There's No One Like Neil

By Gail Grenier Sweet ©2004

It was a cool night June 19.  My fingers had shrunken.   I was clapping so hard,  my rings were rattling around and I thought I might fling them off.

I didn’t care.  I was watching Neil Young at the Marcus Amphitheater, drawn out of my seat like thousands around me, applauding “Bandit,” a song I had never heard before.  Neil played acoustic guitar and sang, melancholy, over and over:  “Someday you’ll find everything you’re looking for.”

If only.

How do I describe the sweet and bitter songs of a man who bares his soul but always bares it obliquely?  Neil is ever the artist, and nothing is direct.  I’ll never decode some of his songs — and I’m sure he’s often just playin’ with us.  But his “Greendale” concert was one of the best I’ve seen since I first saw him perform about 30 years ago because:

After Neil’s very moving “Greendale” set, he played 45 minutes of encore music for his enthusiastic audience (composed of folks from about 8 years old to about 60).  With classics like “Hey Hey, My My” and “Like a Hurricane,” the amphitheater came alive with a sea of people standing and moving without inhibition to the music.  It was as if the sound went into our bodies.  The wild-haired woman next to me described the experience as “transcendent.”

When George Harrison died, I realized the old rock icons can’t perform forever.  So if I love their music and can afford the ticket, I’m going to see them play.  I just bring along earplugs.    

Neil runs on creativity; every album is different.  His show is never an oldies review.  He’s the only musician who can sing “Rock and roll can never die” without irony to a melody that sounds like an old country song.  His legs move to a rhythm only he can sense. His face may be craggy and his hair ragged, but his voice still rings pure and high.  There’s no one like Neil Young. 

The End


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