Showing posts with label 2012. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 2012. Show all posts

Monday, 9 March 2015

The Beach Boys "That's Why God Made The Radio" (2012)



You can now buy 'Add Some Music To Your Day - The Alan's Album Archives Guide To The Music Of The Beach Boys' in e-book form by clicking here



The Beach Boys "That's Why God Made The Movies" (2012)
Think About The Days/That's Why God Made The Radio/Isn't It Time?/Spring Vacation/The Private Life Of Bill And Sue/Shelter/Daybreak Over The Ocean/Beaches In Mind/Strange World/From There To Back Again/Pacific Coast Highway/Summer's Gone
"Summer's gone - it's finally sinking in..."
That exhilarating moment when you hear a song you've never come across before and instantly know that someone out there in the universe 'gets' you. The songs that take on a whole new meaning for a certain moment in your life when mere words cannot express everything you're going through. Passing nothing time with the one you love when background music is suddenly the centre of your universe. These are all the reasons why God (or at any rate Marconi) made the radio. This album, however, is not why God made the radio. Heck, it's not even why God (or at least Murray Wilson, Nik Venet and everyone already mentioned in these pages, not to mention a teenage Brian Wilson) made the Beach Boys. No one at the inception of the world's first wireless ever thought to themselves 'gee, what a great opportunity for a bunch of has-beens who hadn't made a record in twenty years to get back together again and prepare to be teenagers!' And yet that's what we've got.
Rather than doing what I usually do during the eight years we've been together now, dear reader, and rushing out a review of a new release straight away, I thought I'd wait a bit for this one. Try and see whether this album really was a one-off blip or a part of a longer-term comeback that might make more sense of this album. To find out whether all the hyperbole about how brilliant this album was could in fact be more about the wonder of the Beach Boys getting back together again at all (honestly, most of the sycophantic reviews I read seem to have been written before hearing a note, based purely on the fact that the band worked pretty well fifty years ago so why not now?) But mainly I left this review so that my anger could simmer down. You see 'That's Why God Made The Radio' is not the comeback I dreamed of. Yes Al Jardine is back in the band for the first time since quitting the group sometime around the millennium. Yes Brian Wilson is back in the band for the first time since 1989. Yes David Marks is here on an actual bona fide record for the first time since blooming 1964! Perhaps even more surprisng than any of this, yes this is The Beach Boys back on Capitol with their first new product on the label that basically only existed because of them since the sixties. And yet this still isn't The Beach Boys - it's a collection of Brian Wilson songs that somebody somewhere thought might sell better with The Beach Boys name on it. Brian's usual backing group The Wondermints play all the instruments, which is fine (without Carl in the band there's only Dave whose much of a musician left anyway) - but they also sing almost all the vocals. Mike Love, the lead singer who rightly or wrongly has been the proud promoter of The Beach Boys and all they stand for, working tirelessly through a series of concerts to become everyone's memory of what The Beach Boys were, gets two vocals across the entire album and a mere one co-write. Al gets just one vocal and no writing credits whatsoever. Bruce's song got thrown out of the album's running order at the last minute. And for the first time in a half-century Dave Marks' main contribution seems to have been appearing on the photos used in the packaging (which is a waste because he's a great guitarist when given the chance, as the accompanying live shows proved). No one was expecting a fully democratic turns-in-the-spotlight CD like the 1960s and Brian was always going to dominate this record by sheer dint of reputation, but did the whole thing have to be so dishonest and so ersatz?
Again and again I scoured the usual sources for reviews, waiting for someone to speak out and tell the truth: that this was a Brian Wilson album so poor it simply wouldn't have sold without a gimmick connected to it. While Brian's solo albums are far less consistent than his golden works with the band they usually have something good about them - whether it's the ambition of 'Brian Wilson', the masses of vocals on 'Imagination' or the that-0was-my-life concept of 'That Lucky Old Sun' (or at least that was my take on it - you can read our review of that album using the links at the bottom of this page, if my memory is working enough to remember to add them!) However recently the creative well has dried and Brian - still in need of money after so many years of spending it unwisely and having it spent for him - has been reduced to making Christmas albums, George Gershwin tributes and - God help us, whether he made the radio or not - an album of Disney cover songs. Word has it a duets album with celebrities not known for singing is due for release later this year; while none of these projects are entirely pointless this is a poor substitute for the brilliance 'Smile' and 'Sun' seemed to usher in a decade ago. Clearly the moneymaking reunion with The Beach Boys was merely a paycheque away for quite a while now. Officially of course the line is that Brian had been thinking for a long time about the first get-together since he quit the band twenty years earlier. That songs have been set aside because they felt more 'Beach Boysy' than his solo works and - so it's hinted - that they're better than anything he's done without the magic of the band (is this the right time to point out that his previous album with the band featured the wretched unexpected hit 'Kokomo' and where Brian's biggest contribution was a noisy song about his car?!) That's clearly rubbish - only 'Summer's Gone', by far the greatest song here, was kept in case of a reunion one day - and significantly it was intended from the moment it was written as the final track on the final Beach Boys album (a fact played down in the media at the time but now seems rather likely given what's happened since this album came out). Initially Brian wanted the whole of a reunion album to sound like this, with a downbeat nostalgic feel and 'Summer's Gone' the album title - but instead Capitol rejected it for something more 'commercial'. Rather says it all.
I also spent my time scouring the media for signs of divisions within the band. Surely someone in the media would point out that all was not well within the group - that the tensions that had kept not just bandmates but 'brothers, friends and cousins' apart for decades couldn't be erased with the arrival of a big fat advance? Instead we got the usual tired thing about how the band love each other then, now and always. All those court cases, on-stage arguments and explosive interviews were just them being misunderstood. To be fair Dave Marks always looked pleased to be here, reunited with the band he never should have left, while Al Jardine and Bruce Johnstone were their usual professional selves, trying to keep the peace and not think about what happened the last time these various factions were in the same room together. However events since the album's release paint a different story. Mike has come out since and said that he'd pleaded to go back to writing songs with his cousin the way they used to, that he'd take however long it took out of his touring Beach Boys schedule, involve everyone somewhere down the line and make this a true Beach Boys collaboration between everyone still alive (arguably the first since 'Sunflower' way back in 1970). At first Brian said yes and the next minute the album was a fait accompli, with Brian having worked with his usual sources like Joe Thomas (a regular collaborator since 1998) and Jim Peterik (a more recent find). In the end the other Beach Boys became guest singer on their own album, like the 'Stars and Stripes' album, only worse. For the moment though Mike bit his lip and backed his cousin, his doubts soothed by a token song on the album in 'Daybreak Over The Ocean', a song that - worryingly - had already been tried  once during sessions for the gloriously titled yet abandoned solo record 'Mike Love Not War' and found wanting. Brian then announced when the tour was nearing an end that he'd enjoyed the experience so much (or perhaps the pay cheque that came with it) that he'd like to 'do it again' using the same winning formula; at this point Mike blew his top and announced that he'd already intended to honour a series of dates his 'old' Beach Boys with Bruce had already booked as a 'backup plan' if the reunion didn't work out. The public, used to rooting for Brian and treating Mike as a pantomime dame, all booed and there were lurid headlines about Mike 'sacking' his cousin (as well as Al and Dave and the Wondermints) and leeching off the hard work Brian had put into this record. However I have to say my sympathies are rather the other way around: this was a reunion project that was flawed from the first, with no one quite sure how long it was going to last or what exactly the record was meant to achieve. Was it the start of a whole new legacy? A chance to properly finish the Beach Boys discography which had been in disarray since at least 1979? Was it - as initially planned in an idea sadly abandoned in the rush to get this album out in the shops - a tribute to Carl and Dennis, using 'Free As A Bird Beatles' style overdubs on some unfinished recordings? Or was it simply a chance to get rich quick?
I can't tell you how upset I was at this album's release - not how angry I was at the reviewers falling over themselves to call it 'the best Beach Boys album since Pet Sounds', thus ignoring a cruelly overlooked and endlessly fascinating career across the rest of the sixties and seventies. In truth, this album isn't even good enough to be better than 'Summer In Paradise', the rather sorry Mike Love led-record from 1992, which at least had the good grace to throw the rest of the band a bone or three and pay tribute to Dennis as well as some naive yet nice attempts to remind us to 'save the planet'. There's not one song here The Beach Boys hadn't already done better somewhere else in their oeuvre: the poppy songs are embarrassingly empty  for men in their sixties which even Mike sounds uncomfortable singing; the attempts to get modern are far more laughable than much derided attempts at the same in the disco and 80s synths years; the characters in the story-songs are woefully one dimensional and loathsome; while even that glorious streak of Beach Boys melancholy - the closest thing to a saving grace on this album - sounds limp and artificial set against the rage of 'Til' I Die' or the poetry of 'Surf's Up' or the glow of 'Warmth Of The Sun' et al. Not once on all the repeated hearings I gave this album did I think 'gee, that's something I hadn't heard The Beach Boys do before' or 'gosh, this is really gripping'. Instead this album wants to beat you over the head with how clever it is time and time again, how the modern Beach Boys are as perfect as you'd always remembered them, honest - even though most of the vocals are so audibly auto-tuned to within an inch of their lives (we expect that from hapless boy bands, not music pioneers!) and The Wondermints do almost all the singing anyway. What's worse, by trying so hard to sound like The Beach Boys over and over - a sea reference here, a sense of nostalgia there - the band have forgotten all about what used to make them so special; their sheer eclecticism which meant you never knew what was coming next; instead most fans on hearing the band were getting back together again could have imagined a more interesting album than this one.
Now before I get carried away, there are two clever developments on this record that save it from being the worst mistake in the history of popular music (just about, anyway). The first of these is that the band treated this record as if it was made in the old days of vinyl, complete with a side one and side two. The happy-go-lucky commercial ditties where the band still played around in a Summer that could have been fifty years ago takes up side one; the sadder reflective maturer songs from more or less and older point of view takes up side two. Not since the 'Today' album of 1965 had The Beach Boys been quite this clever in a stylistic sense and this is a welcome method of getting so many sides of the band across without veering from one extreme to another. The second is the closing quartet of songs which pick up from the 'That Lucky Old Sun' album to present a (supposedly) more autobiographical slant from Brian's perspective than usual and add a touch of drama and emotion to the end of this album, which nearly gets away with sounding as if it's 'real' and heartfelt. In truth there's nothing here that Brian hadn't already done better ('Midnight's Another Day' and the middle eight of 'Goin' Home' from 'Sun' are far better attempts at trying to come to terms with Brian's fascinating life story and what his twenty-something self would have made of how it all turned out) . But at least the band tried to do something more than simply a dozen pop songs, so for that I salute them. Typically, though, this concept - dubbed 'The Life Suite' during the making of the record - originally lasted for six songs (the entire second side) but got cut to make way for some of the poppier material. God only knows why (or if he did in fact make the radio).
However a cursory glance through the album's lyrics reveals what an empty record this is, with even 'Summer's Gone' reduced to banality without the music. After all, what do we learn from this album? That God made a radio (a very odd lyric, with God not the Devil responsible for rock and roll, that tries to be 'Add Some Music To Your Day' but fails), that the band would like to go back to the beach/that summer/that girl again just like yesterday (an emotion that pales in comparison to the lively re-make of 'Do It Again' recorded at the same sessions and released as a standalone single, which is erudite and catchy not bland and repetitive as here) and in 'The Private Life Of Bill and Sue' a weird attack on reality TV (the album's one attempt to address the modern changes in lifestyle since the last album - and then they mess up by sticking another ruddy fun-in-the-sun chorus on top!) Reunion albums always tend to be a funny business - from The Beatles to The Small Faces to The Who they've nearly all been disappointing or at least inconsistent. However this album is somehow worse than all of these examples (though The Who's 'Endless Wire' cuts it close) presenting an ersatz version of a band as if it's just another product to sell, with melodies vaguely enough like the old songs for fans to remember by, with lyrical references to old songs for fans to notice, without any attempt to show the world why people so rightly worshipped The Beach Boys for so long and how much they still have to offer (not just Brian but even Al's and Mike's solo records from the past twenty years are much more interesting than this record!) In short, this is a sell-out album, the first time since the almost equally misguided 'MIU' in 1978 that the band have met up purely to sell as many records as possible (for instance Love recalled writing 'Springtime Promises' 'within about five minutes' and didn't spend that much longer on the other songs he was involved with; while this speed occasionally worked with the younger, sharper band with something to prove it's clearly a mistake here with an album terribly rushed sounding).
However I've not even reached the worst and most off-putting thing about this album yet, perhaps because by comparison it is a minor point: that album cover. Last time around 'Summer In Paradise' was stunning, an underwater painting that not only worked in its own right but fitted in with what the lyrics were saying. Clearly somebody somewhere had paid a lot of attention to the packaging and how it went with the record, even if you had the sneaking suspicion it wasn't any of The Beach Boys. This album cover is ugly waves that are on the one hand ripped off the famous illustrations by Japanese artist Hokusai and on the other re-drawn by the hand of what looks like a toddler in a few seconds using the top of a baked Alaska as a template. Even this sorry mess of an album deserved a better sleeve - in retrospect, despite the strong reviews and warm nostalgic glow, it's amazing this record sold anywhere near as well as it did looking like that!
Overall, then, 'That's Why God Made The Radio' is a disappointment on almost every level - it doesn't work as nostalgia reminding the world about why the band were so great, it doesn't work as a modern release made as part of a continuing career and it certainly doesn't work simply as yet another addition to The Beach Boys' canon. Only the joy of hearing those voices wrapped around each other again - albeit infrequently, joined by The Wondermints and digitally altered to within an inch of their lives - plus the final suite of songs makes this album of any interest to collectors at all. In truth people probably weren't expecting much from this record after thirty odd years of only slightly less sloppy work and many people were surprised at how good this record was compared to their memories. Which can only show, dear reader, how quickly people forget; at their best The Beach Boys were the perfect example of why somebody somewhere made the radio - they brought life, love, joy, tears and soul to our world and made California sunshine the backdrop to any day, whether you were a stones throw from the beach yourself or sat in a rained-on roof-leaking flat in Wick. But this album is the perfect example of why God frowns on reunion albums, especially those done for all the wrong reasons. For all that though, the Beach Boys taught me hope too and I hope that, despite their recent differences, the band can still come together at least one last time and add to their legacy with one last great finale. But this time they have to do it properly: the band should work together from the first, not just meet up during rehearsals; the album credits should reflect the democracy of the band however badly the record company want the tried and tested Brian in charge; the backing band, great as they are, should stay in the background and support rather than overshadow the singers we've come to hear; Carl and Dennis ought to be here, somewhere, at what after all is a party celebrating them as much as the survivors - it would be easy to do, more so than for most groups, as there are lots of unfinished Beach Boys recordings featuring the former and solo unfinished recordings featuring the latter and Brian's already had a go at some on his solo albums; but most of all the next album should be made from the heart - however un-commercial, however ugly and however controversial the results. That after all was how it started, when music was a precious means of communication that allowed a troubled teenager and his revved up cousin to speak of all that was on their minds and shaped their lives and that's why God made The Beach Boys. Oh well, at least they didn't record something as crass as 'Brian Is Back' this time around - not like the last time they got back together!
