"It was not – ah – just three good old boys up there on stage having a good time. People would say. ‘Well, it’s obvious you’re having a great time, and the audience is responding to that, and it’s a vicarious thing, and that’s what the appeal is.’ For years, we believed that, and maybe that was part of it. But it was a lot more. It was three people who were the closest, most trusting, most tuned-in of friends. It was that energy, that perfect combination of personal chemistry, that soaring together. Unreal, man. When we had that magic going on, we made the music. It happened with David and it happened with John. But I don’t think it could’ve happened with anybody else. It was just that perfect chemistry. Do you know what I mean?"

The writer thinks he does, and it’s important that the reader does, too. For what Reynolds is describing is that elusive "X" factor that made the Kingston Trio successful in the first place, elevated it from its competition, and allowed it to continue after the loss of a key member. Dave Guard’s departure from the Trio in 1961 created more than an economic burden on their corporate structure. The early Trio drew much of its musical and personal identity from Guard; he was its "acknowledged leader," a man whose brilliant musicianship, stinging wit, and impeccable taste gave the Kingston Trio much of its polish and sophistication. Had Shane, Reynolds and Werber replaced Guard solely on the basis of musical ability, the task, while difficult, could’ve been accomplished quickly – with disastrous results.

Again, the "X" factor surfaces. The Trio had to appeal to itself before it could appeal to the public. The man who would replace Guard had to be more than musically gifted; he had to be a friend, a confidant, someone whom Shane and Reynolds would allow to be drawn into the emotional energy so critical to the creation of their music. In this respect, the Trio wasn’t looking for a replacement per se, but rather a different combination of chemistry that would translate into a new and distinct Trio with the ability to stand on its own unique merits.

John Stewart was the perfect applicant. Only 21 years old when asked to join the Trio, he’d been an ardent fan and student of their music since his senior year at Pomona Catholic High School. "I was playing in a rock and roll band called ‘The Furies,’ recalls Stewart, "And some friends of mine who’d graduated were going to college in Santa Clara and said, ‘You’re not going to believe this group that came through, the Kingston Trio – they’re phenomenal.’ Somebody had their album, and when I heard the banjo on ‘Saro Jane’ I said, ‘Wait a minute!' I’d never heard anything like it before. Dave Guard is one of my heroes; one of the guys who changed my musical direction. Just spun me around and showed me something I’d never seen before."

When the Trio appeared in Pomona a year later, Stewart made it a point to introduce himself.

"I had them sign an album, and then any time they’d come to town I’d hang around backstage, and they’d say, "Hi, how’re you doing,’ just being polite; I was operating under that illusion that kids have that once you meet somebody, they know you. I was on Arwin Records as a single, just getting ready to switch from rock and roll to folk, and I was supposed to do a folk album, but instead the publisher sent my songs to the Trio. So now they knew me as a songwriter. I went down to see them at the Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles and they said, ‘John, these songs are so close, but write some more and we’ll listen again.’ When they played at the Coconut Grove, I hopped down there and played them ‘Molly Dee’ and ‘Green Grasses.’ Ten months later I got a check for $10,000, and I said, ‘Hey, why am I going to college? This is the promised land!’ And that started our professional friendship."

With that friendship came Trio manager Frank Werber’s connections and a recording contract with Roulette records. Every label in the country wanted its own version of the Kingston Trio, and Werber was more than happy to oblige with a reasonable facsimile consisting of Stewart, Gil Robbins and John Montgomery. Billing themselves as "The Cumberland Three," the group did three excellent folk albums, for Roulette and toured extensively with comedian Shelley Berman. When Guard’s departure from the Trio became imminent, Stewart was called and told to keep in close touch.

