Forever Young # 31: "Closure"

Song:  Wrecking Ball
Album:  Freedom
Released:  October, 1989

Changes were afoot within my circles in the late 80s.  Many of us were getting married, buying homes, establishing careers and soon enough having children.  Going off to school earlier in the decade was a considerable primer for dealing with change in our lives. These new experiences intensified and cemented the deal. 

The late 80s were interesting times in terms of connecting with our youth.  Some of my peers dropped out.  Others moved on.  But for most of us, these were not options.  Severing ties with the friendships and experiences of our younger selves would have been akin to razing our childhood homes.  Still it could be difficult on occasion to reconnect with the past.  I vividly recall going back to my hometown of Franklin one evening around this period and walking into the Uptown Pub.  This watering hole was never a favorite haunt, but on that night it felt worse; strange even.  I felt out of place and out of sorts.  It was a feeling of trying to keep something going which was no longer there.  Around then I realized that with change, you have to leave a part of you behind.  There’s no avoiding it. 

And yet…..

And yet, there is always that quest lingering within.  That search for recapturing or revisiting something that was.  Or maybe it’s the notion of closure.   When you’re older and presumably wiser, you look at the world from a broader context:  “If I only knew then what I know now”.  And so, when nostalgia kicks in, which inevitably happens from time to time, there is an urge to go back.  Back to those simpler days when the highs seemed easier to achieve, being as there were not so many layers to filter through to get there.

I had planned on tackling Wrecking Ball ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y5HQjUzDcrk ) near the beginning of this Forever Young blog series.  It is such a magnificent song, and I’ve loved it ever since first listening to ‘Freedom’ upon release.  But back in January, I wasn’t quite ready to revisit Wrecking Ball.  Those original emotions had not stirred back up.  And so, I sat on it and gave it another go this past week.  This time, I was rewarded. 

There was a wrecking ball in downtown Franklin many years ago.  It must have been 1975 or so.  I watched it tear down a large section of a 3-level brick building across from Franklin News on Main Street.  Prior it was an old, mostly vacant complex for a number of years.  I do recall a dance studio on the top level that was easily accessible via a large fire escape.  For kids who loved to explore, like my friends and I, there was access to the inside from several alleyway doors and crawl spaces.  Machinery and tools were sprawled about on the 1^st level; a legacy of a bygone era of blue-collar work in the heart of town.   This was one of many places we investigated.  Dean Junior College, just up the road, was another.  There were all sorts of tucked away spaces there; nooks and crannies that only ourselves - and possibly a custodian or two - would know of.  There were also a variety of barns, industrial buildings and other structures we would check out.  The rooftops were not out of bounds either. We never stole anything.  Curiosity was the driving force; a desire to take the path less trodden.

Watching the old building come down that summer had an effect on me.   I realized at the time that new (a bank) would be replacing old.  Was this good, or not so good?  I struggled a bit with the thought.  I recall a sensation that a part of me was being torn down with it and that I’d never be able to go back to that place, aside from memory.  It wasn’t necessarily the structure either.  It was more the whole ball of wax, including the adventure and comradery….. that Stand By Me sort of feeling (the movie and the song).  Yes, that was what came crashing down in a heap of bricks and mortar in the summer of ’75.

Change can be tough, and that wrecking ball may have been the first inkling of it for me.  With each change in your life, though, the next one gets a little easier to swallow. And Franklin was a place where we saw a ton of it.  Development was rampant in Eastern Massachusetts in the 80s.  Franklin was in the crosshairs.  A final added chunk of rte. 495 in the late 70s gave equidistant access in all four directions: Cape Cod to the South, Providence to the West, Worcester to the North, and Boston to the East.  The rural feel disappeared as a variety of our backwoods hangouts suddenly became a thing of the past. And with residential development came the chain stores, leaving Mom and Pop places like Franklin Furniture, Jimmy’s Penny Candy, Kearney’s, Puritan Drugs, Brunelli’s, and Newberry’s in the dust.  In the process, Franklin lost much of its charm, luster, and character.  A large number of my concrete memories had become abstract ones.  The town was becoming just another chunk of flotsam in an endless sea of suburban sprawl.

As those life-changing events of career and family played out for me into the 90s, I know I reflected on all of this.  And it was not simply the development of that small town I grew up in.  It was all the loss that went with it.  Sure I had gained so much by focusing on what I needed to in order to make life work into adulthood, and I knew this to be good.   But I also realized that I had lost something in the process; a bit of innocence and adventure and discovery and exploration and opportunity and youthful exuberance.  The road ahead would be influential and groundbreaking in its own right, but now it would include the occasional glance into the rearview mirror, hoping to see something that would entice me to make a U-turn. 

Several of the songs that grabbed my attention at that juncture in my life were about this sense of loss.  There was Iris Dement’s transcendent song, Our Town (see Gem Music Video of the Week # 4, January, 2008).  There was Rick Danko’s rarity What a Town.  There was Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers American Girl.  And of course there was Neil Young’s Wrecking Ball.  Where the other three songs are explicitly about a sense of loss from the perspective of youth and home, Wrecking Ball covers more ground.  Love and closure factor into the equation in all of these songs, but Young links past to present here, each verse describing some unique relationship, both long-lasting and fleeting.  In all these scenarios, the looming wrecking ball is the metaphor for closure to something that was, but can never be again.  There’s a link between them, but it’s left for the listener to interpret.

