(1970, Reprise Records)
I will admit that I waver on Neil Young. Sometimes, I have been on his jock, and other times I have thought him overrated (not in the sense he sucks, but in the sense he’s not as all-fired great as people make him out to be). But if I am feeling depressed as fuck and want to wallow in that misery, pound a few alcohols, and sit in my camper with nothing on but the red light, soaking in my own self-created personal doubts and letting them spiral up into an emotional crescendo for the evening, there is no better album to play than After the Gold Rush. So much so that it’s almost cathartic, and once Apple creates a handgun that can play MP3s and the technology becomes outdated a few years later and I inherit my brother-in-law’s old iGun, I will make damn sure that I steal this album off the internet, or rip my copy through Audacity, so that whenever I feel like putting a digital-friendly hollow-point through my stream of thought, I can play this and be like, “man shit sucks, but I’m cool with it.”
No comments:
Post a Comment