The hangover from the success, which happened in the early 70s, the caravan of the Country Rock of Harvest.
Year 1974, something is wrong in Neil Young's head, the schizophrenia of post-success depression... another show, another triumph among the audience, then he awaits yet another radio interview, Neil enters the booth and sits down alone in front of the microphone, and feels something dark, he feels alone, there in front of that microphone, he wishes he were elsewhere, out of that city that crushes consciences, he feels trapped, he senses that the Hippie dreams of civil and libertine coexistence are forever shattered, right while he was singing Harvest, what does Neil do, he leaves the radio station and retreats to the beach, an umbrella, and an atomic bomb fallen from the sky to keep him company, this beach seems more like a psychiatric institute, among the grooves of the album the introspection reaches a post-psychiatric operation stasis, just a hint of anger with the sinister blows of "Revolution Blues" where Neil for a moment abandons his quiet despair screaming to the four winds like a wolf on a full moon night his contempt for what America post 68 has become, he would like to massacre all the Hollywood stars aboard their luxurious cars, he would like to be Charles Manson for a day...
The rest of the album is a comatose coming and going, impossible to describe the abysmal layers of mind reached in the Title Track, sparse electric arpeggios, a bass holding up the structure, listen to believe... also magnificent "See the Sky About To Rain" with the organ painting whorls in the air, there's a lot of Blues, Blues escaped from the road massacres, Beach Blues, Motion Picture, the spiritual retreat, and closes with "Ambulance Blues", a grainy dream on the sunset of all perspectives, 9 apocalyptic minutes of voice and guitar with inlays of viola and organ to sublimate the prophesying of this apocalypse of our illusions.
"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."
On a spectral tremor of sound, melancholy insinuates itself under the skin and a pale light passes through the glass.
Throw all your ghosts into the fire and watch the flames go out like the music that never fades away.