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Rating:
THE REVIEW
"Oh that's very funny, because I'm Canadian and Neil Young is Canadian too" (a clearly drunk guy recognizes the notes of "Old Man")
Preamble: an exquisitely useless review. I remain of the opinion, in any case, that the elusive meaning of art is found especially in the small trivialities of everyday life.
Nineteen seventy-two - Two thousand (and) seven, 35 years after its birth, this "something," forged from the stuff that dreams are made of, continues in the perpetual attempt to elicit a shiver from me: I've only and always lost. If it's true for you too that each note corresponds to a color, an irrecoverable memory, a heartbeat of a faraway submerged world and countless traversed miles, then I'm not the only one who turns small treasures like this work into a lifeline, a coral refuge where one can solitarily watch the great assembly line.
I savor the night and the gifts it brings, the freshness of uncuttable grass, the wounds that, due to my self-imposed misfortune, I will never be able to savor.
The album? Well, to describe the album, lengthy discussions aren't necessary, it's absolutely not required to embellish this white backdrop in search of an extra line that won't add a different weight to the unspeakable Divine verdict: "Harvest" IS the music, just as much as other celestial tales of its kind.
Describing this 35/40-minute-long feeling song by song seems seriously ineffective: it seems more complexly satisfying instead to grasp the abrupt awakening it triggers as a single great possibility, brushed, conquered, by intangible shades, uncountable unless one embraces concepts like "infinity minus one" and similar.
"Did she wake you up
to tell you that
It was only a change of plan?"
It's impossible not to be struck by the Machiavellian serum that music habitually projects, intrusive and exaggerated, into our fragile sanguine curtain; just hearing about it proves to be too late for monoliths of the caliber of "Harvest": I see, I can discern the mud accompanying the cowboy's boots to the ever so underrated inner threshold, I observe the spontaneity with which nature, chameleonic, does its duty in the exasperated circus of planets, I arrive at what could be the coldest of evenings.
And again: the tundra, beaches never crossed and never forgotten, love for life and the awareness that this love enables us to survive day by day.
"Living in castles
a bit at a time
The King started laughing
and talking in rhyme."
Too beautiful to be simply true.
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Summary by Bot
This poetic review celebrates the timeless impact of Neil Young's 1972 album Harvest. It highlights how the album continues to evoke deep personal memories and emotions decades later. The reviewer emphasizes the ineffability of its beauty, describing it as a continuous emotional experience rather than a mere collection of songs. Harvest is portrayed as a celestial and divine piece of music with enduring relevance.Tracklist Lyrics Videos
Neil Young
Neil Young (born 1945) is a Canadian singer-songwriter and musician, active since the 1960s. He gained prominence with Buffalo Springfield, later collaborated with Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, and has released influential solo albums and records with Crazy Horse across folk, country and electric rock.67 Reviews
Other reviews
By R2061478
He molests it. He squeezes it, forcing it to purge every residue of its soul.
Restless but not confused, of someone who doesn’t know where he will end up but knows which direction to go.
By the clash
There is something magical and dreamy in the atmospheres of Out On The Weekend, Harvest, Heart Of Gold.
Perhaps for that tone of voice so fragile and close to breaking of the great Neil.
By joe strummer
"Harvest is a constant yearning for perfection, a search for ecstasy, which is often captured with depth by Mr. Young's magical singing."
"Heart of Gold is simply beautiful, a tableau of the sun setting behind the hill, while a gentle wind tousles our hair."
By Deneil
An indispensable album that if it had been released in its time, today we would surely find it alongside Harvest and After The Gold Rush among our classics.
For me every time I get to the end it feels like waking up. It’s sad to let go of the dream.
