The relentless crapulence of post-Byrds albums in
general, and the sheer offensiveness of David Crosby’s horrid artistic persona
in particular, have engendered a certain sourness on my part that can slide
into preemptive scorn for these records. So it's through somewhat gritted teeth
that I confess, this album isn’t really half bad. In a rare gesture, Crosby
awakens from his lifelong stupor to kinda, sorta write actual songs, and as
always Nash sounds decent enough as long as you don’t pay more than
half-attention. Nothing sticks out, but nothing grates, and what really proves
the album’s low-intensity non-failure is that two-part closer “To the Last
Whale” somehow manages not to be the abysmal wreck that title very much
demands—but then I also like Star Trek IV and even Yes's "Don't Kill the Whale," so there may be a soft spot here I never realized I had.
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