Reap what you sow.

May 4th – You gotta hand it to him. If anyone has a way of commenting on contemporary culture by way of a touch of whimsy mixed in with the genuine horror of it all, it’s Neil Young. I know, I know, he’s a grumpy old sod, was a miserable bugger in CSNY, has had an album-release graph that reads like the Blackpool Big Dipper and has the middle name of Percival, but his time with Buffalo Springfield was far from wasted and I defy anyone with an appreciation of talent to listen to After The Gold Rush or Harvest and not say, at its end;

‘Might not be my scene, but there’s some talent on display there.’

Death, drugs, personal tragedy and political malfeasance, Alabam, Ohio, Old Man… To be able to write on those subjects with the degree of aplomb that Mr. Young does, with monotonous regularity, takes a special slant on the song-writing genre. I think one of the things that endears him most to me is that he’s not afraid to say either;

‘This is substandard’

or

‘Gone off that one now’

about a piece of work he’s been developing for months and not only rubbish it but be prepared to either shelve or chuck it and start afresh or, indeed, do something completely different.

He’s a take me or leave me musician who is not afraid to step outside of his comfort zone, not afraid to fall flat because, like all great performers and artists, he knows it’s all about growth, not about becoming better but about growing, understanding, trusting the core…and all other sorts of arty-farty stuff.

On this day in 1970 the Kent State murders took place; Mr. Young immortalised the events in Ohio… No, he’s not the new Messiah, nor the answer to our pains and troubles. His past, like all of ours, is chequered; a scatter-gunned reflection of good and bad decisions, but his lyrics tell the truth of the man and he’ll remain a friend to me for as long as the music speaks.