Gram Parsons almost single-handedly invented Americana music. He had a missionary’s passion for classic country music, leading the Byrds to record Sweetheart of the Rodeo. There, as a member of the Flying Burrito Brothers and as a solo artist, he dealt with country’s themes in songs with lyrics that employed rock ‘n’ roll’s more poetic songwriting devices. He dealt with the seeming contradiction between the wild life he was leading and the more Christian-influenced lives he was singing about by ignoring it with rock ’n’ roll insouciance.

 

The Complete Reprise Sessions collects the two albums he recorded for the label—GP and Grievous Angel—and a CD of outtakes. The albums haven’t aged, as the band that included James Burton, Ronnie Tutt and New Orleans’ Harold Battiste played the songs with character and perfect discretion, coloring but never intruding on the relationship implied by Parsons’ duets with Emmylou Harris.

 

If you already have the albums, though, you probably don’t need this. The interview snippets included as bonus material suggest Parsons was more eloquent in song than speech and say less than the accompanying booklet, and the sound on the version of the Burritos’ “Sin City” featuring him and Harris is bootleg caliber. Still, the disc of alternate takes illustrates Parsons’ craft. One of his gifts was to make everything sound easy, but these takes capture him in the process of finding his way into the songs. In “She,” he can’t quite find the song’s swing so words are running into the next bar. In some cases, the takes lack Emmylou’s voice, letting his stand by itself, even more vulnerable than on the final versions. These takes won’t supplant the final versions as your favorites, but they suggest his craft was more conscious than Parsons made it seem.

 

Gandulf Hennig’s documentary DVD Fallen Angel does a nice job of telling the story behind Parsons’ legend, though it might as well be a radio documentary. There’s little live footage from his stints with the Byrds, the Flying Burrito Brothers or on his own, so the film relies heavily on talking head interviews and the camera panning slowly over still pictures to create the illusion of motion.

 

When Hennig had footage, though, he used it well. The video of the Burritos’ “Hot Burrito #1” does as good a job as any song at explaining Parsons’ appeal. The white Nudie suit he made famous with drugs embroidered on the front and a cross on the back was country glam, but he topped it with a black, floppy brimmed hat that was an early version of ghetto fabulous. His bangs fell in his eyes as he sang and at times, his lip curled up at the corner like Elvis. His eyes had a sadness that he temporarily hid behind dark sunglasses, then he took them off again a bit theatrically, as if to show off the sad eyes again.

 

Beyond the over-reliance on talking heads, Fallen Angel suffers a bit from the documentarian’s tendency to treat the subject too gently. In this case, Parsons’ drug use gradually drifts into the narrative without asserting when, where or how it started. Still, Hennig could only sugarcoat things so much. At a point, it’s hard to get around the impression that he was a trust fund baby who could afford to be personally, musically and chemically indulgent. He’s not a particularly likeable figure at the point when he essentially bailed on the Burritos to hang around with Keith Richards and the Rolling Stones during the Exile on Main Street sessions. His likeability returns when Emmylou Harris talks about him, though. Her sincerity makes almost anything she says about him believable, so when she talks with obvious affection about his remarkable talent, you not only believe it, but it balances the more darker parts of his personality.