Fifth Dimension

Stripped of Gene Clark's steady songwriting, The Byrds answered by aiming their jangling twelve-strings at John Coltrane and Indian raga, and turned that unease into the first record to make psychedelia sound like a genuine argument rather than a decoration.

"Eight Miles High" is the proof: Roger McGuinn's Rickenbacker doesn't solo so much as spiral, a jittery run that copies the modal climbing of Coltrane's saxophone instead of any pop hook, while the rhythm section keeps a nervous, forward pitch beneath it. Around that centerpiece the band tries on ancient balladry in "John Riley" and cartoon flying-saucer whimsy in "Mr. Spaceman," a range that would seem scattered if the guitars didn't tie it together. What holds is a willingness to sound unfinished and searching on purpose. The polish comes later; here you can hear a group figuring out that a hit single could also be a leap into the dark.