When I take a ride to Franklin these days, visiting family and friends still dwelling there, so much comes flooding back. Now, however, it’s more complex.  There are the old memories of my youth, yes.  But there are also recollections from that time of significant change in my life, when I was coming to the realization that……shit happens.  The wrecking ball is inevitable, and how you deal with it becomes the ultimate definition of one’s character.  But we need to save a space and time to connect with what was there beforehand, if only to get some closure.  It may seem counterintuitive, but this helps to define our character too.   Wrecking Ball appears to back this notion up.

-          Pete

Forever Young # 30: "A Rebel With a Cause"

Song:  t-bone
Album:  Re-ac-tor
Released:  November, 1981

Despite Rock and Roll’s reputation as a rebellious forum, there is one common denominator that all the songwriters I greatly respect have:  None are rebels without a cause.  They all earn their keep, and most espouse on this part of the equation in one way or another, including Neil Young, Paul McCartney, Pete Townshend, Mick Jagger, Roger Waters and Ray Davies.  When prompted by a listener of satellite radio's ‘Theme Time Radio Hour’ show several years ago to offer up his view on musicians who tour just for the money, Bob Dylan’s response was, in a nutshell, so what:  His point being that even if motivated just by the money, you still have to earn it, because nobody is going to want to see an act if they are not performing to task. 

These seminal songwriters were often surrounded by rebels without a cause though, including their fellow musicians and roadies.  Danny Whitten, Keith Moon, Richard Manuel, Brian Jones, and Bruce Berry all gained this notoriety over their careers (side note:  A commonality of Neil Young and Pete Townsend has been a unique ability to straddle these 2 worlds).  This slacker-like mentality eventually proved Moon et al’s undoing.  For a number of reasons, I don’t think it all that surprising that the songwriters mentioned here have survived, while a number of their very talented sidekicks are no longer here.

The largest contingent of slackers, however, were a good chunk of the 70s fan base of these songwriters.  On occasion, this made it hard for these musicians to look out at their audience.  I’m sure the ‘slacker’ thought crossed their mind.  It certainly did for Waters, who infamously spit on a fan in the front row of a concert.  The incident would play out in Pink Floyd’s ‘The Wall’, an album-title analogy that connotes the separation that inevitably happens between successful musicians and those who follow them. 

Neil Young’s own reaction to this separation comes out in the 1981 Crazy Horse album ‘Re-ac-tor’ (hence the title?).  It’s a very listenable album, but it has a drag-down, jaded feel about it.  Young was not touring at the turn of the decade.  This was partially due to a significant focus on his young son, Ben, diagnosed with a severe case of Cerebral palsy (see Forever Young # 26: “A Trans-formation”).  But I think there was more to it than that.  Hints of a jaded Neil are in his prior album ‘Hawks and Doves’, which, as the title would suggest, looks at the world through two different lenses.  Young was flirting with right-wing views, exemplified in his support for then-new President Ronald Reagan.  And yet although ‘Hawks and Doves’ is politically-charged, I’m of the belief that Young was trying to come to terms with the notion that Right and Left complement one another in a Yin/Yang duality sort of way. 

This carries over into ‘Re-ac-tor’, but here it looks as if his Right lobe was winning.  There are all sorts of veiled and overt hints, starting with the opening number opera star, a song about a rock-loving guy with a girlfriend who wants to go to the opera for a change.  But this guy wouldn’t be caught dead at an opera and tells her so.  At first, you would think this song is a rallying cry for the Rock and Roll lifestyle.  But the more I listen to it, the more I think it’s a put down.  “Some things never change; they stay the way they are” Young sings, with Crazy Horse “Ho, Ho, Ho”-ing in the background.  Years earlier, John Lennon would comment on the need to connect with the musical interests of your spouse, no matter how offensive this would seem to your younger self.  Neil Young, just then recently married to his life-long partner Peggy, seems to be listening to this view here.

Next up, surf-er joe and the sleaze, the ultimate slacker song (keeping with the song titles on the album, all words are lower case and hyphenated between syllables > why this is, I have no idea).  “Come on down for a pleasure cruise, plenty of woman, plenty of booze” he sings.  It appears both Surfer Joe and Moe the Sleaze have low standards in morality.  Neil may have known many characters like these when living in Florida (his ‘On the Beach’ years in the mid-70s), and perhaps for a while enjoyed their company.  Here, however, it seems he’s reevaluating.  There may also be some self-incrimination (in this song as well as in rap-id tran-sit).

The third song on ‘Re-ac-tor’, t-bone, is this weeks’ Forever Young entry, (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8pyvBpNwHuU )a 10-minute diatribe with but 2 repeating lines: “Got mashed potatoes” and “Ain’t got no T-bone”.  This goes on and on and on, to the point of hilariousness, complete with rhythmic clapping and Will Ferrell-like cowbell (in general though, the music in t-bone is solid Crazy Horse).  At first I recall thinking; well perhaps Neil Young decided to release a song before adding true lyrics, simply to show where his head was at the time, kind of like if Paul McCartney had released ‘Yesterday’ with its original title ‘Scrambled Eggs’ ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mo6CYJPDLUE ). 

Although this initial thought missed the mark, I don’t believe it does by much.  Peggy Young was a waitress when Neil met her at a restaurant, where the malcontent cook was known to blurt out “Ain’t got no T-bone!” any time a menu item would become unavailable (side note: Peggy Young is a vegetarian, which tosses another subplot into the mix, considering the lyrics).  I think Neil is making the same point to both his record producer and his fans here:  “I’m changing, and so don’t be expecting another ‘Rust Never Sleeps’ any time soon”.  What I find most interesting about this is that, unlike many artists, Young has always tried to work through his creative nadirs.  It’s all part of the process and t-bone bears this out.  The song is Neil Young’s answer to Revolution 9. 

