Greg Demos is a god of rock. Dude is old, wears tight
leather pants, wipes out on the Letterman show like it ain't no thang, and throttles his bass like
someone living the dream, not going through the motions (ahem, Messrs.
CS&N).
In my fantasy version of this album, Demos joins the three crusty
old fogeys and shakes something loose, something vital and vibrant and raunchy,
like the opposite of Rick Rubin ossifying geezers into statesmen, and they all
bash out a bunch of garage jams like the Byrds were secretly just the Troggs
with some jangle all along.
Alas, this is not my fantasy LP. It is all too literal
demos. So we get these songs stripped down, back in ye olden times, shorn not
only of full arrangements but even of the harmonies that were the only thing
ever making CSN conceivably worthwhile. Thus we see the songwriting sinews of “Almost
Cut My Hair” and “Marrakesh Express,” but anyone listening to those songs for
the songwriting has a vastly different, and incomprehensibly sadder,
understanding of music from me.
“Love the One You’re With” had a different melody
originally, that’s almost interesting to note. Otherwise, a total wash. Fewer
demos, more Demos.
