Today is the birthday of Emmylou Harris. I’m a latecomer to Emmylou’s artistry, having come to her indirectly through my love for the music of the 1960’s group the Byrds. The Byrds brought brilliant Beatles-inspired vocal harmonies and jangly 12-string electric guitar to the music of Bob Dylan and their own superb compositions.
In one version of the group, country-rock flameout Gram Parsons briefly took center stage and hijacked their groundbreaking 1968 album, “Sweetheart of the Rodeo.” Following that album Parsons and original Byrd Chris Hillman left the Byrds to found the Flying Burrito Brothers.
Around the time Hillman and Parsons departed the Flying Burrito Brothers to pursue other interests, Hillman found Emmylou performing in a Washington, D.C. area folk club and talked her up to Parsons. On the night Parsons saw her perform, he was one of four audience members. Parsons sought her out after her set:
“I was knocked out by her singing. I wanted to see just how good she was, how well she picked up country phrasing and feeling, so after her set…I introduced myself, and we sang one of the hardest country duets I know — ‘That’s All It Took.’ Emmy sang it like she was falling off a log.”
Parsons recruited her to sing harmonies on his post-Burrito solo albums and died of a drug overdose at age 27 following the second of his two solo ablums.
Emmylou must have fallen hard for him; she seems to pay tribute to him in one way or another in every one of her shows as well as a few of her albums, starting with the song “Boulder to Birmingham” on her debut album. In her shows, whenever she introduces “Love Hurts” — a song on which she provided the gorgeous harmony on the second Parsons solo album — she says allusively: “This is what I like to think of as the beginning.”
Parsons dedicated himself to the union of country and rock that he dubbed Cosmic American Music. Emmylou has tapped a deep vein of that music. She is perhaps most accomplished as an interpreter of others’ songs. Take a listen, for example, to her version of “You Don’t Know Me” on her “Cowgirl’s Prayer” album. But she is also a formidable songwriter herself. Her haunting “Prayer in Open D” digs deep into the sense of desolation she conveys whenever she recalls Parsons in her music:
There’s a valley of sorrow in my soul
Where every night I hear the thunder roll
Like the sound of a distant gun
Over all the damage I have done
And the shadows filling up this land
Are the ones I built with my own hand
There is no comfort from the cold
Of this valley of sorrow in my soul.
The song, however, ends on a powerful note of transcendence and redemption:
There’s a highway risin’ from my dreams
Deep in the heart I know it gleams
For I have seen it stretching wide
Clear across to the other side
Beyond the river and the flood
And the valley where for so long I’ve stood
With the rock of ages in my bones
Someday I know it will lead me home.
Will somebody say “Amen”?