by Neil Young
Richie was a natural vocalist. They had been working on a vocal sound, and they were really great. They sang like birds together. They were doing “Nowadays Clancy Can’t Even Sing” (which I had sung for Richie in New York when I was there doing a demo tape in December 1965), and they sang it really great. I sat in and added a little guitar and a high voice here and there. This was going to be good. We needed a drummer, and Barry had contacted the Dillards, a great vocal group with a guy named Dewey Martin on drums—just when they were changing to all acoustic. We tried him out and took him, although Stephen was not a hundred percent sure. Dewey was country and took a little speed, I think. He was moving right along.
But Stephen, who was a genius, had an amazing groove. He possessed his own sense of rhythm that was uncanny, like a clock but with a feel, never rushing or dragging. There was a rub between him and Dewey because Dewey tended to push the beat and rush sometimes. I had never been aware of that type of thing until I met Stephen and started to learn from what he was saying.
We went outside onto Fountain Avenue and saw a big steamroller on the side of the road. BUFFALO SPRINGFIELD, read the sign on the side. What a great name for a band! Buffalo Springfield was born that day. We lived and practiced at Barry’s house in West Hollywood. I slept in a little room with the band instruments. Every day we would go to Pioneer Chicken on Santa Monica Boulevard and have a meal. Barry gave us the money. We ate once a day. Stephen always had a cheeseburger with mayonnaise only. Good taste is timeless.
Chapter Eighteen
Stephen and I recently talked about the Springfield and writing books. We talked about the future. About musicians and friends, about loyalty, about the difficult decisions in life around loyalty, loyalty to friends and loyalty to the muse, how sometimes there was conflict, where serving one meant not serving the other. This is a heavy subject, and we, as two old friends, treated it well. It has not been an easy part of life for either of us. I think most musicians would agree with that. Stephen and I have this great honesty about our relationship and get joy from telling each other observations from our past. The past is such a big place.
I have heard it said about me that I have a rep for being difficult to work with. My decisions are made with the music in mind. For instance, I like to play to an audience that is into it. I dislike people sitting in the front rows talking on cell phones. Of course, these people are sitting in the most expensive seats, the ones they get through ticket scalpers and other services that somehow corner the market on the seats. Capitalism collides with music in this area. It was not like that when I started. The people in the front were music freaks, the real music fans, who knew every song, every lyric, every piece of information about the band that they could find. They were stoked to be there in front of the stage, and they were ready to rock. So these cell phones and rich folks who can afford the big bucks for prime seating distract me from what I am doing and make me feel like I am on display in a museum. It is not good for the music, which a lot of times feeds on the energy of the crowd. There is a thing called “festival seating” where the area in front of the stage is without chairs. People can stand there. Only a certain amount of people can get into that area, and it is not more expensive. It is general admittance. First come, first served, as far as proximity to the stage goes. Medium ago, I decided to sell festival-seating tickets at all my indoor shows so people who really wanted to see the band could get up close and watch, moving freely. There is a financial hit involved with that, because those are generally the expensive seats and they are all gone with this type of presentation. I had to really be firm about it. When we got festival seating, the feeling at all of the shows was much better. The band and I really enjoyed that change. Things like that enable me to continue and enjoy playing with a band. Recently I was planning a tour and it was just being announced. Venues were already booked. At the last minute I checked to make sure it was still festival seating. It wasn’t. Feeling that I had already established that as the way I liked to play indoor shows, I insisted on it again. All the deals had to be redone at the last minute. It was a very complicated thing to do. I, having already been through this once, was amazed that no one had remembered the way I liked festival seating. If that gives me a rep for being difficult to work with, I earned it.
Because Stephen and I have been friends for such a long time, and we were really young when we met, some of these things run deep. He is really my oldest friend, and confiding in him is easy, once we get started. There is nothing to hide between us. We talked about the love of playing together and being in the groove, and about the fact that we need to have solid support from musicians on our level everywhere on the stage. Festivals are where you need that kind of strength at the core. That is how you elevate the audience and take them with you. We both love doing that.
We talked about playing with Chad Cromwell and Rick Rosas on the Living with War tour around five years ago and how solid that was. It was perhaps the most overtly over-the-top group of songs I had ever written, but we did what we did and I don’t feel bad about it. There was no attempt at an artfully crafted message. It was just a straight shot. Stephen was uncomfortable with the political nature, singing songs like “Let’s Impeach the President” and “Living with War,” which were written as if they were from a raving political maniac. Hey! Maybe it was art. Like someone standing on a soapbox in the park, I didn’t waste any time on a melody. The message wasn’t worth a carefully crafted one. Production, pretty melodies, and the like would have been a waste of time on that record. It was delivered in a cheap paper bag like something that came with no desire to decorate it. We discussed that. I told him I thought it was a worthy part of our history. It was uncomfortable at times and pushed the limit of what our audience could handle. I was more okay than he was with that. But we talked it through.