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'Think About The Days' starts the album off on a high - well, for the opening fifty second burst of magical harmonies anyway, working as a sort of 'Our Prayer' style overture to the album, full of that massed block of melancholia that only Brian Wilson can write. Already, though, it's ominous that the most audible voice here isn't one of The Beach Boys but Wondermint Jeffrey Foskett singing the part that Brian can no longer reach and Carl is no longer around to fill (in fact is any of the 'real' band here apart from Al Jardine doo-doo-dooing in the background?) The piano accompaniment is also terribly clunky and is one of those sounds that's so '2010s' (appearing on records by everyone from Fiona Apple to Robbie Williams) that this record is in danger of sounding as dated as 'Summer In Paradise' in another twenty or so years. As a result the sounds both blissfully on the money and strangely artificial and anticlimatic all at the same time - a problem the listener will have across the whole record. That said though the sudden unexpected use of trumpet for merely five notes at the end is a good example of why Brian Wilson's genius is still around, even if it kicks in a lot more intermittently these days.
Title track 'That's Why God Made The Radio' is one of the stronger (read less irritating) songs on the album, sounding at once like a sequel to 'Add Some Music To Your Day' and a 'motto' for the album - that music is a powerful form of healing that's more important than any personal problems a good one for a band who've fallen out more times than they've made albums (and they've made an awful lot of albums). There's also a neat throwback to Brian's 'first' career overview (of sorts) the EP 'Mount Vernon and Fairway' included as a 'bonus' release with 1973's 'Holland' album. In that record a poorly Brian equated his staggering burst of creativity across the past decade as being beamed to him by a creative 'radio' that was being taken away from him and handed over to his brothers and cousin (the EP was even named for the street where Mike lived in childhood). Note, for instance, this song's most moving line, about 'receiving your signal with a prayer' - Brian's radio is finally back in the right frequency. The song was named after collaborator Joe Thomas commented on a certain song they both liked when driving with Brian to his studio to 'work' - he loved Brian's quip enough to turn it into a full song. This song, then, also sounds like Brian taking back charge of 'his' radio and vowing to use it for spiritual purposes. Certainly the melody of the song sounds more inspired than most on the album, full of criss-crossing vocals coming at you this way and that and with an actual middle eight (the only song here almost to bother). However lyrically once the idea is established it has nowhere to go - unlike, say, 'Add Some Music' there's no sense of a progression here, of the narrator discovering just how widely their music has taken on a life of its own without them noticing. Instead we get some curious lines about God 'waving his hand' and 'giving us rock and roll' which seems to sit against every other folklore story about rock and roll coming from the devil (although it makes sense that if God is anywhere he would choose Brian's spiritual music to speak to us). Performance wise too this is a Wondermints performance backing either Brian (briefly) Bruce or (even more briefly) Mike and doesn't have the same 'wow' factor as hearing the band together. Taken together the whole recording sounds stiff, as if it's a collection of some stunning 'feels' (Brian's word for his sudden inspired nuggets of musicality) that haven't quite been tied up into a full song. Still if the rest of the album was up to this standard I wouldn't have been too upset; alas it's the best thing here until the very end.
'Isn't It Time?' was the first song recorded for the album and therefore the first time those voices had been heard together for a good twenty-five years. Pleasingly there's more of the 'band' here and less of the 'Wondermints', with the vocals passed a\round like a musical relay race and there's a gorgeous 'aaaaah' moment when everybody chimes in. However as a composition this is, to be frank, appalling. A failed attempt to re-make 'Do It Again' this song is gauche and contrived where the former song sounded so natural, with an irritating walking pace melody and a stop-start rhythm that's difficult to listen to more than once. Fans who talked about how this album was so much better than 'Summer In Paradise' clearly didn't notice the true clunkers allowed through into this song ('Can't forget the feeling of the Summer of love, uh I wanna take you there!') After setting up what should be the greatest chord in existence (the punch line of the 'woooooah' tag that's so electrifying') we get a beat of silence and the non-melodic line 'the good times never passed'. It's as if Brian was setting cousin Mike up for a 'fall', with that oh so Brian rush of inspiration turning into a soggy near-spoken word part (which sounds rather like those heard in the 1980s/90s years it has to be said). The band are on ropey vocal form too with the exception of a double-tracked Al who still sounds much the same, although shockingly it's Wondermint Jeffrey Foskett's shrill falsetto that's the most off-putting (in context we could have forgiven it had Brian at least had a go at the line and failed - but if the younger Foskett can't reach it either then the band have clearly been too ambitious). Scarily this too is one of the better songs on the album.
'Spring Vacation' is the closest in feel to an early Beach Boys song. Unfortunately it's closer in texture to one of those written-in-a-hurry 'filler' songs from the mid-sixties when The Beach Boys were on a contract that saw them churn out four albums a year whether they were ready or night. Mike revealed in an interview that, not liking the non-Beach Boysy lyric Joe Thomas had originally given the song he re-wrote another on the spot within five minutes just before the band went into record: I could well believe it. A cliched song about going back to the beach for a holiday break, it's vapid and pointless, full of clumsy references to old songs seemingly designed simply to convince fans that yes this is still The Beach Boys, honest, however odd they sound here. Full of lines like 'easy money, ain't life funny? Hey what's it to ya? Hallelujah!' given by Mike to Brian to sing it almost sounds like he's taking the mickey of his old cousin and his need to re-form the band. The melody is better but again sounds disjointed, with a respectable verse and a slightly too poppy but passable chorus stapled together unconvincingly. Vocally it's nice to hear not just Brian and Mike but Bruce taking their share of the lead vocals, but of all the tracks on the album this is the one so obviously computer treated, at times making Brian sound like an alien (other more soulless bands like Take That can get away with it - their audience isn't quite convinced they're all real anyway, but the whole point of The Beach Boys is their warmth and naturalness and we fans would rather have the band however they sound than an artificial beast constructed afterwards in the studio). Even 'Summer In Paradise' recycled it's source material with more respect than this.
'The Private Life Of Bill and Sue' is this album's one attempt to extend The Beach Boys sound (and surely puts paid to the idea that Brian was 'putting songs aside' he thought would suit the band - this would have sounded out of place even one of his solo records). Damning reality TV, Brian claims that he's not interested in Bill and Sue ('Can you dig whet I'm telling you?' he adds as if it's still 1967) and then spends an entire song about what they're up to. Didn't you listen to yourself Brian? We're not interested either - rather than sounding like a grumpy man sounding off about something not built for him and his generation perhaps he could have written a song about how The Beach Boys' life story is so powerful and unlikely it's threatened to overshadow their music (or a novelty song about trying to promote something 'real' from yesteryear through modern eyes?) Together with the irritating but oh-so-modern Brian 'hey did I tell ya?' spoken word part that sounds part calypso and part nursery rhyme, this song may well be the worst effort on the album. There's also a clueless walkie talkie part (perhaps linking back to the album 'theme' of radios) that's pointless because we can't hear it (is it meant to be the telly on in the background? is so then where is Sue?) The rest of the band are barely here either, with just Bruce joining Brian and the Wondermints on the chorus by the sound of it - perhaps they refused to have anything to do with such a wretched song? In some parallel universe out there I can picture how the recording of this song might have gone with Dennis still alive too ('What? But I'm king of the jungle - I won 'I'm a celebrity' a dozen times and only got booted off because I tied Ant and Dec to a surfboard and threw them in the sea for being rude about one of my songs!)
'Shelter' is another song about a 'radio', but this time it's the music running round the narrator's head, always playing 'our favourite song'. Another hymn to the healing power of music, this song would have been nice had there actually been any music here - the song seems like it's getting somewhere with those jagged sudden builds of power so common to the Thomas-era Brian, but the song wastes it: the songs goes bamDamDUMDUMDUMD!U!M! and then nothing, a second's pause, a drum rattle so poor I can hear Dennis chuntering from here and a nothing chorus ('I'll give you shelter from the storms'). As for the idea - that the narrator can offer shelter to his girlfriend - it's nice to hear Brian writing a love song again, but why then is the song so confused between who he's singing to? (Sometimes he's singing to someone he's been with for fifty years and who he has shared memories with - at other times he's imagining her with a whole new life after a parting years ago; were two songs stapled together because again that's what the musioc sounds like - come on guys you can do better than this!) Only an occasionally interesting lyric reflecting on a lost love (Wendy? Marilyn?) and a stronger Beach Boys presence in the vocals makes this song one of the other better tracks on the album.
'Daybreak Over The Ocean' is the only song Brian didn't have a hand in and is an entirely Mike Love song. While many reviewers picked on it as the runt of the litter, that's more to do with the music press' traditional dislike of Love than the song itself, which at least has the grace to sound like The Beach Boys if being as similarly uninspired as most of 'Summer In Paradise'.  An unfinished song dating back to the early 80s, it sounds at one with the songs Mike wrote with Terry Melcher and has that same 'what would the band have sounded like had they been brought up in the hip hop era with polluted beaches to surf in?' feel of that period. It's a sign of how weak this album is that the throwback in sound almost sounds like a relief, with lots of wide open spaces, room for the vocals (with everyone more or less involved) and even sounding as if the spirit of Carl is back in the room when Brian and Al's similar voices unite in tandem. However there's no way I can forgive the song's cheeky similarity to 'My Bonnie' ('Daybreak over the ocean, bring back my baby to me!') or the rhyme of 'ocean' and 'devotion' which seems so Mike Love it's hard to believe he hadn't used it before. Still, fans of Kokomo (there must be some!) will find much to enjoy and at least this song sounds like The Beach Boys at last.
'We've got beaches in mind - man it's been too much time!' is an outrageous lyric and should have started the album; it's so Beach Boys in philosophy, outlook and cheekiness. So why isn't there a good song to go with it? The  half-baked white reggae backing is never a good sign and not a sound that has ever really worked for The Beach Boys before, while the lyrics about 'dreaming' of the chance to get back together again are promising but unfinished, as if Brian got cold feet about making the song too obvious in case the reunion never happened. Ultimately though this song's biggest crime is that it's unforgettable - well that and the appalling drumming that's so artificial and yet so tiny at the same time. Still, there's a nice capella opening and even a chance for Dave Marks to strut his stuff on guitar (though all too briefly sadly) so at least recording-wise this song is halfway there. There's even a middle eight too, cliched as it is. But when you're praising the least offensive and most forgettable song on an album for not making as many mistakes as some of the others - and when that band is The Beach Boys - then you know something's gone seriously wrong.
'Strange World' is the start of a suite of songs that are meant to be the sound of a man returning to the Pacific Coast Highway in California, driving along the road and being hit by all sorts of memories as he leans out the car. While these songs become in danger of sounding like a travelogue, at least there's  bit of emotion in them and the record does get slightly better from this point. The lyrics, for example, are better, Brian sighing over the 'multi-coloured lives we run' when the world seemed so much better and simpler in black and white and his lines about 'the setting rays of the sun' are enough to bring a lump to the throat.  'Strange World' still isn't quite there though - this isn't a melody, really, just a string of words put together with some 'doo doo de doos' weaved through them like a thread trying to keep the song together and some of the lyrics sound more tired than inspired ('You can drive your car to the country fair, or ride your bicycle - anywhere'). As for the chorus, why is this a strange world? Presumably California looks different to what Brian's elder narrator remembers and there's a hint that he feels adrift in a very different modern world of polluted beaches, mortgages, careers and brerakdowns - but it's hinted, not stated, and an extra verse exploring this wouldn't have gone amiss. After all, surely the major plot point of this suite isn't that the narrator can't do what he used to do but that he's been overtaken by another generation who can - and who enjoy what he once did but with the added pressures of a 'strange world'? We don't get that better sounding poignant song though - we get some OAP too old to surf muttering 'strange world' under his breath as he lists all the places from his youth.
'From There To Back Again' is the closest in feel to 'Pet Sounds' Brian, with a long sweeping melody and lyrics of nostalgia and longing (even if there's the same all-too-simple pounded piano part from the same era along for the ride too). The decision to give the song to Al to sing is a masterstroke though and he turns in easily the best lead vocal on the album, pleading with his wife of many years to 'run away' with him back to the beach and his adolescence. 'Why don't we feel the way we used to anymore?' is the song's central phrase, as the memories of yesterday call him to the beach 'with the wind'. Once again, it's a beautiful day not in L.A. but the beach where the band grew up and for once some of that magic and mystery is here on the recording, even if this song too has a slightly irritating stop-start feel to it (Brian might have been aiming for 'Smile' here but can't combine his little bits of magic together like he used to). Unusually Brian is used as not emotional heavyweight but as inner conscience, ending the song with the Pink Floyd-like thought that 'through our compromise paradise is just another place in the wall', that the band 'gave it all' but lost it all 'through the wine' (erm, not the usual reason the biographies give but Brian may be using the word as a metaphor for all addictions here and not just the physical ones but the abstract too).
Against all the odds 'Pacific Coast Highway' is sweet too, a reprise of 'Think About The Day's but with less irritating piano and a sweet finale where Brian reflects on feeling older with the minor key wistfulness of his best years. backed solely by the Wondermints, this is more like his recent solo style and recalls the classic 'Midnight's Another Day', pausing to think about the 'setting sun' once more and ending with a teary harmony drenched 'goodbye' (the single best use of the Wondermints on the entire record). If, though, this song is a continuation of Brian discussing his life story as per the 'Lucky Old Sun' album then note what this song says: that Brian doesn't need the Beach Boys as much as he thought he did, that he's found a place where 'I'm better off alone' and can find his own identity rather than living up to what he achieved in his youth. The fact that Brian sings without the rest of the band (but with his regular solo band) underlines the effect even more - so why is it here of all albums? How typical, though, that the most deep and powerful song on the album lasts slightly under two minutes and is treated as if it's this that's the big throwaway on the album instead of the previous ten tracks.
The album then ends with 'Summer's Gone', a moody ballad intended from the first as the 'Beach Boy's farewell song', which it might yet be even if Brian was hastily downplaying the idea when he realised how well the reunion project was being received. Co-written with Jon Bon Jovi, of all people, it's the closest this album comes to a classic song and features those familiar melancholy minor chords and a vocal that somehow manages to sound isolated despite being drenched in some stunning chorus harmonies. Slow to the point of being a crawl and with another nothing lyric that says nothing more than 'I'm getting old', at least this song feels like it has some emotional resonance inside it, full of some exquisite chord touches that tug at the song left and right, like another wave of emotion hitting the narrator. As he puts it 'it's finally sinking in' that one day he might die and never see the beach again, a surfer leaving the great surfing summer behind and embracing his twilight Autumn years, even after losing both his brothers along the way ('One day begins, another ends, I live them all and back again'). Throughout the melody rises and falls as if in sympathy, sounding at peace with the realisation despite the starkness of the words - this is someone whose already done so much they're still in shock and content to have finally made peace with the world. It's a worthy place for The Beach Boys' canon to say goodbye (much more so than the John Stamos cover of 'Forever' that ended 'Summer In Paradise') and the song ends with a characteristic Brian Wilson production touch, an added twinkle that recalls both the fairy dust of the song that first 'inspired' him ('When You Wish Upon A Star' from Disney's 'Pinocchio') and his early classics when Mike's sister Maureen played the harp. However the fact that the whole Beach Boys reunion seems to have been written round this one song, where the hell are The Beach Boys?! Only Al appears to be here, with The Wondermints filling in all the other gaps and even he is demoted to being nearly inaudible. Surely this tribute song to the band's golden sunshine youth needed to be heard sung by the band and with all the blemishes of age left intact? Though better than anything else on the album than a country mile, 'Summer's Gone' still seems ultimately like a waste.