Later in the album, there’s mo-tor cit-y, a lament on the decline of interest in American-made automobiles (“There’s already too many Datsun’s in this town”).  The song is patriotic, and reminiscent of Bob Dylan’s Union Sundown off of 1983’s ‘Infidels’ (another album with Right-leaning convictions, including Zionism).  Then there’s the aforementioned rap-id transit, which comes across to me as a druggies veiled regret.  Was Neil Young flipping a mirror on his audience?  Was he flipping it on himself?  Two years earlier, The Band released ‘The Last Waltz’.  Young’s performance in this monumental event was erratic, cocaine fueled, and somewhat disturbing.  It must have had him second guessing his priorities, which is one of many things to consider - in terms of Young’s morphing character - during the time of the release of ‘Re-ac-tor’ as well as over the ensuing decade. 

What were the members of Crazy Horse thinking during all of this?  It must have been quite the jolt to see these changing convictions in their band leader.  The entire band’s performances would be uneven throughout the 80s (at times incredible, and at other times not so much).  However, if you focus on just the music on ‘Re-ac-tor’, it’s all clearly consistent with other Crazy Horse albums.  This must have been what they focused their energies on.  The next Neil Young album ‘Trans’ started as a Crazy Horse album but the band was eventually replaced by….. a vocorder.  Perhaps there was a mutually agreed upon temporary parting of ways; a regrouping of sorts. 

A few times this week I thought, am I the only person in the entire world listening intently to t-bone at the moment?  I may have been.  The song was never destined to have much shelf life, and would likely not be a part of a Neil Young time-capsule if ever one was conceived. But ‘Re-ac-tor’ in particular and t-bone specifically capture a moment in the ever-evolving mindset of Neil Young, and in turn the ever-evolving mindset of America itself.

-          Pete

Forever Young # 29: "Into the Mystic"

Song:  Prairie Wind
Album:  Prairie Wind
Released:  March, 2005

Back in early 2006, Nancy and I went to Landmark Theatres in Kendall Square, Cambridge, with close friends Madeline and Jeff to watch the limited-release Neil Young concert film “Heart of Gold”.  The film documents the live-version premiere of ‘Prairie Wind’, along with interviews and an extended set of songs from Young’s back catalog.  Given the high-definition quality of the theatre’s technology and the close-up footage, it’s about as intimate as most of us would ever want to get with Young and entourage.  Use of binoculars to witness a musician’s interactions with bandmates and the crowd is one thing.  Pixilation that captures a person’s nose hairs is on another level entirely. 

Aside from the high resolution, the aspect of the movie that stuck with me the most were several of the brief interludes between songs (oddly enough considering the great music) when Neil Young discussed the then-recent decline and passing of his Dad, Scott Young, to Alzheimer’s.  There was a poignant moment when Young mentioned to the Nashville crowd that he and they were now taking on a new role as elders, making the educated guess that most of those in attendance were contemporaries.  Another great moment was when Young tried to lighten his personal heartache with a funny anecdote about his Dad, who had temporarily snapped out of memory loss months before his death while sitting in the passenger seat of his son’s car as they were driving down the highway.  The elder Young spotted a vehicle behind a billboard, and, as Neil Young described it, his Dad snapped to attention and blurted out “Cop!”.  Telling this story, Young’s smirk belied the heavy emotions in his eyes.

From what I have read, Scott Young appears to have been a fascinating character in his own right.  He was a Canadian journalist in a variety of genera’s including as a professional hockey sportswriter.   One of his biggest claims to fame was standing up to the NHL in 1948 by writing an article in the Toronto-based Maclean’s Magazine titled “Hogtied Hockey”, which exposed the virtual lifelong servitude a hockey player in those days had with the team who discovered him, regardless of the number of years the player had initially agreed to in a contract.  Scott Young was ostracized by the powers that be in Toronto, but never let this stop him from doing what he believed to be honest journalism.

“Heart of Gold” (the movie), as well as the album that spurred it, ‘Prairie Wind’, reveals Neil Young at a time when he was facing his own mortality.  Between his father’s passing, and reflections of 911 (which he sings about here on No Wonder, a song that has a Steve Earle Copperhead Road feel about it) and a bout with a brain aneurism, and the death of other close associations (including Buffalo Springfield bassist Bruce Palmer and the mother of his first child, Carrie Snodgress), there is much that can be linked to the fragility of Young’s psyche and music during this period (the song It’s a Dream is enough to come to this conclusion).  And it sounds as if he’s reaching in directions he rarely had before, including explorations of faith (When God Made Me). 

But it’s the music of the inexplicable and mysterious that captures the imagination on ‘Prairie Wind’, none more so than the title track ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V6jQhnF6LMw ), a song reminiscent of Bob Dylan’s Cold Irons Bound in its rhythmic intensity.  This chugging pace kicks in immediately, and soon the lyrics turn things up a notch:

“Trying to remember what my Daddy said

Before too much time took away his head

He said we’re going back and I’ll show you what I’m talking about

Back to Cypress River, back to the old farmhouse”

The small town of Cypress River in Southwest, Manitoba is in the heart of prairie country, and was where Scott Young was born and raised, later moving to Ontario after meeting and marrying Neil’s Mom, Rassy.  After Neil’s parents split when he was in his teen years, he moved back to southern Manitoba (Winnipeg) with his Mom.  To this day, he considers this region his home.  The prairies capture the imagination of Neil Young in a handful of songs on ‘Prairie Wind’.  Here I see yet another connection with Dylan, in relation to the latter’s song Highlands, which has the feel of prairie longing as well.  Dylan’s reference is a bit obscure, as would be expected from the man.  With Neil Young, however, there is no ambiguity. 

