Young Man Of A Melancholia

by J.A.

Neil Young, since the release of "Zuma" in November 1975, has preserved an enigmatic and infuriating silence. His last recorded appearance was an insubstantial role on Joni Mitchell's "Hejira", which was prefaced last August by the inconclusive and disappointing "Long May You Run", produced with Stephen Stills (a project that was followed by an abortive tour featuring the two pricipals).

That album was notable only for two of Youngs contributions, the elegaic title track and the acerbic "Fontainebleau", a vicious attack on a Miami hotel and its effluent residents that proved (as was observed at the time of its release) that Young, when the mood takes him, can be gratuitously misanthropic about virtually anything.

These songs ensured that Young emerged from the otherwise undistinguished adventure with some honour (the same can not be said for Stephen Stills), but offered little consolation for those eager to be exposed to further evidence of the unique and courageous musical intelligence that had produced "Zuma", and its magnificent predecessors "Tonight's The Night", "On The Beach", and Youngs masterpiece of rock verite, "Time Fades Away".

It was with a rare impatience, then, that I slapped "American Stars 'n' Bars" onto a turntable within minutes of its appearance in the office, and it was with considerable relief that I recognised it to be the equal of the illustrious quartet of albums quoted above. Well, that's an opinion, now for some facts about the platter: side one, which features Young supported by Crazy Horse augmented by the violin of Carole Mayedo and additional vocals from Linda Ronstadt and Nicolette Larson, was recorded as recently as April of this year.

Conversely, the second side of "American Stars" is, compiled from sessions dating back to November 1974 ("Star Of Bethlehem"), November 1975 ("Like A Hurricane", "Homegrown") and May 1976 ("Will To Love").

The resulting album is not as fractured and disparate an entity as you might, perhaps, imagine: it might not be as entirely performed with such force as last year at his Hammersmith concerts (the recorded version is no disappointment), but it pursues the same theme of being deceived and let down by some vicious female.

The music here fiercely reflects Young's present state of mind, but the emotional polaroids, so distinctively developed here, offer a fascinating series of portraits that capture various aspects of the author's complex personality and his contradictory attitudes to women, love and its defeats and cruel disappointments.

These are the predominant concerns of the songs included here, nearly all of which are marked by a melancholic despair and resignation, made tolerable by the weary humour and stubborn resilience that Young invariably introduces.

The record is characterised by the sparse instrumentation, the immediacy and the general informality that has become familiar from Young's albums since "Time Fades Away."

It's interesting, too, that Young has shaken off much of the desperation that has coloured the moods of his most recent works.

"The Old Country Waltz," which opens the album, has, for instance, a classic country scenario: the singer is knocking down tequilas in a dusty bar, his old lady's just skipped and he's heading for a terminal hangover; in the background an old country band is playing a romantic melody (Keith's pedal steel and Mayedo's violin are prominently featured here.)

"Saddle Up The Palomino," which follows, reinforces the impression that Young is presently more ruthless in his affairs than in the starstruck days of old (though he's always been capable of stinging put-downs).

Elsewhere Young is less callous: "Hey Babe" is an unselfconscious and simple plea for love and affection, set against an evocative, unadorned melody coloured by Keith's pedal steel, seductive harmonies and a muted electric guitar solo, while "Bite The Bullet" is a brash sexual romp about "a barhall queen down in Charlottetown"."

Young and Sampedro exchange vehement guitar broadsides here over an infectious chorus: it's a thrilling delight. But side one's fines cut, to these ears at least, is the romantic lament, "Hold Back The Tears", a song of consolation and, eventually, despite the pain and apprehension, so convincingly expressed (and enhanced by the slight Mexican atmosphere - all moody cantina blues - provided by Mayedo's violin part), optimism.

The fragile acoustic ballad "Star Of Bethlehem" (no: it's not a Christmas carol), on which Young duets with Emmylou Harris, is similarly balanced between private grief and hope for the future.

"Hurricane," dynamic with the two guitarists playing with the intensity that marked, say, "Cortez The Killer", with Young contributing a particularly violent solo during the long instrumental fade.

"Homegrown" - a song that's been knocking around for some considerable time - closes the album. It is, by comparison to the two aforementioned songs, quite slight, with Crazy Horse sounding like a psychedelic version of the Searchers and Young extolling the virtues of self-sufficiency among drug abusers.

This album's masterpiece, though, is "Will To Love." It has the fractured intensity of "Last Trip To Tulsa," the emotional gravity of "Ambulance Blues" allied to the slowburning turmoil of "On The Beach." Yes: it's that heavy. Young is the only musician credited here. He's featured principally on acoustic guitar (again there is no attempt to achieve a polished style; everything stands, I imagine, as it was recorded), and also contributes odd piano lines that cut suddenly through the mix, as well as various curious percussion effects that punctuate the song irregularly (it could be someone falling over in the studio, of course).

The song itself is a torturous slice of self-examination, with Young stripping away layers of his personality, fighting against the melodramatic fatalism into which he so easily falls and striving for a positive perspective on reality. The breathless intimacy of the song is enthralling and its aching beauty is not easily forgotten.

Two years ago I reviewed "Zuma" and concluded my piece with the opinion that Neil Young remained one of the only contemporary rock artists prepared to risk commercial failure in his pursuit of a precious integrity. Nothing's changed.