Whenever Crosby or Stills got carried away with hopelessly idealistic, Summer of Love-hangover bloviating, Nash brought us back down to planet Earth with a quaint, quintessentially British flair (left over from his time in the Hollies). This is best exemplified by the introspective escapism of "Marrakesh Express" and "Our House," the most poignant, gut-swiveling portrayal of domesticity ever penned, in spite of its overplayedness. Even his preachier contributions like "Teach Your Children" are ambiguous and apolitical enough that they're possible to extricate from the Woodstock era. (Nash's first solo LP, 1971's Songs for Beginners, is also pretty terrific.) MORGAN TROPER