Chris Darrow: Chris Darrow/Under My Own Disguise

By: Dennis Cook

Oh, where have you been hiding all my life, handsome stranger? The truth is I know Chris Darrow‘s work well, and so do you. You just don’t know it. He’s the co-founder of seminal psychedelic American music swirlers Kaleidoscope and a former member of the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, who’s played with Linda Ronstadt, Michael Nesmith, John Stewart, Hoyt Axton and many others. What I was clueless about are these two utterly amazing early ’70s solo albums being lovingly returned to circulation on March 10 by the good folks at Everloving Records. So easy to get into and then so rewarding each return trip, this pair of dazzlers encapsulates every good thing about what was happening in country dappled rock in Southern California at the start of the 1970s.

Darrow’s pleasantly human voice – a thing of feeling and perfection imperfections – finds harmony in each element, from his weeping, celestial fiddle to the woodsy harmonizing and steel stroked meandering. Chris Darrow (1973) slots in perfectly with acknowledged classics like Ronstadt’s Heart Like A Wheel and Jackson Browne’s For Everyman, except Darrow’s album is stronger in almost every aspect. The only SoCal rambler in this era giving Darrow a run for his money was Nesmith and his First National Band – which makes sense given Darrow’s long relationship with Mike. The variety of moods, instrumental acumen (chose of instruments, playing, arrangements) and production savvy on Chris Darrow rolls you back on your heels. The songs possess the depth and/or playfulness we now associate with Gillian Welch, Buddy Miller, T-Bone Burnett and other songwriter’s songwriters. Like these biggies, Darrow wets his finger and runs it through the granulated leavings of ratty blues, ragtime, honky tonk, backroom jazz and Tin Pan Alley. Butter the whole thing up in ’60s free-minded groove rock and well, sir and madam, you got a rediscovered classic (though one with a fierce musician cult of many years that includes Mudhoney, Jimmy Page, Howlin Rain and other arbiters o’ cool).

The jump between Chris Darrow and Under My Own Disguise (1974) is akin the leap Fred Neil took from his relatively straight, folksy (yet totally excellent) self-titled 1967 LP and the elongated poetry of Sessions later that same year. Both Darrow and Neil burn with raw creativity that seizes upon their craft with an eye towards innovation. Yet, it’s innovation that’s tied to the past, to the good parts of songcraft, even its most populist elements. Darrow taps Hoagie Carmichael’s “Hong Kong Blues” on the first record and carries something of that traditional bent into Disguise, but more as a subconscious element (though there’s swell revamping of The Ink Spots’ “Java Jive,” too). What transpires on Disguise is the musical equivalent of a bird catching a breeze that carries it miles & miles further than expected – a palpable feeling of flight, freedom and unrushed loft. For completeness of feeling and perfection of execution this compares well with Charlie Rich’s landmark 1973 breakthrough Behind Closed Doors. They’re very different animals in spirit and conception but each exemplifies the possibilities of a “album” over “singles” mentality. The extended work, the intentional and unintentional overlap and comment of individual elements, creates something no one tune ever could.

If I’m drawn to broad lines and bold comparisons in describing this pair of albums it’s because they are broad, bold creations. If ever one needed reminding that there are marvels waiting for you in the buzz & hue out there, these welcome reissues should do the trick. Available initially as a deluxe box set with two 180 gram vinyl LPs, a CD with both releases and a 48-page book, Chris Darrow/Under My Own Disguise are essential listening.

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