Time Between by Chris Hillman

Author:Chris Hillman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BMG Books
Published: 2020-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

SIN CITY

Just before leaving The Byrds I had sold my house in Topanga Canyon and bought fifty-five acres of beautiful pristine land in northern New Mexico, near the town of Amalia. The Sangre de Cristo River ran through most of the property and the land was part of the Sangre de Cristo mountain range. I had hopes of someday building a little ranch house there but, for now, music was my priority. I rented a three-bedroom ranch house on De Soto Avenue in Reseda, down in the San Fernando Valley. After we made peace, Gram moved in as my roommate in the fall of 1968. In some ways it was like the odd couple. I serious and focused, with a disciplined work ethic, while Gram was charismatic and completely disorganized. I wanted to make great music; Gram wanted to be a star. Despite our differences, it was the start of a period that I will always look back on fondly. Gram and I shared a similar warped sense of humor and a bond over our mutual love for country music. Not many people in our world thought country was particularly cool at the time, but we both understood its simple beauty.

We also both had a shared sadness. Gram’s father, like mine, had taken his own life when Gram was just about to start his teenage years. His extended family was something to behold. Though Gram came from money, the rampant alcoholism, infidelity, and backstabbing was like something out of an over-the-top Southern Gothic novel. During our time together, Gram would receive at least $50,000 a year from the family estate, which I think ultimately did him more harm than good. I didn’t have a trust fund like Gram had, but we had a connection. It’s not a topic we spoke much about, but there’s something about facing the loss of a parent at a young age that leaves a mark on you. Neither one of us could have articulated it at the time, but there was a dull mix of anger and sadness that perhaps we recognized in one another on a subconscious level. Whatever it was, we had a real connection, and for a time, we were like brothers.

I usually woke up early in those days and, one morning, I got up and started writing a song: “This old town’s filled with sin, it’ll swallow you in / If you’ve got some money to burn….” I sketched out a couple of verses and a chorus and decided I’d better get Gram out of bed to see if he thought there was something to the idea. He woke up, grabbed a cup of coffee, and added a second verse that concluded with the strange lines, “’Cause we’ve got our recruits and our green mohair suits / So please show your ID at the door.” I wasn’t sure where the old boy was going with that line, but after I came up with the last verse about Bobby Kennedy (“A friend came around, tried to clean up this town”), it all came together.

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