Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young - Deja Vu: The Album Review

It’s the place where a star once was.

David Crosby: vocals, rhythm guitar

Stephen Stills: vocals, guitar, bass, piano/keys/organ, percussion

Graham Nash: vocals, piano, organ, harpsichord, tambourine

Neil Young: vocals, guitar, harmonica, pipe organ, vibraphone

Greg Reeves: bass

Dallas Taylor: drums

Jerry Garcia: steel guitar

John B. Sebastian: harmonica

Produced by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, engineered by Bill Halverson

Author’s Note: This post corresponds to the Deja Vu episode of Vinyl Monday, originally posted 8/26/2024. Save for audio/editing jokes that cannot be included in a text format, this is a faithful adaptation of the review chapter. To watch the full episode, scroll to the bottom of this post or visit my YouTube channel here.

David Crosby said: “Atmosphere and feeling – now, they count for much more than the actual technical quality of the music. During Deja Vu, I felt awful. To me, it communicates. There’s good art on Deja Vu, but you can’t put it on and feel like it’s a sunny afternoon the way you can with Crosby Stills & Nash.”

(Frank Mastropolo, “How Four Combustible Stars Aligned for Crosby Stills Nash & Young’s ‘Deja Vu’” Ultimate Classic Rock, 3/11/2016)

Croz was right. Crosby Stills & Nash is sunny summer in the canyon music; smelling of fresh air, oranges, and maybe a touch of weed. Deja Vu is a bone-dry, hot summer. Oppressive heat. It smells like incense, maybe the smoke. If you know my tastes, you’ll know which I prefer.

I can’t help it, I’m drawn to big personalities. And CSN had at least 3 of them at a time! Deja Vu reflects the volatile, combustible nature of a quartet which split right down the middle, never to reunite again. We do not speak of American Dream.

Not only am I drawn to big personalities, I’m drawn to people who do whatever the fuck they wanna do. Ladies and gentlemen, Neil Young! His fingerprints are all over Deja Vu, and I think it’s for the better. For the rock-and-roll soap opera CSN and sometimes Y would prove to be, the Y brought intensity; which manifested as an exciting and necessary artistic evolution.

Pictured (L-R): Graham Nash, David Crosby, Neil Young, and Stephen Stills rehearsing at Peter Tork's house (1969)

I originally covered Deja Vu over on YouTube in 2022. One big thing was different then (or maybe 2): both Joni Mitchell and Neil Young had pulled their catalogs from Spotify. This manifested in a weird way on Deja Vu: you could stream everything except the stuff Neil or Joni wrote. No “Helpless,” no “Woodstock,” no “Country Girl” and no “Everybody I Love You.” So the whole of the CrosbyStillsandNashiverse fell off my radar for those couple years.

But AD, why are we talking about streaming?? This is a vinyl series?? Because nobody is bigger than streaming, not even Neil Fucking Young.

As soon as Joni and Neil made their grand returns this past spring, I filed Deja Vu into my stack of reduxes. I was beyond hyped to do so. If you’ve seen the full episode from this past August, you’ll know why. If you haven’t: Deja Vu is one of the relative few instances in which my tastes overlap with my family’s. You can catch my interview with my mom about Deja Vu – one of her all-time favorite albums – in the full episode, linked below.

Though I’ll always associate sunshiney Laurel Canyon vocal harmonies with my closeted hippie mom, her opinions of the didn’t shape mine. Here’s what I think of Deja Vu.

Carry On: Stephen Stills knows how to write a damn good opener, see Judy Blue Eyes, and this. I do have to point out it’s a reworking of the Buffalo Springfield tune “Questions.” As if to say, “Hey guys, you remember Buffalo Springfield? How about more Buffalo Springfield!” And there was supposed to be even more of the Springfield in this lineup! Bruce Palmer was originally supposed to be the bassist! (Before Neil linked up with 6th-billed Greg Reeves through Rick James, of all people.)

