiences he’s faced have let loose a veritable musical flood. Working with producer/guitarist Shane Fontayne, the pair produced 20 songs over the course of one month, 10 of which would eventually comprise This Path Tonight. And Nash doesn’t appear to be slowing down anytime soon. “I’m still writing with Shane,” he says. “We were writing last night, as a matter of fact.”

It seems the prolific songwriter has once again found his creative sweet spot and, while the circumstances instigating that output are less than ideal, they’ve sparked an album of brooding intensity. “Everything is going according to plan, but it’s an emotional rollercoaster, and This Path Tonight is my emotional journal through my life, at this moment,” Nash admits in a forthright tone.

If it seems like This Path Tonight would be a woebegone album thanks to the themes of loss, heartache, and nostalgia which arise in certain songs, think again. Hand a songwriter as talented as Nash difficult moments, and he deftly transforms them into rich introspections offering messages of hope. “If there’s any message in This Path Tonight, it’s that you have a future. Figure out what you think will make you the most happy, and go grab it and run,” Nash says, his voice taking on an optimistic note as he discusses his latest work.

Both melodically and thematically, This Path Tonight reveals Nash at his contemplative best, oscillating between the melancholy nature of questioning one’s place and path in life, and the hope that can be attained from finding answers … or at least enjoying the search. Unlike Songs for Survivors — which felt like a stiff, overly structured album — This Path Tonight contains a lush quality all the more intriguing for its simple, straightforward arrangements and production. “I’m really proud of this record,” Nash admits. “I think it’s a good piece of work.”

Nash has struck on the magic that makes him such a legendary songwriter. On “Fire Down Below,“ the song’s bluesy feel — found largely in gritty guitar riffs and rhythmic piano underpinnings — contrasts Nash’s airier vocals, but all work together to build into a chorus that feels plucked from the 1970s. It’s as catchy as it is meaningful, a hard combination to hit upon.

While having to venture down that path of self-discovery at 74 could, understandably, feel like a burden considering such soul-searching tends to fall within a more youthful domain, Nash’s natural curiosity about practically everything helped guide his way. Beyond his songwriting, he pursues artistic expression in myriad forms, including photography, painting, and drawing. “I’m a curious man,” he admits, recounting a time he received a blast from his past while doing a book signing for his autobiography, Wild Tales: A Rock & Roll Life. “A kid came up to me, and he gave me an 8×10 manila envelope. He said, ‘You need this.’ In this envelope is my report card from when I was 11, and the first thing that a teacher said on my report card was, ‘This boy wants to know everything.’ And I guess I haven’t changed,” Nash chuckles.

That kind of curiosity allows him to communicate back from the trenches, so to speak. “I’ve already realized that it’s the duty of every musician and every artist to reflect the times that they live in, and that’s exactly what I’m doing here,” says Nash. “These songs are what’s happening in my life right now, and probably to a lot of people out there happening to their lives at the same time.” It’s a gift he’s been offering listeners ever since he put pen to paper to melody and formed English pop-rock band the Hollies in the 1960s.

Nash displays a penchant for writing particularly instructive songs. He’s long been attuned to the political issues and social injustices that continue to affect the world. Explaining a new song he’s working on with Fontayne, he says, “I saw a terrible photograph that somebody sent me last night that was taken in the 1940s, and it was of four beautiful children sitting on a stoop outside their shack next to a sign that said ‘Four Children for Sale.’ In the 1940s, there were people that were so poor they had to sell their children. Don’t think that didn’t start me thinking, so Shane and I started to write a song.”

Two of the songs on This Path Tonight’s deluxe edition continue a similar political work even while the rest of the album concentrates on more personal fare. Nash wrote “Mississippi Burning” about three college students murdered in the 1960s when they tried to help black people vote, while “Watch Out for the Wind” deals with the morning Michael Brown was shot and killed in Ferguson, Missouri.

Still, he takes issue with the fact these situations keep surfacing with no clear resolution in sight. “It’s one of the saddest things about being a songwriter,” he candidly says. “Yes, I’m loving the fact that people still love to hear ‘Military Madness’, but holy shit, what a drag to keep singing it. I wrote that 45 years ago about my father going off to WWII.”

He continues, “The world is so crazy. It is so nuts out there. I mean, just look at the political landscape, for instance: It’s a clown car. It’s insane. And that’s just the politics, not the wars, and Syria and Yemen and Afghanistan and Iraq. The world is crazy. We have to hope it will get better.”

Music offers one such balm, and it’s a point he examines in one of his new songs, “Golden Days.” Nash plays upon the song’s title, a phrase that arises and shifts with each verse, beginning as “olden days” before transitioning to “golden days,” “broken days,” and finally back to “golden days.” With each utterance, memory alters the way one looks at the past. Set against a solemn melody plucked on guitar, the song’s central theme concerning time’s passage gives way to what music offers life through all its ups and downs. Nash sings at the song’s close, “Songs with soul and words with so much hope for a brighter day.”

The hope that informs his music plays a large role in his own personal outlook. “My basic understanding is that life truly is simple. Take care of the area around you, take care of the litter around you, encourage your child, smell a flower, do something every single day that makes you smile and you will live longer. Well, I’m 74 now, so it’s stood me in good stead,” he says.

That would be prosaic advice coming from someone who wasn’t aware of the world’s greater injustices and dilemmas, but from Nash, it’s a sage attitude steeped in understanding.

As music journalist turned cultural critic Ellen Willis wrote in a 1967 essay about Bob Dylan, “In a communications crisis, the true prophets are the translators.” The same could be said of Nash. At the heart of it all, he remains a translator, one who skillfully expresses those personal crises threatening to undermine even the strongest individual in order to offer listeners an inspiring perspective instead.


Lede illustration by Cat Ferraz.