Overall, then, this record is a disappointment. Why go to all the lengths of having The Beach Boys reunite and then barely use them? (Hear this album back to back with 'Summer In Paradise' and then hear how Mike went from singing everything to singing barely anything). Why weren't Al and Bruce allowed to contribute anything? (The band had apparently worked up a revival of 1985 track 'She Believes In Love Again', which doesn't bode well, but that song is still better than a good half of what's here; similarly Al was hurt when his revival of the song he'd worked on with Carl, 'Waves Of Love', got pulled from the running order - allegedly at Capitol's assistance, which may well be the daftest move on this rather daft record). Why is there all of one guitar part for Dave to play? (guitar was, after all, as much a part of the band's original sound as the harmonies). I know the group couldn't do much about missing Carl or Dennis (though an all Beach Boys version of, say Dennis' 'River Song' would have been stunning, never mind the outtakes from the last session the band did with Carl as heard on the 'Made In California box set), but they could and should have done something about how poorly Mike, Al, Bruce and David are used. The sad truth is that even if this album had appeared as a Brian Wilson album with the odd guest appearance it would have been a disappointment - both for how poorly the rest of the band are used, the lack of group vocals and the fact that this album would still have been the weakest of all of Brian's releases of original material to date. Released under The Beach Boys banner, it's a disaster, a cringe-worthy collection of shoddy songs and antiseptic recordings that even their equally troubled 1980s incarnation would have sniffed at (at least they had Carl to get them over their problems). Despite a bit of promise with the closing quartet suite, the odd decent vocal and the promise that didn't quite make it of the title track 'Isn't It Time?' and 'Daybreak Over The Ocean', this is easily the weakest album released under the band name. Instead it sounds suspiciously like the cheapest and easiest way for Brian to make more money - and the rest of the band went along with it because of the chance it gave them to have one last turn in the spotlight. The band who played on that 'Surfin' demo tape in 1960 would have been furious at how it all turned out (you can almost hear mum Audrey Wilson saying 'boys, play nicely!' while dad Murray would most certainly have thrown out the horrendous auto-tuning equipment) and this album is as good an example of any was to why the music Gods seem to frown on music reunions. However in a weird way perhaps it is a clue as to why God made the radio - so that bands like The Beach Boys could sound forever young and timeless and creative, without the wounds of age and financial troubles getting in the way. As for me I'll be on the beach, trying to bury this album in the sand and trying not to think of it ever again. 

