Original Released on Double LP Columbia C 30181
(US, September 14, 1970)
This was the album that has introduced me to The Byrds in the early 70s. Until then I only had bought some hit singles from the band, like "Mr. Tambourine Man" or "Turn Turn Turn"; but this double set forced me to discover the previous albums, although I've always considered this one the very best of them all, unlike many reviewers of the time. And that preference of mine has passed very well the test of time: today this is the unique album of The Byrds which I still listen to with the very same pleasure of ever. It ain't easy when the members of a band breaks up one-by-one. First Gene Clark left during the recording of the third album (leaving behind his classic "Eight Miles High" which McGuinn modified for his spectacular guitar parts). Then David Crosby left between hard feelings, accusing McGuinn & Hillman of taking his name off the credits of some of the songs. Finally, after the band made the transition to country rock (and had just added the hedonistic Gram Parsons to their line up) Hillman left to found The Flying Burrito Brothers. In this beginning of the new decade (the 70’s) The Byrds were trying to sound much like a rock 'n' roll band and becoming less a vehicle for McGuinn. Their country, folk and bluegrass influences were completely absent this time out. The hard-edged sound worked on songs like "Lover of the Bayou" or the 16-minute version of "Eight Miles High" featuring some amazing guitar work from Roger McGuinn (the only surviving member from the band's hit-making days). Skip Battin and Gene Parsons contributed several worthy songs, including "Yesterday's Train", "You All Look Alike" and the album-closing "Welcome Back Home". Another terrific song is Clarence White's cover of Leadbelly's "Take a Whiff on Me". From this line-up, Clarence White was killed by a drunk driver on July 14, 1973 and Skip Battin died of Alzheimer's disease on July 6, 2003.
About the unusual album (no) title: when veteran musician Skip Battin was invited to join The Byrds in late 1969, Roger McGuinn was optimistic that he had finally assembled a stable line-up for his band. (He was right — this version of the group lasted two and half years, longer than any other incarnation of The Byrds). Accordingly, McGuinn and his bandmates sought a name for their first album together that expressed their faith in the viability of the resurrected Byrds. Suggestions such as "Phoenix" and "the first Byrds album" were considered, but the double album (half studio tracks and half live recordings) that finally hit record store shelves in mid-1970 bore the odd title of (Untitled). Why (Untitled)? Was it a perverse joke? A sign of resignation at being unable to come up with an acceptable title? No, actually the title was an accident, the result of a record company's mistake. The details of how the album came to be called (Untitled) differ slightly depending upon the source, but the evidence confirms the accidental origins of the name. As Roger McGuinn explained in an advertisement for the album, «Somebody from Columbia called up our manager and asked him what [the title] was. He told them it was 'as yet untitled,' so they went ahead and printed that». The Byrds' producer-manager, Terry Melcher, related a slightly different version of events, claiming that he had written 'Untitled' on the official label copy sheet sent to the record company because the group had not yet settled on a name for the album, and before anyone realized what was happening, the album had been pressed as (Untitled). The fact that the name printed on the album sleeves included parentheses makes Melcher's explanation the more likely one.