What is it about the prairies, those vast expanses of open space where the sky is big and the tall grass is endless?  Neil Young dances with this question in Prairie Wind.  There is reference to Plains Indians, and to the “northern lights” (the Aurora Borealis), and the wind.  When I first heard the song I thought the refrain was “prairie wind blowing through my hair”, but it’s “head” not “hair”, which exponentially magnifies the meaning.  All of this revolves around his Dad’s roots, a concept which is always close at hand.  But the question asked at the beginning of the song is never answered; Neil trying but failing to recall what his Dad told him years earlier:

“There's a place on the prairie where evil and goodness play
Daddy told me all about it but I don't remember what he said
It might be afternoon and it might be the dead of night
But you'll know when you see it 'cause it sure is a hell of a sight”

This is where the song glides into inscrutable shaman territory.  Most artists would lose me here, but there are a few talented musicians that can be so convincing in these kinds of convictions, they keep me glued.  Van Morrison is one, with his numerous mystical examinations of his Irish homeland (hence the title of this blog entry).  Neil Young is another, and his connection with mysticism is mostly driven by his adopted Native American interests.  Which for me begs the question:  Was this interest the case with his Dad as well?  The lyrics to Prairie Wind certainly support this hypothesis. 

Neil Young has always presented himself and his music from a North American perspective, including as a Canadian, an American, and a Native American.  Its one reason he has a substantial fan base this side of The Pond; a base that crosses races, creeds, and political affiliations.  Young has seized these connections, traversing the continent and identifying with its treasures - both cultural and natural - in ways very few others have.  Apparently the prairies have factored in heavily to this identification.  It makes sense:  There is no equivalent anywhere else in the world.  The closest similarities are Patagonia in Argentina and the steppes of Central Russia.  But the prairie is a uniquely North American phenomenon.

Neil Young must have been quite young when his Dad took him back to Cypress River to partake in the experience described in Prairie Wind.  I say this because an older and wiser Neil would likely have clung on to every word uttered by his Dad during such an event.   But thinking back to our earliest memories most of us can easily slip up when trying to recall important moments that others (his Dad in this case) considered vital at the time. The other extreme end of the spectrum can bring the onset of Alzheimer’s and dementia, the unfortunate ending to many people’s lives.  And so, forgetfulness at the beginning of life can come back full circle at the end.   

Is this the concept that is at the core of Prairie Wind?  It’s hard to say.  The song is wrapped up in so many mystiques.  Some questions you just have to leave hanging out there, tossing and turning, in the prairie wind.

-          Pete

Forever Young # 28: "At the Root of It All"

Song:  Wonderin’
Album:  Everybody’s Rockin’
Released:  August, 1983

Ever since its birth in the 50s, Rock and Roll has proven to be an extremely fluid genre, morphing with the times and as a consequence, built to last.  I’m not familiar enough with other musical genera’s to qualify this as unique, but I’m willing to make an educated guess that it is.  This shape changing ability is one of the most powerful aspects of the Rock and Roll brand, and anyone with an interest and an open mind can connect themselves through the generations.  The music unifies those of us who love it, no matter your age, but at the same time it allows each of our eras to stand out as a significant contribution to the whole. 

Nothing proves the morphing nature of Rock and Roll more than the changes that took place in the art form from the 50s to the 60s.  Compare a song like Jail House Rock to one like Gimme Shelter and that transformation can only be deemed profound.  Don McLean lamented these changes in his song American Pie, going so far as to suggest that there was a discernable loss of innocence in the process.  I’d agree with this assessment, but only because both R&R and Mclean were coming of age during this period.  The 60s demonstrated that the music could mature in mind-boggling ways.  The rebelliousness of the era simply conspired to emphasize this over a natural expanse of time (youth to adulthood).

The amazing take home message here, however, is that there really was no disconnect; no history of the new leaving the old in the dust.  On the contrary, connections are rampant from 50s to 60 icons.  Keith Richards was awestruck and greatly inspired by Chuck Berry (to the point of putting up with Berry’s renowned temperament by recording and performing with him in the completely uncharacteristic role of lackey).  Lou Reed took his queues from Dion.  Dylan was blown away by Elvis Presley.  Paul McCartney got his groove from Buddy Holly.  The list goes on and on.  For a kid taking the genre in for the first time in the 70s - one step removed so to speak - these connection can be difficult to discern.  To these ears, 50s Rock and Roll sounds rudimentary and a bit too polished.  Why such accolades from the 60s musicians I so admire toward their predecessors?

I thought long and hard about this over the past few weeks while listening to Neil Young’s throwback rockabilly album, ‘Everybody’s Rockin’.  It’s an abbreviated disc, clocking in and out in 30 minutes, with short drive-it-home songs, the way things were done in the 50s.  It showcases Young and his once off band, the Shocking Pinks channeling Buddy Holly and Jerry Lee Lewis in admirable fashion.  Neil Young had actually intended this as a concept album, and was in the process of adding several more songs when the chord was cut on the production by Young’s record company owner, David Geffen.  Geffen was outraged that Young was continuing along a path of not producing ‘classic rock albums’, exemplified in the previous release, ‘Trans’ (see Forever Young # 26 ‘A Trans-formation’).  ** Geffen by the way would never get his wish throughout the entire life of the 8-album contract.

I decided to zero in on Young’s intention of a concept album.  A concept about what?  Most of the songs that appear on ‘Everybody’s Rockin’ are love lost laments, including covers of Rainin’ in My Heart, Bright Lights, Big City and Mystery Train, along with originals Cry, Cry, Cry, and this weeks’ Forever Young entry Wonderin’  ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6a6A6oTFdcw ).  There’s also a finger-pointing call out to the radio station payola scams of the day (Payola Blues) and several light-hearted efforts, including the upbeat Kinda Fonda Wanda (lyrically reminiscent of the Who’s Mary-Anne With the Shaky Hands). All in all, there’s nothing particularly revealing here in terms of concept. 

