Fire and Rain: The Beatles, Simon & Garfunkel, James Taylor, CSNY and the Lost Story of 1970 By David Browne

When David Crosby, Stephen Stills, and Graham Nash appeared on the Colbert Report in 2008, Stephen Colbert couldn’t help but take a crack at the group’s tumultuous history: “Is it hard to re-do the stationery every time Neil drops out of the band?” Colbert quipped.
That one question captures the behind-the-scenes bedlam that personifies Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young in 1970, for sure. But it could also encapsulate the entire Folk-Rock scene in what David Browne refers to as “the lost year.” Browne examines in this worthy book not only the music scene but also the backdrop of civil unrest that took place politically, culturally and musically in the dawning year of the ’70s.
There’s a bit of a debate surrounding when the optimistic, flower-child era and Sexual Revolution of the 1960s actually ended. After reading Fire and Rain, it seems right to believe that the rose-colored ’60s ended before the decade came to a close. In 1968, both Robert F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr., were assassinated, signaling the end of an era.
Still, times they were a’ changing. Lyndon B. Johnson had escalated the United States’ role in Vietnam, and across the nation, riots disturbed college campuses and inner cities. This era of political disturbance gave way to a culture of hard drugs and tripped-out Folk Rock, evidenced, according to Browne, by CSNY’s Déjà vu, Simon and Garfunkel’s Bridge Over Troubled Water and The Beatles’ Let It Be. James Taylor’s Sweet Baby James, with its lonesome, enigmatic lyrics, serves as another sign of the times: 1970 was a year of somber reflection.
Those albums leave those of us looking back to wonder if volatile musicians make the best music … or perhaps if volatile times inspire musicians to create their best material. Either way, 1970 brought forth albums that still haven’t lost their luster. Fire and Rain explains why.
The story kicks off on January 3, 1970, when Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr gathered in their London studio to put the final touches on The Beatles’ LP soundtrack for their latest movie, Let it Be.
In the months preceding the recording date, serious tension had developed between group members. Paul was hiding out with wife, Linda, somewhere in Scotland. (Although the tabloids speculated that McCartney might be dead, he was actually working on a solo project). Ringo was searching for something new to take the place of the stardom he gained through The Beatles—for a brief moment, he turned to Elvis Presley for answers. George was a new student of Hinduism, living in a gigantic Gothic mansion about an hour west of London. And John Lennon was rumored to be somewhere in Denmark with Yoko Ono. As it turned out, Lennon was holed up in the home of Ono’s ex-husband, and he had buzzed his long hair to signify his willingness to embrace a new era.
A new era, it was.
Three days later, on January 6, Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young took the stage at the Royal Albert Hall. Although The Beatles’ Apple label had mysteriously passed on signing CSNY, McCartney was counted among the crowd of 5,000 that gathered to see the seasoned musicians in their new configuration. Browne captures the band’s intentions that night:
“Starting with their name, which read more like a law firm than a rock band, [CSNY] wanted everyone to know that they were a paradigm for a new, more liberating era in rock and roll. The group format, they insisted, had become too restrictive, too limited, too Establishment.”
Across the pond at New York University, revered songwriter Paul Simon had offered to teach a songwriting class. The memo posted on a bulletin board at the university was so modest that many students took it as a joke. Nonetheless, more than a dozen people signed up to learn from one half of Simon & Garfunkel. They were surprised to learn that Paul Simon couldn’t actually read music.