Sleep, anger, Lost Illusions... in the old folk days the atmosphere was magical. Now all the photos have fallen off the walls and we need songs from the crooked moon. Laurel Canyon is full of overweight people but I still have some of my own charms and even a few mean guitars. On a spectral tremor of sound, melancholy insinuates itself under the skin and a pale light passes through the glass. I now live on the beach and the seagulls are out of reach, but in their rain-laden flight there is a longing for the returning sun, a mysterious thrill that hints at warmth. Do not scatter joy like a goose and sing misfortune if you do not want misfortune. Throw all your ghosts into the fire and watch the flames go out like the music that never fades away.
This beach seems more like a psychiatric institute, among the grooves of the album the introspection reaches a post-psychiatric operation stasis.
He would like to massacre all the Hollywood stars aboard their luxurious cars, he would like to be Charles Manson for a day.
"On the Beach is Neil Young's masterpiece: the work in which the threads of his aesthetics magically converge, through an astonishing sonic alchemy."
"The track is simply perfect: the Band’s rhythm section provides a monstrous funky groove, David Crosby on rhythm guitar supports a Neil intent on crafting precise and devastating solos like cuts without resorting to feedback."