"We really didn’t start auditioning people right away," says Nick Reynolds. "Bobby and I just sort of took a vacation and talked it over. We had the record contract, as we decided we wanted to go ahead with a new Trio, to give it a shot. We auditioned a number of different people – one of the guys from the Modern Folk Quartet, and a few others, – but John was the ideal one. He was perfect for us; we’d known him, he’d written songs for us, there was no hostility, and he was bringing material, enthusiasm and new blood to jaded old Bobby and I, plus being in awe of what he was stepping into. John was just enough of a madman to fit in, fortunately, although he didn’t realize it at the time and we didn’t either. But you know, there are no accidents. We just followed our instincts with John, and it worked right from the start."

Stewart, for his part, was thrilled – and scared. "The hard part for me, at that age, was being thrust into the Number One group in the world. I was such a fan of the Trio with Dave, and here I was, this kid, trying to take his place; it was a difficult thing, something I had to grow into. I’d always been a loner, fairly shy, kind of a bedroom musician – I’d just go home and play my guitar and banjo in my room. And these guys were frat guys, gregarious and easy with people. It was a ‘rah rah’ atmosphere that I was not used to. But they were very kind to me, very supportive. They teased me a lot, but in a nice way. They weren’t mean guys at all, and that made it a lot easier; they were terrific to me."

Musically, Stewart had no trouble whatsoever in making the transition, understanding perfectly his function in the group. "I had really locked into their way of doing folk," he says, "because what they were doing was folk music with the mindset of rock and roll – folk music with hooks. Young folk music that you could get your teeth into, as opposed to the ethnic stuff. So coming from rock and roll, I knew exactly what they were doing immediately: the banjo had to have a hook line, the chords had to be simple, and it had to be repetitive.

"Bobby and Nick were very organic musicians; there was nothing cerebral about their musicianship. It was totally natural, and that was a great part of the magic of the Trio; it was that thing, that natural energy, that made them connect with millions of people. It was a force that some groups have and some don’t, but it is as real as electricity or running water and it translates to anybody, anywhere in the world. I’ve always been influenced by other people – and these guys weren’t. They were totally themselves. They enjoyed singing music and playing music; but it was not so much an obsession and escape for them, as it was with me, because they had nothing to escape from. They were very comfortable with themselves and with the world.

"If you’d had a group of three guys like me, that sat in their room all day, it would have been a very well thought-out and energetic group. But it wouldn’t have had that natural magic. So, in that way, if I’d been like Bob and Nick, I don’t think the Trio would’ve worked. It needed someone who was willing to sit down and work the chords out, and find new ways of doing things, and then bring in the chord sheets and say, ‘Here’s the arrangement on "Reuben James." ’

"I knew their limitations, what Bobby could play and what Nick could play, and so in that respect it was easy to do. It was incredible fun to sit on the room and work the songs out and then bring them in and work on them together. Harmonies are my weak point, but Nick has a great ear for harmonies, and he’d say, ‘Why don’t we do it this way: I’ll take a bar on top here, you sing it like this on the bottom, Bobby comes in here.’ Bobby could sing anything, and he’s a very solid player. He’d use these heavy-gauge strings that he’d break all the time – which shows you the kind of energy coming off that rhythm guitar.

"Another thing that made it work was that I came into the group knowing nothing of the fighting or the hassles they’d been having. I came from rock and roll and said, ‘Hey, let’s have a good time,’ and Nick and Bob said, ‘Uh – yeah – right, let’s have a good time.’ which is what it had been in the beginning."

Nick Reynolds confirms this last point, saying, "John did a lot in freeing Bobby and I up, in allowing us to get our stuff back together – to get back on the beach, man. You know, how much more can you mess up in a band than to let the leader go, right? Well, now we were restrained, we could have a little fun again, and not be afraid to expose our asses again. You lose a lot of self confidence when you lose your right arm; but the arrangements came together like they always did before, and I realized how much Bobby and I had to do with making it work. We had to figure it out ourselves, and John was great and learned real fast and really helped us. And it got to be real natural again. It was a lot like the old days, but different."