Other AAA articles on The Beach Boys you might be interested in reading:





'Surfin' USA' (1963) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2013/11/the-beach-boys-surfin-usa-1963.html

'Surfer Girl' (1963) http://www.alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/05/the-beach-boys-surfer-girl-1963.html

'Little Deuce Coupe' (1963) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.nl/2016/09/the-beach-boys-little-deuce-coupe-1963.html

'Shut Down Volume Two' (1964) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2015/12/the-beach-boys-shut-down-volume-two-1964.html

‘All Summer Long’ (1964) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2012/10/the-beach-boys-all-summer-long-1964.html

'Beach Boys Christmas' (1964) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/12/xmas-bumper-issue-revised-beach-boys.html

'Today' (1965) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2016/04/the-beach-boys-today-1965.html

'Summer Days (And Summer Nights!!!!!!!!) (1965)
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2010/06/news-views-and-music-issue-65-beach.html

'Party!' (1965) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2015/08/the-beach-boys-party-1965.html

'Pet Sounds' (1966) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2016/12/the-beach-boys-pet-sounds-1966.html


'Surf's Up' (1971) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/08/the-beach-boys-surfs-up-1971-album.html


’15 Big Ones’ (1976) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/03/the-beach-boys-15-big-ones-1976.html

'Love You' (1977) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2016/07/the-beach-boys-love-you-1977.html

'Pacific Ocean Blue' (Dennis Wilson solo) (1977)
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2011/04/news-views-and-music-issue-97-dennis.html

'Merry Xmas From The Beach Boys!' (Unreleased) (1977)
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2011/12/news-views-and-music-issue-126-merry.html

'M.I.U Album' (1978) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2015/06/the-beach-boys-miu-album-1978.html

'L.A.Light Album' (1979)
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/review-75-beach-boys-la-light-album.html

'Keeping The Summer Alive' (1980) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/the-beach-boys-keeping-summer-alive-1980.html

'The Beach Boys' (1985) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2016/02/the-beach-boys-1985.html

'Still Cruisin' (1989) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2016/10/the-beach-boys-still-cruisin-1989.html

'Summer In Paradise' (1992) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/11/the-beach-boys-summer-in-paradise-1992.html

'Smile' (Brian Wilson solo) (2004) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008_06_29_archive.html

'That Lucky Old Sun' (Brian Wilson solo) (2008)
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2010/03/news-views-and-music-issue-55-brian.html

'Smile Sessions' (band outtakes)(2011)  
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2012/04/news-views-and-music-issue-142-beach.html

'That's Why God Made The Radio' (2012) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2015/03/the-beach-boys-thats-why-god-made-radio.html

The Best Unreleased Beach Boys Recordings  http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/07/the-beach-boys-unreleased-songs-top.html

A Complete (ish) Guide To The Beach Boys' Surviving TV Clips http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/08/the-beach-boys-complete-ish-guide-to.html

Solo/Live/Compilation/Rarities Albums Part One 1962-86 http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/08/beach-boys-sololivecompilationunrelease.html

Solo/Live/Compilation/Rarities Albums Part Two 1988-2014 http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/08/beach-boys-sololivecompilationunrelease_25.html

Non-Album Songs Part One 1962-1969 http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/09/beach-boys-non-album-songs-part-one.html

Non-Album Songs Part Two 1970-2012 http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/09/beach-boys-non-album-songs-part-two.html

Essay: The Beach Boys and The American Dream https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/11/the-beach-boys-essay-american.html
Five Landmark Concerts and Three Key Cover Versions https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2018/01/the-beach-boys-five-landmark-concerts.html


Monday, 10 June 2013

Neil Young and Crazy Horse "Psychedelic Pill" (2012)



You can buy 'Here We Are In The Years - The Alan's Album Archives Guide To The Music Of Neil Young' in e-book form by clicking here




NEIL YOUNG AND CRAZY HORSE “PSYCHEDELIC PILL” (2012)

Driftin’ Back/Psychedelic Pill/Ramada Inn/Born In Ontario//Twisted Road/She’s Always Dancing/For The Love Of Man/Walk Like A Giant



‘Seems lately like things are changing…’


There I was, like an idiot, standing in the record shop, trying to work out what would be better value in terms of Neil Youngyness. As a penniless scribe on employment and support allowance (that’s ‘disability’ to you and me) they only give me some of the time when they’re in a good mood despite proving I could make the AAA work as a fully-fledged business, I couldn’t afford both you see and they came out only four months apart. Do I buy ‘Americana’, an intriguing looking set of covers of ancient American folk songs by one of America’s least reverential bands (surely that’s good for a laugh?!) or a double set full of long (and I’m talking loooooong) songs from a band who’d already burned me with albums like the torpid ‘Broken Arrow’, the generic ‘Chrome Dreams III’ and a soap opera about the most boring family not on Eastenders (‘Greendale’), only with fewer songs and a longer running time. Like a fool, I listened to my head not my heart and in one of the biggest mistakes of all my decades as a collector of records chose the wrong one (although in my defence the sale price on ‘Americana’ and the fact that as a two disc set ‘Psychedelic Pill’ cost double helped quite a bit, too). 


‘Americana’ is surely one of the worst AAA albums of the past five years with its dodgy hard-to-hear recordings and spineless, toothless variants on songs that have no reason to sit together except that they’re old, like some musical care home where the world intermingles together but find it’s too late to learn anything from each other. I’m sure that review will be coming to you sometime soon, dear reader, but frankly I’m still too disappointed to have a to write a review with that much venom and scorn (I’ll save it for a day when I’m in a really cross mood. Given the problems I’m currently having with the DWP, it’ll be next week. Editor’s note: actually it was another four years and given the way this topsy-turvy reviewniverse works you can actually read it a few pages back by clicking *here*). Forget, too, how Crazy Horse tried to plug them as two separate albums – ‘Americana’ really was just a warm-up; ‘Psychedelic Pill’ is the real deal. Admittedly, this is ‘real deal’ in the sense that Neil still can’t be bothered to actually work on his songs and is still pushing his ‘first thought, best thought, only thought’ theory too often to create that late-period classic all his fans yearn for, but the source of the muse that keeps him going is stronger and louder on this record than it has been for some time – stronger than ‘Le Noise’ and all but the best of ‘Fork In The Road’ anyway. Some songs meander, some songs are short and still sound like they meander, while charging double the price for a double album that runs merely five minutes over the running time of a CD and features just eight songs and a remix is something that Scrooge McDuck would have been proud of. However, ‘Psychedelic Pill’ is way better than the bitter pill I rather feared it would be and is already going down with me as a near-enough life collector of Neil’s art better than any of the past few miserable albums. 


No one but Neil would release two such different albums mere weeks apart and then ignore both in favour of plugging a so-so semi-revealing-but-inevitably-rambling autobiography (‘Waging Heavy Peace’, a project that gets referenced in these songs more times than is comfortable – more on that later). I’ve waited till now to get my ‘Pill’ prescription description ready – despite its November 2012 vintage – partly because my review for ‘Prairie Wind’ was knocking on my head too loud to ignore, partly because I delayed buying it for a time and partly because I needed to get to know ‘Pill’ a bit better before I reviewed it. You see ‘Americana’ I could have reviewed in a single listening – there’s no depth to it, no concept, no theme (except a very vague sense of history) and no variation – but for all its faults ‘Pill’ is as deep and revealing an album as we’ve had from Neil in some time. In fact as I sit here several months on I still don’t feel as if I know it – or that I’ll ever know it  (editor’s note in 2019: I still don’t feel I know it!) – because it is such an autobiographical record, something Neil isn’t necessarily known for despite the occasional ‘Tonight’s The Night’ ‘Trans’ or ‘Sleeps With Angels’. That said contemporary reviews that describe this as a ‘highly personal’ album are wrong – this isn’t about Neil’s dead friends, the struggles of his handicapped son or thoughts of his own mortality (as per the overlooked ‘Prairie Wind’), it’s a man struggling to come to terms with his long career of highs and lows and the memories writing his autobiography have brought to the surface. The sound of Neil thinking out loud, there isn’t really any conclusion going on here or an attempt to directly address his mistakes and frailties though, which prevents it from reaching the higher echelons of his more autobiographical material, but it is nevertheless fascinating for fans to hear their hero trying to make some sense out of the ragamuffin junk in his brain and in that sense it’s the closest we’ve got so far to a true Neil ‘first thought’ album, with everything seemingly fuelled by his sub-consciousness. 


Given that autobiography ‘Raging Heavy Peace’ was a book more about departed friends and the past than anyone was expecting (some event in Neil’s day to day life inspiring a ‘memory’ in a loose, haphazard, non-linear arrangement throughout the book), it sounds to me too as if Neil is realizing how precious life is and how he ought to get back together with old friends while they are still here. Given the context, it’s inevitable that Crazy Horse should get the call (‘Heavy Peace’ in fact mentions the very moment Neil gets in touch with guitarist Frank Sampedro to discuss the idea, mid-chapter, as the thought occurs to Neil), but this collaboration seems very different this time, more of a ‘goodbye’ than a ‘hello’ (it will, indeed, be Neil’s last album with the Horse so far and the tour his last with Poncho in the band). If ‘Tonight’s The Night’ was a noisy wake for the beloved and departed then ‘Psychedelic Pill’ sounds like a tribute service for the living, Neil paying more lip-service to past songs and ideas than he ever has before (the title track, for instance, is a modern re-telling of [24] ‘Cinnamon Girl’, the first song the band recorded with Neil when they were still known as ‘The Rockets’; listen too to around the ten minute mark in ‘Walk Like A Giant’ which paraphrases the opening to [133] ‘Hey Hey My My’). There’s a familiar feel about most of this record, which happens with lots of artists in their old age, but rarely before the prolific Neil who changes styles at least as often as he changes his socks, which makes this album sound like an alternate greatest hits playing at a slightly slow speed. It’s as if Neil is trying to give the band a ‘proper’ send off ‘just in case’ something happens to him or them, after Neil by his own admission was hit hard by not ‘preparing’ for the deaths of long-term friends like Jack Nitzsche, Bruce Palmer, David Briggs and Ben Keith during the past decade or so. After all, in perhaps Neil’s most famous phrase, it’s better to burn out than it is to rust and grow old and toothless – although, of course, what that song was really saying was that its better not to have to die at all. Or, in one of this album’s lines that might well catch on just as much, ‘you don’t learn nothin’ when you start to get old’. 