So, I honed in on those 2 songs that did not make the album:  Get Gone and Don’t Take Your Love Away From Me.  Both tracks eventually appear on Young’s ‘Lucky 13’ compilation album, a collection of his best works from the off-kilter Geffen era.   Don’t Take Your Love Away From Me did not add much to the big picture, other than one line that stuck: “When I make a promise you can bet that it’s true”.  Get Gone however, pulled it all together for me.  Get Gone is a cautionary tale about a band that starts out authentic but eventually sells out to the ‘city slicker’, ultimately leading to a fiery plane crash “a little low on fuel “ while on a big tour. 

I thought more about American Pie and what 50s music meant to Neil Young’s generation.  I thought about youth and idealism and honesty and truth and innocence and young love.  I thought about roots.  And then it hit home.  ‘Everybody’s Rockin’ was meant to be a roots album, not just in the obvious musical style of the songs, but in all meaning of the term.  I’m sure of it.  And I do believe that Young’s explorations throughout the 80s were centered on this notion of rekindling with which you once were at the root of it all:  The days when everything was an experiment and nothing was old hat.  The days of feeling helpless.

Wonderin’ is one of Neil Young’s hidden gems.  The song was written well over a decade before ‘Everyboy’s Rockin’ release in 1983, and was modified somewhat to better fit the rockabilly style of the album.  Young’s vocals are appropriately plaintive here.  He sounds exactly like someone who has been wandering the streets all night, talking to himself, past the point of craziness, wondering if a loving relationship is still intact. The video is apropos; the juxtaposition of Neil Young’s disheveled, unshaven all-nighter appearance to the Shocking Pinks suave look and feel makes all the more clear the state of affairs.  I get a kick out of Young’s demeanor.  It’s so…..gonzo.

Neil Young once stated that he put his all into ‘Everybody’s Rockin’ and the subsequent tour.  I believe him.  I’ve watched several clips of shows during this period, and Young and company were definitely into it.  At the time there were not many examples of 60s and 70s rock stars tracing themselves back to earlier eras.  John Lennon released ‘Rock n’ Roll’ in 1975, which was a recognition of his influences, and Joe Jackson did the same with’ Jumpin’ Jive’ in 1981.  Since these forays, there have been many more efforts along these lines. 

The closest I come to identifying with 50s music is the early Beatles and Stones.  But both bands were already a step removed from Long Tall Sally when they began penning their own songs.   There was already something new in the air in 1963.  Other than the occasional tribute like ‘Everybody’s Rockin’, it’s really all about building on that early foundation.  For 60 years running, Rock and Roll has proven that it can keep adding bricks.  I may not fully identify with the earliest form of the music I love, but there is no mistaking the recognition of it as the simpler sound of such. 

But roots?  Well, we can all identify with that concept.  60s musicians were lucky.  They got to take a young art form and advance it through its formative years.  They did this in brilliant fashion.  But none of them ever forgot where they came from. 

-          Pete

Forever Young # 27: "It's Enough to Make a Grown Man Cry"

Song:  Ohio
Album:  Released as a single (with Crosby, Stills and Nash)
Released:  June, 1970

It’s taken half a year of weekly entries, and I have finally come around to that other piece of the Neil Young puzzle:  His association with David Crosby, Stephen Stills, and Graham Nash, or CSN for short.  I have to say that the more I learn about Young’s history, the less I understand this relationship.   But I don’t really mind.  In fact, I think it a good thing.  Like a close family with diverse personalities and opinions, some working relationships are simply inexplicable. 

Let’s run through the lineup.  First there’s David Crosby; he of drugs, arrests, guns and unrivaled womanizing fame.  Yet Crosby also has a reputation as a hard worker, a perfectionist.  And there’s no doubt there is talent there too.  Few musicians have more ties to American Rock history and aristocracy than does Crosby.  I recall him goofing around with Bob Dylan during a Byrds reunion (along with Roger McGuinn and Chris Hillman) at the Universal Amphitheater in Los Angeles as Nancy and I took it all in from the 2^nd row.  Dylan and Crosby were checking into each other like hockey players while strumming their guitars.  The only thing I can compare it to is witnessing Pete Townshend clowning around with harp-player Peter Hope Evans.  It was hilarious.  At the very least, you can say that Crosby helped draw in the Southern red neck crowd as somewhere in the early to mid-70s there was a transition in the Deep South from ‘Easy Rider’-type confrontations to long hair.  Crosby’s longtime interest in guns may have helped create an overlap of the two worlds, and lead to the emergence of bands like Molly Hatchet and Lynyrd Skynyrd (ironic for Young given the Southern Man/Alabama/Sweet Home Alabama salvos later in the decade).

Next, Stephen Stills.  Here I believe is the real attraction for Neil Young, who has forever been obsessed with his ex-Buffalo Springfield mate.  Everyone needs a competitive crutch, and for Young, that person appears to be Stills.  The man is a great guitarist, and vocalist, as well as a pretty darn good lyricist, yet the one thing he seems to lacks when compared to Neil Young is intense passion.  After Young penned Ohio, this week’s blog entry ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TRE9vMBBe10 )  , CSNY gained a reputation as a protest band.  And yet, Stills has always come across to me as the reluctant antagonist.  However, every band needs someone who comes across as somewhat more level headed than the rest: Think Bill Wyman, John Entwistle, Peter Quaife, Mickey Hart, and Peter Buck.  In CSNY, that person is Stephen Stills.  Part of Young’s fascination with Stills may simply be their long history together and the early chance encounters in Ontario and Los Angeles.  Perhaps Young has a fate-accompli sense about it all.