Niko Bolas was my co-producer on Living with War. I met Niko in 1986. He was the engineer at Record One, a studio in LA’s San Fernando Valley where we made a record called Landing on Water. I liked Niko right away. We worked fast and did a lot together over time. This Note’s for You with the Bluenotes in the late eighties, Freedom with “Keep on Rockin’ in the Free World” in 1989, and Living with War, Chrome Dreams II, and Fork in the Road in the 2000s. I always liked Niko and enjoy working with him. He and John Hanlon (Ragged Glory) are both guys I can relax with in the studio and be myself with, like I did with Briggs. They know they are not Briggs. No one is like Briggs. But they know who he was and respect him and his memory. He was a legend. They try to keep his feeling going on, and that helps me a lot.
As for Living with War, we probably won’t be doing any more of those types of records, but we did that one. Buffalo Springfield was not that kind of band anyway, and I think that will be our band for the next big run, whenever and wherever that is.
—
So I spoke to my old friend Bruce and told him I was feeling it, his loss of Clarence. We talked for quite a while, and there is no need to go into what two old friends had to say to each other at this point, except to say that two old friends spoke to each other about their music, their muses, their partners in crime, their proof, their friendship, their souls, and their lives. Ben Keith was my Clarence Clemons. Clarence was Bruce’s Ben Keith. When he died last year, it touched me to the core. I don’t want to ever think of anyone else playing his parts or occupying his space. No one could. I can’t do those songs again unless it’s solo. So I told Bruce, “Waylon once looked at me and said, ‘There’s very few of us left.’” He liked that. I told him when he looked to his right I would be there. That’s enough. I’m not talking about that anymore.
When music is your life, there is a key that gets you to the core. I am so grateful that I still have Crazy Horse, knock on wood. You see, they are my window to the cosmic world where the muse lives and breathes. I can find myself there and go to the special area of my soul where those songs graze like buffalo. The herd is still there, and the plains are endless. Just getting there
is the key thing, and Crazy Horse is my way of getting there. That is the place where music lives in my soul. It is not youth, time, or age. I dream of playing those long jams and floating over the herd like a condor. I dream of the changing wind playing on my feathers, my brothers and sisters around me, silently telling their stories and sharing their spirits with the sky. They are my life. How often can a guy make a living doing that? Not that often is my guess, so I accept the extreme nature of my blessings and burdens, my gifts and messages, my children with their uniqueness, my wife with her endless beauty and renewal. Am I too cosmic about this? I think not, my friend. Do not doubt me in my sincerity, for it is that which has brought us to each other now.
Chapter Nineteen
Hawaii 2011
Writing this book, there seems to be no end to the information flowing through me. There is always more waiting to come out, whereas songs are nowhere to be found at the moment. Since I have never written a book before and my father, who was a writer of books and taught me how to write many years ago, is gone, I am alone but am comforted by the eternal presence of my father and his old Underwood up in the attic. I am both down here and up there. Omemee was my town, and that’s where the house was. That’s where the attic is. Someday I want us to live on a lake up there in North Ontario for a while. I have been there visiting my brother. This is not the time for us to go there, though. Maybe it will never come, and that’s all right, but I want to do it someday, and that is important to me. It is part of my Canadian self. I feel it stronger these days than in days past, yet I know it may not ever be, and I accept that I cannot have every dream come true at once. Life is too short for that.
Anyway, the word count on my computer is a marvel. Think of counting the actual words one by one and keeping track. My dad would never do that. That’s not going to happen with me, either. I am beginning to see that the rest of my life could conceivably be spent as an author, churning out books one after another to the endless interest of, say, fourteen people with Kindles. Seriously, though, this is a great way to live. No wonder my dad did this. There is no live performing, which I love to do as long as I don’t have to do it, and writing could be just the ticket to a more relaxed life with fewer pressures and more time to enjoy with my family and friends—and paddleboarding!
I suppose that sounds like the end of something, but I look at it as the beginning. I’m even considering starting a second book titled Cars and Dogs because there is so much more to say than I could ever say in one book. There is a lot of room there for me to wander, which I am very fond of doing. Maybe it would be disruptive to put out two different books at once, one in hardcover and one in digital, both memoirs, since the book industry is on its heels from the tech revolution. Disruptive is good in technology. No matter how many books I write, I will eventually get to fiction. That is where I am going.
—
When I injured my toe, I was amazed. It didn’t hurt that much after the first shock of stubbing it on a rock. The next day, however, it hurt like hell. I took a picture of it and sent it to my doctor, Dr. Rock Positano, in Manhattan. He sent me back an e-mail. “You broke it.” That was his diagnosis.
Pegi thought I should get it checked and X-rayed, but of course I didn’t do that because I was busy writing this book. I am not trying to make you feel guilty. I am always busy doing something. I am sure it’s broken. It’s nine days later and it still hurts. I have a special pair of sandals that Dr. Rock sent to me with a wrap to put on my toe to hold it in place. I haven’t used the wrap yet, but the sandals are quite stylish so I wear them, and I will use the wrap very soon, Dr. Rock. (The sandals kind of have the Devo look! Booji Boy would love to wear these babies!)
