Neil Young’s 1974 album On The Beach marked the middle of what
has become known as his “ditch trilogy,” whereby he deliberately drove his
career (on a major high after the one-two punches of CSNY and his own top 10
album Harvest) off the road to
success and into a ditch of excess. Although recorded after the even bleaker Tonight’s The Night (his most
controversial and emotionally raw album), and the somewhat baffling live album Time Fades Away (which contained all new
material played in a ragged, almost haphazard style), On The Beach was released before, thus preparing the public for the
darkness to come. While the production was comparatively crude, and Neil’s
voice sometimes reduced to a pained howl, I have always found On The Beach to be one of Neil’s most
honest and personally affecting albums. In many ways, the startling image on
the cover tells much of the story. We see Neil, dressed in a thrift store
leisure suit, his back to the camera, facing the ocean of Zuma Beach, while in
the foreground are the accoutrement of a burned-out, artificial and pointless
society: a potted palm, gaudy patio furniture, a crumpled newspaper with the
headline Senator Buckley Wants Nixon To
Resign, the back fins of a vintage Cadillac stick out of the sand like some
weirdo, hipster version of the Statue Of Liberty from Planet Of The Apes and a couple of Coors tall-boys stand by like
dead soldiers. Surreal in the extreme, the image also seems to sum up an age of
Watergate, Vietnam, disillusion and the shattered hippie dream with tremendous
clarity. It remains my favorite album cover.
As for the music - its
stature grows in my mind’s ear with each passing year. On The Beach contains some of Neil Young’s most reflective and
intelligent songs, set in rough-hewn settings that are alternately fragile to
the point of breaking or roar with the anguish of a lost soul screaming in the
wilderness. Let’s look at it song by song.
Side
One
"Walk On" - The closest thing resembling a
pop song on the album, this irresistible gem has a perfectly crushing guitar
hook, exquisite slide guitar by Ben Keith and a rock-solid rhythm section
provided by Crazy Horse alums Ralph Molina and Billy Talbot. The lyrics are an
anthem for the disaffected hippies facing the cold realities of a new decade.
"See The Sky About To Rain" - A lovely
ballad dominated by Neil’s cracked falsetto, memorable Wurlitzer playing, and,
again, Ben Keith’s sympathetic steel. An ominous sentiment of lost dreams
almost anyone can understand. Neil has an uncanny ability to poetically
conflate natural phenomena with manmade turmoil. He never did it better than
this one.
"Revolution Blues" - The most strident song
on the album, this tale of an apocalyptic L.A. filled with psycho murderers
(“10 million dune buggies coming down the mountain.” “I’m a barrel of laughs
with my carbine on”) and a doomed, vacuous celebrity culture (“well I heard
that Laurel Canyon is full of famous stars/well I hate them worse than lepers
and I’ll kill them in their cars”). There’s obviously some insider-baseball
irony here as he had recently married his second Hollywood starlet. The rancor
feels real and fresh here though. Musically, the song is a barnburner with
David Crosby and Young going on the warpath guitar-wise, while Rick Danko’s
fretless bass slides the song along like mercury.
"For The Turnstiles" - A harrowing plea for
sanity and understanding in a world that makes no sense. A spare recording of
just Neil’s banjo and Ben Keith’s lonesome dobro and the two of them yelping
like scalded dogs.
"Vampire Blues" - One of the fuller
productions on the album, it features a classic, nerve-shattering guitar solo
by Neil and some woozy organ work by Ben Keith, who, you may have noticed by
now is the secret weapon on this album. Neil decries the petroleum industry as
vampires “suckin’ blood from the earth.” The song is both moving and incredibly
prescient. Oh yeah, and it rocks hard.
Side
Two
"On The Beach" - One of the most hypnotic
songs he ever committed to wax, Neil weighs the relative pros and cons of fame
and fortune, discovering that’s it all pretty much nowheresville (“I went to
the radio interview, but I ended up alone here at the microphone.”) In the meantime the song staggers along like a
lonely drunk in a dark alleyway. Neil lets loose with a couple of
last-shred-of-sanity guitar solos and guess who adds the crucial backing with a
simple hand drum part? Ben Keith of course.
"Motion Pictures (For Carrie)" - No question
what this one is about. His relationship with actress Carrie Snodgrass had hit
the skids, and he was broken. A beautifully touching ballad informed with equal
parts heartbreak and scorn (“all those headlines they just bore me now”).
Gently acoustic with a lovely harmonica solo and some great slide guitar by
Rusty Kershaw.
"Ambulance Blues" - “Back in the old folkie
days/The air was magic when we played” Neil comes to grips with the passage of
time in this epic tale of days and friends lost. “Old Mother Goose, she’s on
the skids” he moans as he contemplates lost innocence and the reality of now.
“I guess I’ll call it sickness gone/It’s hard to say the meaning of this
song/An ambulance can only go so fast/It’s easy to get buried in the past/When
you try to make a good thing last.” Not that many artists have looked at their
own lives and legacies with such an honest and jaundiced eye. But he’s not just
tough on himself: “So all you critics sit alone/ You’re no better than me for
what you’ve shown/ With your stomach pump and your hook and ladder dreams/ We
could get together for some scenes.” It’s hard to imagine an artist who
actually likes critics, but Neil spares no quarter in eviscerating them. In one
song, he closes the curtain on the magic trick of 60’s idealism. A profoundly
disturbing yet highly enlightening song.
On
The Beach ends on that bleak and honest assessment of Neil
Young’s own self-worth and place in the popular music cosmology. While not
exactly uplifting in subject matter, the album succeeds wildly in terms of
being an accurate snapshot of a great artist at a pivotal point in his career.
This is not the only time he has done this, in fact it could be argued that
more than any other modern artist, Neil Young has honestly bared his soul to
his public for better or worse. He doesn’t shy away from the reality of his
feelings, and, remarkably, the music he produces reflects that reality with
clarity and beauty, lifting it from the merely confessional to the profoundly
artistic.
- Paul Epstein
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