In early 1966, Stephen Stills and Richie Furay were driving down Sunset Strip when they spotted Neil Young and Bruce Palmer driving a hearse the other way -- Stills had briefly met Young a year earlier at a Canadian folk club, and he waved them over. Within weeks the four had a drummer, Dewey Martin, and a residency up and down the Strip. Buffalo Springfield lasted a little over two years and three albums, undone by a rotating lineup and Bruce Palmer's 1967 deportation, but three songwriters pulling in three directions -- Stills, Young, and Furay -- left "For What It's Worth" and a fork pointing straight ahead: Stills and Young into Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, Furay into Poco.
By 1967 Neil Young had built one of Buffalo Springfield's signature riffs by lifting someone else's, and said so without flinching. "Actually, I just took the riff from Satisfaction, changed it a little bit and added a minor fifth harmony on top, which changed the sound," he told Hit Parader. Asked decades later whether the resemblance was a private joke, he shrugged it off in Jimmy McDonough's biography Shakey: it never occurred to him until someone pointed it out -- and once it had, he leaned into it rather than away.
listen forSet the fuzzed guitar hook that opens "Satisfaction" against the one that opens "Mr. Soul" and the descent is unmistakable -- same shape, darkened by Young's added minor-fifth harmony. Stills described the band's own feel as "a little Keith Richards-Charlie Watts thing where he's a little on top of it and I'm a little behind," and that dragging, behind-the-beat pulse is exactly what makes the Buffalo Springfield version thunder instead of snap.
In August 1965, teenage Stephen Stills and his sister waited until their household was asleep, then drove through the night to see the Beatles play San Francisco's Cow Palace. "It was a life-changer," he said later. "Paul McCartney was on fire that night... he's one of my gods." Stills carried that pull toward the group's vocal blend into the three-way songwriting split he built with Furay and Young in Buffalo Springfield, the arrangement that led contemporaries to call the band America's answer to the Beatles.
listen forPlay "Nowhere Man" against "Sit Down, I Think I Love You" and listen for the same unhurried pace and layered three-part harmony. Stills later admitted their own early records lacked that calm: "they hadn't gotten the heaviness of a laid-back groove like the Stones or even some Beatles stuff, which never really rushed... we were all rushed," he said -- a gap the band closed by the time they cut this ringing, patient vocal arrangement.
Richie Furay traces his pull toward music to one television moment: watching teen idol Ricky Nelson perform on his family's sitcom, Ozzie & Harriet. "I remember distinctly, he was over a baby crib singing 'Be-Bop Baby.' At the last verse, they hit this high school gym auditorium," Furay recalled. "And it was like, 'Oh my gosh, I have to do this' -- that was the influence he had on me." That pull toward Nelson's easy, country-inflected pop shaped the rustic songs Furay brought to Buffalo Springfield.
listen for"A Child's Claim to Fame" carries the connection in its personnel, not just its style: the dobro line under Furay's vocal is played by James Burton, the guitarist who backed Nelson himself for years. Set it against "Be-Bop Baby" and the shared unhurried, front-porch lilt Furay chased is audible -- a warmer, twangier cousin to the harder California rock surrounding it on the same album.