![]() “Make a proper fucking album!” Geffen screamed. Geffen, in turn, was pissed that No Other had only eight songs. Clark and his producer, Thomas Jefferson Kaye, responded by swinging for the fences, creating dreamy, wide-screen soundscapes that stretched on for several minutes per track. Signed by the top mogul of SoCal pop, David Geffen, on the strength of his songs for the ill-fated 1973 Byrds reunion album, Clark finally had at his disposal world-class musicians and a big budget topping out at $100,000. ( Roadmaster was later given a wider reissue.)Ĭlark’s most celebrated album, 1974’s No Other, was similarly derided, then discarded by Clark’s benefactors. Work on Roadmaster was halted, and the tracks were dumped unceremoniously on a record released only in the Netherlands. They proceeded to max out the record company’s production tab in a manner of days, ordering thousands of dollars’ worth of food from a neighboring restaurant. Unfortunately, this project was derailed spectacularly by another’s near-comical maleficence: The producer decided it was wise to invite Sly Stone to the studio when Clark was out of town, and Sly arrived with an entourage of 40 people and an RV full of cocaine. That same year, Clark commenced work on a new album called Roadmaster with a promising set of songs and a relatively healthy and sober outlook. Later, one of Clark’s sidemen, Bernie Leadon, joined the Eagles, and a Dillard & Clark song, “Train Leaves Here This Morning,” ended up on the Eagles’ self-titled 1972 debut. But when Dillard & Clark debuted at the Troubadour, the Sunset Strip club where future stars like Don Henley and Glenn Frey first hatched plans for world domination, Clark was too drunk to perform competently, and the group quickly fell apart. A few years later, Clark teamed up with banjo player Doug Dillard and recorded a brilliant LP, The Fantastic Expedition of Dillard & Clark, that influenced the mellow, country-inflected L.A. In 1966, he exited the Byrds, then one of the most popular bands in the world, because he was terrified of flying shortly after, the group scored one of its biggest hits, “Eight Miles High,” which he cowrote. Few had more to gain, or farther to fall, than Clark, and he wound up losing far more than he ever gained.Ĭruel ironies abound in Clark’s career. He had the looks and talent to match the success of peers like David Crosby and Neil Young, but was hampered by manic depression, alcoholism, and plain old bad fortune. Of all the hard-luck sad bastards who have been granted a romanticized afterlife, I can’t think of a musician more snakebitten than Clark. Clark has plenty of material for that crowd - his discography is composed exclusively of underappreciated masterpieces and “lost” albums. What is the cause of this Gene Clark revival? Maybe it was just Clark’s turn after indie musicians and music nerds exhausted the other icons of doomed ’60s and ’70s singer-songwriterdom. (All the better to enhance his enigmatic persona.) And just last week, in time for what would have been his 70th birthday, one of Clark’s best albums, 1977’s Two Sides to Every Story, was reissued after long being out of print. Clark also received the documentary treatment in 2014 courtesy of The Byrd Who Flew Alone: The Triumphs and Tragedy of Gene Clark, which was made in spite of a dearth of available Clark footage, a byproduct of his crippling stage fright. Earlier this year, members of Fleet Foxes, Beach House, and Grizzly Bear did a short tour playing songs from Clark’s lush and introspective 1974 LP No Other, which is sort of the downbeat Nixon-era answer to Pet Sounds. Lately, Clark’s legacy has been on an unexpected high. area home at the age of 46, is a series of short-lived peaks and long-suffering valleys. Clark’s career, which launched in 1965 with the Byrds and ended in 1991 when he was found dead in his L.A. This assessment is uncharitable but not altogether inaccurate. Clark at first glance seems like he had it all and somehow screwed it all up. Some musicians are so singular they can only hope to ever be understood by a select number of people. He looks instead like a chastened former high school quarterback, all angular facial lines and perfectly mussed-up hair and mournful eyes. ![]() Old photos, captured during a flash of mid-’60s pop stardom when Clark briefly fronted the Byrds, show him almost too handsome to credibly play the antihero. He had a lot of famous friends, but Harry Nilsson’s Rolodex was more impressive ![]() He was a pioneer of mixing rock with country, but Gram Parsons is already the guy most associated with that. He wrote sad songs but not like how Townes Van Zandt wrote sad songs. His story is tragic but not like Nick Drake’s story is tragic. If you’re searching for the perfect example of a cultish (and long-dead) singer-songwriter, Gene Clark likely won’t be the first name that comes to mind. ![]()
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