After two weeks of rehearsal, the new Trio made its first public appearance, playing a benefit concert for the Boys Club in Santa Rosa, California. The audience was as enthusiastic and boisterous as ever, convincing the group that it had, indeed, made the transition to bigger and better things. Capitol Records, however, was less convinced. The Kingston Trio was big business to the label, accounting for roughly 20' of Capitol’s gross profit. Millions of dollars and big salaries were riding on Stewart’s ability to musically fit in and help perpetuate the Kingston Trio sound on record.

"There was a lot of pressure coming from Capitol as to whether the golden goose was going to still lay the golden egg," recalls Stewart. "When we went into the studio to do Close Up, all these execs were in the control booth with [producer] Voyle Gilmore. We did ‘Jesse James,’ and they all smiled, shook hands and left."

Capitol had good reason to smile. Close Up, the Trio’s first album with Stewart, is as refreshing and musically stimulating as At Large was to the group’s Dave Guard era. This is a different Trio entirely – more relaxed, more spontaneous, more "into it" than ever. Not simply the "new boy," Stewart is a full contributor to Close Up, taking the lead vocals on "Take Her Out Of Pity" and "Weeping Willow," as well as supplying crisp, inventive banjo lines on "Jesse James" and "Reuben James." The influence of Guard and of Pete Seeger is evident in his playing, particularly in Stewart’s melodic approach to banjo; yet Stewart’s style is often much more expressive, more free-flowing.

"I always liked to play what I heard in my head," he says. "If it’s more melodic, it’s because I didn’t know how to play the other stuff. I was never a great banjo player. As long as it worked and did its melodic job, its job as an energy center, it was fine with me. Now, Dave Guard – there’s a banjo player. Hooks, riffs – beautiful stuff. I don’t know, maybe I was just lazy."

On both banjo and guitar, Stewart used fingerpicks exclusively. In addition to a Gibson 12-string used on "0 Ken Karenga," Stewart played a Martin 00-21, with its higher tone, to avoid getting lost on the bassier sound of Shane’s Martin D-28. Like Guard before him, John’s primary banjo was a Vega Pete Seeger Long Neck 5string, although he later used a Gibson Long Neck 5-string briefly ("I just wanted to try something different; it didn’t cut nearly as well as the Vega"). Stewart also played a Martin D-28 and several Guild 12-strings.

What is particularly ingratiating about Close Up is the apparent willingness of Shane and Reynolds to open up with Stewart in every respect. There’s no musical ego at work here. Bob and Nick’s respective solos on "0 Ken Karenga" and "The Whistling Gypsy" reflect two very confident, seasoned professionals who just kept getting better and better. Stewart helped to renew some of that confidence, and it’s evident that Shane and Reynolds were as proud to have John in the Trio as he was to be there.

If Close Up legitimized Stewart musically to Trio fans, College Concert did the same for his acceptance as a personality within the group. The LP was recorded December 6-7, 1961, in the Grand Ballroom of the Student Union Building at the University of California at Los Angeles. Stewart emerges as the Trio’s main funnyman, a role that Guard had played before him. Unlike Guard, however, whose wit was more satirical in the Mort Sahl vein, Stewart’s humor ran closer to the Bob Newhart school of self-deprecating comedy, with a touch of sophomoric craziness added to it. Bob Shane says that none of it was rehearsed, that it came right off the top of Stewart’s head, with the better lines kept in the show and expanded upon. The college audience, their toughest and most loyal cadre of fans loved it. More importantly, Shane and Reynolds loved it, with Shane adding "we enjoyed each other, and no matter how many times you heard the same lines, they were still funny."

Musically, College Concert is an interesting mixed bag containing re-vitalizing versions of "MTA" and "Coplas," as well as new material. "0 Ken Karenga" is particularly lively, with Stewart setting the rhythm by strumming the taut string sections between the bridge and tailpiece on his Gibson 12-string, followed by Shane’s strong open chording. Reynolds then picks it up on "boo-bams," a series of tuned cylindrical plastic tubes of varying lengths, designed and built by David Wheat, the Trio’s bassist. The whole tune keeps picking up steam, carried by Shane’s raucous baritone lead and by a spectacular Nick Reynolds drum solo. The "X" factor was definitely cooking.

