The Byrds and I (Part One)

The Byrds and I is a series chronicling the story of my life through each album by my favorite band.

Part One: Mr. Tambourine Man (1965)

To anyone who reads this blog on a regular basis, or to anyone who knows me personally, my love and passion for music is very apparent. While this has grown into obsession in recent years, this passion is something that I've carried with me for almost as long as I can remember. My father is the one to blame, as his record collection - honed over decades then reconstructed after an unfortunate theft - served as my own personal school of rock. I'm told I wouldn't go to sleep unless rocked to the sounds of Graham Parker or Roxy Music, and when I reached such an age of curiosity, I found myself pulling out albums at random, anxious for the stories they held. Stories were not lacking when I came to records in my father's collection, and like most young boys who idolize their dads, his favorites became my favorites. John Lennon, Bob Dylan and American five piece, the Byrds, became the most important thing in the world to me at that point. I was probably 8 or 9, and I can't say I was much of a happy child. I had great difficulty focusing in school - result of a learning disability that lead teachers and students to question my level of intelligence. Needless to say, friends weren't easy to come by either, and the best part of my day became being able to indulge in the sounds of a decade I so badly wished to be a part of.

The Byrds hit the American airwaves in 1965, as rock and roll began to divert from basic rhythm and blues to more experimental sounds, and dissenting voices began to emerge against the actions of the government. Dylan proved to be the voice of a generation, yet his folksy political wisdom didn't quite exactly translate into pop success. Byrds frontman Jim McGuin was interested in all kinds of music, but his initial inkling was to blend that folk wisdom with the pop tightness of the Beatles - creating a sound that was catchy, yet anthemic. Mr. Tambourine Man is full of Dylan covers, with the title track becoming their first number one. Dylan's "Tambourine Man" clocked in at over six minutes, but McGuin chopped it to under two, rendering the song radio friendly, if somewhat meaningless. Elsewhere it was the tight harmonies of McGuin, David Crosby, Gene Clark and Chris Hillman that would ultimately characterize the Byrds' sound. Drummer Michael Clarke did not spend too much time on the microphone.

I would discover gems much later - because I don't actually think I made it too far past the first two songs. After "Tambourine Man" came one of Gene Clark's originals, "I'll Feel A Whole Lot Better." Clark was my dad's favorite Byrd - at least until Gram Parsons joined. My dad always identified with the underdog - often a tragic underdog. Clark would only record one other album with the band, before embarking on a solo career that only saw success and acclaim after his passing. Clark was a great songwriter and - not playing an instrument himself - was the one who held the harmonies in the line.

Decades later, my favorites on this album are originals buried deep beneath the covers. I care little for their rendition of the title track when stacking it up against the others, and it is Dylan's original that holds resonance. My mom always preferred that version, most notably the line, "to dance beneath the diamond skies with one hand waving free." In 2003, I was working on a documentary film about my mom's brother, Steve, who'd committed suicide years before I was born. Her family had grown up in Michigan, but Steve had come to San Francisco in the sixties searching for something. As we strolled Haight Street and I filmed the scenery, we happened upon a street performer. I chatted with him briefly and he informed me that he played mostly Dylan songs. I asked him if I could film him playing his favorite. He agreed, and proceeded to sing "Mr. Tambourine Man." Though it was all by chance, that moment ended up becoming a defining point in the film. Even if I tried to escape them, the music that defined my life as a child continues to define it today.