Finally, there’s The Brit, Graham Nash, the counterbalance to Stills. The passion is certainly there, but for me the verdict is still out in terms of how much pure talent he has.  Nash is a 60s holdout, a true believer in the hippie movement, and occasionally I get a whiff of what he brings to the table.  The lyrics to Teach Your Children are much deeper than apparent on the surface for example. And his loyalty to his bandmates is second to none, even after his recently released tell-all autobiography, “Wild Tales: A Rock & Roll Life”.  He probably has the least affiliation with Neil Young in the band, but they did pen 1972’s War Song together (which may be one reason why Young writes most of his music solo).  And just when you think he’s a bit soft around the edges, he will toss out a comment that reveals his acerbic English wit.

In general, Crosby, Stills and Nash have been of moderate interest to me over the years.  I’ve seen them several times, and do recognize their legacy.  There’s a bold daring there.  When CSNY toured an anti-Iraq-war stance in 2006, they were booed loudly at a number of locales, many fans surprised at the intensity displayed by the band during songs like Let’s Impeach the President.  Nope, Rage Against the Machine has nothing on CSNY.  Yet, I also cannot overlook a whiff of hypocrisy in the form of excess, particularly with Crosby and Stills.  It’s the same feeling I get with Led Zeppelin:  One too many moral chips cashed in; a bit too much ‘wasted on the way’.  I believe Neil Young has had this sense too, as hinted at in his ‘Rust Never Sleeps’ song, Thrasher.  I’m reminded of a reflection Pete Townshend writes about in his book “Who I Am”, his thoughts of witnessing Keith Moon and John Entwistle compromising themselves in various ways before the Who took the stage at Woodstock.  He went on to say it showed in their performance that night.  Anyhow, that’s what I’m talking about….something like that.

One other thought about CSN.   I’ve always felt the band name should have been different, not emphasizing the singer’s names, but more all-encompassing, to include original drummer Dallas Taylor and bassist Greg Reeves.  Perhaps with a more democratic name, they would have been more productive and prolific over the long term.  ‘Democracy’; yes, that would have been a good band name for CSN (and Y). 

Ok, enough background.   It’s time to discuss Ohio, which remains one of the top protest songs of all time.  This song has a sense of urgency, which indeed was the case, having been written and released almost immediately after the tragic events at Kent State on May 4, 1970.  This is the song that gave Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young their reputation, which as a band they would attempt futilely to match on numerous occasions in years hence.  But Ohio was perfect for the time it was penned, and much has to conspire to even have the opportunity of seizing the moment to write a classic protest song.  The aforementioned Woodstock Festival was only 9 months earlier, and there was a sense in the interim that a youth movement which emphasized peace in the face of war could actually win the day.  Disillusion was settling in, however:  At a time when there was hope that the Vietnam War was decelerating, President Nixon announced an incursion into neighboring Cambodia.  Kent State and other college-campus protests were a direct response to this.  The lingering effects of the Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King assassinations factored in as well.

And the establishment was starting to take this youth movement very seriously.  In some ways you could say they were successful in permanently squelching serious protest like that which took place at Kent State.  Although the reverberations were profound in the immediate aftermath, which included the biggest mass-campus strike in USA’s history, another Kent State never happened.   We would never again see the likes of students sticking flower stems into the gun barrels of the National Guard or the Guard in turn shooting those rifles at a crowd.  Life eventually returned to a sense of relative normalcy.  Flower Power was ebbing.  Kent State may have been its last hurrah.  I suppose brute force can do that.

But the music survived, and lived on in the burgeoning 70s youth generation that followed, including within myself.  Songs like Ohio did not fade away.  On the contrary, they thrived during this period.   We wanted more, and we were more than happy to support musicians like Neil Young in their efforts to keep creating good music.  Young and many other 60s songwriters obliged us.  I can’t think of many more carry-over examples than the one that played out through 70s youth, which allowed 60s rock icons to continue to deliver, be it in the studio or on the concert trail.  Many of them earned it with bold truth-seeking statements in the face of strong resistance.  We in turn recognized this merit, this worthiness, this badge of honor. 

There is much to love about Ohio, but the starkest part of the song for me is the ending, with David Crosby literally crying out lines of disgust: “Four!”, “How many?”, “How many more!”.  It’s raw and alive and as fresh hearing it now as it likely was when first recorded.  Crosby once stated that Young singing Nixon’s name in the song Ohio was one of the bravest things he ever heard.  It shows when you listen to his grieving appeals as the song fades.

I’d like to think the American spirit still has the potential for the type of galvanizing emotion displayed by Neil Young and his cohorts when put to the challenge.  Part of me hopes we will never find out.  Yet another part of me hopes we will, if only for the creative passion that can ensue.

-          Pete

Forever Young # 26: "A Trans-formation"

Song:  Transformer Man
Album:  Trans
Released:  December, 1982

 I have had the good fortune of connecting with tremendously influential people and events in my life, a fair number of whom (and which) I have written about in these entries; with more to come I am sure.  Obviously, the big focus in these passages has been musicians and their music, but it is always my hope that this is but a springboard to unveiling even deeper personal connections, which, after all, is likely a goal of all the musicians I write about as well.