To the concert and record-buying public, John was now a full-fledged member of the Kingston Trio. Within the Trio’s corporate organization, however, he was considered an employee, a "hired" hand with no stock ownership or voice in their many business dealings. The point was made painfully clear to Stewart during the recording of Something Special, the Trio’s first album with string accompaniment, done in April 1962. Stewart recalls the incident:

"We had rehearsed and recorded the album knowing that strings were going to be added later. Well, I got curious as to how things were going on it and called down to Capitol. They said that the string session was going to be the next night, and I figured I’d better get down there so at least one of us would be on hand. Jimmie Haskell, who’s a terrific arranger and conductor, had written some real movie score stuff for the album, some of which was perfect; but some of it wasn’t right for it, and I said, ‘Jim, this really isn’t indicative of what we’re doing on some of these songs.’ He was very cooperative, and we hammered out some of the arrangements, and I flew back to San Francisco after the session.

"Well, I walk in and get a phone call from Frank [Werber], who just rakes me over the coals: ‘Who do you think you are going down there and being at that session? You might make the records, but you aren’t in charge!’ It was the protection of power, of letting me know who the Trio really was, of me being the new guy that they gave a break to. Little incidents like that were milestones to me in saying, ‘I’m leaving the group, that’s it.’"

There are, of course, two sides to the story, and the reader can draw his or her own conclusion. Frank Werber replies: "A lot of people had come to audition for Dave’s job, and I kind of had John in mind from the beginning, He emulated Dave – but instinctively. I believed that we could make it with John. Dave would come and go and we’d carry on John was a member of the Kingston Trio, and a very important one; but we never asked anybody to join the venture as a partner. He wasn’t asked to join in that sense. The money? John did very well on those songs he wrote for the Trio. Besides, he got a percentage. The more we worked, the more money we earned, and the more John got. I don’t remember what the numbers were, but I don’t think it was anywhere near being unfair to John."

It is a classic confrontation between creative and business interests, but with a major difference. Both Stewart and Werber cared deeply about the Trio and about their individual responsibilities to it. In addition to performing and recording, it was Stewart’s job to write new material, research old public domain songs that could be accommodated to the Trio’s style, and to provide the basic structure of the arrangements so that all could work on them. It was a responsibility that he loved and accepted wholeheartedly. He would be continually compared to Dave Guard, unfairly, and it is to his eternal credit that he persevered, helping the Trio to create some of its most beautiful and enduring recorded work.

Werber, for his part, gave Shane, Reynolds, and Stewart the space they needed to do what they did best, to "keep it pure" as Werber puts it. "I just covered everything else," he says, "because I didn’t want them having any distractions or any negative energies entering into it. I’d had five or six years working in clubs, and I’d seen what happened to entertainers and their managers and agents, and watched it go to hell. So I worked very hard at keeping that atmosphere pure for the Trio; as long as they enjoyed what they were doing, it worked." More than just a tough and astute businessman, Werber was fiercely loyal to and protective of the Trio’s personal and business interests. It was not enough that the group be given the best percentages, the most favorable terms, the most generous of endorsement contracts; there had better be a first-class social reception and press conference, as well. Respect was as important as money, and Werber made sure the Trio got plenty of both.

Despite the internal rubs, the Trio continued a full-time nationwide touring schedule of colleges, amphitheaters, and top clubs, returning periodically to the studio to meet their three-albums-a-year contract with Capitol. If one wishes to isolate the best of the "Stewart Era" recordings, three are particularly worthy of study: New Frontier, #16, and Time To Think.