So much of ‘Psychedelic Pill’ sounds like an extra chapter from Neil’s book (Neil does indeed talk about feeling the ‘muse’ upon him again in the closing chapters so in a way we’ve heard this album in progress) with all the thoughts on Neil’s mind: the poor sound quality of modern digital music, the moment of realisation that he was going to leave wife Pegi for Daryl Hannah, his scares after a brain aneurysm in 2005 meant he feared it was all over (and that Neil was a lot closer to death than he ever let on at the time) and what his legacy will be. This has meant a deeper appreciation for music-making and a deeper consideration of the process, as Neil’s never had to explain himself before his book. Neil’s never written a song about songwriting before and the effect is fascinating (‘Once in a while when things go wrong, I might pick up a pen and scribble a page and try to make sense of my inner rage’ is perhaps the greatest couplet on an album that seems to have been designed to be full of quotable moments). Also, Neil’s often been keen to pay tribute to the music that spurred him on (writing songs for Elvis and the country scene in general), but he’s never been this honest about his influences and in many ways his envy before, on ‘Twisted Road’ talking about listening to Bob Dylan and ‘Like A Rolling Stone’ for the first time and wanting to ‘take that magic home and make it my own’. Neil has kinda covered his own beginnings as a musician a few times (the ever-fascinating [63] ‘Don’t Be Denied’) and paid comments – not usually kind ones – on what his old friends are doing in the present day (lots of songs about CSNY such as [192] ‘Hippie Dream’ and [135] ‘The Old Homestead’ and even an unforgivably cruel dig at The Beach Boys in [97] ‘Long May You Run’). But this album manages to make Neil both a passive listener for the first time (‘Listening to the Dead on the radio, that old time music used to soothe my soul’ – and yes according to interviews Neil gave it is the Grateful Dead he means not just ‘dead’ singers in general) and reveal more than we’ve heard in a long time. ‘Me and my friends, we were going to save the world, we were going to make it better...but then the weather changed...and it fell apart..and it breaks my heart to think about how close we came’ (from ‘Walk Like A Giant’) is clearly a song about CSNY and it says more in one verse than most books about the band. The ‘weather change’ of 1970 (when Neil walked out of the ‘Deja Vu’ sessions let’s not forget) spelled the end for the quartet who delivered slightly less than before with each passing reunion (even if they still beat almost everything made by anyone else). Conversely, the same verse applies almost as perfectly to the Buffalo Springfield, Neil’s first band which disintegrated just as spectacularly (albeit again because Neil walked out – four times, in fact, over three years, a fact he doesn’t recount here). Neil’s memories on some fairly recent songs like the awful [300] ‘Buffalo Springfield Again’ from ‘Silver and Gold’ didn’t even acknowledge these hard times, instead thinking about what fun it always was, but not ‘Giant’ – Neil’s anger and frustration at not having been able to do more with his life (despite doing so much more than almost all of his contemporaries) clearly rankles. It’s probably just my imagination, but I can just hear Neil listening to an early copy of the Stephen Stills box set ‘Carry On’ (released in March 2013) and tracing his partner’s fall from grace while remembering his own (to be fair Stills has probably released far more of worth than Young in the past twenty years, albeit on some very patchy CSN/Y albums – it was the late 1980s when he badly lost the plot). It’s also a cliché that every autobiography by a rock musician will include a chapter (or more) on drugs and another on groupies; Neil’s book did neither so his music does it for him, ‘She’s Always Dancing’ being the first ‘groupie’ friendly song since [24] ‘Cinnamon Girl’ and the album’s title track being one last wigged out drug song (this from an artist who claims proudly at an early stage of the book that he’s now the cleanest he’s been since his teens and already worrying about how this might affect his songwriting).  


Those points are all in the book too to some extent, mind you, if only in passing comments. However there are some tracks here that feel like passages Neil couldn’t bring himself to admit out loud in print and had to release in music form, almost as if ‘Psychedelic Pill’ is an extra chapter cut from ‘Waging Heavy Peace’. We also get the horrific moment Neil has been putting off for so many years and albums now, the moment when he admits to his wife that he’s no longer in love with her but with someone else. Though we didn’t quite know what we were getting yet (‘Waging Heavy Peace’ was still dedicated to Pegi, after all) ‘Ramada Inn’ is every excruciating second of that conversation delivered in almost real time across sixteen aching minutes. Neil makes no comments on his feelings – he’s been doing that for at least twenty albums by now – but he spends a lot of time on hers, as the Youngs stop off at a hotel after a visit to see old friends in the vain hope that going back to the past might make them closer in the future – but it doesn’t, instead breaking up their past. ‘She loves him so’ sighs Neil in the third person, with an aching silence punctuated only by a guitar solo where his response ‘I love you too’ would normally have gone. There’s a Neil tradition of looking backwards across his past every time something goes wrong with his love life: ‘Journey Thru The Past’ marked the end of his marriage to Susan, the unreleased ‘Homegrown’ was a doff of the hat to second wife Carrie and now, after the longest constant relationship of Neil’s life, he has to spend an entire book and record saying goodbye to Pegi, even though that’s effectively what he’s been doing for multiple albums now. ‘Ramada Inn’ feels like a last chapter on that story in the ‘present tense’ (until ‘Storytone’ puts everything into the past tense for one last guilt road trip, up next). However Neil is so used to concealing this part of his life from us – and will continue to hide the truth until 2014 when the divorce becomes official – that he naturally hides this honest track in between other songs that deal with more obviously autobiographical material, from CSNY to digital sound to Canadian childhood memories.  


There’s also a sense of death breezing through both book and album, as if its maker knows that he might drop dead at any moment. Like ‘Prairie Wind’, though, fear of the inevitable end doesn’t result in urgency or bitterness as it would in so many other artists – instead Neil accepts that he’s lived so long and done so much he can afford to take his time, stretching things out to breaking point and often past it. Just listen to how the past is stretched into a twenty-seven minute epic ramble on opener ‘Driftin’ Back’, Neil’s longest ever song (which sounds like [115] ‘Goin Back’ and [117] ‘Look Out For My Love’ stuck together with some guitar solos straight out of ‘Ragged Glory’), ‘Ramada Inn’ sounds almost short at seventeen (despite being Neil’s second longest studio song), ‘Walk Like A Giant’ mini at sixteen minutes (you guessed it, Neil’s third longest song) and ‘She’s Always Dancing’ positively miniscule at ‘eight’. The fact that the other four songs come in at a running time of three minutes or less (very short by Neil’s standards) gives the album a real sting-and-relax feel, like a musician caught between having too much to say and not enough time to say it, a sort of musical S.O.S of dots and dashes. Noticeably, there’s actually probably fewer lyrics on this album than most Neil Young ones (which, let’s not forget, generally run half of this album’s eighty-eight minutes) and the sound of this album is dominated by lots of pealing guitar solos. Sadly this isn’t the fiery, compulsory solos that heighten the tension as per ‘Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere’ (a sound which died with Danny Whitten in 1972) but then again they’re more relevant and exciting than the ones on ‘Ragged Glory’ (which too often stretched simple songs to breaking point for no apparent reason except that the band were in the ‘groove’). No, this album is more like a collection of [268] ‘Change Your Minds’ from ‘Sleeps With Angels’, the fourteen minute epic where each solo took off in a whole new direction before crashing back into the same chorus (a trick Neil uses a few times here). While fans of Neil’s simpler albums like ‘Goldrush’ and ‘Harvest’ will quickly get annoyed at having to wait ten minutes between verses to hear Neil sing, it is fair to say that almost all of these long running times are necessary: this is a band trying to work out how to say something big, not one that has nothing to say. At times the band take it too far (the last five minutes of ‘Walk Like A Giant’ is simply feedback and stomping, for instance, last acceptable on a mainstream album circa 1969, while ‘She Feels Like Dancing’ is the one song here not up to standard and could – and should – have been reduced to two or three minutes). Mostly though this isn’t another ‘Broken Arrow’ extended trip because nobody had the sense to say ‘stop!’ to the tape engineer: ‘Psychedelic Pill’ is complex enough to need that extra running time. Even if it is, at times, Neil’s simplest album, full of straightforward thoughts without his usual imagery or poetry, more directly from the heart than usual (even though his rambling autobiography is, typically, less direct than most – Neil’s always got things the wrong way round!)


One other fascinating thing to report is how much of a ‘band’ Crazy Horse are here. After decades of bad reviews and rushed albums even Neil was beginning to have the general view that Crazy Horse were a group of musicians who couldn’t really play. Like Neil, I love the band’s primitive, raw power, which has the added bonus of making Neil’s big guitar parts sound huge, but the band are better musicians (and singers) than mealy mouthed critics ever give them credit for. Thankfully Neil has stopped telling them what to do now (as he kept doing circa the 1980s and even ‘Greendale’, trying to turn them into the sophisticated musicians he always plays with otherwise) and is back to celebrating their unique, powerful, noisy sound again instead of trying to disguise it. Whilst I’ve always considered Ralph Molina one of the best drummers in the business and Billy has his own fascinating groove thing going on without which the band would fall apart, the shock here is what a star Frank Sampedro is. While still not as attuned telepathically to Neil’s playing as Danny Whitten (who is?) Sampedro is really finding his feet now, playing rhythm parts that are the perfect fit to Neil’s and occasionally the equal to them. Instead of simply filling in the space between the bass and lead guitar, Sampedro is off on exciting musical journeys of his own and ‘Pill’ is by far his best playing on album despite him being with the band some thirty-seven years (perhaps, on an album that more than any since 1975 confronts the ghost of Danny Whitten, Neil has finally realised what a great bond he has with his replacement too?) This album isn’t, as so many recent Horse albums have been, Neil sauntering away into the distance while the band play the same groove over and over but a two-way conversation, which is a fascinating new development after so long in this style and a most odd reaction to writing an autobiography in a ‘single’ voice. Far from being the mad powerhouse many Crazy Horse albums end up being, there are some classic moments of dynamics and subtlety too, more like Crazy Horse’s ‘guest appearances’ on Neil’s albums such as ‘Comes A Time’ and ‘Hawks and Doves’ where the band add bite to Neil’s acoustic songs. The very opening of the first track, for instance, is a gorgeous acoustic song with pristine harmonies even CSNY would struggle to reach that suddenly fades in backwards to the more expected heavy rock playing.


This isn’t, despite one last blurry wig-out on the title track, a fully psychedelic album sadly – the one genre Young never did in the Geffen era that would have been so fascinating to hear (particularly given Neil’s spot-on contributions to the only album he helped make during the summer of love, ‘Buffalo Springfield Again’). However for three minutes it’s fun to hear what a younger Crazy Horse might have sounded like had they been around in 1967, cribbing lines from The Beatles (‘I can’t buy’ reflecting ‘I can’t hide’ from ‘I Want To Hold Your Hand’ and a line Dylan famously mis-heard as ‘I get high’), soaked in acid-drenched reverb and phasing and sped-up to sound fifty years younger. The ‘remix’ included on every single copy as a ‘bonus track’ (and even more a second genuinely included as a bonus track on the blu-ray edition) is more psychedelic than ‘Sgt Pepper’s or ‘magical Mystery Tour’. So much so that you doubt both Neil’s lyric (this scene is ‘like’ a psychedelic pill from a doctor he can’t ‘buy’, i.e. convince him to prescribe him drugs) and his comments in the book about being drug-free since hitting his seventies. Neil seems to be providing himself with one last memory of what he’ll be missing here, the same way he does his wife and CSNY.  


Goodbyes clearly bring out the best in Neil, what with ‘Tonight’s The Night’ and ‘Sleeps With Angels’ and now this album and overall, I’m impressed. ‘Psychedelic Pill’ is the first album in ages (since Trans?) that manages the trick of being different to usual while sounding like a world we want to explore more. Crazy Horse sound good on the extended epics, Neil sounds like he’s having fun on the short punchy songs, there’s a nice variety of deeply emotional songs and dancealongs and out of the eight only ‘Dancer’ is a song that adds little or nothing to the Young catalogue. ‘Driftin’ back’ manages to be both Neil’s most basic, sparse song and his most complex as it changes tone by tone, solo by solo, taking its own sweet times to sum up a life. ‘Psychedelic Pill’ nails another genre and wraps things up in under three minutes. ‘Ramada Inn’ is deeply emotional when you realise it’s the logical conclusion to a story we’ve been following on-and-off for decades. ‘Born In Ontario’ is a fun jig through a childhood that’s been much covered but never like this and never back quite this far, to the days even before the Youngs moved to Winnipeg for Neil to start school. ‘Twisted Road’ is a hymn to music collecting from someone whose given us more to collect than most and its good to hear Neil getting the same thrill buying his heroes’ records we get from buying his own. ‘For The Love Of Man’ reaches back to 1981 for a spooky song hoping things will turn out better in the future, from the perspective of a man who knows they have. And ‘Walk Like A Giant’ is both tribute and self-deprecating joke on how big CSNY were and how far the mighty have fallen in the decades since. These are all strong and very different songs and even if they could have done with a bit of pruning they remain excellent additions to Neil’s catalogue.


