Stephen Stills, Live At Shepherd's Bush Empire October 2008

As a humble and relieved-looking Stephen Stills walks from the stage for a third and final time amid near rapturous clapping, he has the air of a repentant old man who is still desperately trying to get those pesky monkeys off his back. Yet despite the applause of tonight’s crowd of some 2,000 sixty year old men (who look unerringly like Stills himself), one cannot escape the suspicion that something is still missing.

Beginning the show solo and acoustic, Stills is clearly relishing the moment. His barrel-chested baritone, now deeper and throatier, has retained its eloquence and sounds positively noble over the open-tuned jangle of Johnny’s Garden and Judy Blue Eyes; his rotund and haggard appearance a perfect contrast to the latter’s innocent pleadings. It is the electric set that seemingly eludes him. The limitations of his small and incongruous backing band are revealed as a succession of songs are moulded into clunking, thunking pub-chugs punctuated only by the inevitably thick, Marshall-warm sound of yet another pentatonic solo.

The most regrettable victims of this MOR-athon are ‘Love the One You’re With’ and ‘For What It’s Worth’. Almost indistinguishable on the night, these two songs in particular suggest that Stills fails to appreciate the original essence of his own songwriting. He looks oddly isolated without the support of Messrs Nash and Crosby (and Young?), and suffers concurrently for the lack of restraint and delicate, measured tone that characterised his work with the Springfield, CSN and Manasass. The drum machine-backed ‘Dark Star’ sounds for all the world like Mediterranean hotel entertainment and the turgid ‘Make Love To You’ remains, for this writer, the worst song ever written. The crowd are happy enough, but Stephen Stills should be better than this.