"Best album we ever did," says Stewart of New Frontier, released in November 1962. "Worked our buns off on it; brought Jerry Walters of the Gateway Singers in to help us construct some of the harmonies, and just having his presence there made us more disciplined and added greatly to the sound of that album. With New Frontier, we really got a feeling for what the studio was, what it could do for the music. ‘Honey, Are You Mad At Your Man,’ with that one-note banjo drone running through it was very Fleetwood Mac-ish, which was something we never could’ve done live, you needed that studio echo to give it mystery. And the overdubbing on ‘New Frontier,’ and the melody of ‘Adios, Farewell,’ wow – the power of that album was the studio, because of echo and mood you could create. It was a lot different from singing ‘Hard, Ain’t It Hard’ and ‘Oh, Miss Mary’ in concert."

The album #16, released six months later, was likewise a studio-intensive recording, with intricate vocal and instrumental overdubbing. Prior to #16, the Trio had done virtually all of its own instrumental work, with the exception of bass – which by this time was played by Dean Reilly (David "Buck" Wheat, the Trio’s original bassist, had left the group in early ’62 to join Dave Guard in the Whiskeyhill Singers). For this album, however, Glen Campbell was recruited to play 6-string banjo on "Reverend Mr. Black," the first of many Trio tunes Campbell would augment over the next couple of years. There is also some very fine acoustic guitar lead work on "Run The Ridges," overdubbed by Stewart.

What is most notable on #16 and New Frontier, though is the maturity and depth of Shane and Reynolds as individual vocalists. Their vocal lessons notwithstanding, both were, as Stewart described them, "naturals" who intuitively hit the note – and hit it superbly – without consciously working at it. Perhaps as a consequence of the excellent material given them for these albums, they did work at it. The lead solos on such songs as "The First Time" (Shane) and "River Run Down" (Reynolds – are not simply sung, they’re emotionally interpreted, carefully and subtly phrased. This was art, not craft, and Nick Reynolds knows the distinction well. "I knew when Bobby felt what he was singing, and it could make all the difference in the world. He came real close to it on ‘She Was Too Good To Me’ (from Something Special). He almost felt it; just a little bit more and it could’ve been another ‘Scotch and Soda.’" Reynolds' solo on "Hobo’s Lullaby" (from Time To Think) is a perfect example of heart and material coming together; the quintessential Trio recording.

It is not surprising that two of the Trio’s biggest singles surfaced from New Frontier and #16, "Greenback Dollar" and "Reverend Mr. Black," respectively. A minor hit, "Desert Pete," was culled from Sunny Side, but the Trio never again realized Top 40 success on the magnitude of a "Greenback Dollar." Paucity of material may be one reason for this; Stewart says the well was running dry, and certainly some of the weaker material on Sunny Side is evidence of it. But perhaps the greater reason for it was the growing social awareness of the country, and the ability of other folk groups and performers to articulate it.

Using the musical stage that the Kingston Trio had built, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Peter, Paul & Mary, and scores of other "Protest" singers were becoming politically relevant, siphoning off the Trio’s record-buying audience in the process. And although the group had recorded such protest anthems as "Where Have All The Flowers Gone" and "Blowing In The Wind" (as well as Stewart’s own "Road To Freedom"), the Trio in the summer of 1963 was in no way aligned to the protest movement. They always reflected the happier, more optimistic side of America; New Frontier, in fact, was a celebration of JFK’s challenge for national greatness both in space and around the world, with the Trio dedicating the album to the Peace Corps volunteers. For the Trio to have jumped on the protest bandwagon would have been a betrayal to the group’s instincts, although Stewart privately longed for it. By the fall of 1963, however, the group had philosophically reconciled itself to the need to put more social relevance into their music. It was to be done, however, on their own terms, through a series of introspective songs that best expressed their individual and group sensitivities. The album was to be titled Time To Think.

