By Louie Ferrera

Dear David,

Well, you’ve finally crossed over to “the other side”, wherever that is. Perhaps Guinnevere, she of the green eyes and golden hair, was waiting when you arrived. Hopefully your beloved Christine was there too. 

David, your music has touched me to my very core. As a teenager learning to play the guitar, I dreamed of being up there on the stage with you, Stephen, Graham and Neil,  joining in on those soaring harmonies and ringing acoustic guitars. On the soundtrack album of my life, your music plays a prominent role.  I lost my virginity on a warm summer evening in 1977, Guinnevere was on the turntable and is forever linked to that watershed event. The Central Park shows you and Nash played in 1976 were transcendent. I was wearing that shirt and you called me out from the stage! There were so many other live shows, so many blissful musical moments spent in your company, but also that night at The Keystone; you were barely able to croak out the words to your songs, a broken and drug addled shadow of your former leonine self. You came back strong though, like a compass seeking north you managed to find your way again.

Almost Cut My Hair…glad you never did ‘cause neither did I. Hair of course and the non-cutting thereof, a metaphor for rebellion and staying true to your ideals and dreams. “I feel like letting my freak flag fly.” I love that line so much and the imagery it conjures up. When you wrote those words, long hair on a guy was a political statement. Growing your hair out in the 1960s and early 70s was a big “fuck you” to the establishment, and nobody said it better than you did with Almost Cut My Hair. I’ve always dug your attitude Croz.

The chance meeting with you and Jan on the beach at Hanalei Bay that morning in 2015 was just such a damn cool moment. I was starstruck and you were so gracious and smiling. And your voice, that voice! Many superlatives have been tossed around over the course of your career to describe it. Let me give it a try: I hear you sing and it’s the aural equivalent of a spoonful of golden honey on a warm summer’s afternoon slowly coating everything in its’ sweet, shiny glow. How’s that?

The CSN blend is one for the ages, a pitch perfect amalgam that will ring true for as long as there are devices that can reproduce music, a shimmering sheen of voices that never fails to send a chill down my spine. I feel truly blessed to have had so many opportunities to hear your voice, solo and in all of the various CSNY permutations. So many of your songs have touched me so deeply. I could write a thousand words on each one. The crowning moment on If I Could Only Remember My Name is Laughing. Those shimmering acoustic guitars and Jerry’s soaring pedal steel wizardry blasts this tune right into interstellar space. The climactic moment on that song, when Joni’s voice rises above the multiple layers of harmony singers into a perfect crescendo, is one of my favorite musical moments of all time.

I don’t know if you ever wondered what happened to the set list from your show at Great American Music Hall in 1979. Don’t worry, I’ve got it. I swiped it off the stage at the end of the show. Written in your hand with black marker, it’s one of my most treasured rock and roll relics.

And last but certainly not least is your brown suede fringed jacket, as iconic as Beatle boots and Janis’ feather boas. The word “groovy” was surely invented to describe that jacket. The CSN segment is my favorite scene in the Woodstock film. At the end of Suite: Judy Blue Eyes you have this beatific grin on your face, your right arm is raised triumphantly in the “peace” sign, trailing mini freak flags of fringe.

You were a true artist, uncompromising and driven to create right up to the end of your life. Your musical legacy is huge, your influence far ranging. The songs that you left us with will stand the test of time as long as these is time. Fare thee well Croz, may your spirit forever swirl among the infinite mysteries of the universe.