This is the first of a five-part interview with Rock & Roll Hall of Fame member Richie Furay.
Torrance is a pleasant albeit not overly memorable semi-suburb of Los Angeles, located some 20 miles south-southwest of the city of the dirty angels. Cleaner than the usual outside envisioning of such places, its modest skyline alternates between shopping centers, business parks, swaths of ranch houses, and an oil refinery. Nothing compelling in any direction pro or con.
In the city’s hub, where the police headquarters, city hall, and courthouse are all served by the same parking lot, sits Torrance’s modest James R. Armstrong Theater. It is a typical community theater, designed for school plays and low-key concerts where the audience doesn’t mind remaining seated throughout the performance to give a standing ovation at the end. A perfect setting for people who prefer listening to music for music’s sake instead of wishing to see and be seen at the local scene.
On this Saturday afternoon, the artist performing later in the evening is going through a sound check. Flanked on his left by daughter and vocalist, equally accomplished at both, Jesse Furay Lynch, and on his right by good-natured person plus skilled guitarist and vocalist Dan Skarda, the three work through songs and dialing in sound levels with the ease of family and friends who know each other, and the music, well. The vocal blend is impeccable, the musicianship sterling. Fitting, for the artist in the middle is Richie Furay.
Furay no longer fills stadiums with his music. He does, however, fill kingdoms’ worth of hearts. Furay first came to public attention as part of the three-headed cowboy-hat wearing monster that was Buffalo Springfield, which in its turbulent brief time on the planet between 1966 and 1968 set the stage for not only Stephen Stills and Neil Young’s subsequent careers but blazed a trail, alongside contemporaries such as the late Gram Parsons, for the fusion of country melody with rock power that would sweep the globe during the 1970s. Following the Springfield’s disintegration, Furay drew together talented musicians of like mind, such as Jim Messina, Randy Meisner, pedal steel guitarist extraordinaire Rusty Young, and, later, Timothy B. Schmidt to form Poco. This band should have conquered the world, but instead mainly remained ignored, save by the faithful, as others (*cougheaglescough*) took Poco’s sound and turned it into cocaine-dusted gold and platinum mountains. A frustrated Furay left Poco after five albums to join forces with songwriter J.D. Souther and Byrds bassist Chris Hillman as the Souther-Hillman-Furay Band. The ensemble enjoyed modest success but was short-lived. Much longer lasting was the embrace of Christianity by Furay during his time in the band, after which life has been nothing but nonstop lollipop dreams in a cotton candy sky … actually, no, but more on that later. After a stab at a solo career, Furay laid at least the industry part of music aside to enter the ministry, pastoring a church in Colorado for decades while sporadically recording and performing. Now retired from full-time ministry, he still plays the occasional show, as is the case this evening in Torrance.
And here is Furay backstage before the show. Relaxed yet energetic, he can easily pass for someone twenty years his junior (Furay turned 81 this year). With Furay firmly holding his Gibson Hummingbird guitar, I do my best to set aside my massive case of nerves brought on by sitting face to face with a man who is an integral part of not only popular music history, but 20th-century history period, and conduct an interview worthy of Furay’s graciously offered time.
The conversation starts by mentioning the aforementioned Souther-Hillman-Furay Band’s debut album, which will be rereleased on vinyl later in 2025. My favorite Furay composition — “Believe Me” — is on that album. Does Furay have any particular memories of writing that song?
“You know, I was looking for songs — asking the Lord for songs — when Chris (Hillman) and J.D. (Souther) and I got together. There was tension in the home, and all that at the same time. ‘Believe Me’ was one that just popped into my mind. Looking at it from not only a personal perspective, but an outside perspective, it’s about a relationship. I’d have to go back and think of all of the lyrics to it now.”
Furay adds, “People really love it. I just saw Bill Cooper. I don’t know if you know who he is. He was Richie Podoler’s engineer (NOTE: Podoler was a record producer best known for his work with Steppenwolf and Three Dog Night). He told me that ‘Believe Me’ is one of his favorite all-time records. We recorded it at (Podoler’s) American Recording Studio on Ventura Boulevard in Los Angeles.
“I play that song very rarely. I played it at the Country Music Hall of Fame when we had the Western Edge presentation. I did a thing with Jesse, and Jesse and I sang the song together. I don’t think I answered your question because I’d have to look at the lyrics. I mean, that was 1974!”
TOMORROW: Buffalo Springfield, plus appreciating the underappreciated Poco.
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