"We were rehearsing the songs for that album over at my house when we heard that Kennedy had been shot," recalls Nick Reynolds. "We were devastated, man; the three of us staring at each other, tears pouring down; shocked, numb, angry, crying. It just shook us to the core." The effect of Kennedy’s death on the recording of Time To Think was positively profound; you can hear the ache on every single track, especially on Stewart’s "Song For A Friend," written on the day of the assassination and recorded two days later. John had felt especially close to the Kennedy ideal and spirit, and had, in fact, met with JFK the year before to present him a copy of New Frontier. "How’s ‘Greenback Dollar’ doing John?" the President had asked smilingly. "How would you ever have heard that, Mr. President?" was all that Stewart could reply. "Oh, I heard it on the way to work," Kennedy quipped back.

As a document of their art, proof of what tremendous emotional and musical forces could be marshaled by the Trio when, it was motivated, Time To Think is unquestionably their finest effort. From Bobby Shane’s magnificent interpretation of Billy Behen’s "Patriot Game," to Stewart’s snarling "If You Don’t Look

Around," this album did indeed give its audience plenty to think about. As much could be learned of the human condition in one listening of Nick Reynolds singing "Hobo’s Lullaby" as from a whole night of Dylan and Phil Ochs. Never intended as a protest album ("It is not our intention with this album to try to become a voice for this generation..." read the liner notes), it remains perhaps one of the best examples of the genre to come out of the entire 60’s. It is that powerful.

Time To Think proved to be the last studio album recorded for Capitol, with a final "live" album taped in March, 1964 at the Hungry I in San Francisco. In their seven years on the label, the Trio had done much in establishing Capitol as a major company, and to this day several of the Trio’s gold records still hang in the Capitol Tower Lobby, out of what one would hope is appreciation. Voyle Gilmore once said that Capitol did everything possible to keep the Trio after their contract had expired, but that Werber "wanted an arm and a leg" if the group was to re-sign. Nick Reynolds laughs at this suggestion, saying that Capitol offered no more than a 1% increase as an incentive. "You see, they had this group called the Beatles that was selling millions of records a week, so it was kinda like, ‘Oh, gee, sorry you’re not re-signing, bye-bye.’"

Decca records, however, was more than happy to sign the Trio to a multi-million-dollar recording and independent production contract, anxious for the prestige the group would lend to the label’s somewhat stuffy, old-fashioned image. Concurrent with the Decca deal, the Trio built its own studio in the basement of Columbus Tower, their office building in San Francisco. While considered state-of-the-art by 1965 standards, it just wasn’t good old Studio B in Hollywood. "We didn’t have Capitol’s chambers or [engineer] Peter Abbot anymore, and we could never duplicate the power of those Capitol sessions again," says Stewart, commenting on the flat quality of the four Decca albums recorded at Columbus Towers over the next two years. Unfortunately, it was more than a change in studios that affected their sound; it was a change in attitude. While such albums as Nick, Bob, John and Stay Awhile are filled with excellent songs and polished arrangements, Stewart says that the "X" factor was missing. "When we were working hard in the studio, we were not overly concerned with the technical angle; we were concerned with the energy – the right attitude. It was the group’s attitude that made it better, and you can’t buy it, you can’t EQ it in. You’ve either got it or you don’t. After Time To Think, there wasn’t the same enthusiasm. That was the beginning of the end."

Recording-wise, Stewart’s point is well taken. But it is important to keep in mind that recording, while enormously lucrative for the Trio, was always considered a secondary activity for the group, both artistically and financially. When asked to evaluate the Trio’s recorded work, Bob Shane says, "I’m proud of every damned thing we did that sold. I’m a professional entertainer, and once I’ve recorded something and stopped singing it, I don’t think about it. Even in our peak years of selling records, we made more money and had more fun on the personal appearances. People don’t realize that."

