on life, music etc beyond mainstream

Michael Shrieve


David Crosby has died. This one is tough for me. David was a part of my life since my high school days, when I was a huge fan of The Byrds. The first time I met David, was in RCA Studios in LA. It was 1968, I had taken my first ride on an airplane with Jorma Kaukonen and Jack Casady, from Jefferson Airplane,( I know, I know!) flying from San Francisco, on PSA Airlines, with stewardesses who were all beautiful, and in tight pink miniskirts! Jefferson Airplane were actually considering me as a drummer! Buddy Miles was also on the flight. It was memorable trip for several reasons. First, I was staying with Jorma and he had a bunch of visitors during the day. (Recording sessions, were at night, of course) A couple of notable visitors were Jim Morrison, and Eric Clapton who had brought a cassette of a band he was super exited about. They were called „The Band“. We went to the studio and I was just hanging out, with you know, Jefferson Airplane! And after awhile David Crosby walks in the studio wearing the famous green cape, and carrying a guitar. The band finished what they were working on and David breaks out his guitar, and they gather around him as he presents them with a song, called „Triad“, that The Byrds didn’t want to touch, because of the provocative lyrics; „Why can’t we be three?“ It was beautiful, haunting, and done in what was turning into the modal tune that would turn out to be a big part of David’s sound. It was a heady trip for a teenager. I never made it into the Airplane, but to this day, remain friends with Jorma and Jack. And not too much time later, I was in Santana. All good!

I think it was 1970 I bought my first home in Mill Valley. I believe the price was $62,000! Croz was one of the few LA musicians that was hanging out in Marin County with the Dead, and on Fulton St. in SF with the Airplane. David was living on a houseboat in Sausalito. He loved boats. We ran into each other a few times, and we really connected. We took a liking to each other. We both had an affinity, actually, a passion, for the Welsh Poet, Dylan Thomas. We would read him out loud to each other. „Under Milkwood“…“the sloeback, crowblack, fishing boat bobbing sea“. One day I was in Wally Heider Studios in SF, recording „Abraxas“ with Santana. Creedence Clearwater was recording there as well. David had booked the big room downstairs, and word was going around how these sessions were becoming rather epic. Neil Young, Jack Casady, Jorma, Grace Slick, Jerry Garcia and other members of the Dead, and oh, Joni Mitchell.

At some point Croz learned we were recording upstairs and came upstairs and asked myself and Gregg Rolie to come downstairs and play. We went down and entered the room, and the strong and pungent smell of really good pot, and incense, combined with the red, dimmed lighting, and Indian fabrics, letting you know that you were in a high class hippy vibe recording room. We played and it was such a different vibe than Santana, of course. It really felt like hippy music to me. It was so open, and cozy, so floaty! It felt strange, to be honest. It was an honor to be playing with these folks, of course. Garcia was always a welcome, uplifting presence.

 Later in life, David had a realistic approach to life, knowing that he had escaped death more than several times, and he made the most of, recording some of his best material in his late 70’s. He squeezed the most out his artistic life and, just two weeks ago was talking about going back on the road. I saw some of those shows, and the shows with Graham Nash They were all magnificent.  Here’s to you, my friend, my brother. I’m going smoke a big fat one now in honor of you, while listening to your music.








Bob Dylan 


He was a colorful and unpredictable character, wore a Mandrake the Magician cape, didn’t get along with too many people and had a beautiful voice, an architect of harmony. He  could freak out a whole city block all by himself. I liked him a lot…



Joan Baez


In 1965, Bob Dylan and I were discussing the state of the music scene. He said The Byrds, who had made a hit of “Mr. Tambourine Man,” were the only thing happening musically at that point in time.Perhaps an exaggeration, but certainly a tribute to the stellar musicians who formed the budding monster groups of the years to come like The Byrds and CSNY.


David Crosby was among the monster group icons who continued a solo career with the kind of success reserved for great musicians. And he could sing the hell out of a harmony.

He was also a friend to me. He was always, I repeat, always present for me, to defend my character and politics, and often included over the top (sometimes unwarranted) praise. He was funny, clever, and refreshing to be around. And I was honored that he chose my portrait of him as his last album cover.