 Still, there are a few occasions in the annals of rock ‘n roll history when the musician is the influential end game; when their story is uniquely renowned for its fearlessness and boldness.  Until recently, there were only two musicians that reached this plateau for me:  John Lennon and Bob Dylan.  Lennon when he overhauled his life by unequivocally focusing on his new relationship with Yoko Ono in 1968, ultimately causing the breakup of the most popular band of our times.  Dylan, when he went all Christian on his fans by releasing and touring a series of very spiritual albums in the late 70s and early 80s.

 For both John Lennon and Bob Dylan, the motivation was love and devotion.  Lennon fascinated me back when I was a young man when I began to connect with his in-your-face perseverance, personified in his joined-at-the-hip relationship with Yoko.  Dylan did the same for me some time later when I began to understand the depth of his resilience, personified in that lyrically sermonizing period of his life.  In each of these cases, it was the music that made these connections for me.  With John Lennon, it was his steadfast songs like Don’t Let Me Down (that performance of it on the Apple Roof remains moving whenever I watch it), Jealous Guy, and later (Just Like) Starting Over.  With Bob Dylan it was transcendent songs like Every Grain of Sand and I Believe in You.  You can hear the transformation of both these musicians in these songs.

 In recent years, Neil Young has made his way into this extremely exclusive club.  Where Lennon did it with his unbridled commitment to his spouse and Dylan did the same with his devotion to the Almighty, Young’s intense focus was of yet another nature:  His son, Ben, born in 1978 with a severe case of Cerebral palsy.  The realization of this turned Young’s life upside down.  Astoundingly, Ben was the 2^nd of Young’s three children to have this disorder, though his son Zeke’s (born in the early 70s) affliction was not as acute.  And his third child, Amber Jean, like her father, had to contend with epilepsy.

 As opposed to Lennon and Dylan, my connection to Neil Young’s transformative period would take quite a bit longer to establish.  After all, I was not a Dad myself until 1994.  But there were other hurdles to clear in regards to Neil Young’s intense display of devotion.  The music he produced in the early 80s in response to this new sober reality of dealing with his son’s debilitation was a bit “out there”.  1981’s ‘Re-ac-tor’ and 82’s ‘Trans’ were a far cry from anything Young had produced before.  This was electric, computerized, synthetic stuff, with much of the lyrics being expressed through a strange speech-modifier called a vocorder no less!  Where was the improvisation, the spontaneity?  What the F&^%^k was this all about?

 Although I had no clue at the time, what Neil Young was doing was extraordinary.  He was making a valiant effort to bond with his son despite Ben’s extremely limited communicative abilities -and he was welcoming the fan base into this typically private world.  We are talking here about a very personal struggle made public, a road that few of us are willing to tread.  The combination of the subject matter and the experimental new sound - inspired by a need to break down communicative barriers with his son - rises this period of Young’s career to the same level as those storylines mentioned earlier in relation to Messrs. Lennon and Dylan.

 It’s odd, but when you are a fan of a musician or band when they are at the height of their popularity, you tend to expect something from them.  You feel that you are owed a certain progression of brilliance that is based on familiarity.  Yet I believe a majority of the lasting fans of the best of bands are the ones who discover them after their glory days.  There are no expectations in these cases.  Everything has already been laid out on the line, or better yet, has been given time to be digested and put in its proper, non-impulsive place.  Neil Young’s experimental years in the 80s are a great example of this.

 At the start of this ‘Forever Young’ series, I would have never thought the song Transformer Man would have made my list of topic songs (which is now 28 and running when you include the two from the original Gem Music Video of the Week series).  But after listening to ‘Trans’ this past week and putting the album into its proper context, I feel the song is more than deserving. The Transformer Man of reference is Ben, and Neil Young is trying to explain to him how treasured he is. At the same time, he is trying to get Ben (then 4 years old) to maximize on his ability to physically respond to stimulus.  The intense therapy the family went through during this period comes through in a big way in all six of the vocorder songs on ‘Trans’.  Alluding to the core concept of the album, Young once commented “All of the electronic-voice people were working in a hospital, and the one thing they were trying to do is teach this little baby to push a button”.  But the best line on the album is more personal, repeated in the refrain of Transformer Man:  “Every morning when I look in your eyes, I feel electrified by you, oh yeah!”.  It’s convincing when you listen, particularly live, as seen in the attached url ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=om2Lt94Ltw4 ).  * That's Nils Lofgren going all trippy with Neil on stage.

 Watching that video, it can be difficult to equate the man on that stage with the one who only 3 years earlier performed the songs to ‘Rust Never Sleeps’.  Then again, it’s not so hard to fathom when you chew on it some.  Neil Young was in his mid-30s when he toured ‘Live Rust’.  Many of his contemporaries were showing a bit of wear and tear by this time, but Young looked like a man 10 years younger.  He was maintaining his youthful spirit, which equates to an open mind.  And no artist that I know of resists being driven by commercial success more than Young.  It all ties together.

 I wonder how much of ‘Trans’ eventually connected with Ben Young?  The album certainly has got an anticipatory/futuristic feel to it:  A computerized world where being physically disabled can still be full of normal sensation and communication.  The journey has likely been a long yet fruitful one for Ben; model trains making their way around model tracks along an elaborate setup throughout his home; the Bridge School and related Bridge School Benefit shows that have featured a who’s who in the music industry over the years; family tour buses customized to his needs; ownership of a chicken farm.  Anyone who is a Dad knows they would do anything for their kids.  A listen to Transformer Man is an early indication of what was in store for the 2^nd son of Neil Young.

