As a man of briskly advancing years, it’s refreshing to see an actual senior still able to make remarkable music. I’ve spent most of this weekend listening to a Neil Young album, not something I had planned on.
Recently the lucky recipient of a tip off from an insider at Gloucester library, I netted something of a haul in their recent CD sale (apparently no one buys CDs anymore, I was recently informed by a patient young dude behind the counter at Rough Trade) and came away with amongst other things a clutch of Neil Young albums.
I’m not what you’d call a bona-fide Neil fan, although obviously… Buffalo Springfield… Cortez the Killer and Southern Man… Needle and the Damage Done… some CSNY moments…
It’s more a “Neil Young” thing.
I’m not sure he’s the easiest of characters to get on with, and he does sort of embody all that powdery excess of the seventies. And then there’s that ferocious back catalogue (Wikipedia lists 45 releases) – who’s got time for that sort of thing? It’s generally been a boat I’m comfortable to have missed.
There’s a couple of records I’m still to decide on from the haul; a couple I’ve quickly dispensed with (does anyone really need to hear an old rocker covering doo-wop songs? The originals are so much better…) but this one has really stuck:
Psychedelic Pill
The old rocker thing has been a substantial barrier too and it’s fair to say Young doesn’t bother trying to dissuade anyone about it. He ambles around on stage looking like a good old boy in his checked shirts and frayed jeans, sporting ill-advisedly unkempt (but thinning) long hair. Who cares, eh?
At times on 2012’s Psychedelic Pill, he sounds as reactionary as any ordinary 67-year old might sound – “Don’t want no MP3s!” (I doubt he’d have allowed himself to be patronised by over-confident, West-Country record store staff) and there are a couple of other pretty ordinary attempts to convince he’s not an old dog after all.
There are, however, some truly monumental tracks dominating the record, all of them blearily soaked in fuzz and unforgiving reverb with absolutely no fucks given about how long the tracks take to unwind – “She’s Always Dancing” is a spritely 8:33; “Walk Like a Giant” (complete with daft whistling) at 16:27 comes in a disappointing third place, the gold medal going to “Driftin’ Back” with a monstrous (but always compelling) 27:36 minutes.
The absolute crown of the whole double album is “Ramada Inn” – I will never use the phrase “bitter-sweet” again without thinking of this song.
Watch the official video:
[Yes, there’s an official video… for a song that last more than 16 minutes…]
It’s a truly monumental song that tells itself gradually in measured fashion, about a relationship getting old – a subject that I suspect very few people would attempt, let alone manage to imbue it with such depth and understanding.
The growling, rusty tone of Young’s guitar suits the song so well, and the edgy wail of his voice is faultless.
There are many, many songs that perfectly capture the hormone-injected rage and enthusiasm of being a young man (you can fill countless mix tapes with them – I’ve done it and continue to do so), but very few that talk with such eloquence about the universal mysteries of going south.
What a song.
There’s a couple of live versions but my favourite is this one with Young, rocking a somehow inevitable double-flannel look. I don’t know when it was from but was uploaded a good couple of years after the release of PP, and it’s all acoustic, so orphaned of all the bitter edge and fuzz-tone of the original version. Somehow it’s even more poignant for its softer feel.
Comes to us all…
Partly Porpoise 