We commented on our last ‘new’ Neil LP ‘Le Noise’ that although by his own high standards that album simply wasn’t good enough there were lots of promising signs that the muse was back. Neil was using his old fashioned ‘massive’ sound again and they suited his songs, even if all this ‘one idea for a song, one take for a song, one week to make the whole thing’ idea was getting in the way of what good ideas were there. ‘Psychedelic Pill’ is also rushed in places, the fact that the band came out with not one but two (and in pure disc terms three) albums during their few months together shows that this album too was done quickly and more or less ‘live’. The difference is that more thinking has been going on here before the band even showed up, Neil’s done his homework a bit more before the tapes began rolling and the band do ‘know’ these songs a lot better than they did for ‘Greendale’ last time out. It’s not flawless (‘She’s Still Dancing’ is one of the poorest Neil Young songs in a while), it should easily have been cut down to a single album and at times the excessive running length of both songs and album seems to be more to push some boundaries than because of any outpouring of inspiration. All that said, though, ‘Psychedelic Pill’ is a highly enjoyable LP that alters the Crazy Horse sound just enough to be interesting whilst still very much in keeping with past successes. It’s definitely a grower too, improving every time I hear it. Perhaps in time, too, this album will be seen as a stepping stone to the next, greater album to come (who knows?) or even added to future editions of Neil’s ‘Waging Heavy Peace’ book as a ‘soundtrack album’ (it would work really well, the two projects definitely impacting each other). Or perhaps it’s the last great (or semi-great) Neil Young and Crazy Horse album, maybe even the last great Neil album, we will ever have. Only time will tell. But for once, this latest psychedelic pill done by an artist in a hurry and in his older, less inspired years isn’t bitter to swallow at all. 


The Songs:


[380] ‘Driftin’ Back’ is one of the most fascinating songs Neil has ever written. A huge collage of feelings from the past and present presented in a non-linear way very like the layout of Neil’s book, this is an all-encompassing song that starts like a Tudor minstrel ballad and ends up as a rock guitar workout. Despite being Neil’s longest song in history, extended by some of the most thrilling guitar interplay the Sampedro line-up of Crazy Horse has ever come up with, it doesn’t sound forced – unlike a lot of Crazy Horse’s previous ‘long’ songs but instead unfurls at its own speed, like a flower. The opening is lovely, an acoustic opening that sounds as if the song’s going to be similar to its near-namesake [115] ‘Goin’ Back’, strumming the same two descending chords over and over as if Neil is always looking over his shoulder, as if Crazy Horse are rocking us off to sleep. But no, there’s a marvellous change in tone some two minutes in when we fade in to the mother of all Crazy Horse jams and suddenly we’re simply rocking (how much longer is this song on the original unedited tapes then?!) This trick should by rights be forced and hollow (tacking a ‘new’ bit onto the start of an ‘old’ bit is so against the natural Crazy Horse ethos!) but thanks to a glittering peal of Crazy Horse harmonies and a clever fade-in it sounds as if this song has always been playing throughout Neil’s career but that he’s only just decided to let us in on the music always playing in his head at all times on a piece that could easily have been taken from any of his past albums, a mellow rock song that is very nearly an acoustic ballad, as if he’s ‘Driftin’ Back’ to the source of his muse. It takes eight glorious minutes for Neil to stop setting the scene and sing the first ‘proper’ verse – the length at which almost all of his songs have already finished – but that makes sense if the song is subliminal, a composite of what he hears every day slowly breaking through to the surface of Neil’s thoughts.

Young starts his first verse ‘proper’ by wondering if anyone is still listening to what he writes after years in the doldrums before speaking about what the new muse coursing through his veins is doing for him (and us) in a pretty good description of music at its best, designed ‘to help you feel this feeling, to let you ride along’. It’s basically a magic spell cast between listener and writer (though which casts it is left nicely ambiguous) where Neil imagines us listening to the music playing through his head and wondering what we will think of it and wondering where he got the idea from in the first place. Some four minutes later Neil comes up with the most cryptic verse of the song, recounting how in meditation ‘I block out all my thoughts’ until they come on so strong and powerfully he has to let them in (presumably the inspiration he longs for throughout writing most of the book, fearing his musical creativity has ‘gone dry’). Neil equates this to the ‘rock’ that was rolled over Neil’s tomb before his resurrection, interestingly, suggesting that he sees each different creative spell as a ‘death’ and is as surprised as anyone when he gets the ideas to make something different with each and every project. 


Perhaps Neil has been doing a lot of listening to his old work, not only for his book but for the ‘Archives’ box set a few years ago. How else can you explain the next verse, which takes a potshot at organised religion like the days of old, the narrator ‘giving 35 bucks’ as his price of admission to see the Maharashi and Neil taunting ‘it went to the organisation’, slurring that last word to make it sound like the complete antithesis of spiritualism and religious freedom (if religion is personal to all, who needs an ‘organisation’ for it?!) This verse isn’t linked to the rest of the song, recalling similar moments in such different songs like [52] ‘Soldier’ (‘Jesus I saw you walking on the river, you can’t deliver!’) and [276] ‘Song X’ (where a priest has a girl locked away for having an abortion) and – like ‘Waging Heavy Peace’ – it’s as if thinking about the one religious type has caused Neil to think about another. It’s quite fascinating to hear that Neil’s take on what used to be one of his favourite themes in the 1970s hasn’t dimmed at all – in the book he addresses religion square on and calls himself ‘a pagan (if anything)’. Unlike his younger self, though, Neil half-takes the last verse back, offering up the line ‘excuse my religion’ (although again this is sung in such a way that we feel he’s mocking us again).It’s as if it’s a thought that burst through his meditative state where he tried to make his mind free of everything but the music, apologising as his conscious thoughts impose on him and us. Instead Neil cools his heels with ten minutes of see-sawing over the song’s hypnotic riff, which given how simple it is ought to be the most boring song in this book but it isn’t – especially when Ralph wakes up and throws some cymbal clashes into the mix for variety. Instead it sounds like the ‘source’, neil inviting us to hear how the music sounds unfiltered and pure in his head before he has the chance to write it down and add words to it.    


Now nearing the twenty minute mark now, Neil is back to another of his book’s favourite themes: the problems with modern digital sound reducing everything to a ‘middle band’ of average low and high frequencies so that modern music – or old music re-produced for digital form – sounds all the same (in Neil’s words ‘you only get 5%, you used to get it all’). In one of his more eloquent interview of the 1990s, when CDs were still new, Neil likened digital as opposed to analogue music to ‘taking an ice cold shower and being hit with tiny cubes, instead of a bath where the water rushes all over you’. Famously, Neil still refuses to give permission for some of his albums (most importantly ‘Time Fades Away’, less importantly ‘Where The Buffalo Roam’) to be released on CD until the situation ‘improves’ and Neil goes to great lengths to make sure all his modern music is simultaneously available on vinyl or high quality downloads (a worthy cause you might think, until you realise that each vinyl record costs around double the price of the CD and the downloads take an eternity and most of your internet allowance to download – Neil doesn’t need the money so why not waive more of his royalty fee?) At first Neil mocks the modern call for possessing art in miniature on phones and on walls, claiming ‘I used to dig Picasso’ for his sheer refusal to follow rules and ability to go to new places art had never been before; nowadays his uniqueness has been forgotten and he’s been turned into just another ‘wallpaper’ you can download from an app. I’d probably better not mentiomn the plethora of really good Neil Young apps out there to him, from song lyrics to long-starved CSNY news sites Whether knowingly or not this next section directly mimics fellow AAA band Dire Straits’ ‘Money For Nothing’, taunting ‘I don’t want my MP3’ (instead of ‘MTV’) and – a few minutes later – gives us the sarcastic line  ‘Gonna get me a hip hop haircut’ like the grumpy old man Neil is proudly becoming. Yeah right, a seventy-year-old telling money-starved teens to buy proper sounding music are all going to listen because he now looks like them. It’s the ‘Everybody’s Rockin’ cover, with a twist. Rather than wrapping up or thoroughly investigating any of these thoughts Neil simply moves on past some extra guitar weaving. He finally ends with the lines ‘Blocking out my anger, finding my religion, I might be a Pagan!’ in a line that’s close enough quoted verbatim from his book. In many ways this line is ‘Psychedelic Pill’s ‘acid reflux’ – the state the album keeps returning to as Neil tries to keep his emotions in check during this most turbulent of times. It is a return to the meditative source of the song which still plays in his head, merrily dancing from one note to another like an acrobat on a psychedelic pill. Somehow this song finds its way back into the lovely chorus harmonies of nearly half an hour before for a natural end, although even then Neil’s not done, scarping away at a three-note riff on his guitar as the others join in, the Crazy Horse equivalent of landing on water as the momentum just keeps them rolling. Now the song is over at last maybe Neil has time to do the washing up or something before the song begins again in his head?


Some people have been disappointed at the rambling nature of this song, perhaps expecting all the different threads to be tied together somehow and its certainly true that it’s not as directly powerful as another [94] ‘Cortez The Killer’ or [112] ‘Like A Hurricane’, but actually I like the fact that this song doesn’t have any answers and simply keeps going as it looks for them anyway. The song might be titled ‘Driftin’ Back’ but in true Young style its actually more about the present and all the thoughts rolling across Neil’s subconscious. While far from perfect – repeating the title phrase a grand total of 50 times throughout the song is lazy, even for a song that lasts twenty-seven minutes and you have to feel for poor Ralphy whose arms are clearly getting tired as the song inevitably slows down in its last quarter – the lyrics are intriguing, revealing enough to be of interest to fans while cryptic enough not to give the game away. The song, though, would be nothing without those glorious extended guitar outbursts, especially the opening eight minutes where Neil and Sampedro hit the mother of all grooves, gradually circling each other and getting further away from the original direction whilst still in touch, more pen friends than bosom buddies. By far Sampedro’s best playing on record, this is also one of Neil’s career best performances, content to take its time and make the most out of each take on the verse. The result is a song that’s divisive amongst fans but is a welcome song that hints at how good Crazy Horse’s abandoned new age album (‘Toast’ from 2001) ,might have sounded, big on wise empty spaces and meditation. 


