In lieu of Neil the Y - not the D - Velour of yore is on the hi-fi, emanating that fin de siècle songcraft that I was so imbued in so then. So much so that I was invited to their dress rehearsal to give notes on The Impressions. I recall a bandshoot I did with them near the grain elevators, they were all into their hair, not wanting to get dirty. Boys, rock, noise, hai-karate kicks.
And You know what. I will tell You. They still completely rock the loud-decibeled stratosphere.
I sold myself to a blue-eyed devil, she'll never get the best of me.
That, my Perfect epinw readers, is what rock is all about - the operatic moments of life and love, presented in a somewhat vulnerable manner with teeth, so to speak.
So when your sun begins to fall, was it worth your weight in gold.
Here is another primo example of what makes the rock the rock. The above sounds great as a rock lyric, sung. But, in retrospect, upon close(r) inspection, what in blazes does this mean.
This leads me to the real matter at hand, the Neil Young movie.
It's not exactly that I feel that there are 1.5 hours I can never regain, that is too strong a sentiment and such, but really. The shots of Ryman tip me off to what I did not see down there in Nashville when TunaTwin and I traversed this fair land for the first time together, wending our way up and down the main drag, dragging ourselves into and out of famed joints.
Actually, we became the Tuna Twins down there when a very old man spoke to the two of us and, noting our similar faces, and YT ends that snippet here.
So, back to Neil.
The first demi of the movie is, assumedly, the first night of two, is all new material and that material had me nearly in nap mode. I looked at Brucey and said So he had an aneurism, must we all suffer. That bad. Smarm. Smarm. Smarm.
Second half is the second night, the old shit You love.
Here, a trib:
High school nights of spring when the self begins to crocus out into the world and Neil was on the jukebox of one Checker's. He became part of the soundtrack for our wobbly, young lives of borrowed cars, borrowed apartments, raging intellects, hitched-up uniform box-pleated skirts, and hitching-to-school thumbs up. Loomis's rooms with Neil warbling out of what today would be an iPod was then a boombox.
So long ago and so far away.
Neil Y's Unplugged is an item you must have in the NY collection - if for only what is usually on most discs the cherished track, #6. You Are Like a Hurricane. This version is one of three songs that ever stopped me dead in tracks, gave the goosebump. This is all Life molecules, all Art gestures, All Green, in one fell swoop.
Said tonight to a friend Of course you are your age, think of all the things you have done, all the wondrous things you have seen.
YT rests her wondrous case. Once again.
I am the dreamer, You are the dream. Dig.

Sentimental journeyed Love.