Vikings & Beekeepers

 

The late 60s and early 70s boasted a long string of talented folk singer-songwriters. Of course, the tri-fecta of Dylan, Simon and Young springs to mind most immediately (not to mention some of the fine folky ladies: Joni Mitchell, Carole King and the amazing, underheard Judee Sill). Boomers may also remember the likes of John Prine and Louden Wainwright III, while the cool kids love to cite Nick Drake and Donovon among their favorites. Probably the most woefully undermentioned singer-songwriter of this time would be the late Gene Clark.

Clark began his wild, wide-ranging career as an original member of the Byrds, where he helped pen some of their best early songs. After a couple of years with one of the largest and most influential American bands, Clark decided to leave the band, citing a dislike of touring (and, likely, airplanes) and the general pressures of sudden stardom. Now solo, Clark released some very solid country-folk albums with the Gosdin Brothers and banjo ringer Doug Dillard before briefly dipping his toes in a post-Gram Parsons incarnation of the Flying Burrito Brothers. After some bumpy trails, Clark entered the 70’s with his stark, spare, brooding (not to mention Dylan-approved) country folk masterpiece, 1971’s White Light. The album combines some of the best qualities of Clark’s selected genre: Bob Dylan’s lyrical imagery, Neil Young’s sense of broken melody, tasteful and sparingly employed slide guitar riffs and, of course, a cover of the Band thrown in for good measure. As the cliché goes on this website: “the album was commercially unsuccessful.” White Light has developed a respectable and deserved cult following, but it’s Clark’s 1974 follow-up, No Other, that deserves the most accolades.

While White Light was defined by its “man and his acoustic” sound (plus some minimal electric and rhythmic accompaniment), No Other employs the kitchen sink approach. Shockingly given an overblown production budget by label boss David Geffen, Clark stretched the buck to stretch the folk genre past the point of even resembling folk. The twangy, broken-hearted acoustic sound still provided the foundation, but Clark began liberally adding layers of rock, gospel, other-worldly psychedelia (this is mid-70s psychedelia, not the bullshit 60s “Sgt. Peppers wannabe” psychedelia), pornographic funk, latino rhythms and God-knows-what-else. The results were a disorienting melting pot of styles and ideas, an over-the-top coalescence of unprecedented inspiration. No Other is an album that would have sounded out of place in 1974 (although Fleetwood Mac would apply some similar production techniques to far more commercial success a few years later) and sounds just as wild and new 34 years later.

It all starts inconspicuously enough with “Life’s Greatest Fool,” which eases the listener in with Clark’s lone reedy voice and relatively minimal instrumentation. The song starts simply, and starkly, recalling much of White Light, but as it progresses, details are added. By the end, Clark’s simple folk song has turned into a guitar shredding, gospel sing-along and the listener doesn’t even notice when this shift has occurred. The frog has been boiled and it hasn’t even realized it yet.

“Silver Raven,” a song about a UFO sighting of all things, pushes the sound even further with its haunted, almost gothic, lost highway vibe. Acoustic guitars duel in dark, minor chord arpeggios while Lee Sklar (who is really the album’s unsung hero) provides the slippery, spidery bass line. Some organ, gospel choir and effect-laden guitar help round out the almost spooky sound, but it’s Clark’s ghostlike vibrato that sets the tone and makes the song the “3 a.m. and alone on the bare highway” lament that it is.

Then shit starts to get really wild. While the first two tracks are just slightly more dynamic versions of White Light’s general sound, “No Other” and “Strength Of Strings” crackle with coked-up hubris.

Sly Stone is rumored to have been on hand during the recording of the title track and it’s easy to believe considering the dirty, grimy funk being produced. “No Other” (streaming below) smacks of There’s A Riot Goin’ On, Sly & The Family Stone’s fantastic ode to unrest and white powder. Heavily effected guitars and keyboards gurgle and sputter underneath Clark’s sinewy voice. The gospel choir returns, but this time, when countered by the grittier music, the song has a feeling of delightfully wrong disparity. Strange bedfellows, indeed. It’s so bad it’s good (that’s “bad” as in “naughty”). A breakdown of congas, swirling guitars and electric piano frequently drops in during the songs back half, creating a whirlpool effect. “No Other” is the soundtrack to the weekend long acid-fueled orgy for the rhinestone cowboy.

 

While, the title track makes its mark by fusing genres, “Strength Of Strings” (streaming below) shoots the moon with its epic grandiosity. The song opens with a simple, lovely, ominous guitar duet. Soon, Clark joins in with some wordless echoing of the guitars’ refrain. Clark’s guest vocalists then come in to do the same with the drum fills pick up and blast the song into euphoric choir and slide guitar heaven. At the two-minute mark Clark hits his mark and begins his first, powerful verse. Listen closely and you can hear a minor-to-major key change mid verse, one of the subtle marks of brilliance in a song that rarely dabbles in subtlety. The band drops back out and leaves Clark and co. to repeat the opening melody, now with accompanying lyrics. At six-and-a-half minutes, “Strength Of Strings” hits so many high points that it has to be listened to multiple consecutive times before one even begins to penetrate its genius.

 

“From A Silver Phial” brings the album back down to earth, with a relatable, bluesy piano lead and far less ethereal vocal performances. Still, it’s one of Clark’s strongest melodies and the ironic anti-drug lyrics (considering the overall feel of the whole album) are his most personal.

After the relatively accessible “Silver Phial,” the eight-minute slow burn of “No Misunderstanding” kicks in, layering instruments and vocals, slowly and sparingly until the chorus hits with new sounds coming from each direction. Melodically, “No Misunderstanding” resembles Dylan’s “I Shall Be Released,” but with far greater emphasis on heavy piano and an impassioned closing guitar solo.

 

An eight-minute folk song is emblematic of No Other as a whole. This album is dense. It can often come off as impenetrable in that there is so much happening in these songs musically, lyrically and sonically - it’s hard to totally absorb the whole album in one sitting. Normally, when I think of so-called “dense” albums, I think of million track curiosities like the Minutemen’s Double Nickels On The Dime or Olivia Tremor Control’s Dusk At Cubist Castle, but at only eight songs, No Other packs as much, if not more, of a hefty wallop. There is just so much sound here, that even smaller, easier to digest tracks like “From A Silver Phial” and the sprightly, almost upbeat “The True One” can’t provide an oasis. It’s rumored that No Other was originally intended to be a double album, but label head David Geffen balked at the idea and forced Clark to whittle his album to a more commercial single disk. So what we’re hearing here is a castrated double album with still enough balls to carry an entire discography.

Possibly one of Clark’s most revered songs, “Lady Of The North” closes the album on a tasteful, terrific note. Guitarist Jesse Ed Davis provides some beautiful descending guitar lines while Richard Greene’s groovy violin provides the song with a memorable and thoroughly strange coda. Clark, as always, delivers a sweeping, broken vocal performance that fills the room. Michael Utley’s piano is the big star of “Lady Of The North.” Utley plays big and loud over everything and it really manages to ground the experimentation.

No Other was hated when it was released, but listening to it today can be like discovering an entirely new and foreign genre. Yes, it’s still folk, but while most folk is spare and tender, No Other is bold and over-the-top. Hopefully one day No Other can be re-released in its original, busting-at-the-seams double album form. In the meantime, make the effort to catch up with this stunning, frustrating, difficult masterpiece by one of the greatest singer-songwriters of all time.

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