Moving on (finally!) the title track [381] ‘Psychedelic Pill’ is heard here in two versions – the ‘album cut’, a hard-to-hear heavily phased and effect-ridden version of the song and the ‘remix’ added as a ‘bonus cut’ (despite this being the first issue of the CD...strange) without the effects. I hate the first one and love the second, as any attempt to ‘modernise’ the timeless Crazy Horse sound seems pointless to me. A stomping, grungy angry little rocker with a riff that’s only a shade away from [15] ‘The Loner’ stapled onto the runaway groove of [39] ‘When You Dance I Can Really Love’, but a lyric that recounts [24] ‘Cinnamon Girl’ in the 21st century, it’s another of the album’s more successful songs. Sadly even the ‘bonus’ version is mixed a little strangely, with Neil’s double-tracked voice drenched with echo and switching from the left and right channels so often it makes you queasy. To be fair, though, the effect is highly fitting for this disorientating song where the two dancing lovers circle each other in a trance – though whether from the music, from the pill mentioned in the title or from being in love with each other (or a combination of all three) I couldn’t say. This is surely a song for Daryl, given that dancing is Neil’s usual euphemism for lust, his explanation perhaps for why he’s making these big changes in his life (because the p[air are so hooked by each other they just can’t keep away from each other). The refrain of the song tells us that the ‘party girl’ is looking for a ‘good time’, but the sheer power of the noise that Crazy Horse use and the disorientating feeling of the song suggests that, however good a time the pair are having now, they’re going to pay for it with a massive hangover in the morning. Probably with divorce papers being served. This makes the links with ‘Cinnamon Girl’ fascinating: Neil’s swayed not so much by the character and deep knowledge he has of this soul but his desperate need to escape from his life and run away with her (that song being inspired by a passing stranger). This time though this fellow ‘party girl’ is out for escapism, dancing out her troubles and trying to forget her woes rather than the carefree dancer who loves life in ‘Cinnamon Girl’ and the last couplet (where when she dances ‘every move is like a psychedelic pill from a doctor I can’t buy’) suggests the narrator needs the escapism just as much. At three minutes, with almost as many verses as the previous twenty-seven minute track, this is a tight little rocker that’s leaner than most recent Neil Young songs and makes for a nice change, even if your head will swim for quite a time after playing it. I do however long to hear a whole Crazy Horse album like this, not just three minutes, as what better backdrop for the Horse’s jam-heavy style could there be than psychedelia?!? 


[382] ‘Ramada Inn’ is an innaresting song too. The slowest piece on what’s actually quite a fast paced album, its 16:52 running time might be ten minutes shorter than ‘Driftin’ Back’, but because it’s all so slow and uninterrupted by guitar solos this song sounds like even more of an epic. By comparison with the rest of the album, there isn’t much of a melody here, Neil simply singing the lines almost all on one note as he did on ‘Greendale’, which is a shame. That said, the lyrics are fascinating, as Neil takes one last car ride with a figure who is surely Pegi, staying over in a hotel for one last time as man and wife. They’ve spent ‘so many years now together, all those good times, ups and downs’ and even now they’re off visiting old friends they’ve known for decades. However things are different from how they used to be ands they both sense it. The kids have grown and moved on and every day they go through their routine out of habit more than love, as Crazy Horse join in on the aching chorus ‘every morning comes the sun and they both rise into the day…’ a line that reflects another song of devotion to Pegi [138] ‘Staying Power’. However, this is a couple who didn’t have staying power after all, as hard as they both fought for it and this is now their last hurrah as a couple, in some backward town (that could be anywhere: the Ramada chain have 800 hotels across the globe), in the only place that’s open for a last drink. It’s the state of their marriage in a microcosm: he drinks too much to try and avoid her gaze, but she’s not looking at him anyway but staring into space and dreaming about some alternative future. They’ve run out of things to say to each other, of things to do and they both know this is the end. For the most part Neil recounts this song like a tragedy that was fated, singing in such a detached way he might as well be filing his tax returns. However there’s one great last twist of the knife for anyone whose been following this love story since ‘Zuma’: Neil sadly acknowledges that ‘she loves him so’ and he can’t reply, those lines hanging in the air as he returns to his guitar playing, or perhaps burying his head in the paper. The closest he gets to a response is the sighed line ‘he does what he has to do’. Neil is too close to this story to sing it in the first person and seems to have deliberately hidden this revealing song away in the middle of an album where it can be overshadowed by the immediate songs next to it. However, it may well be the most important song on ‘Psychedelic Pill’, the moment when he drops the charade and stops travelling down a road that’s been one of his longest and widest (it makes perfect sense that their last act as man and wife is a car journey, even if it’s one that happened off-screen).  With wife departing and children gone, Neil is wondering what he has left. One of his most mournful guitar solos ever suggests the answer’s ‘not much’, but there’s a feel of redemption about ‘Ramada Inn’ too that just about manages to keep the song alive across sixteen lengthy sounding minutes. Overall ‘Ramada Inn’ is a nice place to stay which has a lot of good things to stay, but I wouldn’t want to live there and I’m glad we didn’t get a full album of this stuff.  


[383] ‘Born In Ontario’ rounds off the first CD by more or less repeating the last song’s sentiments of ‘going back home’. After some forty odd years of hearing Neil sing about ‘the good ole U S of A’ its strange to hear him proudly proclaiming his Canadian nationality, repeating the word ‘Ontario’ some twelve times across the song. Perhaps performing at the Canadian winter Olympics a few years ago has gone to Neil’s head? Musically this is another of those dopey lopsided cod country-rock songs Neil comes out with every few years (filling up whole sides of records with them on the albums ‘American Stars ‘n’ Bars’ and ‘Hawks and Doves’), but the lyrics are a lot more interesting than most similar songs in this vein. While not as descriptive as the ‘other’ song about Neil’s Canadian past (CSNY’s gorgeous ‘Helpless’) or as strictly autobiographical as the opening of [63] ‘Don’t Be Denied’), there’s a lot of great, insightful couplets here as Neil goes back further than he’s ever been before in setting. Neil proudly tells us over and over ‘I was born In Ontario!’ but if you read the book then you’ll know that he wasn’t there for very long – the family moved to Winnipeg when he was small. Fittingly this song comes with the sort of good-time waddle that recalls the enthusiasm of a toddler who wants to dance but is still learning to walk and keeps falling down, while knowing that he’ll master the art someday. Neil admits where he’s born doesn’t really matter (‘It don’t really matter where I am, it’s what I do, it’s what I can’), moving on to reveal more about his songwriting methods (he admits he ‘tries to write a happy song’ but that coming up with songs is more usually therapy when ‘something goes wrong’) while remembering that from his childhood days in Ontario ‘that’s where I learned most of what I know’. Some of the touches here – strangely missing from the book – are sweet, such as a toddler Neil trying to copy his famous writer father Scott by borrowing his typewriter ‘for a couple of miles’ (thus extending the earlier metaphor of art being like ‘a journey’, although it was probably to keep Neil busy during a long car journey) and explaining why he didn’t stay in Ontario for very long (‘I left home at a tender young age, ‘cause mom and daddy never liked to stay’). Indeed, most fans long assumed Neil was really born in Winnipeg until Neil’s book came out, given that this is the town where Neil spent the longest and the one he’s most connected with (with Joni Mitchell funnily enough living right round the corner, although the pair didn’t meet until their 20s). The best line in the song, though, is undoubtedly ‘You don’t learn much when you start to get old’, yet another great twist on that old line about how ‘rust never sleeps’ and how ‘it’s better to burn out than to fade away’. By returning to the place of his early childhood, Neil wants to be young again and feel that sheer joy and verve for life he used to have. Musically Crazy Horse throw a few new things into the song, Sampedro coming up with a clever accordion part that makes the song sound at once like history and like a party in the present (it’s the sort of thing Nils Lofgren always used to play on these albums) and the three Horses adding another clever harmony part to the song. All in all,a delight and  probably the best of the shorter songs on the album. 


The second CD is sadly not quite up to the first, [384] ‘Twisted Road’ sounding so similar to ‘Born In Ontario’ it may as well have been titled ‘Part Two’. Again, though, the lyrics are the highlight of another fascinating song, Neil recounting the moment that music first hit him between the eyes (hearing Bob Dylan’s ‘Like A Rolling Stone’ on the radio ‘poetry rolling off his tongue’ – which seems rather late, given that Neil had already been releasing records with the Buffalo Springfield for a few months by this time), seeing Roy Orbison live in concert (where, unforgivably ‘seeing Roy’... ‘brought me joy’ in easily the worst lyric of the album) and being in the present, wondering where all the good music went, while ‘listening to the ‘Dead’ on the radio’. As we said earlier, Neil really does mean the Grateful Dead apparently, given what he’s said in interviews to plug the album, but the use of the name here is very clever – this song is Neil’s tribute to all the great singers and songwriters gone but not forgotten from every generation, ‘the dead’ living on on the radio, their lives having counted for something. The thought of Neil ‘walkin’ with the devil down a twisted road’ never seems to match up with the rest of the song though (did it start as an off-shoot from ‘Greendale’ where the Devil is the main character?) and the song’s melody and arrangement is even more of a mock-hoe-down (poor Crazy Horse, forced into singing a chorus that clearly doesn’t suit them, sound like they’re desperately trying not to shout out ‘yee-hah!’ at the end).  Still, even if ‘Twisted Road’ isn’t up to the best work on this album, it still sounds much more developed than most recent Neil Young songs and has an intriguing hook, some fascinating heart-warming lyrics and another strong band performance (this is the most ‘shimmery’ and other-worldly their guitar parts have sounded since ‘Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere’ in 1969!) Best lyric: a description of Dylan at his natural best, ‘poetry rolling off his tongue, like Hank Williams chewing bubble gum!’


Even by Neil’s recent ‘lesser’ albums, however, [385] ‘She’s Still Dancing’ sounds dreadful. The worst song on the album by a country mile, I’m surprised it made the cut, seeing as this one song could have been removed to make this a ‘single’ album. The riff Crazy Horse play this time seems generic in the extreme, simply a speeded up version of ‘Driftin’ Back’ without the magic or poise, while the lyrics manage to make even the deliberately Neanderthal ‘When You Dance I Can Really Love’ sound like Yeats’ poetry. The dancing theme was already covered well enough by the title track – by contrast this song doesn’t sound like dancing (it’s too slow and the beat irregular), instead it sounds like drowning. This is, surely, another song of lust for Daryl and seems to celebrate the fact that they do have a chance to get together in this life after all, refuting both [208] ‘We Never Danced’ and [234] ‘Wrecking Ball’s afterlife meeting (dancing being, so it seems, a euphemism for sex). Neil seems shocked that his new partner has waited for him all those long years and admires her ability to be the free spirit he always sings about in song but has never been able to be himself till now. There’s another repetitive chorus – the Achilles heel of this whole record – but even the rest of the lyrics sound pretty poor (‘She wants to live without ties to bound her down, she wants to dance with her body left at ground’). The verses are better, especially when this song becomes unexpectedly dark (‘She likes to burn…She has the fire’), the plunge to a minor key suggesting Neil might have bitten off more than he can chew. However this is at heart a happy song, as Neil realises that all his doubts over the years are wrong and the couple have the ability to ‘dance forever’. The music though is wretched and leaves me earth-bound, dangerously close to repeating [330] ‘Be The Rain’, the less-than-inspired finale to ‘Greendale’ (and rather supporting the view that the character is based on Daryl, though I still think there’s some Amber Jean in there). Not one of Neil’s better ideas alas, with even another bout of excellent Crazy Horse harmonies failing to rescue the blandest and most pointless song on the album. Frankly, even on ‘Le Noise’ or ‘Greendale’ I’d have been disappointed with this – in the middle of Neil’s best work in some time it sounds downright hideous. Also, at eight minutes its only the fifth longest track here (!), but whereas the other long songs have grandeur, this one would pall at two or three. Worst lyric: ‘Floating in the smoke, it gives her hope’. 


