Crosby, Stills & Nash co-founder David Crosby has died at 81

David Crosby, a prominent figure of the 1970s Laurel Canyon scene who helped bring folk-rock mainstream with both The Byrds and Crosby, Stills & Nash, has died at 81. No cause of death was given at the time of this report.

Crosby has had a long list of serious health problems, including multiple heart attacks, diabetes and hepatitis C, for which he had a liver transplant in 1994. In spite of those challenges, the veteran musician enjoyed a creative hot streak in recent years. He added five solo albums to his catalog between 2014 and 2021, and toured frequently with two sets of collaborators, the Lighthouse Band (which featured Snarky Puppy bandleader Michael League) and the Sky Trails Band, featuring his son, James Raymond, on keyboards.

Crosby’s focus on touring stretched all the way back to his early professional days, when he was a nomadic folk musician honing his performance skills on the road. In the late 1950s, Crosby started performing at coffeehouses in Santa Barbara, Calif., but soon began traveling around the U.S., popping up in southern Florida, Chicago and Boulder, Colo. Crosby also spent a formative period in Greenwich Village, where he teamed up to play at the then-new Bitter End with Chicago musician Terry Callier.

Crosby’s focus on touring stretched all the way back to his early professional days, when he was a nomadic folk musician honing his performance skills on the road. In the late 1950s, Crosby started performing at coffeehouses in Santa Barbara, Calif., but soon began traveling around the U.S., popping up in southern Florida, Chicago and Boulder, Colo. Crosby also spent a formative period in Greenwich Village, where he teamed up to play at the then-new Bitter End with Chicago musician Terry Callier.

Crosby’s focus on touring stretched all the way back to his early professional days, when he was a nomadic folk musician honing his performance skills on the road. In the late 1950s, Crosby started performing at coffeehouses in Santa Barbara, Calif., but soon began traveling around the U.S., popping up in southern Florida, Chicago and Boulder, Colo. Crosby also spent a formative period in Greenwich Village, where he teamed up to play at the then-new Bitter End with Chicago musician Terry Callier.

In 1967, Crosby was fired from The Byrds over growing personality and creative conflicts (although he later returned to produce and perform on 1973’s Byrds). At loose ends, he immersed himself in sailing, one of his childhood passions, buying a schooner for $25,000 with money borrowed from The Monkees’ Peter Tork. The boat would be a source of solace and inspiration for decades; he wrote songs including “Wooden Ships,” “The Lee Shore” and “Page 43” while on board.

Crosby was born Aug. 14, 1941, and grew up in Southern California. His father was cinematographer Floyd Crosby, who won an Academy Award for his work on 1931’s Tabu: A Story of the South Seas, as well as a Golden Globe for 1952’s High Noon. (Crosby himself would influence another notable corner of Hollywood: He often said that Dennis Hopper took inspiration from his look and attitude for 1969’s Easy Rider.)

As a kid, Crosby fell hard for The Everly Brothers, the genesis of his lifelong fascination with close harmony, further cemented by his family’s regular singalong sessions. His older brother, Ethan, introduced him to jazz, a genre he would touch on throughout his career, including with his late ’90s / early 2000s band CPR and on a ruminative 2017 solo album, Sky Trails.

Crosby’s formative influences became more prominent in his partnership with Stephen Stills and Graham Nash, with whom he explored novel ways of expressing harmony. The three singers found themselves exiting successful bands that were imploding: Graham Nash wanted out of the pop-rock group The Hollies and Stephen Stills had departed Buffalo Springfield along with Neil Young just as Crosby had just been kicked out of The Byrds. In a 2019 interview with NPR, Crosby said that they all realized they had something special. “Crosby, Stills and Nash — we knew right away,” he said. “As soon as we sang one of Stephen’s songs, you know he’s a great songwriter. As soon as Nash put on the top part we said, ‘Yeah, OK, that’s what I’ll be doing for a while!'”

