Wild Tales (31 page)

No Nukes concert at Madison Square Garden
(© Lynn Goldsmith)

Chipping the wall down in Berlin, 1989
(© Stanley Johnston)

Occupy Wall Street event; David’s son James Raymond, playing melodica, 2011
(Getty Images)

At the White House: John Hartmann, far right; Michael John Bowen, far left

Me and David with Jacques Cousteau and his son, Philippe

Receiving the Office of the Order of the British Empire from Her Majesty, 2010. The emerald was gigantic.
(© Buckingham Palace)

C
ROSBY
, S
TILLS
, N
ASH
& Y
OUNG NEVER DISBANDED
. Ever. We fought, splintered, swore vengeance and swore off each other, declared fatwas, placed ancient curses on a member, sabotaged each other, you name it—if there was a way to thwart our collective mission, we’ve done it, and in spades. But despite all that, to this day we remain a group. That doesn’t mean we haven’t strayed from the marriage. Oh, baby, have we strayed, and often. Then again, CSNY is the most successful open marriage I’ve ever encountered. Any one of us was free to work outside the band, either by himself or with other musicians, recording or touring. No questions asked, no permission necessary. However, as CSN or CSNY we contractually owed
Atlantic Records a lifetime of product, which more or less guaranteed our dysfunctional marriage.

As 1971 rolled on into summer, and
Songs for Beginners
came out, David and I both wound up living in the San Francisco Bay Area. David was restoring a house in Mill Valley while crashing part-time aboard the
Mayan
, which was docked in Sausalito harbor. I was entrenched in the Haight. My house then was finally habitable. Two hippie friends,
Leo Makota and
Harry Harris, had gutted the place and rebuilt it. The structure included a sixteen-track studio, a dark room, and a billiards room in the basement. David had his own room there, too—the Crosby Suite—on the second floor, where he kept a lot of his stuff.

Croz and I wound up hanging out a lot, singing together, and working on myriad music projects.

I love singing with David. There’s an intimacy between us that’s hard to describe, a kind of vocal shorthand, but more than that: something deep and warmer, like a comfortable old leather shoe. It’s easier to make music with just the two of us. I understand where he wants to go and I can shadow him insanely well. Croz has a beautiful Welsh voice. I don’t know what it is about those singers from Cymru—Tom Jones, Bryn Terfel, Dave Edmunds, Duffy (okay, maybe not Duffy). Maybe it’s the coal dust in their voices—who knows? But they have a beautiful tone, a natural vibrato, that resonates like a cello, rich and luxurious. That’s David’s sound, not mine. I have a north of England voice, very simple and uncomplicated, perhaps with greater range than his, which makes our voices a little bit like oil and vinegar. That combination is not supposed to work, but, you know, if you shake it up, you get great vinaigrette.

In any case, we’re very comfortable singing with each other. We don’t have to think. We know instinctively that we’ll make each other shine. David was a huge fan of the
Everly Brothers and the
Louvin Brothers, as was I, so we share the same kind of ear where harmony is concerned. But what really makes it work is the trust we have. He can go anywhere he wants with his voice, and I’m
there.
So often, from the way he’s breathing before a vocal line, I know just where he’s headed. And many times I’ve sensed him about to sing the wrong words, and I’ve sung the same wrong words, so the audience can’t tell we’ve made a mistake. On a couple of occasions, we’ve listened to playback of us singing together, looked at each other, and gone: “Who the fuck is singing that third voice?” When we isolate our voices, there is no third part! Together, the air and wave generation of our voices create a ghost harmonic, a third harmony, that is only sometimes evident when we sing duet.

Voices aside, I just happen to love the guy. He’s a really fascinating cat: curious, confident, complicated, imaginative, tasteful, generous, romantic, with a huge heart. He’s also reckless, audacious,
hotheaded, and cheeky, which are also attractive in their own Crosby ways. Once again, it’s the whole package, take it or leave it. I’ve always been inclined to accept him for who he is.

