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Rating: They dance and she, but what the hell are you doing up there I still wonder today as I rewatch the scene in my head, is the embodiment of happiness; the weight of a body that materializes into a handful of feathers lifted by the wind. They spin embraced, glued to each other: constantly seeking contact with hands, legs, lips. There are a thousand people but for them, the external environment either doesn't exist or at most has the watery consistency of a dream that no one dares to dent by sticking a finger into it. I find nothing better to do than turn my back so as not to watch her smile mischievously; I stumble over the easy notes of an endless sequence of 80s hits moving like Robocop after a binge. If I didn't have the cast, I would have fled screeching tires, but instead, I'm condemned to throw intermittent glances and go back to when I threw away a beautiful story for... Does it change anything to know? Every look at her happiness, which shows how far my own is, like a deep stab: after an hour the snow had the color of a robust red wine from a refuge.
Hairpin bends on the way home while, resting my nape on the icy glass, I observe the late snow on the trees of this stingy winter that's growing old. Pretending a vague malaise in response to others’ stupid and inquisitive questions, I find myself spitting pebbles into my hand. I squeeze them in my fist, full of saliva and blood, and I realize it's these damned round little stones obstructing my airflow, almost strangling me by stabbing my throat. Nonetheless, I put them back in my mouth and gulp down with a grimace the gray, angular and painful taste of regret.
I open my front door only to close it again within less than a minute with my very old mp3 player in hand: I find it soothing that a handful of songs can tell me what I’m feeling in the form of music. I come from a background of few good restaurants and many cheeseburgers and frozen pizzas. It is thus very likely that, like a child, I tend to judge as sublime dishes filled with new flavors even those that are actually not. I write a redundant piece without the ambition of adding anything compared to those before me since all I have of Neil Young is this album. So far.
I am at the mercy of the winter cold as I let myself be rocked by “Only Love Can Break Your Heart”; I lull to the sleepy rhythm while watching the smoke coming from my mouth, intent on whispering tired verses and the sad chorus gently pushed by the guitar: a sort of kick to a can rolling down the street. I squeeze and quench my thirst with the sad voice that cuts the butter of the piano in “After the Gold Rush”: it's a gray, hypnotic, and reassuring melody that almost makes me lose the sense of space. Only for an instant: I turn right and find myself in front of the frozen fountain that seems almost like an emblem of the past evening. That stagnant water, condemned to immobility, reminds me of that period, which I thought I had buried forever, and yet now I realize will remain trapped in my head for quite a while. The album continues with the sunny, cheerful and rhythmic “Till the Morning Comes” which is out of tune with my state, just like the dog mess staining the white sidewalk winding up the mountain. I observe pieces of snow on the branches, undecided whether to fall or not: they seem to be listening to the guitar line of “Tell Me Why” before making their decision. In the end, it will be a backward dive destined to partially cover the writing on the flyer recalling the now past party. I let myself be pleasantly depressed by what seems like my own introspective sound photograph in “Oh, Lonesome Me” only to find my way home while a thin and fragile atmosphere is created with the tinkling of the piano over which scarcely suggested vocal lines spiral in calibrated mini-crescendos, reminding me of the thin ice on which you'd never trust to place your weight (“Birds”). It's not ice, but ground I carefully tread on: it's past 3 AM and the ballad of “I Believe in You” with its vocal intertwining echoes in my head as I undress; I finally lay in bed to listen to my favorite “Southern Man”.
Ready to close my eyes, I take off my earbuds and the panting of my upstairs neighbors inevitably resurfaces those pebbles that “After the Gold Rush” had almost made me forget. What a record!
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 Tell Me Why (02:58)
Sailing heart-ships thru broken harbors
Out on the waves in the night
Still the searcher must ride the dark horse
Racing alone in his fright.
Tell me why, tell me why
Is it hard to make arrangements with yourself,
When you're old enough to repay but young enough to sell?
Tell me lies later, come and see me
I'll be around for a while.
I am lonely but you can free me
All in the way that you smile
Tell me why, tell me why
Is it hard to make arrangements with yourself,
When you're old enough to repay but young enough to sell?
Tell me why, tell me why
Tell me why, tell me why
08 Birds (02:33)
Lover, there will be another one
Who'll hover over you beneath the sun
Tomorrow see the things that never come
Today
When you see me
Fly away without you
Shadow on the things you know
Feathers fall around you
And show you the way to go
It's over, it's over.
Nestled in your wings my little one
This special morning brings another sun
Tomorrow see the things that never come
Today
When you see me
Fly away without you
Shadow on the things you know
Feathers fall around you
And show you the way to go
It's over, it's over.
10 I Believe in You (03:28)
Now that you found yourself losing your mind
Are you here again?
Finding that what you once thought was real
Is gone, and changing?
Now that you made yourself love me
Do you think I can change it in a day?
How can I place you above me?
Am I lying to you when I say
That I believe in you
I believe in you.
Coming to you at night I see my questions
I feel my doubts
Wishing that maybe in a year or two
We could laugh and let it all out
Now that you made yourself love me
Do you think I can change it in a day?
How can I place you above me?
Am I lying to you when I say
That I believe in you
I believe in you.
11 Cripple Creek Ferry (01:34)
Did I see you down in a young girls town
With your mother in so much pain?
I was almost there at the top of the stairs
With her screamin in the rain.
Did she wake you up to tell you that
It was only a change of plan?
Dream up, dream up, let me fill your cup
With the promise of a man.
Did I see you walking with the boys
Though it was not hand in hand?
And was some black face in a lonely place
When you could understand?
Did she wake you up to tell you that
It was only a change of plan?
Dream up, dream up, let me fill your cup
With the promise of a man.
Will I see you give more than I can take?
Will I only harvest some?
As the days fly past will we lose our grasp
Or fuse it in the sun?
Did she wake you up to tell you that
It was only a change of plan?
Dream up, dream up, let me fill your cup
With the promise of a man.}}
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By Grasshopper
It feels like being in the middle of 2005, and yet all of this is from an album of 1970.
An exquisite album to rediscover, perhaps especially for those who only know Neil Young’s Harvest and its magical spirit of the land.
