Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
…but I’m getting into Neil Young.
(Although I didn’t need to “get into” Freedom. I played the shit out of this record in high school. Hell, my band–A Bunch Of Guys From France–even covered Rockin’ In The Free World, but that may have been due to how few chords were in the song.)
Mott also covered Darkness, Darkness by The Youngbloods, which Deadheads will recall as “that song the Dead couldn’t be bothered to learn in its entirety.”
You know your little obsessions bore everyone, right?
Fuck ’em.
Good attitude.
What could I possibly add? Just press “play.”
Garcia was there. They just didn’t film it. Swear to God.
Would I lie to you?
(Anyway, go check out the wonderful Rob Mitchum on Twitter, who is watching all 9,000 hours of the broadcast and tweeting about it. I flaked on the Led Zeppelin recap, but still might do it tonight if I can’t think up anything else to bullshit about.)
I never really got Neil Young. I liked the record with Rockin’ in the Free World on it, and Tonight’s the Night; when that piano song about Mother Nature flying into the sun comes on the radio, I leave it on. That’s about it, honestly.
Others–and people whose musical tastes I respect–can’t get enough of the guy. Perhaps being obsessed with Dylan wasn’t white enough: who can understand the longings of the Rock Nerd’s heart?
So: if you dig the lanky Canadian, go check out this affectionate and funny article Tyler Wilcox wrote for Pitchfork about two of Neil’s movies.
Here’s your soundtrack:
I may have been a bit harsh with my opinions on Neil Young.
Don’t lie. His voice sounds like a goat being interrogated by the Mossad.
He wrote some decent songs.
Yeah, the one with two chords and the obvious lyrics or the one with two chords and the nonsensical lyrics?
He was in a band with Rick James.
…
That’s pretty cool.
Yeah.
Don’t lie because people got upset: you enjoy these four minutes by an artist named “Young” far more than anything Neil Young ever did.
Hey, man: moves need to be busted.
True, fam.
It’s Neil Young’s birthday today, but I’d rather stick sharpened dicks into my ears than listen to that man’s music, so let’s celebrate with a far better Young: New Jersey’s own The Young Rascals.
Women would come from towns far and wide to give these men all of their sex. They were rock stars, dammit.
PLUS: Which jacket comes out of Thunderdome alive? At first: Neil, of course. There’s easily eight things wrong with that jacket I could name immediately and I’m sure that further inspection would also reveal nothing but horror. You could stop at the fringe; no one would blame you for saying “fringe” and refusing to have anything more to do with that jacket.
The way a leather blazer wrinkles at the elbow is almost pornographic.
And then you realize that whatever the hell Garcia has on has a zipper on it.
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