The title of this collection is a serious misnomer – for this to be the “very best” of the band is simply ridiculous, since it then ignores something like 15 albums in the same basic genre ball park – so who is to say which is the best of the best here? Is it the record company (in this case A&M) simply because Gram Parsons is so heavily attached to the first two Burrito albums? Whatever the case, this 25-track compilation contains the following – the first two albums, and three additional tracks from the same time frame. The first eleven tracks of the disc are devoted to the first album in full, which is one of the more curious releases in not just country rock, but all of pop music in general. This was a last gasp “cosmic hippie” sort of record, with Parsons, Chris Hillman (ex-Byrds), “Sneaky” Pete Kleinow, and Chris Etheridge intent on melding country, rock, soul music, and radical political beliefs into one weird, intoxicating stew. That the album commercially failed is not that surprising, in retrospect. You can gather it from the material itself. It reflects the growing cynicism and ugliness of what the country was going through at large. There is a thread of deep sadness and weariness running through all of the songs on Gilded Palace of Sin. Right from the jump “Christine’s Tune” is a jaded swipe at an ex-lover whose been supposedly gallivanting around town behind his back. The question here is two-fold – should he really be that bitter over the loss, and why does the backing music have to be so gorgeous? Sin plods along through its’ highs and lows – well, mainly lows, because this is a downer record – through its’ 31st floors, dodging draft boards, wheels, and dark end of the streets, until it reaches a soaring crescendo on “Hot Burrito #2”. Here is where Parsons is at his best AND worst, practically in tears over another ex-lover, singing “Jesus CHRIST” at the top of his lungs in that tortured, entitled, this old mixed-up Southern rich boy will never grow up tone of voice. And finally, mercifully, they end the thing with slow-shuffling, spoken-word “Hippie Boy”, as if they knew how it was all going to end up in the first place, and so much for all of that. This, of course, sets us up for the second album and second half of the disc, the Burrito Deluxe half. In short order, Gilded Palace of Sin flopped, then the rest of 1969 happened, which included such niceties as the Manson cult murders and Altamont, which the Burrito Brothers played at. While this was going on, Parsons lost interest in the band and started hanging out with Keith Richards and the Rolling Stones. Of course, his supposed main gig became the afterthought - which makes the tracks on Deluxe an afterthought, at least compared to the ones on the debut album. There are a lot of covers and only a few Parsons/Hillman originals, along with a couple of co-writes and another original from then-new band member Bernie Leadon (“God’s Own Singer”). Some of the songs just run on blind emotion alone, while others, like “Lazy Days”, however nice they might sound, reflect the newfound lack of interest in just about everything except being a wastrel. The obvious standout here is “Older Guys”, a twangy pop-rock ditty which was covered by alt-rockers Teenage Fanclub. Because of the ‘Stones association we also get a version of “Wild Horses” which is a nice contrast to hear, since this is really the one place on Deluxe where you get to hear the sadness and pathos that was all over the debut record. This is ultimately a case of, the more you give me to judge, the more I have to judge. The inclusion of Burrito Deluxe makes it less enjoyable, even though from a contrast standpoint there is an interest factor. Still, a recommendable pickup, if this is all of the Burrito Brothers you feel like sampling ever again.