Clocking in at a mere 28:32 over the course of 11 tracks, you'd be right to wonder how many different ideas The Byrds could get away with including on this album. Turns out they could get away with a lot. The first eight songs comprise an uninterrupted suite of unadulterated, uncompromising beauty. Seamlessly weaving east and west, old and new, they are quite literally inventing folk rock in real-time. British invasion power pomp is tempered by proto-chamber pop. Indian ragas meet country rags. Steel guitar-driven Okie tunes migrate into laid-back California harmonies and back again. And, amazingly, it all works. So much so that knowing this album was released on January 3, 1968 is comforting, in the sense that I'm happy those who lived through the tumult and chaos of that terrible year had this as their background music. There are a few missteps, to be sure. Awkward lyrics like "Take my time this morning, no hurry / to learn to kill and take the will / from unknown faces." Wait, huh? Is that what Vietnam was all about? Taking the will from people's faces? Or the fussed-over orchestral intermission during "Old John Robertson." It's an inspired move, guys. No need to make it sound like it's being played in a wind tunnel. And a note to all bands: if you ever come up with a gorgeous, gently galloping bassline like the one that undergirds "Draft Morning," don't you dare distract from it to make room for cheesy sound effects. Unfortunately, the remaining three songs reinforce several hippie/psychedelic stereotypes and make an otherwise timeless album obnoxiously dated. With references to sandalwood, "talking" drums, rainbows, and children's dreams, "Tribal Gathering," "Dolphin's Smile," and "Space Odyssey" - each goofier than the last - are probably only cool if you have access to the same drugs they were taking when they wrote them. "Space Odyssey" actually begins, "In nineteen and ninety-six we ventured to the moon." Oh, brother. Grade: A-
