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Byrd Bytes



Long agos & worlds apart an experiment was carried out where music was introduced onto the tops of Lothian Buses via small plastic vents in the ceiling of the upper deck. We'd sit marooned in our early eighties teenage years in the maroon-liveried Atlanteans, digging Booker T & The MGs McLemore Avenue version of Carry That Weight/The End and, though we didn't know what it was, The Byrds' Fifth Dimension dynamic tension instrumental Captain Soul. We used to think the lead guitar was a bit weird, its toothpaste was smeared, there were flies in its beard. Around the same time Mark & I would frequent the first floor second hand section of The Other Record Shop in the holy cobbled High Street. I picked up the sleeve of The Byrds' Greatest Hits & brought it to the young girl assistant behind the counter. She turned round to fetch the vinyl - the anticipation bit, the best part of buying a record, and retuned with a cute giggle: "Looks like somebody was a bit peckish", she laughed and we switched our eyes from her onto the 12 " vinyl she held on her hand. Except it was 11" vinyl: the first inch had been gnawed through/broken off/eaten/smashed in a fit of primadonna pique by a folk-rock loving Elton John. No point examining the record in that time-honoured ceremony where, certainly not dressed to impress, the average scruffy record buyer would glance knowingly over the grooves, assessing the platter's purchasability, grading it with a keen auction house mind. Or not. For me, that bit was always a pose. I'd fling the thing around merrily when I got home, like it was unscratchable or something. Back home, I flung the l.p. on the turntable and, inch-imperfect as it was, it started not with Mr Tambourine Man but Gene Clark's Feels A Whole Lot Better. A tastier bite I can't imagine. And the solo wasn't weird, it was sublime. Still is to these ears. McGuinn was made for it. That's one track that always, always does it for me. Dig the "probably". Would I play it right now? Left to my own devices I probably would...

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