Neil Young’s Homegrown is an album originally set for release in 1975, but which the Canadian rock icon pulled back because, as his subsequent comments indicate, he considered it too personal a recording to make public. Such second thoughts certainly pervade the work as we hear it today, but that only places it more directly in line with other titles of the man’s from that era, most specifically, the so-called ‘Ditch Trilogy’- of Time Fades Away, Tonight’s The Night, and On The Beach.
What all these records, including this latest archival piece, have in common, however, is that each is comprised of truly exceptional songs and performances along with compositions and recordings that are ragged to a fault. In light of Young’s observations about Homegrown, it makes sense he might pick and choose some of its songs for other releases: for instance, within the immediate context of the album as originally conceived, the jaunty quasi-hoedown “Love Is A Rose” radiates an even more vivid contrast to much of its surroundings than the casual carefree air it radiates within the 1977 anthology Decade.
And placed in juxtaposition at the very end of Homegrown, the largely acoustic “Little Wing,” and “Star of Bethlehem,” represents that clarity of mind Young struggles to attain (and usually fails) on the previous ten cuts. On the former, from 1980’s Hawks & Doves, Neil proffers all the same tenderness and child-like wonder he does on its counterpart, which showed up on American Stars ‘n Bars three years prior. This inveterate iconoclast sounds perfectly clear-headed too on “Mexico,” and while it’s a classic performance alone at a grand piano, the rendering is superior to the song itself.
Those ringing notes from the keyboard are unencumbered by any superfluous accouterments of the arrangement, and, in this track sequence, its quietly resolute tone is set in stark relief with the joyfully loose, electric title song: whether or not this particular recording happened to capture the first or second time the musicians played it, the fact is it sounds like its ready to fall apart at any moment, but that suits the tongue-in-cheek tone. Informality undermines intention during the spoken word tale titled “Florida,” too, making the track sound like a total non-sequitur, except insofar as the geographical designation in its title comes right alongside another in the form of “Kansas.”
A theme of travel both real and imagined pervades Homegrown and as that latter tune unfolds, it recalls “Marlon Brando, Pocahontas and Me.” Unfortunately, it’s too brief to match the provocative and picturesque nature of that number from Rust Never Sleeps and while it’s not exactly a throwaway, “We Don’t Smoke It No More” might well qualify as such: it is turgid and seemingly pointless, except perhaps a means for the accompanying musicians to provide Neil Young some company at a time in his life when he needed it most. Still, as with the coy intimations of this album title–and the folksy cover art that also seems to carry mixed messages—the sum effect only serves to remind how alternately puzzling and off-putting were the aforementioned Seventies albums upon their initial release.
In a similar, somewhat overly careful vein, the unhurried tempo of “Separate Ways” seems designed to make sure Neil has just the time he needs to say exactly what he wants around his breathy harmonica, languorous steel guitar by Ben Keith and deliberate bass and drums from, respectively, Tim Drummond and the Band’s Levon Helm. The undercurrent of positivism there, however, seems forced during “Try,” despite the sweetening of background vocals from Emmylou Harris.
The concise composition, simplicity of the instrumentation, and forthright performance of “White Line” sounds as earnest and deliberate as the prior cut does not, particularly from the perspective of how it ended up in an absolutely thunderous rendition as Neil played it with Crazy Horse on Ragged Glory fifteen years later. Yet that 1990 version has the advantage of closure having come and gone, whereas “Vacancy” captures equivocation and reprisal in the spontaneity of the moment Young so relishes; behind and around his immediately recognizable, jagged electric leads, Karl T. Himmel on drums and Stan Szelest on Wurlitzer piano keep a steady pulse within the larger ensemble. It’s almost as if their main purpose is, as the presence of Gram Parsons’ one-time partner elsewhere, to steady the bandleader as he sings and plays.
As brief as is Homegrown—right in the thirty-minute range ideally suited for the vinyl configuration in which it’s also being released—the duration of the record is ultimately out of proportion to its considerable depth of feeling. These dozen tracks all boast impeccable audio, but the clarity of those sonics, the likes of which earmark all recent Neil Young recordings in recent years, is less significant as a commercial selling point than as a direct correlation to the purity of emotion within the music.
One Response
I wrote to NY at his website ( and he answered) about how probably Love is a Rose and Little Wing will fit so well in Homegrown. After listening to it for over 50 times already I must agree. I was 24 when it was supposed to be released now I’m 64 and understand his grief and anger much better now. I’ve been through the ringer to but a slower burn( over 36 years). A masterpiece.
PS I’ve mocked and ridiculed his output( also his liberal left politics and SJW elitism) this century but I must say he had 70’s rock n roll by the balls with masterpiece after masterpiece.