Great Unsung or Underappreciated Albums 12: NO OTHER by GENE CLARK (1974)

Here's a thought: what if the best album of 2003 was in fact a reissue? I mean, quite a few bands, including M83 with their superb Dead Cities, Red Seas and Lost Ghosts could probably have a claim to that title, whilst the usual music rags waxed lyrical over The White Stripes and their ilk, but the remastered edition of Gene Clark's 1974 classic probably beats them all. Hands down. The fact that it was unavailable for so long only added to the delight that I felt upon rediscovering No Other.

A little history is in order. Even as the annals of rock history are exposed and pondered by all, Gene Clark comes across as something of an enigma. He was a founding member of The Byrds, the "American Beatles". In fact, ha was their first singer, finest songwriter and most driving early creative force. It's his distinctive warble that graces such classics as 'I'll feel a whole lot better' and, audible despite the three-part harmony, 'Mr Tambourine Man'. Early Byrds fans still look back with fondness as they remember the tall, shy-looking Clark standing centre-stage, banging his tambourine. He looked like an early Neil Young. He could have been a star. But, as his fear of flying took its own centre-stage, he quit the band in 1966, and became a pioneer of country rock and then one of the best examples of the late-sixties/early-seventies singer-songwriter movement. His 1971 self-titled 3rd album, aka White Light, should have been huge. Dylan loved it. The critics gave it good reviews. But the public ignored it, as they always would when it came to Gene Clark. His reluctance to tour played no small part.

But his fortunes appeared to be turning in 1973, when he emerged from a doomed Byrds reunion project as the only one with a bit of credibility and was handed a fat contract by Asylum records to make a new album. Much like Neil Young with Tonight’s the Night, what Gene Clark delivered to Asylum boss David Geffen was undoubtedly a million miles from what the money-obsessed record exec expected. He had probably been hoping of 12 tracks of sunny, Byrds-like vocal harmonies or trendy country-rock backed by delicate picking, the odd electric guitar break and Harvest-style slide. Instead, he got a weird, expensive, 8-track UFO of a record, with baroque arrangements, a landslide of backing vocals, and bizarre, arcane lyrics that were about as far from “moon-June-spoon”as you can get. He pretty much threw it in the trash and No Other disappeared quickly without a trace, despite several positive reviews.

Which is a travesty, because I can boldly state that No Other is unique. Gram Parsons dreamed of making “cosmic American music”, a sort of magic blend of all the great music ever made in the New World: rock, blues, country, gospel… Well, Parsons came pretty close on Grievous Angel, but Gene Clark hit the nail slap-bang on the head with No Other. ‘Life’s Greatest Fool’ kicks off in deceptively familiar fashion, a cheery country jaunt superbly delivered by Clark’s mesmerising tenor (think of a psychedelic Roy Orbison with less style but more haunted). Suddenly, a choir of backing voices kick in and the song becomes a ghostly gospel, with topical (dare I say spiritual?) lyrics to boot. The second track, ‘Silver Raven’ is even better, a track so filled with mysticism, it could have been written by Native Americans or Celtic druids. Clark’s imagery is stunning, deeply evocative yet strangely elliptical. It leaves you guessing throughout the album, despite the wealth of images and reference points that spring up: seventies drug culture, cocktail parties in 1930s Hollywood, the rolling pastures of the Deep South... It seems that all of America is encapsulated in this album, a feeling only boosted by the music: avant-garde effects and warped funky congas on the title track, soothing country folk with mystical overtones on ‘From A Silver Phial’, sweeping orchestration and elegant piano on ‘Strength of Strings’. Clark’s prose hits spectacular heights on the latter track (as he evokes the feeling, not so much of music itself, but of the air that’s filled with music, if that makes any sense!) and on the majestic ‘Some Misunderstanding’. This is seventies psychedelia at its best, the listener is swept up in a tornado of unpredictable sounds, from the sweeping choir to Clark’s unique vocal style.

Analysing No Other is perilous: it has no bounds, so how can you start to pick apart the details? Like blind people checking out an elephant for the first time, you only get part of the picture by clutching at the straws: an instrument here, a line there. This is the kind of record you need to plunge into, to absorb like a vast canvas. It’s not always easy going, but the aura of tortured elegance is fascinating. It’s been years since I first heard No Other on a bootleg CD, but I keep coming back to it. Its twisted, lonely beauty keeps drawing people back to it, another element that puts it on a par with Neil Young’s Tonight’s the Night. No Other is just as seminal record as the Canadian’s magnum opus, and it’s influence on everyone from Fleetwood Mac (just listen to Rumours) to REM is obvious. No Other’s reputation, like that of a good indie film or a great restaurant, is creeping from person-to-person by word-of-mouth. I hope this helps a few more people get on board. There literally is no other album like No Other!