I always say the album opener sets the mood; and in some cases can be the thesis statement of the record. “Carry On” is both. The guys pretty confidently assert themselves as a supergroup: “Now witness the quickness with which we get along” And their cred as rock-and-roll icons: “To sing the blues, you’ve got to live the tunes.” It tiesinto “Carry On’”s overarching theme: a sense of obligation, trudging through without closure. “Rejoice, rejoice, we have no choice but to carry on.” We have those familiar dense CSN vocal harmonies and super-layered arrangements to balance them. A goofy-ass “huuuh!” is sandwiched in “now witness the quickness,” I have no idea what the random Stills interjections are about but they’re a thing. There’s fresh elements as well; exotic hand drums and a keyboard refrain I’d like to nominate as the most perfect sonic transition from 1969 to 1970 ever put to tape. “Carry On” still boasts one of my favorite switch-ups ever put to tape. The a capella, cascading“Loooove is coming!” is both stunning and a perfect way to stitch together both halves of the song.

Teach Your Children: In my 2022 review, I said Deja Vu has one of the great 4-track runs in album history. Now, I’m not so sure. These 4 tracks – “Carry On,” “Teach Your Children,” “Almost Cut My Hair,” and “Helpless” – are necessary, though. They introduce each songwriter and what they’re about. Stills the precise, detail-oriented multi-instrumentalist, Nash the pop star, Crosby the intense rocker, and Young the wildcard. “Teach Your Children” feels like a weird choice for track 2, it drops the momentum.

To add some context to this song: in the 1960s and 70s there was a steep generational divide between the young people, the boomers, and their silent generation parents. Attitude was very much “us vs. them” “the people vs. The Man!!” I’ve never been the biggest fan of “Teach Your Children” personally, it feels preachy. It might’ve felt even stiffer, had Stills not intervened; he originally likened it to “I’m Henry VIII I Am” by Herman’s Hermit’s.

Oof!!

But at its core, “Teach Your Children”’s message is timeless. Have empathy for your parents or for your kids. You have no idea what they’ve been through, but you’ve been through something too. And that should be enough. With this song, Graham is trying his best to bridge a very wide generational gap.

Almost Cut My Hair still fucking rips though. I don’t know what Stills was thinking, Croz sounds like he’s singing for his life on this. Upon further consideration, that’s probably why Stills didn’t like it. He wrote very pristine arrangements. “Almost Cut My Hair” just blows that traditional CSN ideal to bits. Croz sings with bitterness and desperation, he spits out that, “Must be because I had the flu for Christmas, and I’m not FEELING up to par.” Graham Nash called adding a 4th member to the trifecta a “necessary evil.” What would this be without Young? We wouldn’t have this song, that’s for sure. Crosby and Young’s chemistry on blistering-hot guitars, so hot that the former can’t help but yelp like a wounded animal, lingers thick like static in the air before a lightning strike. Neil’s got the tendency to solo like his fingers are glued to the fretboard (see the best worst guitar solo I’ve ever heard, “Down By The River,”) but with Croz’s ferocity it’s less glue and more hot tar.

As good a Neil Young song as Helpless is, I fear that’s what it is. A Neil Young song. I envision this much more on After The Gold Rush or later Harvest than in the hands of CSN.

Rounding out side 1 is CSNY’s lively electric rendition of Joni Mitchell’s “Woodstock.” Joni’s version was from the outside looking in, these guys are on the inside looking out. They got to feel the electricity of the huge crowd. If Joni’s “Woodstock” is the billion-year-old carbon, CSNY’s is the song and celebration. A worthwhile angle to take, but some magic is lost. It doesn’t feel so much like an ancient incantation anymore. That “it’s been here before you, and it’ll be here after you” aura is why Joni’s haunts me. CSNY’s feels very of its time. This “Woodstock” was their big pop hit, Stills arranged it to be so; altering the choruses and writing his own melody to fit the groove. He puts the emphasis on the lines that moved him; passionately belting “I don’t know who I am!” and the group scoops up on “Riding shotgun in the sky” It’s groovy! The keys, organ, and piano all mingle like rich hippies in their Indian silks. But wiley guitars and a bossy lead keep it in-touch. In such a crowded room as this it’s easy for talent to be overshadowed, and easy to showboat. Dallas Taylor has a great turn on drums; neither acquiescing nor showing off.

