Graham Nash’s defining song, according to Graham Nash
Despite the knife of adult cynicism slowly twisting its way into my consiousness, I can’t help but romantacise the sunny horizons of west coast America. Because beyond the artifice of the Hollywood sign and the Walk of Fame, there were canyons of artistic magic, burrowed away in the rolling hills of Los Angeles. Playing host to artists like Crosby Stills and Nash.
But realistically, what’s a British boy like me got to do with the sun-kissed hills of the world’s most glamorous neighbourhoods? Yes, the music that echoed through the Californian hills certainly resonated with me, but in a dreamlike state, offering me a glimpse into a world far removed from my reality.
But was it really? Something about the elaborate celebration of art in America felt inherently distant, but the kernel of the art I consumed was suitably authentic, devoid of the glitz and glamour I was being fed. And Crosby, Stills, and Nash were the epitome of that. Their music had the sort of soul unbound from the limitations of geography, and you can largely attribute that to their transatlantic makeup.
Because my innate reservations about the suitability of British life and dare I say it cynicism, in the shimmering words of Los Angeles, were proved wrong by Graham Nash. Despite growing up in the gritty neighbourhoods of Blackpool, his voice seamlessly blended with Stephen Stills and David Crosby, to form one of a three-part harmony formation fit to soundtrack the endlessly blue skies of Southern California.
He was an anomaly for so many music fans and critics, desperate to understand how this tough Brit could so flawlessly depict the free and easy lifestyle of late ‘60s American living. To satiate their hunger for understanding, David Crosby directed them to one song in particular.
“David would frequently tell people, ‘If you want to know anything about Graham Nash, listen to ‘Cold Rain.’’ He thought it was incredibly personal and informative about who I am as a person,” Nash explained to Vulture.
Sonically, it has a melancholy to it that suits the sort of paradox Crosby might be referring to. Informed by the colder streets of England, but tinged with the warmth of Californian harmonies, it paints the picture of an artist with one foot on either side of the pond. Which for Nash, was a very present feeling during the writing process.
“I wrote it on the steps of the Midland Hotel in Manchester. I was visiting my mum, who was a little sick and in the hospital. I stood on the steps in the rain and watched all the people go by, and most of them had a lost look in their eyes. It seemed like they hated their jobs, they hated their bosses, and they hated what they were doing. It began to make me question, Why me? Why, out of everybody in Manchester, was I the one who got to go to America thousands of miles away and start a brand-new career? I’ve always asked myself that question. I hope I never get the answer to it.”