-          Pete

Forever Young # 25: "Lightning in a Bottle"

Song:  Like a Hurricane

Album:  American Stars ‘n Bars
Released:  June, 1977

I’ve never been one for the standout lead guitar.  I do recognize the talent in many cases, and cannot deny that songs associated with a brilliant lead have made their way to my top-tier favorites, but when it comes to a single instrument consistently dominating a band’s sound, I rarely if ever dive deep into their catalog.  And so, Led Zeppelin, Van Halen, the Yardbirds,  Santana, even the Grateful Dead are all of interest to varying degrees, but none will catch my imagination in the way that bands do with a guitarist who is settled more into the mix.  I’m not really sure why this is, but I believe it has something to do with the concept of the whole being better than the sum of its parts.  My own life experiences have proven this:  The most creative of environments emerge out of teamwork.

The one exception to this, from that music interest, is Neil Young.  I’ve always been bowled over by his often-overwhelming guitar contribution to songs.  Again, I can’t quite figure it out, even after writing about the man for the past 6 months.  Some of it definitely has to do with Crazy Horse, the most generous of rhythm sections, who lay out the perfect palette upon which the guitarist can paint his portraits.  But I’ve seen Neil Young play with Booker T and the MGs, and with the Bluenotes, and with other assemblages, and in each of these cases, I could not get enough of that screaming guitar sound.  Why is this?

Like a Hurricane alone may be able to decipher my unique affinity with Neil Young’s lead guitar playing.  For starters, the song captures just about everything that Young is about, which may explain why he has played it live more than any other tune in his repertoire.  It connects with both the ideal of rock ‘n rolls reckless abandon and its poetic longing, single-handedly revealing why Neil Young audiences are so diverse.   The lead vocals on the studio version are pretty subdued for a hard edged song, but this helps to balance things out as well. 

But more than anything, it’s the guitar that makes Like a Hurricane so compelling.  Neil Young w/Crazy-Horse guitar-centered jams are extensions of the lyrics, taking the listener deeper into the songs.  The jams give us all breathing room, a chance to explore further into our newly stirred-up thoughts and images as the music engulfs you (the Grateful Dead did this for me too, but not to the degree of Neil and company).  I’ve come to expect this recipe playing out over the years, and as I blasted Like a Hurricane this week on my car stereo, I once again was not left disappointed.  In the past, my thought progression with Like a Hurricane was connected primarily to live albums and live events, with the song pretty much standing on its own in my thoughts.  This time around however, my thinking evolved within the context of the album that Like a Hurricane was originally released on.

‘American Stars ‘n Bars’ is aptly named.  It may be a concept album, though it’s never been described as such to my knowledge.  Yet the out-and-about town feel is pervasive throughout.  Problems and solutions all seem to be posed from the seat of a barstool or on the hood of a parked car under the night sky.  The cover is a classic; probably Neil Young’s best, depicting the man himself passed out on the floor of a tavern.  It’s the perspective that makes the scene memorable though:  This being a glass floor, the view is from below looking up at Neil’s flattened face.  Regardless, the cover is another clue that there is a storyline here centered on a long-weekend bender.

The first cut, The Old Country Waltz, describes a down-and-outer in a bar who has just lost his lover – and now is most likely on the cusp of that bender - as the small-stage band plays a waltz in recognition of the loss.  This is followed by Saddle Up the Palomino, which comes with a devil-may-care attitude about the consequences of said bender.    Later we have a drowning of sorrows in Hold Back the Tears, and a bar hall queen with a short term solution in Bite the Bullet.  Side two begins with Star of Bethlehem, which may have been an inspiration of Bruce Springsteen’s Glory Days (another barstool lament).  The majestic Will to Love describes the not-easily attainable solution to the problem. 

 And then comes Like a Hurricane (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-yxiu1o63CA).

Every so often you come across an album that contains a centerpiece, which is the case here.  Like a Hurricane pulls everything on ‘Stars ‘n Bars’ together.  It makes the album coherent, which I do not believe it would be otherwise.  If the concept here is indeed a love-lost-fueled weekend bender, the aftereffect of what transpires in Like a Hurricane - that being renewed passion - makes it all worthwhile.  The most obvious cause is the focus of the singer’s desires, the woman he meets at the bar – the eye of the hurricane so to speak.  But there are other positive spinoffs as well.  One stanza in the song is particularly poignant.  It’s the concept of the singer escaping to “somewhere safer where the feeling stays”.  I believe this is a songwriter’s declaration…. to hold on to these emotions inside so you can find a way to express them before losing the intensity of it all.  It’s actually the goal of any artist.

And oh boy does Neil Young express these emotions, which is almost entirely through the guitar.  The story goes that he did rush to a friend’s home later on the evening after the encounter with that hurricane of a woman and immediately began pounding away on a piano for hours on end.  His focus was soon transferred to the guitar.  Not everyone is geared to interpret music in the way Neil Young produces it, but this song is an opportunity for these types to gain insight to just what it is that those of find fascinating with this musician.  It’s about as clairvoyant as he gets, even with the emotions being primarily spoken through the guitar.

As with any great song, there are mysteries to Like a Hurricane.  The big one for me are the diametrically opposed lyrics “I am just a dreamer, but you are just a dream” early in the song, and then later “You are just a dreamer and I am just a dream”.  I believe this has something to do with Young seizing the moment:  In relation to the first line, he is overwhelmed by the situation, yet by the second line, he’s come to grips through expression in song.  It’s Dylanesque, something many rock and folk musicians aspire to, yet few achieve.

For a kid in his early 20s, which I was when I first witnessed the performance of Like a Hurricane, the experience was primarily a visceral one.  I’m already convinced that this was the ideal experience.  But a visceral reality is very difficult to convey in words.  Yet I’ve come to the realization that it’s worth trying.  Neil Young makes it easier with songs like this one.  He captured a visceral experience and ran with it.  Like a Hurricane is lightning in a bottle.

-          Pete