In Long Time Gone, he deconstructed their unique vocal approach with typical concision, noting the group sang “nonparallel stuff” influenced by classical music, late ’50s and early ’60s jazz and the Everlys. “I did some of my very best work being subtle, moving the middle part around in internal shifts that kept it happening,” he wrote. Crosby’s ocean-clear tenor meshed seamlessly with the voices of Stills and Nash in hushed and haunting ways, particularly on his own “Guinnevere.” His songwriting contributions also pushed the band in new directions — in particular, the rhythmic cadences of “Déjà Vu” and the loose arrangements and boho instrumental tone of “Wooden Ships.”

As a trio, Crosby, Stills and Nash was both commercially and critically adored. Its self-titled 1969 debut led to an performance at Woodstock and a Grammy for best new artist, while 1970’s Déjà Vu — by which point Neil Young had joined, adding another letter to the band’s name — touched on both the comforts of tradition and the seismic generational shifts that were underway. Months after Déjà Vu‘s release, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young would become a leading voice of the nation’s anti-war movement, recording the Young-penned “Ohio” in response to the May 1970 shooting of four students at Kent State University.

Over the years, Crosby — who was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame twice, as a member of The Byrds and of CSN — continued performing with various collaborators, with Nash serving as his steadiest foil well into the mid-2010s. Ever opinionated and brutally honest, he was an open book about his personal flaws and failings, as well as how he felt about his peers. This no-nonsense personality made him both endearing and prickly, especially as a bandmate — CSNY’s internal disagreements were legendary. But in later years, it made him a natural for the concise and quippy nature of Twitter. Crosby shared wide-ranging thoughts about politics and music on the platform, and answered fan questions, both about his own career (he told one fan he “was not the right guy for the job” when asked whether it was true that he was supposed to have worked on Leonard Cohen’s second album) and about those in his orbit (“Was Jerry Garcia a tenor?” Answer: “Tenor/baritone.”). Such lovable terseness even landed him an advice column in Rolling Stone.

Crosby’s career was marked by countless reinventions and second chances. Years of well-documented substance abuse led to tumultuous relationships in and out of music, multiple arrests and a nine-month stint in a Texas prison in the ’80s.

He started using heroin after a girlfriend, Christine Hinton, was killed in a car crash in 1969. He would add copious amounts of cocaine — often freebasing the drug — and began a long, slow spiral. In 2019, he told NPR that famous friends including Nash and Jackson Browne had attempted interventions.

“That didn’t work either,” he said. “There’s a certain moment that you have when you know you simply can’t go on, can’t go any further down that road. In the meetings they tell you it’s a moment of clarity. Whatever you wanna call it, there is a moment.”

Crosby’s moment came with the “help” of a Texas prison. Paranoid and facing multiple weapons and drug violations, Crosby hid out on his sailboat in south Florida before turning himself in to the West Palm Beach FBI office. He was later sentenced to five years on drug and weapons charges, but did less than a year. During his five months behind bars in Texas, he finally kicked heroin.

“Going to prison worked,” he said in 2019. “I don’t recommend it. It’s a hard, hard, hard way to kick. They laughed at me and thought it was funny. ‘Hey rock star, how are you now?'”

Remarkably, his voice remained strong and unweathered, a fact Crosby himself found inexplicable, as he explained to Cameron Crowe in the 2019 documentary David Crosby: Remember My Name. Yet the film also reflected plenty of humility, portraying a musician facing his mortality by trying not to dwell on the past. In the film, he told Crowe, “All the main guys that I made music with won’t even talk to me. All of them.”

“I’ve hurt a lot of people,” Crosby told NPR that same year. “I’ve helped a lot more. I just have to be able to look at it and understand it and learn from it. I’m not beating myself up about any of it. Truthfully, I’m actually pretty happy with the guy I am now. I’m trying real hard to be a decent human being. And I like it.”