Gram Parsons
Gram Parsons (November 5, 1946 – September 19, 1973) was an American singer, songwriter, guitarist and pianist. Parsons is best known for his work within the country genre; he also mixed blues, folk, and rock to create what he called "Cosmic American Music". Besides recording as a solo artist, he also worked in several notable bands, including the International Submarine Band, The Byrds, and The Flying Burrito Brothers. His career, though short, is described by Allmusic as "enormously influential" for both country and rock, "blending the two genres to the point that they became indistinguishable from each other."
Born in 1946, Parsons emerged from a wealthy but troubled childhood to attend Harvard University. He founded the International Submarine Band in 1966, and after several months of delay their debut, Safe at Home, was released in 1968, by which time the group had disbanded. Parsons joined The Byrds in early 1968, and played a pivotal role in the making of the seminal Sweetheart of the Rodeo album. After leaving the group in late 1968, Parsons and fellow Byrd Chris Hillman formed The Flying Burrito Brothers in 1969, releasing their debut, The Gilded Palace of Sin, the same year. The album was well received but failed commercially; after a sloppy cross-country tour, they hastily recorded Burrito Deluxe. Parsons was fired from the band before its release in early 1970. He soon signed with A&M Records, but after several unproductive sessions he canceled his intended solo debut in early 1971. Parsons moved to France, where he lived for a short period at Villa Nellcôte with his friend Keith Richards of The Rolling Stones. Returning to America, Parsons befriended Emmylou Harris, who assisted him on vocals for his first solo record, GP, released in 1973. Although it received enthusiastic reviews, the release failed to chart; his next album, Grievous Angel (released posthumously in 1974) met with a similar reception, and peaked at number 195 on Billboard. Parsons died of a drug overdose on September 19, 1973 in hotel room 8 at the Joshua Tree Inn at Joshua Tree, California, at the age of 26.
Since his death, Parsons has been recognized as an extremely influential artist, credited with helping to found both country rock and alt-country. His posthumous honors include the Americana Music Association "President's Award" for 2003, and a ranking at No. 87 on Rolling Stone's list of the "100 Greatest Artists of All Time.
www.gramparsons.com
From His Story
At this point in my life, if I thought about country music at all, it was with disdain, as I pictured square geeks with buzz cuts, yodeling about trains and jail, but that was all about to change. The next time I saw this handsome stranger was at the Kaleidoscope Club when he walked onstage with my favorite band, The Byrds. It was quite a thrilling shock to see the mysterious beauty singing along with my local heroes. Their seminal countrified album, “Sweetheart of the Rodeo,” was still in the future, but already the sound had changed. My ears perked up; what was this?
Discovering a partner in musical rebellion, my longtime Byrd crush, Chris Hillman soon absconded with Gram to form the Flying Burrito Brothers, and along with my GTO galpal, Miss Mercy, I never missed a show. I wish I could say that there was a whole gang of Burrito fans who felt the same way, but quite often, the two twirling and spinning GTOs made up half the crowd.This band was doing something that hadn’t been done before: combining soul, country, rock and blues, which Gram soon entitled “Cosmic American Music.” TheBurritos seemed nonplussed by the lackluster response, and in fact, it seemed to fire Gram up even more. Alongwith their timely, charming originals, Gram tore into honky-tonk Buck Owens tunes and George Jones weepers, thoroughly enjoying merging the seemingly disparate musical styles, presenting them as entirely unique. Country fans were appalled that these long-haired, pot-smoking hippies dared to use pedal steel and cover Merle Haggard, and the rock fans were dumbfounded by the Porter Wagoner Nudie suits and unrepentant twang. They were creating a brand new musical genre, and their real fans joined the Burritos smack dab in the middle and never looked back.
As soon as Chris introduced me to Gram, we became fast and forever friends, and I treasured our time together like shimmering gold dust. He was a southern genteel gentleman to the hilt, opening doors for ladies, pulling out chairs, picking up tabs. He was thoughtful and generous, always saying sweet things in his laidback Waycross drawl. He smiled often and had the most exquisite hands. One night after playing piano for me, he held his hands out in front of him, marveling at his long, long fingers, “Sometimes I expect to see stitches around my wrists,“ he sighed. My new palentrusted me with his baby daughter, Polly, and I happily babysat her at Burrito Manor while he took her mama, Nancy, out on the town. The night the GTOs played our big show at the Shrine Auditorium, Chris and Gram came to see us backstage before our set, which thrilled us to the core. Gram gallantly drove us round and round in his T-Bird, offering us joint after joint; it’s a wonder we made it to the stage.
I am often asked to recall my favorite live show ever, and people are surprised when I swoonily tell them about a certain Burrito’s gig at the venerable Whisky a Go Go. I was standing close to the stage, leaning against the short metal fence that surrounded the dance floor, gazing up at Gram as he sang one of his favorite George Jones numbers. He had gone through a lot of loss in his short life, and could express the pain though music like nobody else. As people frolicked, gabbed and danced all around me, Gram was swept up in the sorrowful lyrics, lost in the heartache …”there must be a tow-own without memories, but not this one, ‘cause she once lived here…” He choked up, hardly able to get the words out, “I see her face in the cool of the evening, Ihear her voice in each breeze loud and clear…” As the tears ran down Gram’s face, no one seemed to notice, but I experienced the purest musical moment of my life.
I am so grateful that my friend Gram took the time to mentor me on the power of country music, enhancing my life, widening my musical scope and acceptance beyond measure. He spent an entire afternoon playing me song after song, album after album, making sure I was “getting it” – the passionate angst of George Jones,(“George is the king of broken hearts,” Gram said solemnly) the wit and sensuality of Waylon Jennings, the earthy realism of Merle Haggard, the wisdom of Willie Nelson. We sat on pillows in his shaded bedroomwhile he played certain songs over and over on his little portable record player, pointing out passages and lyrics as if they had been spoken by the Lord and written in red.