[386] ‘For The Love Of Man’ isn’t the best song here either, but its slower tempo and smoky Sleeps-With Angels-like fragility makes it really stand out here. So does it’s age: this is a song that dates back to 1981 and ‘Re-Ac-Tor’, though it’s really more like ‘Chrome Dreams II’ in the way that Neil’s response to a major life event is to go for a walk in a nearby forest reaching out to some great unknown to get him through it and like ‘Trans’ in the way that the love he has for his newborn son means that deep down he’s ready for anything. The song would have stood out a mile, in fact, amongst Neil’s other works of 1981, being a poetic and very personal response to tragedy rather than a mechanical song about escapism, so you can see why the song would have been abandoned back then (it really should have been given a home on the patchwork quilt that was ‘Chrome Dreams’ though). The lyrics are bigger than Neil’s personal life though, this latest drama a crack in his usual ‘routine’ that gives him the space to ponder of what life really expects from him and all the other human beings out there. Without the sheer noise to sing over the cracks in Neil’s voice really begin to show here, while the tune sounds remarkably like last album ‘Le Noise’ (only Ralph Molina’s excellent drum track separates it from that ‘solo’ performance). Lyrically it’s a kind of precursor to [340]  ‘When God Made Me’ this time finding Neil wondering out loud whether the amount of ‘love’ a person gets in their lives has been decided before their birth and whether there’s anything they can do about it, imagining a world where every life is sacred and capable of greatness and where for each birth ‘angels ring the bells in the holy hills’. Again, Neil’s becoming much more accepting of religion the older he gets but makes it clear that he doesn’t know if any of this is true; it might just be his imagination running away with him. Even more moving is the second (and last) verse, Neil walking down a ‘dusty road’ to a Church he doesn’t know and hasn’t seen down this track before (is this a Brigadoon Church he only spots on his ranch in times of stress?) Neil asks the heavens to ‘let me wonder there’ and see whether there is anything in what they say to comfort him (compare this to [60] ‘Yonder Stands The Sinner’, where Neil can’t get away from the sight of a church quick enough!) By the end Neil is still not convinced either way, claiming that what he sees makes him feel ‘it’s alright’ but that still he continues to ‘wonder why’ he sees what he sees – divine inspiration?  Or imagination? The jury’s still out. Humble and quiet, without as strong a tune as some of the other songs, its’ easy for ‘For The Love Of Man’ to get lost, but it’s well worth the effort to analyse it; this is a song that might not rank among Neil’s best but offers plenty to think about.


This scattershot eighty-eight minutes epic desperately needs a strong song to tie things together and [387] ‘Walk Like A Giant’ largely fulfils that role, at least until a rather curious extended finale of feedback and stomping that extends the song from a nine minute epic into a 16 minute piece of chaotic noise. Clearly inspired by his autobiography once more, this is Neil longing for the time when he and his friends had respect, power and worth and firmly believed in what they were doing, ‘walking like a giant on the land’, rather than merely releasing records for loyal fans out into the ether as he feels he does now. Ever the realist/grumpy one in a band of utopian idealists, in the past Neil has shied away from such claims, distancing himself from CSN’s belief that music could change the world with a series of songs like [82] ‘Roll Another Number’ and [192] ‘Hippie Dream’ that decry how those ‘wooden ships’ had ‘hippie sails’ that wouldn’t get them very far. Perhaps it was CSN’s enthusiastic support of Neil’s controversial ‘Living With War’ album and Neil’s sudden love of politics in the wake of the Iraq war and 9/11 that’s made him think otherwise; whatever, Neil now claims that spiritual utopia was ‘in the distance...getting closer every minute’ when the quartet were together and making presidents quake in their boots until, without warning, ‘the train left the tracks’. Neil stands there now in their wake, after some fifty years nearly of making some of the most powerful music ever made and waiting for the train to come back and – in the opinion of many – being about the only old rocker still refusing to compromise or soften his stance. It’s unusual if not unique to hear Neil kicking himself for helping the train to crash and how ‘it’s not enough to think about how close we came’ – he feels it’s unfinished business that it’s too late to put right (hint: it isn’t Neil, at the time of writing the Woodstock 50th anniversary is waiting for a CSNY anniversary to go after Trump and inspire a new generation who have never heard of you). Neil then moves to the present day (ish), recounting the American and Canadian forest fires of the past few years, seeing a ‘big fire burning’ to ‘burn down all my ideas’ – he might have well as sung ‘ideals’; certainly the 1960s ethos seems further away than ever now the credit crunch has revived the ‘I’m alright, Jack’ spirit of the 1980s. This passage is also quite scary given that, in 2017, Neil and Daryl lost their house to a great forest fire (that does it, Neil is psychic! No not psycho, psychic…well, maybe that too). Neil’s muted vocal, feebly mixed, with its claims to ‘want to walk like a giant’ are both moving and slightly silly all at the same time, especially when someone (Billy Talbot?) adds a mock out-of-breath puff in his best ‘giant’ voice and the whole band add some nonchalant whistling, as if the Horse couldn’t care less (it is audacious, after all, to get CSNY’s biggest rivals in to pay ‘tribute’ to them – can you imagine CSNY singing a song about the raw grunt of Crazy Horse?!?) There’s no doubting the sentiment of the song, though, or the stinging choppy guitar work Neil adds to the song which recounts both [94] ‘Cortez The Killer’ [159] ‘Like An Inca’ and a song CSNY made their own [27] ‘Down By The River’. Could have done without the seven minutes of false endings and giant footsteps though, Neil railing at the world one last time and recalling the pyrotechnics and frustration of Jimi Hendrix and Pete Townshend, wondering out loud whatever happened to ‘My Generation’ once they grew old  – especially as it meant us fans forking out for a two-disc set! While not as epic or as strong as ‘Driftin’ Back’, this sixteen minute song is still far better and much more developed than anything Neil’s given us for a while and ‘Walk Like A Giant’ is a fascinating song, if only to see how Neil’s feelings have shifted and softened down the years. 


Well, what a long strange ‘trip’ it’s been! Overall, then, ‘Psychedelic Pill’ is a far better record than I was expecting both because of Neil’s recent poor form, Crazy Horse’s poor form and the unlistenable curio that ‘Americana’ was, a starter released mere weeks before this main course. Despite his worries in ‘Waging Heavy Peace’ that he’s past it (the one revelation from the book I never expected to read) Neil has a lot of life left in him yet and even though he’s nowhere near the same level he was even as recently as the 1990s the fire inside him is still raging strong and Crazy Horse, especially, sound like a band half their age. Neil ended his last great run of albums with 1993’s ‘Sleeps With Angels’, a dark, mysterious album highly similar to this one with its moody monochrome shots of life in the (then) present day and requiems for younger singers who didn’t see the point in growing old and selling out. Hopefully ‘Psychedelic Pill’ is the start of a whole new brilliant phase, with Neil and Crazy Horse picking up where they left off, updating the songs so that the characters a little older and the 1960s dream is a little more faded but who still are very much recognisable from the characters of the past. Frank Sampedro, in particular, has cracked the art of flying off in his own world while still listening to Neil (something Danny Whitten seemed to pick up without even trying but which is a woefully hard act to pull off) and Crazy Horse are at last being used properly, instead of being stapled into concepts where their sound doesn’t go. There might not be any individual song here to compare to [112] ‘Like A Hurricane’ or [94] ‘Cortez The Killer’, but like ‘Sleeps With Angels’ this is a fascinating mood piece that only lets the side down once and managed to run to double the length of Neil’s last LP (‘Le Noise’) despite containing the same number of songs. The medicine the modern world needs, the beast is waking up again and Crazy Horse sounds like they have many  more miles to gallop yet, however many references there are on this album to aging and mortality. Perhaps Neil ought to write books more often if they waken his muse and his feelings of nostalgia as wonderfully as this...

A now complete list of Neil Young and related articles at Alan’s Album Archives:


'Neil Young' (1968) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2013/10/neil-young-1968-album-review.html

'Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere' (1969) http://www.alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/04/neil-young-and-crazy-horse-everybody.html

‘After The Goldrush’ (1970) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2012/10/neil-young-after-goldrush-1970.html?utm_source=BP_recent


'Harvest' (1972) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2016/07/neil-young-harvest-1972.html

'Time Fades Away' (1973) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2012/07/neil-young-time-fades-away-1973.html

'On The Beach' (1974) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2016/02/neil-young-on-beach-1974.html

'Zuma' (1975) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2015/02/neil-young-and-crazy-horse-zuma-1975.html

'American Stars 'n' Bars' (1977) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2010/08/news-views-and-music-issue-70-neil.html

'Comes A Time' (1978) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2009/04/news-views-and-music-issue-29-neil.html

'Rust Never Sleeps' (1979) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2014/01/neil-young-rust-never-sleeps-1979-album.html

'Hawks and Doves' (1980) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2009/03/news-views-and-music-issue-26-neil.html

'RelAclTor' (1981) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2015/04/neil-young-and-crazy-horse-re-ac-tor.html

'Trans' (1982) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/review-84-neil-young-trans-1982.html

'Everybody's Rockin' (1983) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2017/01/neil-young-everybodys-rockin-1983.html

'Old Ways' (1985) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2016/10/neil-young-old-ways-1985.html

‘Landing On Water’ (1986) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/05/neil-young-landing-on-water-1986.html


‘This Note’s For You’ (1988) https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/08/neil-young-this-notes-for-you-1988.html

'Freedom' (1988) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/review-92-neil-young-freedom-1988.html

'Ragged Glory' (1990) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2016/12/neil-young-and-crazy-horse-ragged-glory.html

'Weld' (1991) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/review-95-neil-young-weld-1991.html

'Harvest Moon' (1992) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2016/01/neil-young-harvest-moon-1992.html

'Sleeps With Angels' (1993) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2011/11/news-views-and-music-issue-121-neil.html

'Mirror Ball' (1995) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2011/06/news-views-and-music-issue-103-neil.html


‘Silver and Gold’ (2000) https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/09/neil-young-silver-and-gold-2000.html

‘Are You Passionate?’ (2002) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/04/neil-young-and-mgs-are-you-passionate.html

'Greendale' (2003) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2016/05/neil-young-and-crazy-horse-greendale.html

‘Prairie Wind’(2005)  http://www.alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2013/02/neil-young-prairie-wind-2005.html

‘Living With War’ (2006) https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/10/neil-young-living-with-war-2006.html

‘Chrome Dreams II’ (2007) https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/07/neil-young-chrome-dreams-two-2007.html

'Fork In The Road' (2009) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/08/neil-young-fork-in-road-2009.html

'Le Noise' (2011) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2011/04/news-views-and-music-issue-94-neil.html

'A Treasure' (1986/2012) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2012/06/news-views-and-music-issue-147-neil.html


'Storytone' (2014) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/12/neil-young-storytone-2014.html

'The Monsanto Years' (2015) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2015/09/neil-young-and-promise-of-real-monsanto.html







Live/Compilation/Crazy Horse Albums Part One 1968-1972 https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/12/neil-young-livecompilationarchivecrazy.html

Live/Compilation/Crazy Horse Albums Part Two 1977-2016 https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/12/neil-young-livecompilationarchivecrazy_18.html

Surviving TV Clips 1970-2016


Neil Essay: Will To Love – Spiritualism and The Unseen In Neil’s Music https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2018/07/neil-young-essay-will-to-love.html