CONCERT REVIEW: David Crosby reminisces about democracy, Jackson Browne, and more in Clearwater

David Crosby’s almost-annual gig in Clearwater was full of stories, sarcasm, and his own originals, old and new.

David Crosby’s almost-annual gig in Clearwater was full of stories, sarcasm, and his own originals, old and new.

David Crosby’s almost-annual gig in Clearwater was full of stories, sarcasm, and his own originals, old and new.

David Crosby’s almost-annual gig in Clearwater was full of stories, sarcasm, and his own originals, old and new.

David Crosby’s almost-annual gig in Clearwater was full of stories, sarcasm, and his own originals, old and new.

David Crosby’s almost-annual gig in Clearwater was full of stories, sarcasm, and his own originals, old and new.

Right as twice Rock And Roll Hall Of Famer David Crosby came onstage seven minutes late, audience members were already yelling comments at him. Nothing negative or anything, but the first one, even he couldn’t understand. “She just said something she thought was important!” he remarked, before strumming his way into Crosby, Stills, and Nash’s In My Dreams.

Crosby is one of only a select few living people who played at Woodstock, and considering all his health problems over the years, it’s a wonder that it’s a truth. He hasn’t played with his partners Stephen Stills, Graham Nash, and/or Neil Young since 2015’s National Christmas Tree Lighting. If you want to hear the CSN hits, Graham Nash is your guy to catch live, as he was the one to write Our House and Teach Your Children. Same goes for Stephen Stills with Southern Cross and Judy Blue Eyes. But if you want to hear a smartass tell stories along with his just-as-beautiful songs, and then some, here’s Croz!

“There was a rumor that I took acid once, maybe twice. I was high, so I couldn’t tell.” he joked. Appropriately, him and the band continued on with Crosby-Nash’s Naked In The Rain, and a rather non-Bond take of Eight Miles High, from Croz’ days in The Byrds. A new song was revealed, too. “So, this is your fault. You made us feel good, so now, you’re gonna have to suffer through a brand new song.” I Think I is just one of the infinite (literally?) number of songs that Croz has been writing. In the last four years, he’s released three solo albums with a number of different musicians. The most recent, Here If You Listen, just came out this last fall, and to be honest, I won’t be surprised if another one releases before 2019 is out.

The melancholic, yet heartwarming harmonies of Guinnevere were spread across the theater, followed by an electrifying sing-along of Long Time Gone. Right before a 20 minute intermission came band introductions, and the longest rendition of Déjà Vu I’ve ever heard. Croz had both fellow members of his early 2000s group, CPR with him: His son James Raymond on keyboards, and session musician Jeff Pevar on guitar. Raymond’s high school friend and former drummer for CSN, and Pink Floyd’s David Gilmour, Steve DiStanislao provided the beats, while keyboardist and backing vocalist Michelle Willis and bassist Mai Leisz throbbed and crooned the finishing touches to every note.

Once intermission came to an end, Croz came back with a question. Actually, make that two questions. “Are we having fun?” Obviously, everyone roared back an obvious yes at him. “Now, I want an honest answer out of you: Did anyone go outside and smoke a joint? That’s what concerts used to be for.” Not yet, Croz. All Florida fans must survive the night without a jail sentence. For now, anyway.

Once Croz got back into the music, he began to tell a story with what sounded like a lump in his throat. It was time for the hardest part of the show. “This song comes from a really hard time in my life. I was a junkie.” Apparently, when Croz was basically on the verge of death in the 1980s, Jackson Browne came to visit him at his house, and persuaded Croz to finish writing a song he hadn’t finished yet. So the two drove down to Warren Zevon’s house (“There can be only one. Not the house, either.”) and that’s where Croz finished writing the next song on the setlist, Delta. “I was about to go into the bathroom to get loaded again, and Jackson told me ‘Don’t do it, you promised.’ So…I didn’t.” Croz concluded.

Then came the politics. If you don’t know by now, Croz is very strongly against Donald Trump, and has even said that CSNY’s shared hatred of him is currently the only reason they’d think about reuniting for another few shows. I was expecting certain fans who didn’t do their research to walk out angry and drive back to their trailer parks. But no one walked out, and there was actually some applause and cheering. (one guy yelled out “Croz for prez!”) With that said, Croz didn’t explicitly say anything about Trump. He expressed how dead democracy currently is, but also remembered watching President Eisenhower tell the country to “beware of the military industrial complex” in his farewell speech. At the time, he didn’t know what the hell that meant, but when he found out, he wrote probably one of the most relevant songs of today, 1971’s What Are Their Names. His band went into acapella mode for that, and didn’t provide any of the original instrumentation. Sometimes, it’s better to just skip to the point.

After an all-hands-in Wooden Ships, and a jam session of Almost Cut My Hair, came an encore of Neil Young’s legendary protest song, Ohio. Nobody in the theater sat down through it, either. Every pair of hands together, and every voice, ages 17 to 70 belting out “Four dead in Ohio” repeatedly.

Croz has said in the last few years how he’s feeling better than ever due to his new musical awakening. But what if CSN never sing another note, with or without Y? What if Croz retires Guinnevere and Almost Cut My Hair, and only sticks to his solo work? Well, look: He’s pushing 80, and he’s still doing this. How about some grace?

Then again, all four members of CSNY are still alive, so if they can patch things up, anything is possible.