Time Between: My Life As A Byrd, Burrito Brother, And Beyond (2020) Book Review

Chris Hillman is known for being a founding member of the both The Byrds and The Flying Burrito Brothers, and in his new autobiography, Time Between: My Life As A Byrd, Burrito Brother, And Beyond, he recounts his experiences in both bands, as well as in Manassas, The Souther-Hillman-Furay Band and The Desert Rose Band. The book’s title comes from a song he wrote while in The Byrds, a song that was included on Younger Than Yesterday. Obviously, music plays a huge part in his life, and so it does in this book too, but this book is also about family and about a spiritual awakening. It is written in a fairly straightforward, friendly manner, and as a result is a rather quick read. The book interestingly begins in 2017 when Chris Hillman and his wife had to suddenly evacuate their home because of a wildfire. Firefighters were able to save most of their house, but it was a close call. As he mentions in the book’s introduction, what was most important was that he and his wife were all right. Of course an event like that gets one to thinking about his own mortality and what he has done, and what he’d like to do with his time on this planet. And it is with that perspective that Chris Hillman begins to look back at his life as a musician.

His earliest memory, it turns out, also involves a fire, this one at his childhood home. The book largely goes in chronological order, and we get a sense of his childhood, and how some events and people from that time later influenced his music.  For example, a man from the town where he grew up named John Robertson would provide the subject of the Byrds song “Old John Robertson,” which was included on The Notorious Byrd Brothers. Chris Hillman provides some interesting information about his family as well, that his father started his own local weekly newspaper and created various characters to use as his own bylines. Regarding music, he writes: “The best part of that era was rock and roll, which changed our whole culture. Our hormones weren’t only firing off in every direction, but we even had our own soundtrack for it” (p. 32). Chris Hillman then got into folk music in 1959, when rock started getting tame, and his sister turned him on to records by Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger. It is wonderful reading about his passion for the records that came before his own work, for it connects us to him in our passion for the records that he contributed to our culture. He also describes the first guitars he owned, and his early musical endeavors. (I need to find a copy of that Scottsville Squirrel Barkers record.)

The story of how The Byrds came together is, of course, fascinating, including the choice of the band’s name and its spelling, and it’s wild that Miles Davis had a hand in getting the band signed to Columbia. It’s also interesting that Jim (later, Roger) McGuinn was the only member to play an instrument on their first single, “Mr. Tambourine Man.” The rest were studio musicians, including Leon Russell on piano and Hal Blaine on drums. The Monkees got so much shit for that, but so many other bands at the time did the same thing. Speaking of The Monkees, Chris Hillman says that “So You Want To Be A Rock ‘N’ Roll Star” is not “a jab at The Monkees” (p. 93), perhaps finally putting an end to a rumor that has persisted for decades. He also talks about the minor controversy surrounding the song “Eight Miles High,” and tells plenty of great anecdotes, such as Henry Fonda once asking the band to turn the volume down at a party. I also enjoyed reading about their performance at the Grand Ole Opry, and Skeeter Davis’ kind words to the band afterward. He does mention Jim McGuinn changing his name to Roger McGuinn, but doesn’t get into it all that much, saying, “I don’t think the change had any real impact on us as a band” (p. 97). That might be the book’s only weakness. I sometimes found myself craving more detail. There are lots of great stories here, but some are only hinted at. He mentions The Byrds’ cover of Bob Dylan’s “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere,” but not the famous lyric flub which later Dylan joked about in his own recording of the song. As he writes later regarding The Desert Rose Band, “There were many wonderful moments, and enough stories to fill three books” (p. 191).

As interesting as the material on The Byrds is, the book contains equally fascinating tales from his time with The Flying Burrito Brothers, including his personal recollections of the show at Altamont, where the Burrito Brothers played. It’s also interesting to hear about the impact of the Manson murders on the culture and the mood of the city, with Chris Hillman writing “it suddenly seemed crazy to have unknown people coming and going from your house” (p. 124). As was the case with The Byrds, The Flying Burrito Brothers had several different members at various times, and it’s wild that Emmylou Harris sat in with them, but turned down a chance to join the band. Chris Hillman also recounts his time playing with Stephen Stills in Manassas, and in The Souther-Hillman-Furay Band and in The Desert Rose Band, and also his solo work. Somehow before reading this book, I had missed that Chris Hillman covered “Ripple,” which is my all-time favorite song (I must get a copy of that Morning Sky album). Toward the end of the book, Chris delves more into the religious areas of his life, and talks about his battle with Hepatitis C, and about the importance of family. While the tales of his musical pursuits will likely hold the most interest for the readers, it will probably be the material on family that people will most strongly connect to, particularly in this strange time when everyone’s priorities have been re-evaluated.

Time Between: My Life As A Byrd, Burrito Brother, And Beyond was released on November 17, 2020. Note: the copy I read was an uncorrected advance reader copy, so some of the lines I’ve quoted, as well as the page numbers, could be different from the final edition.