He will be missed by millions, including myself. Sending my love to Jan and his family.



This entry was posted on Sonntag, 22. Januar 2023 and is filed under "Blog". You can follow any responses to this entry with RSS 2.0. Both comments and pings are currently closed.


  1. Henning Bolte:

    Von DO NOT GENTLE GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT von DYLAN THOMAS gibt es eine ganze Reihe gesungener Fassungen.

    Die der Kopenhagener Gruppe EGGS LAID BY TIGERS hat ich vor langer Zeit hier mal gepostet. Hier nochmal auf Soundcloud

    Und hier noch die Fassung von Iggy Pop

  2. Michael Engelbrecht:


    Aber am besten dann gleich die Doku REMEMBER MY NAME.

    Als Stream vielleicht, bestimmt als dvd…

    David Fricke on this doc:

    THIS GRIPPING account of a singular rock’n’roll life – David Crosby’s half-century odyssey in classic records, lunatic success, near-fatal excess and stubborn resurrection – begins with an early memory: the singer recalling a transportive night at a club watching John Coltrane in unhinged-solo flight. Crosby’s frenzied imitation of the jazz titan wailing free is hilarious. But the lesson was enduring. “I never heard anybody be more intense with music than that,” Crosby says in awe. What follows in David Crosby: Remember My Name – directed by A.J. Eaton and produced by Oscar-winning rock writer Cameron Crowe – is the story of how Crosby repeatedly sought that passion and light as a singer and songwriter, at steep cost.

    In a mix of richly anecdotal candid new interviews and rare archival footage, rock’s ultimate lion-in-winter – with that long, white mane and signature moustache punctuating his broad, weathered features – relives his extended seesaw of triumph and error: immediate fame with The Byrds, then in rock’s first supergroup with Stephen Stills, Graham Nash and (sometimes) Neil Young; the libertine streak and outspoken ego that tested romances and friendships; the drug addiction that put him in prison; the heart attacks and liver transplant that have left him in perilous health. Now 77, Crosby is in a solo-album renaissance. (Disclosure: My writing on that work is referenced in the opening frames.) But estranged from his old bandmates, with record sales falling, Crosby keeps touring to pay the bills since, as he drolly points out, he is the only member of CSNY “without a hit”. Crosby’s wife Jan soberly notes in turn that whenever her husband leaves home, with his battery of medicines, she knows he may not return.

    Remember My Name is set on parallel road trips: one with the singer’s current, excellent Lighthouse band; the other a swing through ’60s and ’70s turning points in his hometown, Los Angeles. Cruising what’s left of the Sunset Strip’s old magic, Crosby – who was chubby and insecure as a child – is exuberant about his short ride with The Byrds and frank about the big mouth that got him fired. When he visits the Laurel Canyon home immortalised in Nash’s Deja Vú ballad Our House, Crosby points to the porch where he says the idea for CSN was hatched. That is followed by a 1969 reel of them arguing violently on that porch, on the eve of their first concert.

    Eaton and Crowe named their film after Crosby’s despairing 1971 masterpiece, If I Could Only Remember My Name, made in the wake of a profound loss: the 1969 death of his girlfriend Christine Hinton in a car accident. Here, the title’s shift in tone, to emphatic request, catches a confessional and redemptive urgency running through the striving, glory and breakdown. Early in the movie, Crowe, off camera, offers Crosby a hypothetical trade: no music – with none of the rewards and sorrows he’s known – in exchange for an idyllic home and family life. “Me? No music? That’s no world for me,” Crosby replies. “It’s the only thing I got to offer.”

  3. Lajla:

    Als wir in Venice / Ca lebten, suchten wir Laurel Canyon auf, wo die große Liebe zwischen Joni Mitchell und David Crosby wohnte, wo die traurigen Songs wie „Judy Blue Eyes“ von David nach der Trennung entstanden und das alles in dem „Our House is a very very fine house …““ – Joni hat es gemalt …

    Crosby tot? Unbegreiflich, seine Harmonien leben. Und sein liebes Gesicht.

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