Category Archives: Crazy Horse

The Essentials: Neil Young & Crazy Horse – Broken Arrow

(As noted in my first Essentials entry, this is an occasional series in which I spotlight albums that, in my estimation, everyone should experience at least once.)

In early 1996, a few months after the passing of fellow traveler David Briggs (1944-95), Neil saddled up the Horse and took it for a much-needed ride. The result: Broken Arrow, which was released on July 2nd of that year. It’s an oft-overlooked gem, overshadowed for some by the classics that immediately preceded it (Freedom, Ragged Glory, Weld, Harvest Moon, Sleeps With Angels and Mirror Ball) and unknown to many younger fans simply because…well, where does one begin with such a prolific artist?

That said, it’s one of my favorites by Neil. It’s somber, reflective and celebratory, essentially the grieving process set to song. It’s hypnotic. But rather than delve deep into its grooves, as I often do with my Essentials, I thought I’d share my original review of the album, written not long after its release…

First listen: Long, loping songs (“Big Time,” “Loose Change,” “Slip Away”) with thick guitars reverberating ad infinitum, seemingly nothing more than retreads of themes previously visited on numerous Neil & CH classics. Throw in shorter tunes (“Scattered,” “This Town,” “Music Arcade”) that, again, echo past classics and even previous tracks, plus a conclusion (a cover of Jimmy Reed’s “Baby What You Want Me To Do”) that sounds like it was copped from a bad-sounding bootleg. Short and sweet review: Mediocre.

Second listen: Gets better. The long, loping songs are still long and, yes, they still lope. But “Big Time,” “Slip Away,” “Loose Change” and “Scattered” possess hypnotic, near narcotic qualities that circulate and percolate through the mind long after the music has stopped. Lyrically, the songs make a fitting tribute to the late David Briggs, Neil’s longtime producer and friend: “I’m still living the dream we had/for me it’s not over.”

Third, then fourth, fifth and sixth listens, all played LOUD: The chords cleanse the soul. “Music Arcade” has proven itself an acoustic gem that serves as this album’s piece de resistance, featuring an impassioned, hushed vocal: “I was walking down Main Street … dodgin’ traffic with flyin’ feet/ that’s how good I felt.” And that bad-sounding, bootleg-esque ending? Guess what? It works. After a while you forgive the bad sound and just get into the groove…and, man, what a groove! (A+)

The songs:

  1. Big Time
  2. Loose Change
  3. Slip Away
  4. Changing Highways
  5. Scattered (Let’s Think About Livin’)
  6. This Town
  7. Music Arcade
  8. Baby What You Want Me to Do
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The Essentials: Neil Young & Crazy Horse – Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere

(As noted in my first Essentials entry, this is an occasional series in which I spotlight albums that, in my estimation, everyone should experience at least once.)

The first Neil Young album I purchased was re*ac*tor in late 1981, when I was 16. Flawed though it was, I loved it – “Southern Pacific,” “Rapid Transit” and “Shots,” to say nothing of “Opera Star” and “Surfer Joe and Moe the Sleaze,” sawed against the grain of what my brain understood to be rock music. It wasn’t Beatlesque or Stones-ish, or New Wave. It was unique, guitar heavy and great. I named it my Album of the Year.

The second Neil Young LP I purchased – a few months later, though I could be wrong there – was Hawks & Doves, which he had released the previous year. I remember being surprised by the subdued sonics of Side One, a collection of acoustic songs, and taken aback by Side Two, which consists of country-flavored tracks. Don’t get me wrong: I liked Side One, and played it quite a bit. Side Two, however…I don’t think I revisited those songs until the CD release, which I picked up years after its 2003 street date.

In other words, I liked Neil. I quickly came to know and enjoy other songs by him thanks to WMMR and WYSP, Philly’s two rock stations, and WIOQ, which was more oriented towards singer-songwriters and soft rock.

But, like many teens, my record-buying budget was slim. Time and circumstance, in other words, conspired against me – until the week after Christmas of 1982, when I was flush with cash. In one fell swoop, I picked up six Neil Young albums on cassette (along with, over the course of the week, a slew of other albums).

Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere quickly became my most-played Neil album – and it still is.

Most fans already know the story behind Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere: In the mid-1960s, while with the Buffalo Springfield, Neil met and jammed with another Laurel Canyon-based rock group, the Rockets, and liked what he heard; they jammed again after he’d split (for good) from the Springfield and, when he was ready to record his second solo album, he “borrowed” the band’s rhythm guitarist, bassist and drummer (Danny Whitten, Billy Talbot and Ralph Molina), rechristened them Crazy Horse – and never gave them back.

What can be written about the album itself that hasn’t been said before? That, to my ears, it’s one of the greatest albums of all times? That the swirling guitar jams with Whitten are akin to jazz greats trading horn riffs? That the swirling melodies lift you up when you need it most, and usher you back down when you’re too far from the ground? Yeah. It’s been said before. Which is why, on my old website in the late ‘90s, I summarized it as thus:

“Cinnamon Girl.” “Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere.” “Down by the River.” “Cowgirl in the Sand.” ‘Nuff said. I graded it an A+. I’d grade it even higher now.

Side One:

  1. Cinnamon Girl
  2. Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere
  3. Round & Round (It Won’t Be Long)
  4. Down by the River

Side Two:

  1. The Losing End (When You’re On)
  2. Running Dry (Requiem for the Rockets)
  3. Cowgirl in the Sand

Here’s the album in full:

Today’s Top 5: 1991

dodgecolt002Twenty-five years ago today as I write, on Wednesday Sept. 25, 1991, Diane and I were brand-new to married life, having gotten hitched the previous Friday in Philly’s Chestnut Hill neighborhood. It was, suffice it to say, a great day – up until we walked out of the French restaurant where we held the wedding: my brother and a friend had decked out my car, a Dodge Colt, in festive wedding gear, and tied empty cans to the back. That centuries-old tradition sounds charming, I suppose, but try driving with said cans clanging on Chestnut Hill’s cobblestone streets… as Bill the Cat might say, “Ack!” At the first opportunity, I cut ’em loose. Anyway, we waited until the following spring for our actual honeymoon, a wondrous California odyssey, and spent the weekend down the shore. We already lived together, so the adjustment was minimal – changing our W-4s was it, I think.

Here’s our living room from January 1991:

apartment-1991002

Yes, that’s a lot of CDs; and the number only increased, as they spawned often. By decade’s end, they took over that end of the living room.

smokey_ogc001Although I don’t remember the specifics of this particular Wednesday, I can still lay out a large chunk of what happened based on routine: I woke around 6:30, left at 7:35am, arrived at work 10-15 minutes later, and then sat at a desk for a spell. Those were the days of hour-long paid lunches (what a concept!), and I made use of the time by heading home most middays. Without morning traffic, it took 10 minutes each way. I brought in the mail, likely indulged the original old grey cat, Smokey, with a few treats, and worked on the Great American Novel, which I spent much of the ‘90s writing, re-writing and never completing.

That’s to say, in addition to a cat, we had a computer – a second-hand x286 IBM clone. It came with an eight-gig hard drive, 256MBs of memory and a modem, which meant we could, and did, connect to the sandboxed universe of Prodigy. My dad, God bless him, dumbed down the DOS operating system for us and installed a simple menu, so accessing a program was never more than one or two keystrokes away – as in, A, B, C, D or E. For me, at lunchtime, that meant firing up the word processor and tap-tap-tapping away.

The top movie of 1991 was The Silence of the Lambs, which Diane and I saw while down the shore for a week in the spring. (We read the book and Red Dragon, the novel that preceded it, in the same week. Yes, we were eyeing everyone with suspicion.) Other popular films included Beauty and the Beast, Terminator 2: Judgment Day, Point Break and Hook, none of which interested me then or now; and Thelma & Louise.

On the economic front, America was teetering: unemployment averaged 6.8 percent for the year and inflation, at 4.2 percent, was a source of concern as January dawned, though it (thankfully) fell over the next 12 months. Still, there was reason to rejoice: the USSR officially disbanded on December 26th and, with it, the Cold War came to an end – at least, it came to an end for a time. We’ve recently seen the rich man’s Hugo Chavez, Vladimir Putin, upping Russia’s nationalistic ante as a way to distract everyday Russians from their own economic woes; and those dupes who’d play cards with him, such as Donald Trump, apparently have no clue that he’s dealing from a stacked deck.