As I’ve said, I think the toe has had a lot to do with the book. It was the catalyst to get me started. Art and medicine have come together in a whole new way. Neither one of them is recognizable in the novel configuration we find them in with this project. Now when I walk around every step is a loud clop. It is not a stealth thing. I am debating whether to wear them tonight to dinner next door at Greg and Vicki’s. We will be having grass-fed beef. I will keep you posted, as you no doubt have noticed.
With sunset coming on I feel particularly good at this moment. The day has developed nicely and I met the Master Gardener at Poncho’s. He really seemed to be a Master, walking around and smelling things in the garden, followed by his wife and some other Korean folks who were very nice and very interested in Poncho’s plants. Poncho’s plants look exceptionally healthy and strong to me, and he is using absolutely no chemicals on anything. He is watering a lot less and spraying some organic microbiological liquid very sparingly.
I did feel I was in the presence of a highly evolved being when the Master was around. He definitely has a wealth of knowledge I don’t have. I was very impressed with all of them, him and his friends. One of them was Poncho’s teacher, and she did a lot of translating for the Master during the visit. Poncho was very nervous to be around him, and he was very respectful. Poncho really loves gardening, and to have the Master visit his garden and property was a great honor. They covered every area of the property and gardens and made detailed comments on everything Poncho was doing. Poncho has all kinds of blends of “inputs,” as they called them, that he has brewed himself on the property just from natural ingredients and a little vodka, beer, and rice. The Master and his friends smelled and tasted all of these bottles and containers of inputs and made comments to Poncho through translation on how he was doing with the blends. When you are in the presence of someone obviously more knowledgeable than you are, who is very gracious, speaks no English, and treats you with a lot of respect, you really feel it.
Toward the end of the visit, Poncho gave the Master one of his famous apple pies, and the Master gave Poncho a pat on the back in thanks and invited him to a special meeting they were having to discuss even more advanced gardening techniques. Later, after they all left, Poncho confided in me that he did not feel qualified to be at the meeting, and I assured him that the Master knew what he was doing. I am sure Poncho is qualified. He is a highly evolved being himself, meaning that he is sensitive to his surroundings and the life around him, whether it is plant, human, or otherwise.
We shared a piece of Poncho’s apple pie, and I told Poncho about PureTone. Like all serious musicians, he is depressed by the quality of sound the people’s music is delivered in today. That is the impression I have gotten from every musician I have met. Everyone. After he heard PureTone, Ben Bourdon, one of Ben Young’s caregivers, asked me if I was making war on Apple. I said, “No. I’m waging heavy peace.”
I see online streaming services like Rhapsody, Spotify, and Pandora as the new radio. Apple’s iTunes is the new radio, too. The sound is highly compromised, but people can get whatever they want, whenever they want. There is a lot of value to that convenience, but it has created a huge void in quality that begs to be filled. Turntable.fm is a lot of fun and exposes music to the masses in a new way. This is all very good for music. The only thing missing is quality.
Sound is very complex. It is not enough to just be able to recognize a song and hear the melody. There is a significant amount more to music than that. Many young people have never heard what I have heard, and that was not the case when I was young. In the age of technology we have grown used to many things being convenient and easy. We have grown up in the age of convenience and expediency. Videos can be shared and viewed around the world, and so can music, just like any document. The only problem with this is music is not like that. It is a storm on the senses, weather for the soul, deeper than deep, wider than wide. It is more than what you see or hear. It is what you feel. That is missing in today’s technology for music, although many things have come along to replace it and distract from its absence.
I will not rest until the impact has been made and PureTone or something like it is available worldwide to those who love music. This is the sound of the twenty-first century, the sound we are capable of deliveri
ng. It is music. It has been an art form denied. There is something new now. Music as it should be heard. The promise of digital fulfilled.
But I am a pain in the ass now. I can’t go anywhere without the annoying sound of MP3s or some other source of bad sound grating on my nerves and affecting my conversations. Everywhere is an elevator with bad sounds. Like tea bags that were hit with boiling water and scalded into submission, and like coffee that has been bombed by a boiling pot, my mind has been assaulted and has become edgy by this phenomenon of bad sound. This used to be my life, music. So I need to find or create a solution. Let everyone live, including those who crave quality. Mostly so I stop ranting about it.
—
Living in Hawaii, with the horizon of the ocean meeting the sky, is soothing. There is a magical healing to the Big Island, and I love this life. How many places are there on earth that really are healing places? There must be countless ones where people each can find their own peace. I hope you find all of yours and I find the rest of mine. In this world it is truly awesome how lucky we are, yet we keep hurting the planet in ways nature could never have come up with, mostly in the name of progress and moneymaking. It is hard to not get angry and discouraged on a quest for the health of the planet. Countless obstacles have been erected to impede that progress. Many souls have felt the pain of defeat. Yet the spirit endures and people try to spread the word. Ways to grow food without damaging the earth, ways to consume without excess waste, ways to use waste for fuel. Ways to serve and preserve the health of the planet are all around us, yet we stumble and repeat our old habitual ways, ignoring that which is speaking to us so clearly, not seeing the signals and signs. Somehow can we break the cycle? Somewhere can we see the light? Will we be served as we have served the earth? Is there fear in that thought? Then why oh why do we sing the same song over and over? The song, the song, the song.
