Before launching into In my Dreams, David Crosby paused to address the audience from underneath his baseball hat and nest of white hair. “Nash does the anthems, the Teach Your Children stuff, Stills writes great rock’n’roll, and I write the weird s***. I was peculiarly suited to the task...”
Crosby, Stills and Nash have survived as archetypes of adult-oriented rock by understanding their roles, crafting those individual gifts and then bringing them so effectively together. When their honeyed tones meet in sweet chorus, even critics who think these sixtysomethings should be left to rock’s palaeontologists can’t deny that their reunion concerts can still rouse a crowd.
Surprisingly, the gathered Hammersmith throng wasn’t solely composed of couples with a babysitter on the clock and ageing good-timers. Hip young fans of both sexes filled the front rows. Perhaps it’s not so remarkable: from the epic opening number, Carry On/Questions, to a meaty rendition of Love the One You’re With, there were moments of youthful energy in their Big Rock Sound, and during their political numbers ( Long Time Gone, Military Madness), heartfelt explanations and flashing spotlights underlined messages that still resonate decades after the songs were written.
Mid-song, when the trio would gather together and chop their guitars in rhythm, there was plenty of onstage banter and a fleeting joke at the expense on their erstwhile companion, Neil Young.
Young isn’t the only one, though, who has enjoyed solo success, and often the show felt more like Crosby and Nash, or simply Stills. Airing tracks from recent outings, Crosby and Nash strayed into soft-rock territory, but the mesmeric Cathedral and the elegantly simple Guinnevere took listeners back to a time when folk-influenced rock wasn’t something ironic indie bands from Scotland concocted. Stills, playing tracks from his new album, Man Alive!, received several standing ovations, most enthusiastically when he polished off Booker T. Jones JR’s Ole Man Trouble in rasping blues style.
They were joined at the end by Crosby’s various offspring (his son, James Raymond, also plays keyboards with the band). But if this curtain call suggested something too cosy, then the passion of their anthems and the warmth of their interaction throughout the rest of the three-hour show suggested a deeper sense of rock democracy that has survived 35 years of egos, addictions and what Crosby described as “the Britney Spears era”.