The Flying Burrito Bros, Gilded Palace of Sin (1969)

Venerated as this album is, I’ve always found it a little stiff, too much a formalist exercise. Gram Parsons wholly subjugates Chris Hillman to his project, but rarely conveys any depth of feeling; “Hot Burrito #1,” one of the few exceptions, comes too late. Likewise, when the band finally unclenches on “Hot Burrito #2,” a weight lifts and some actual air seeps in at last.

Lest this sound harsh, it is, no question, good stuff; ontological status of its authenticity notwithstanding, “Sin City” is simulacra Jean Baudrillard himself would admire, rockist tropes be damned. But the group is best when it stops feigning anachronisms and embraces topicality, as on the draft-evading “My Uncle,” which basically sounds like . . . well, the Byrds (although the less said about the closing atrocity “Hippie Boy,” the better).