Turn! Turn! Turn! Chris Hillman

from Ojai Magazine Fall 2021

Come for the Kale

There is a season for Chris Hillman's memoir

by Bill Locey

who knew that one of the first songs Chris hillman ever wrote would become the perfect title for his autobiography, time between?

The song is o the Byrds’ fourth album, Younger Than Yesterday from 1967 while the book has been out since Christmas. “Time Between” the tune is also a perfect example of country rock – a musical genre frequently credited to or blamed on Hillman, a founding member of the Byrds and the Flying Burrito Brothers, and since 1987, the Desert Rose Band. He stated his melodic mission generally: “I wanted to make great music,” and then more specifically, “… to bring country music to a rock audience with a hip sensibility.”

The book is an easy, enjoyable read by a guy who was there, who saw things and did stuff and, evidently, took good notes — sort of like Zelig meets Jimmy Stewart in It’s A Wonderful Life. More than six decades in the music biz has enabled Hillman to name a bunch of names and make a lot of friends. The other two surviving members of the Byrds — Roger McGuinn and David Crosby — unlike too many exes, not only do not want to kill Hillman but actually wrote glowing testimonials on the book jacket, as did Tom Petty, Dwight Yoakam, Stephen Stills, Marty Stuart, and other rich and famous musicians. Lovingly described in the first quarter of the book, Hillman grew up in a small town in San Diego county, admiring Hop-along Cassidy, riding horses, and kicking it on the beach in the summer, trying to invent new adjectives when there were perfect 4-foot waves and 70-degree water.

Certainly any time will someday be the good old days to someone, but 60 years ago in SoCal truly was the good old days. Imagine free parking at our own beaches, better waves, no warrior cops who imagine ‘fun’ to be a four-letter word, no hotels full of annoying strangers who will drive like idiots in front of you, no tourism bureau selling our quality of life to a bunch of corporate carpetbaggers, and no Sirius XM which was not necessary because AM radio rocked. Really. Hillman remembers.

“Surfing in California in the late ‘50s, early ‘60s was pure heaven. No wetsuits — other than a ‘dive top’ which was impossible to paddle in, and all longboards had glassed-on fins. There were no crowds and absolute freedom on the beaches with fi res allowed and sleeping overnight on the beach to catch the morning swell.”

Along with being stoked by idyllic slacker days on the beach, Hillman became interested in music – a lot of that inspiration coming from the SoCal TV shows like The Spade Cooley Show and Cal’s Corral, but mostly Hillman was blown away by Bill Monroe — perhaps the greatest mandolin player ever, who, in his spare time, invented bluegrass. Already getting the feel for the guitar, Hillman expanded his horizons by learning the mandolin from the janitor at his high school. After a brief career as a criminal (making a fake ID to buy beer) Hillman realized the obvious — music was a great way to meet girls, so he started playing in bands such as the Scottsville Squirrel Barkers and the Hillmen.

Fast forward to 1964, when Hillman and four others — Gene Clark, Michael Clarke, Crosby, and McGuinn – came together as the Byrds. Hillman pulled the Jedi Mind Trick on his bandmates when he told them he could play bass, and he pulled it o and quickly moved on from being the shy guy lurking in the background as he began to assert himself, changing the band’s sound in the process. “It certainly offered up a challenge. I loved playing bass and even though both instruments are so radically different, I learned through interacting with Roger McGuinn’s 12-string and each passing year I continued to learn and improve, I think.” Besides being the right guys in the right place at the right time, the Byrds had several big breaks in quick succession. They had a savvy

by BILL LOCEY

manager in Jim Dickson, and securing a residency gig at Hollyweird hotspot, Ciro’s, didn’t hurt, either, but when they electrified a Bob Dylan song and invented folk rock, they were on the way to RockStar 101.

Hillman recalled, “...getting a hold of ‘Mr. Tambourine Man,’ and getting permission from Bob Dylan to record it, having Miles Davis help secure us a contract with Columbia Records, and having Bob Eubanks break the song on KRLA in Los Angeles. Without being a ‘garage rock band’ and having no prior experience playing rock `n’ roll, we managed to forge just the right elements into a sound that influenced just about everybody coming up behind us. We left a solid legacy and I was ever so blessed to have been a part of the process.”