It was that "soaring together," as Nick Reynolds put it, that truly powered the Kingston Trio, and that energy was never lost in their personal appearances. Once Upon A Time, a two-album live set recorded at the Sahara Tahoe in June 1965, reflects a Trio that is very much attuned to itself, its audience, and the whole joy of performing together. "That’s probably the best album they ever did," says Frank Werber, "because it captures the essence of the Trio, that energy they had together. I will always remember them best on stage, performing; you could pick up on the energy immediately in person. It didn’t translate as well over the airwaves."

Stewart, too, concedes that despite a waning interest in the studio, the excitement of performing in concert remained consistently high. "I couldn’t wait to get to the next town," he says, "you would be the major event and everyone was going crazy to see you that night, before you even had to play a note. It was an unbelievable upper. I think of all the concerts and performances, and the biggest thrill was playing at the White House for Lyndon Johnson. Here it was, the height of the Vietnam War, and we’re playing on the White House lawn with Johnson sitting there, and we did ‘Where Have All The Flowers Gone.’ To be able to do that was one of the greatest, most meaningful experiences of my life."

That the Trio, and not the concert marketplace, would determine the end of the group’s career was perfectly in keeping with its history and personality. Since 1957, the band had worked constantly, on the average spending 300 days on the road – and cranking out three albums – a year. "It was never intended to go on forever," says Nick Reynolds. "We never wanted to be the Mills Brothers of folk music. We quit when it was time to quit."

The Shane/Reynolds/Stewart Trio’s farewell performance, on June 17, 1967, was held where it all began, at the Hungry I in San Francisco. After a short period of designing and building racing cars, Nick Reynolds moved to a ranch in Oregon where he lives today – happy, proud of his years in the Trio, still a star. John Stewart went on to pursue a career as both a songwriter and recording artist, writing "Daydream Believer" for the Monkees as well as recording more than 15 solo albums. In 1979, Stewart scored a Number One hit, "Gold," and he continues to tour extensively; he is today one of America’s most prodigious songwriters. And Dave Guard is an editor in New York state, still writing and playing music, and the author of a guitar instruction book.

Had it not been for Bobby Shane, the Kingston Trio would simply have receded into musical history. When the decision was made to disband the Trio in 1967, Shane was the only member opposed to it. "I was kind of angry that the group broke up," he says, "because I felt we were finally in a position to make some improvements. It takes years to really feel confident, to get to the point where everything works together to make it better. It’s a combination of respect, trust, friendship – it’s a constant thing, and if it starts to fray, it shows up in the music."

What Shane is describing, of course, is the "X" factor, and he is quick to assert that the Trio today – himself, Roger Gambill, and George Grove – feels it stronger and deeper than any of the past groups. And well they should. Shane, Gambill, and Grove have worked long and hard to overcome obstacles that were never placed in the way of the previous Trio lineups. Nostalgia has been the greatest hurdle.

Because Bob Shane sang 70% of the lead vocals of the old Trio’s repertoire, and because the public still loves the old hits, fully half of the current Trio’s concert repertoire is material from the first two Trios. This, in turn, invites comparisons between today’s group and the Guard and Stewart Trios. Proponents of Gambill and Grove argue that George and Roger are superior vocalists and musicians, making today’s Trio a "better" group overall. It is an unnecessary argument, and one that is unfair to all concerned. From the outset, each Trio has presented its own unique sound and magic. There has been a continual evolution of the group concept, and it is within this context that today’s Trio should be judged and appreciated.

"The nostalgia we do isn’t my nostalgia," says Shane. "I went through a period when I hated doing the old songs; I was bored. But then, more and more people would tell us how much those songs meant to their lives, and that’s when I became proud of doing them. I overlooked the fact that I was bored."

Today the old hits are rendered faithfully – with Shane and Gambill on guitar, and Grove on banjo – but with the added kick of drums (played by Tom Green), electric bass (played by Stan Kaess) and electric viola and tenor guitar (played by Ben Schubert). In addition, the Trio has begun an intensive schedule of concert dates with leading symphonies and civic orchestras, featuring string arrangements by George Grove.

