Upon its release in 1974, Gene Clark's No Other was soundly reviled as an exercise in studio and financial excess, a critical and commercial failure -- it was pop music's Heaven's Gate. However, a scant year and a half later, Fleetwood Mac's self-titled album and its successor, Rumours, utilizing similar performance and production techniques, were adored by critics and the record-buying public, and have become cultural mainstays. The appearance of No Other on CD in America some 26 years after its release offers the opportunity to hear this record for what it was: a solidly visionary recording that decided to use every available means to illustrate Gene Clark's razor sharp songwriting that lent itself to open-ended performance and production -- often in the same song (one listen to the title track bears this out in spades). Clark and producer Thomas Jefferson Kaye entered Village Recorders in L.A. assembled a cast of players that included Clark veterans such as Michael Utley and Jesse Ed Davis, Allman Brothers' Butch Trucks, Lee Sklar, Russ Kunkel, Joe Lala, Chris Hillman, Danny "Kooch" Kortchmar, Howard Buzzy Feiten, and Stephen Bruton. Backing vocalists such as Clydie King, Venetta Field, and Shirley Matthews -- who would appear on Bob Dylan's Street Legal two years later -- and including Cindy Bullens, Carlena Williams, Ronnie Barron, Claudia Lennear, and the Eagles' Timothy B. Schmidt, were also in the house. What it adds up to is sprawling, ambitious work that brought elements of country, folk, jazzed-out gospel, blues, and trippy rock to bear on a song cycle that reflects the mid-'70s better than anything from that time, yet sounds hauntingly timely even now. There are no edges on No Other, even in its rockier tracks such as "Strength Of Strings," that echoes Neil Young's "Cowgirl In the Sand," melodically, but its bridge is pure mystic Eastern-harmony, complete with slide guitar wizardry. The shimmering dark textures of "Silver Raven," where Clark's falsetto vocal is kissed by synth and muted bass lines, and extended by a chorus that could have come off CSNY's Déjà Vu, is one of the most heartbreakingly blissed-out country folk songs in recorded music history. "From A Silver Phial," as haunting and beautiful as it is, is one of the strangest songs Clark ever wrote, given its anti-drug references (especially considering this is one of the more coked out records to come from L.A. during the era). The final two cuts, "The True One," and "Lady of the North" (co-written with Doug Dillard) are the only two pieces on the disc that mirror back with accuracy where Clark had come from, but even these, as they wind around the listener, are far bigger than mere country rock tunes, and they offer glissando passages of pedal steel and ostinato piano that create narrative movement in the lyrics. This is one of those<\i> recordings, one that is being rediscovered for the masterpiece it is. The shortcoming of the CD presentation is that the rest of the session is not here -- it was originally cut as a double-album, but Asylum refused to release it that way. There are versions with alternate takes, but so far only the WEA International version has an additional track. But this is what we have,and as it stands it is a stunning, if completely misunderstood milestone, in Clark's oeuvre.

~Thom Jurek, All Music Guide

When Gene Clark left The Byrds in 1966, he immediately released several critically acclaimed but commercially unsuccessful albums, both as a solo artist and in collaboration with the Gosdin Brothers and Doug Dillard. When Clark rejoined The Byrds for a 1973 tour and album the results were largely uninspired (as cash grabs generally are), but Clark’s contributions to the album stood out enough that Asylum Records head honcho David Geffen decided to sign Clark as a solo artist. He even gave Clark a then whopping $100,000 budget, which Clark and producer Thomas Jefferson Kaye were determined to spend in an attempt to create an ambitious masterpiece that would finally gain Clark the widespread acclaim he deserved.

The result of their labors has long been out of print on both sides of the Atlantic, but Collectors’ Choice Music has finally rescued No Other from undeserved obscurity. The album begins with “Life’s Greatest Fool,” one of three songs here (the others being “From A Silver Phial” and “The True One”) with a loping country melody. Of course, it’s the gospel backing vocals and upbeat, catchy “do you believe” chorus that makes this such a standout song. The guitar playing is also impressive, as it is throughout the album, whether by Clark himself or in tandem with several hired session aces. “Silver Raven” continues with an atmospheric ballad that lingers, in part due to Thomas Jefferson Kaye’s appropriately haunting, echo-laden production.

Throughout the album, it is this attention to detail that makes No Other such a richly rewarding experience. Of course, Clark’s strong songwriting is the main thing that impresses, particularly on songs such as the title track, which mixes together jazz, funk, and psychedelia before really taking off on its Latin-tinged percussion. “Strength Of Strings” is another ambitious epic, on which its choral vocals build dramatically. Perhaps it’s a little too slow paced and extravagant for its own good, but I’d still describe this song as “flawed but fascinating,” just like the album itself.

Indeed, songs such as the 8-minute “Some Misunderstanding” and the 6-minute “Lady Of The North” are other grand showcases for Clark and Kaye’s overflowing ambition. The former is a dreamy orchestral ballad with yet more great guitar, while the latter at times reminds me of Neil Young’s “Broken Arrow,” primarily due to its elaborate production. To counteract these songs, which are highly successful upon repeat listens (especially "Lady Of The North") but which are difficult to sink your teeth into at first, comes more straightforward fare in the form of “From A Silver Phial” and “The True One.” The former again features terrific guitar playing (and harmonies), while the latter delivers more modest pleasures, but both provide welcome breaks from the at-times excessive experimentation.

Fortunately, most of the experimentation is successful, though the album is a little slow going at times, and obviously overblown at others. Yet Clark’s sure songwriting touch almost always manages to seize the day, and though he’s merely a serviceable singer, his plaintive vocals fit his material. Granted, occasional “hippy” lyrics might make the album sound “dated” to some, but its creative mishmash of several styles should ensure its freshness to the majority of listeners.

Alas, when Clark handed the album to Geffen he was less than impressed with it’s mere eight songs (he obviously hadn’t heard of Led Zeppelin IV!), and the under-promoted album came and went with little fanfare. Clark’s career never really recovered, and ill health coupled with an aversion to touring further ensured that he would always remain a musician whose commercial stature far undersold his musical talent. Rarely was the breadth of his talents put on better display than on this welcome reissue, which still sounds like no other album I’ve ever heard.

Scott Floman