The Byrds played all the local TV shows such as Shindig! and The Lloyd Thaxton Show, and even hit the big time with an appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show, but just barely.

“There were so many interesting shows back in that era, but The Ed Sullivan Show was by far the strangest as we were fired right before airtime but managed to beg back onto the show and it came o very well. You’ll have to read the book to find out why we got fired.”

The Byrds had lots of hits in short order, including “Turn Turn Turn,” “Eight Miles High,” “So You Want To Be a Rock ‘n’ Roll Star,” and many more that were all over AM radio. And even to this day, their music lives long and prospers on classic rock radio, not to mention Sirius XM. The Byrds toured the world and went to England many times and became friends with the Beatles and the Stones, played Monterey Pop in 1967, placed songs in Easy Rider — all the usual rock star stuff .

The Byrds lasted for about 10 years with double-digit albums to show for it — the first several each more country-flavored than the one previous — before the dreaded creative differences undid yet another band as the personnel began to change like the lunch shift at McDonald’s. In ’65, anyway. Clark was the first to go in ’65 followed by Crosby and Clarke in ‘67, so McGuinn filled the ranks with new guys, most notably Clarence White and Gram Parsons. In ’68, Hillman and Parsons left the band to do their own country rock thing — the

**The Byrds on the Ed Sullivan Show in 1965**

**Chris Hillman today "I've had a great life ... and it's not over."**

Flying Burrito Brothers — a band that released 10 albums in seven years. Parsons, an acknowledged talent and innovator, had other issues and was given the boot from the Byrds and the Burritos more than once. Hillman called him, “the least professional guy I ever worked with.” The chapter in the book describing this phase of Hillman’s career is entitled “Devil in Disguise,” yet with a distinct lack of rancor. So the Byrds started as folk rock in 1965 with “Mr. Tambourine Man,” but added increasing helpings of wahoo as time passed, until 1968’s “Sweetheart of the Rodeo” left little doubt what the band was all about, y’all. The Burritos were synonymous with country rock, and the Desert Rose Band, which has lasted longer than both other bands

combined, covered the country thing. And Hillman was right in the middle of all that. Is he to blame for country rock? Probably, and he’s settled on his possible epitaph even though he’s not sick. “The Byrds managed to survive ‘Folk Rock,’ ‘Raga Rock,’ and ‘Psychedelic Rock,’ but ‘King Of Country Rock’ has always appealed to me as an inscription on my tombstone.” By the ‘80s the individual Byrds were all doing other things with other people. Both Gene Clark and Michael Clarke were touring with their own version of the band, so in an attempt to secure naming rights, McGuinn, Hillman, and Crosby did a mini tour in 1989. There were three SoCal shows, with the last one being at the venerable Ventura Theatre. So will the three remaining Byrds fl y together again? “No. Highly unlikely,” said Hillman, “but that Byrds reunion gig at the Ventura Theatre with Tom Petty sitting in — that was a great night.” Hillman has been everywhere and seen everything but chose the 805 decades ago. He lived on the beach in Ventura, then up in Ojai and now on the hillside above Ventura. The controversial issue seems to be the fact that fi re seems to be stalking Hillman, albeit at a leisurely pace. One of the first rock stars to move to Laurel Canyon, his pad burned up back in the day. Fire threatened his place in Ojai and the Thomas Fire consumed part of his current pad. “We moved here 42 years ago. We were close to the ocean and close enough to L.A. to work and to travel, but yeah, I’ve been running from the fi re demons all my life, just a special affinity for a blazing house fi re, I guess.” When asked if writing a song or writing a book is the same thing (except one’s longer?) Hillman said, “I almost think it was easier writing the memoir — there’s really no comparison between the two. A song has to capture a feel and a lyrical message in a short amount of time, encased in a strong melody, while a book can stretch out in thought and subtlety.” Guessing that so far, it has been a wonderful life for Hillman - a happy guy doing what he enjoys, surrounded by loved ones -Hillman replied, “I wouldn’t compare myself to the James Stewart character in It’s A Wonderful Life, but I’m pretty happy as far as happiness goes and I do have a wonderful family which far outweighs any other accomplishments.” Good read. Nice man. Great music.