Back on point: In the music-history books, 1991 is heralded for the breakthrough of the paradigm-shifting Nirvana, whose influential Nevermind was released 25 years ago yesterday. I’d love to say that I was among the first to buy it and take the music to heart. I wasn’t. I was in a different mind-space, as my list below shows. That’s not to say I didn’t and don’t appreciate the immediate impact and lingering influence of Nevermind; if I was creating an objective list for the year, I’d rank it No. 1. I’m not, however, so I won’t.

Before I get to the list: My main music-related memory from 1991 isn’t of an album, but of two sterling shows that we saw in the span of a few weeks, both at the TLA in Philly: Rosanne Cash on her Interiors tour; and the Irish singer Mary Black on her Babes in the Woods tour. Rosie’s was, as Dan DeLuca phrases it in his review, “an ‘I can’t remember the last time I saw anything this good’ show’; and Mary Black’s was as magical. (I reference it in this Of Concerts Past post about her 1994 show at the Chestnut Cabaret.) Other shows we saw in 1991: Elvis Costello with the Replacements; Emmylou Harris with Chet Atkins; Kathy Mattea with the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band; Roger McGuinn; Bonnie Raitt with Chris Isaak; and K.T. Oslin with ex-Byrd Chris Hillman’s group, the Desert Rose Band. There were plenty of others.

For today’s Top 5: 1991.

1) Mary Black – Babes in the Wood. Selected track: “Still Believing.” I mentioned that memorable show of hers above because, looking back, I’m sure that live experience played a major part in my picking this as my favorite of the year. To this day, whenever I play the CD – or, now, stream it – I’m transported to the TLA, seated about halfway back, with Diane by my side.

2) Neil Young & Crazy Horse – Weld. Selected track: “Hey Hey, My My (Into the Black).” Now, this is my idea of grunge. Neil Young returned from the wilderness in 1989 with the stellar Freedom; followed it the next year with the raucous, Crazy Horse-infused Ragged Glory; and put a cap on his comeback with the electric tour captured on Weld, which could well be summed up in two words: brutal grace.

3) Matthew Sweet – Girlfriend. Selected track: “Divine Intervention.” One of my most-played albums of ’91, which is saying something as it was released in October of that year. This track, like the album as a whole, is delightfully trippy – and very Beatlesque.

4) John Mellencamp – Whenever We Wanted. Selected track: “Whenever We Wanted.” This, Mellencamp’s first release of the ‘90s, bypasses much of his late ‘80s Americana stylings in favor of the crunchy rock of Uh-Huh; and often substitutes sloganeering for the incisive short stories that accent Scarecrow, Lonesome Jubilee and Big Daddy. That said, a handful of songs – including this cut – stand with his greatest work.

5) Soundtrack – Falling From Grace. Selected track: Nanci Griffith’s “Cradle of the Interstate.” So John Mellencamp made a movie. I have no idea if it was good, bad or mediocre, as I’ve never seen it., but I can say without equivocation that the soundtrack – which preceded the film by a few months – was uniformly excellent, featuring tunes from Mellencamp, Dwight Yoakam, Larry Crane, Lisa Germano and Nanci Griffith.

And a few bonuses:

6) Nanci Griffith – Late Night Grande Hotel. Selected track: “It’s Just Another Morning Here.” A solid, if slightly overproduced, outing from the folkabilly singer-songwriter, who was one of our favorites. The songs played better live, as recall. I do wonder what’s become of her…

7) Lisa Germano – On the Way Down From Moon Palace. Selected track: “Riding My Bike.” Germano, of course, came to the fore as the fiddler in Mellencamp’s band – and is a phenomenal fiddler. This jazzy solo effort is likely not to everyone’s taste, but I enjoy it.

8) Blake Babies – Rosy Jack World. Selected track: “Temptation Eyes,” Juliana. John. Freda. What else need be be said?