June 22 was the date that Croz and I started recording what I hoped was going to be a hit single. I’d heard the Tom Rush recording of Joni’s song “Urge for Going” and I was excited to begin translating the song to our style.
Cass Elliot and Geffen came by for support, and I remember watching Geffen as he put on headphones and looked like he was going to sing to the track we had just cut. I dove quickly over to the tape machine, managed to press the Record button, and captured Geffen in the only recording he’s ever made. He was awful, truly dreadful, and I have the tape to prove it.

The next day Cass came by again to introduce me to a beautiful lady friend of hers, but got into a huge argument with Croz about some petty matter. Croz ended up yelling that Cass was a parasite and throwing both women out of the studio. This completely shocked me, not only because he was being so rude to someone we both had loved for so long, but also knowing how important Cass had been in getting Croz together with me in the first place. I was so angry that I went to hide out at
Joel Bernstein’s place in Topanga Canyon for three days, avoiding even speaking to David. Not a great start for us as a twosome.

But, as usual, all was forgiven. We really did want to sing together and, also as usual, that’s what mattered the most. So we agreed to book our first tour as a duo.

Beginning in September, we took our act on the road for a two-month swing, hopscotching merrily around Canada and the United States like two stoned Pied Pipers, doing medium-sized halls.

Our repertoire was a vast songbook of CSN standouts, individual solo tunes, and stuff we just happened to love, which included some of Joni’s songs and
Beatles favorites, whatever we felt like. If you listen to any of the tapes or bootlegs that are floating around of those shows, it’s clear the stripped-down versions of the CSN songs are remarkable for their intimacy and power. We brought a rawness
to them that reinterpreted the old standbys, allowing you to hear different emphases and harmonic elements. Another highlight of those shows was the way we interacted in front of a crowd. Turns out Croz and I were natural comedians. Who knew! Our spontaneous, stony dialogue between songs was funny as hell. The audience loved it—and so did we. It provided a nice counterpoint to the intensity of those songs, taking the edge off and giving the shows a laid-back, understated feel.

We opened our tour in Vancouver. Normally crossing the border was routine, but not for me, not at this particular checkpoint. I’d played Vancouver with CSNY in early 1970. At the airport, on our way back to California, we got one of those classic fascist lines: “Show me your papers, please.” A few minutes later, a guard began waving us through. “Mr. Young … Mr. Crosby … Mr. Stills … you can go. Mr. Nash—not so fast.” So I got left behind. Now, we were pretty famous at this point, and a number of people standing around there recognized me, asking for an autograph. But this asshole gave me the runaround for another half hour while they checked through all my stuff. It was bullshit, and it infuriated me. I don’t like being left out, and I especially don’t like bullies, so steam was coming out of my ears. I fumed the whole way back to San Francisco. The minute I got to the house I went straight to the piano, carrying a book I’d been reading,
The Silver Locusts
by Ray Bradbury. I just folded the cover back and began writing a song on the pages, trying to express my disgust with people who always want your papers.

At the end of October, when we got to New York for our concert at
Carnegie Hall, Stephen walked onstage with an acoustic guitar about an hour into the show. This was an interesting development. There was a residual edge, and we both felt it because of what had transpired with Rita. I had been with her for almost a year, and he had to deal with it, making it awkward to be in our presence. I don’t think he was in another relationship at the time. I do recall two insanely gorgeous sisters who were staying at Shady Oak and were always naked. Jaw-droppingly beautiful girls. Those girls were incredible playthings. They were available to whomever they fancied fucking. It wasn’t like they were with Stephen or Dallas. They were with the
house.
It was a crazy time.

In any case, Stephen played a few CSN songs with us. And the next night, in Boston, we did the same thing—but the three of us were joined by Neil. We did excellent acoustic performances (fortunately recorded) of “Ohio” and “Find the Cost of Freedom.” All four of us on one stage, completely unrehearsed. It’s hard to explain how enjoyable it was to play with those guys. We launched into it beautifully together, no rehearsal, no set list, no band, no egos, nothing but music. Our four voices in their purest form. So informal and relaxed. Nothing like it. It felt so good that we did it again the next night, when we returned to Carnegie Hall, with more or less the same result, although amazingly we forgot the words to the “Suite” and stumbled hilariously through it. For a while we toyed with releasing a live album from those three shows, but following
4 Way Street
, it wouldn’t have made sense.