The Byrds do Dylan better than Dylan — and yes, I say that as someone who genuinely loves Dylan, harmonica wheeze and all. But those Byrds harmonies and chiming, cathedral bell guitars that jangle like a choir of caffeinated angels tapping on mason jars! During this era, the Byrds weren’t just good — they were operating at a level where the laws of physics politely stepped aside.
Even with Gene Clark leaving — which was basically the musical equivalent of losing your star songwriter, your emotional ballast, and the one guy who remembered where the car was parked — they still soared. And then there’s Crosby. Ah yes, Crosby. The eternal philosophical question: Was this the beginning of Crosby becoming Crosby, or was Crosby always Crosby and simply waiting for the right cosmic alignment to unleash maximum Crosby? You know exactly what I mean. The man was a walking personality eclipse and supernova. A chaos elemental with a harmony fetish.
Chart wise, the Byrds came out swinging with two #1 singles and then… promptly decided that was enough chart success for one lifetime. No more top 10s, only seven top 40 hits, and a reputation as “not really a singles band,” which is a travesty of cosmic proportions. Some of those singles should’ve been massive — like “My Back Pages,” which stalled at #30, probably because the public thought the Byrds were running a Dylan cover subscription service.
But the B side? Oh, the B side. Crosby and McGuinn cooked up a gem so good it should’ve come with a warning label. One of the finest Byrds tracks ever — the kind of song that makes you wonder why the charts didn’t simply apologize and start over.
Album wise, they had two top 10 LPs (one being a greatest hits, which feels like cheating, but we’ll allow it) and nine top 40 albums. And those early records? Some of the most beautifully crafted albums you’ll ever hear — shimmering, inventive, and absolutely bulletproof.
I still get geeky about chart positions — a side effect of early collecting days when Billboard numbers felt like sacred scripture — but in the end, it’s always the music. The charts can say whatever they want. The Byrds already wrote their legacy in 12 string ink and filed it under “We Told You So.”
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