Born in 1946, Parsons emerged from a wealthy but troubled childhood to attend Harvard University. He founded the International Submarine Band in 1966, and after several months of delay their debut, Safe at Home, was released in 1968, by which time the group had disbanded. Parsons joined The Byrds in early 1968, and played a pivotal role in the making of the seminal Sweetheart of the Rodeo album. After leaving the group in late 1968, Parsons and fellow Byrd Chris Hillman formed The Flying Burrito Brothers in 1969, releasing their debut, The Gilded Palace of Sin, the same year. The album was well received but failed commercially; after a sloppy cross-country tour, they hastily recorded Burrito Deluxe. Parsons was fired from the band before its release in early 1970. He soon signed with A&M Records, but after several unproductive sessions he canceled his intended solo debut in early 1971. Parsons moved to France, where he lived for a short period at Villa Nellcôte with his friend Keith Richards of The Rolling Stones. Returning to America, Parsons befriended Emmylou Harris, who assisted him on vocals for his first solo record, GP, released in 1973. Although it received enthusiastic reviews, the release failed to chart; his next album, Grievous Angel (released posthumously in 1974) met with a similar reception, and peaked at number 195 on Billboard. Parsons died of a drug overdose on September 19, 1973 in hotel room 8 at the Joshua Tree Inn at Joshua Tree, California, at the age of 26.
Since his death, Parsons has been recognized as an extremely influential artist, credited with helping to found both country rock and alt-country. His posthumous honors include the Americana Music Association "President's Award" for 2003, and a ranking at No. 87 on Rolling Stone's list of the "100 Greatest Artists of All Time.
www.gramparsons.com
From His Story
At this point in my life, if I thought about country music at all, it was with disdain, as I pictured square geeks with buzz cuts, yodeling about trains and jail, but that was all about to change. The next time I saw this handsome stranger was at the Kaleidoscope Club when he walked onstage with my favorite band, The Byrds. It was quite a thrilling shock to see the mysterious beauty singing along with my local heroes. Their seminal countrified album, “Sweetheart of the Rodeo,” was still in the future, but already the sound had changed. My ears perked up; what was this?
Discovering a partner in musical rebellion, my longtime Byrd crush, Chris Hillman soon absconded with Gram to form the Flying Burrito Brothers, and along with my GTO galpal, Miss Mercy, I never missed a show. I wish I could say that there was a whole gang of Burrito fans who felt the same way, but quite often, the two twirling and spinning GTOs made up half the crowd.This band was doing something that hadn’t been done before: combining soul, country, rock and blues, which Gram soon entitled “Cosmic American Music.” TheBurritos seemed nonplussed by the lackluster response, and in fact, it seemed to fire Gram up even more. Alongwith their timely, charming originals, Gram tore into honky-tonk Buck Owens tunes and George Jones weepers, thoroughly enjoying merging the seemingly disparate musical styles, presenting them as entirely unique. Country fans were appalled that these long-haired, pot-smoking hippies dared to use pedal steel and cover Merle Haggard, and the rock fans were dumbfounded by the Porter Wagoner Nudie suits and unrepentant twang. They were creating a brand new musical genre, and their real fans joined the Burritos smack dab in the middle and never looked back.
As soon as Chris introduced me to Gram, we became fast and forever friends, and I treasured our time together like shimmering gold dust. He was a southern genteel gentleman to the hilt, opening doors for ladies, pulling out chairs, picking up tabs. He was thoughtful and generous, always saying sweet things in his laidback Waycross drawl. He smiled often and had the most exquisite hands. One night after playing piano for me, he held his hands out in front of him, marveling at his long, long fingers, “Sometimes I expect to see stitches around my wrists,“ he sighed. My new palentrusted me with his baby daughter, Polly, and I happily babysat her at Burrito Manor while he took her mama, Nancy, out on the town. The night the GTOs played our big show at the Shrine Auditorium, Chris and Gram came to see us backstage before our set, which thrilled us to the core. Gram gallantly drove us round and round in his T-Bird, offering us joint after joint; it’s a wonder we made it to the stage.
I am often asked to recall my favorite live show ever, and people are surprised when I swoonily tell them about a certain Burrito’s gig at the venerable Whisky a Go Go. I was standing close to the stage, leaning against the short metal fence that surrounded the dance floor, gazing up at Gram as he sang one of his favorite George Jones numbers. He had gone through a lot of loss in his short life, and could express the pain though music like nobody else. As people frolicked, gabbed and danced all around me, Gram was swept up in the sorrowful lyrics, lost in the heartache …”there must be a tow-own without memories, but not this one, ‘cause she once lived here…” He choked up, hardly able to get the words out, “I see her face in the cool of the evening, Ihear her voice in each breeze loud and clear…” As the tears ran down Gram’s face, no one seemed to notice, but I experienced the purest musical moment of my life.
I am so grateful that my friend Gram took the time to mentor me on the power of country music, enhancing my life, widening my musical scope and acceptance beyond measure. He spent an entire afternoon playing me song after song, album after album, making sure I was “getting it” – the passionate angst of George Jones,(“George is the king of broken hearts,” Gram said solemnly) the wit and sensuality of Waylon Jennings, the earthy realism of Merle Haggard, the wisdom of Willie Nelson. We sat on pillows in his shaded bedroomwhile he played certain songs over and over on his little portable record player, pointing out passages and lyrics as if they had been spoken by the Lord and written in red.
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