To date, the current Trio lineup has released three albums: Aspen Gold, a digitally recorded and mastered "superdisc" (Nautilus, NR2) ("We wanted to be the first folk group to do it," says Grove); 25 Years Non-Stop (Xeres S, CH 1-10001-2); and Looking For The Sunshine (Xeres S, CH-1-10006). [Ed. Note. An organization called Kingston Korner (6 S. 230 Cohasset Rd., Naperville, IL 60540) serves as a national clearing house for Kingston Trio and John Stewart recordings, and also publishes a Kingston Trio Newsletter.] The first two albums, while musically pleasing and professionally executed, are essentially re-recordings of old Trio hits. It is with Looking For The Sunshine that today’s Trio finally steps out, unencumbered by the nostalgia noose, to show its stuff. And there is plenty to show.

"We went into the studio without any preconceived notions, other than to do a good album that we enjoyed," says Grove. "Looking For The Sunshine," the title cut, could well be the entree back into the Top 40 Charts, with Gambill delivering a terrific, bluesy C & W solo, counterpointed by some fine John Sebastian autoharp licks. Gambill is one of the few vocalists today that can comfortably and competently shift from country to folk to gospel to cabaret (as he does on "I Like To Hear The Rain") with total authority. Given Grove’s string arrangements as a vehicle, the man soars. Gambill is an old hand at versatility, having sung everything from operetta in college, to country at Opryland, to folk in some of the best clubs in the country before teaming with Shane in 1974.

George Grove is, likewise, showcased on Looking For The Sunshine, both as an arranger and as a vocalist ("Easy To Arrange"). Grove, who is a classically-trained musician (Wake Forest College) as well as a seasoned Nashville session player, is the Trio’s consummate musician. He is as adept at tasty single-string guitar lines as he is at blazing 5-string banjo solos. If there is a shortcoming to Looking For The Sunshine, it’s that Grove is not featured enough, considering the depth of his talent. "Longest Beer Of The Night," from the Trio’s Aspen Gold album, however, documents Grove’s power as a blues singer/guitarist.

Throughout it all, Bob Shane’s whisky baritone weaves that familiar Kingston Trio vocal sound. Shane’s voice is deeper, more emotive now, a function of both time and experience; though it’s tough to imagine an improvement of a voice that Frank Sinatra once acknowledged as being so distinctive that even he wouldn’t try to cover "Scotch And Soda." What’s more, in much the same way that Reynolds and Shane allowed Stewart to fully contribute to Close Up, and therefore allowed the Kingston Trio to evolve musically, Shane steps back on this album, sharing the lead vocals equally with Gambill and Grove.

With such albums as Looking For The Sunshine and widespread appreciation of their new repertoire, the Kingston Trio could easily become a major recording group again. Certainly, all the "right stuff" is in place. In fact, there are many Trio fans who feel that were it not for poor promotion, "Johnson, Party Of Four," an infectious country tune recorded by the Trio several years ago, would’ve pushed the group back on the charts.

"I think we’re a much better musical act, and better musically in some ways," says Shane. "I think it’s been a proper evolution. There is a demand for our type of acoustic music, and not just from those people who remember the Kingston Trio. With more story songs, I think we could attract listeners even among very young children. The music is timeless."

And so, 27 years after packing the Hungry I in San Francisco, the magic of the Kingston Trio is still potent. The music has evolved, the personnel have changed, but some things remain the same:

Barreling down Bethany Road on the outskirts of Alpharetta, Georgia, the writer tries desperately to keep up with Bob Shane’s souped-up VW bug, the one with the "Bert’s Guitar Shop" sticker on the back. Pulling up in front of Shane’s office, something very familiar-sounding is pouring from the VW’s rear speakers. An old Trio shouter? No, but something very close to it. "How do you like that," Shane says as he turns the volume up. It’s Shane’s old Hawaiian mentor, Gabby Pahinui, who inspired Shane and Dave Guard back, in the early ’50s. And the writer understands immediately.