Now this is where I really dissent with the OG Rolling Stone review, written by Langdon Winner. (Just...look it up.) I’d argue side 2 of Deja Vu has got some of the strongest tracks. Since first evaluating the album, I’ve fallen head over heels for the title track. Only recently did I realize what it’s about, but let’s start with the first section. “Deja Vu” seems to second-guess itself. There’s scatting vocals and weird stereo-panning stuff on intricately-picked acoustic guitar. A quick fade-down before counting in and beginning in earnest:

“If I had ever been here before I would probably know just what to do” Firstly, the cadence with which that is sung is so precise. Combine that with the speed at which it’s sung and you have a song that’s hell to record. It’s no wonder this took so many takes to bang out, one person slips up and the whole thing falls apart. Now let’s look deeper at the lyrics:

“If I had ever been here before on another time around the wheel I would probably know just how to deal”

Croz said to The Guardian in 2008: “I'm one of those people who thinks we go round again. The Buddhists have got it right – it's a wheel and we get on and get off. I think life energy gets recycled.”

(“Is this it?” The Guardian, 7/11/2008)

Then suddenly, “Deja Vu”’s very tight composition sinks to a lethargic plod. Crosby sounds belabored, exhausted as he drags out “I feel like I’ve been here before.” With the harmonica, this feels hot and dry. Trudging through the desert, no oasis. It picks itself up again for a moment at, “You know, it makes me wonder what’s going on under…” then drops again for “the ground.” The Greek chorus interjects when the rest of the guys come in:

“Do you know? Don’t you wonder? What’s going on? Down under you?”

It took me years to get this song, but when I put together the wheel thing and the “I feel like I’ve been here before” and then that? “Deja Vu” isn’t just about the inherently nonlinear grieving process, not quite about wondering what happens after you die. It’s about wondering what happens to someone you love when they die. Where their soul goes and what happens to their body. These intrusive thoughts came from a very visceral, very real place. In the middle of Deja Vu production – while leaving from a party celebrating the self-titled album, no less – Crosby’s girlfriend, Christine Hinton, was tragically killed in a car accident. He had to identify her body. “The grief was too big for me,” he confessed to Rolling Stone. “It crushed me like a bug.”

Greek chorus considered, “Deja Vu” is Crosby as Orpheus and Christine as his Eurydice. But no song can bring Eurydice back.

Croz takes comfort in reincarnation. We have all been here before, therefore we will be here again. Since the last time I covered this album, David Crosby has passed. I wonder if him and Christine will cross paths.

I have to shout out the big cracking drums through the last movement, John B. Sebastian’s harmonica solo, and the layering of acoustic and electric guitar. Those drums punctuate an otherwise hazy scape; the days blending together like mush. Or being jolted awake in the middle of the night.

“Deja Vu” is dark, it’s desolate, but still holds warmth.

Anyway, here’s Our House!!

I can’t think of a purer expression of love than this song. “I love our home. I love the way you decorate it. I love how you decorate it with your songs, with your presence. I love the flowers you picked and the warmth of the fireplace, I love spending time with you. I love you!!” To paraphrase my mother, “Who doesn’t want to live in that house?” I believe who loves this song has a house they picture when they hear it. The house I picture is the house she grew up in, which I did some growing up in as well. To hear more about that house, listen to my mom’s interview below.

The “Our House” piano part is instantly recognizable, I’d be able to pick it out anywhere. I swear there’s some Mellotron buried in here, or maybe the ghost of where flutes were added in but was removed? The chipper harpsichord – very baroque pop ’60s – drowns it out. If you’ve heard the home demo that Graham and then-girlfriend Joni did, you’ll know the studio version’s harmonies were the ghost of hers. It’s even more obvious in CSN’s demo. I’ve always said Dylan and Joan were my Roman Empire, but Graham and Joni might be a close 2nd.

