Imagine a production of “Hamlet” with three Hamlets. Or four or two: No one is certain who will show up when, not even the actors themselves. Now move the action from a castle in Denmark to a recording studio in Los Angeles, and instead of fratricide and revenge, let king-size egos drive the drama, boosted by a mountain of cocaine and an ocean of alcohol. Give each Hamlet a dozen Ophelias, even a wife or two from time to time, and encourage swapping.
Now you have a sense of what it was like to witness the rise, fall, resurrection and multi-car pileup that was Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, the folk-rock supergroup that shaped and were shaped by 1960s and '70s counterculture while propelling millions of music lovers to near-orgasmic levels of joy, and almost killing themselves (and each other) along the way. David Browne's “Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young: The Wild, Definitive Saga of Rock's Greatest Supergroup” is for music lovers, but it should also be required reading for students of group dynamics. Bands implode all the time, but it's rare for one to operate so dysfunctionally over five decades while also spawning so many imitators, influencing so many musicians and producing so much memorable music, including such hits as “Teach Your Children” and “Ohio.” Veteran journalist Browne is a contributing editor at Rolling Stone and has written books on the Grateful Dead and the Beatles, among others. It's clear that he is a huge fan of these guys, which means that he likes them a lot more than they liked each other.
The story begins on Feb. 14, 1968, at Hollywood's legendary Whisky a Go Go, where the Hollies were playing. At the center of the so-called hippie riots two years earlier, the club often booked grittier acts like the Doors and Frank Zappa, yet here were five young men from Manchester, England, including guitarist and singer Graham Nash, pumping out such frothy tunes as “Bus Stop” and “Look Through Any Window.”
In the audience were Nancy Sinatra, Cass Elliott of the Mamas and Papas, and other pop music royalty, including David Crosby and Stephen Stills. Crosby had just been fired by the Byrds, and Stills wasn't sure whether his band, Buffalo Springfield, even existed anymore. On the sidewalk after the show, the two musicians waxed eloquent on Nash's performance and wondered aloud whether he might be the bridge to a new and better band. According to one account of the evening, Crosby said, “Maybe we can steal him.”
It wasn't long before the three men were touring together and recording for Atlantic Records. But something was missing, which was why Atlantic co-founder and president Ahmet Ertegun suggested that they fill out their sound by bringing in Stills's old Buffalo Springfield bandmate Neil Young. As with many of their momentous decisions, this one turned out to be both the best and the worst choice: Young's prolific songwriting and distinctive countertenor gave the band an extra dimension, but his abundant ego added volatility to a group dynamic that was already strained.
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