On to the track that captured me the first time around, 4&20. It’s quite stark compared to the rest of Deja Vu, the most undone song for sure. Just Stills and his guitar. It’s breathtaking in its simplicity and sincerity. It’s disarming. The magic lies in how Stills can still emote while singing so softly; so softly it’s like he doesn’t want to own up to what he’s saying. “And I find myself wishing that my life would simply cease.” Two years after my initial evaluation, I have a better understanding of where Stills was coming from on “4&20.” 24 is a weird year. You’re on a path, but nowhere close to having it “figured out” yet. It’s isolating, it’s lonely. It can be quite dark.

Country Girl: Count on Neil to bring the drama! “Country Girl” is an epic 3-part medley of Buffalo Springfield-era fragments “Whiskey Boot Hill,” “Down Down Down,” and the core track. This is the waltz to the end of the world. I envision a smoky bar full of lost souls.

“While stars sit at bars and decide what they’re drinking, they drop by to die cause it’s faster than sinking” “Too late to keep the change, too late to pay” “No time to stay the same, too young to leave” Most of “Country Girl” is a commentary on rock-star self destruction, or going out before you’re washed up. It’s oddly prophetic, considering fellow Woodstock performers Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin would be dead within the year. Rock-and-roll would be changed forever by their deaths.

There is so much going on with “Country Girl.” Booming drums, piano, bells, vibraphone, what I think is a keyboard run through a Leslie, this thing is so jam-packed it can be hard to tell what’s what. Neil harmonizing with himself. Harmonica. A fucking pipe organ. How the hell did he get ahold of that?? The song explodes in these larger-than-life crescendos, like what Phil Spector was doing for All Things Must Pass. I find it hilarious that this song is named after its least-developed movement. You have this grand sweeping commentary on the perils of rock-star excess, a cautionary tale against losing yourself, and then...“girl I think you’re pretty”?

Everybody I Love You: Sadly I don’t think the CSN clan ever quite got ahold of the album closer. “Everybody I Love You” is good. It’s an awesome moment for Greg Reeves. It’s a fun rocking curtain call after Neil’s grand finale, and it was stuck in my head for days while I wrote this video. But after something with such galaxy-destroying mass as “Country Girl,” “Everybody I Love You” feels like fluff. It reads as underbaked because it’s a 7-minute song cut down to 2 minutes and change. It’s the muckiest-sounding song on the record too. I don’t know what the hell happened, but the guys dropped the ball on production for this cut. There were better-sounding outtakes that could’ve filled this slot.

I felt lost for words trying to sum up Deja Vu, so I went back to what I said two years ago: “In the end, Deja Vu was about 4 guys coming together and devoting themselves to something bigger than them.” Considering how fundamentally incompatible these four guys were, I don’t think I’ll ever understand how they managed to do that. But that’s what the Woodstock generation was about. temporarily putting your own shit aside for the sake of some greater intangible Thing. Did CSNY take itself too seriously as generational spokesmen? Yeah, sometimes. But I’m glad they took Deja Vu serious as a heart attack, because this couldn’t have been executed otherwise. Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young was four combustible stars aligning for a once-in-a-generation blaze. If you ask me, this was the one time a supergroup truly Worked. The perfect balance of talent and ego, mud and flowers, fresh air and smoke. I don’t think Deja Vu could ever be made today. I don’t want it to be made today.

This album isn’t just what four guys were going through; though it did take friction, immense energy, and superhuman strength on Crosby’s part to complete. It was reflective of what a whole generation was going through. Uncomfortably settling into the earth after years of flying high. Fantastic potential anticipating destruction. It’s desert Americana dreams. It’s sobering reality. It’s brown. This is the feeling you’ve been in this place before though your current body hasn’t. It’s the place where a star once was. Deja Vu fucks with time.

Personal favorites: “Carry On,” “Almost Cut My Hair,” “Deja Vu,” “Our House,” “4&20,” “Country Girl”

– AD ☆

Watch the full episode above!