Hindsight isn’t always 20/20 when it comes to Neil Young and his extensive body of work (see ‘The Ditch Trilogy’ for the most extreme instance), but it’s crystal-clear in the case of 1993’s Unplugged. The Canadian rock icon pulls from ten different albums for a broad range of selections that comprise the fifty-some minutes, the final release of which is actually from a second taping for the MTV series. Unplugged is actually archetypal Neil.
Young reportedly wasn’t happy with his band’s performance on the first run-through and made it clear to those involved at the time. His frank approach is hardly novel for the man who left his 1976 tour with Stephen Stills on a most abrupt note, so while we might call him cantankerous, we might also deem him a perfectionist (though he’s certainly belied that appellation in the past too!). It’s hard to argue with the end result, however.
Not just a foreshadowing of his solo concerts of recent years, the album’s also as accurate an encapsulation of his work as is officially available. While the stable corps of accompanists alternately lends variety and uniformity to fourteen selections, there is also the glaring non-sequitur of “Like A Hurricane” played almost entirely on pump organ (which reappeared on the recent World Record LP with Crazy Horse).
Ostensibly conceived to feature acoustic arrangements of the featured artists’ best-known material, the idea for Unplugged was stretched considerably during the course of the series over ten years on MTV. And, not surprisingly, few if any performers besides Neil Young were at once so comfortable in the format or willing to experiment with the basic framework (not surprisingly Bob Dylan qualifies in that respect too).
By the time the Canadian rock icon appeared on the program three decades ago, he had spent more than a little time alone on stage with just an acoustic guitar, piano, and harmonica (see the initial releases in his recently inaugurated Official Bootleg Series for documentation). This notorious iconoclast relishes the intimacy of the performance here, so much so that he might as well be alone singing to himself on “Mr. Soul” (from Buffalo Springfield’s second LP Again).
Irascible as he has proven to be lately, you’d nevertheless almost believe Young’s offering a benediction to the audience on the penultimate track. Juxtaposed with a tune of similar intent, “From Hank To Hendrix,” “Long May You Run” rings true as a straightforward dialogue with those followers who were present in the studio as well as those with the audio or (bootleg) video recording.
One of the most fascinating aspects of this ‘live’ offering is the absence of much between-song repartee from Neil. No doubt a sacrifice for the sake of limited running time, it renders the atmosphere hypnotizing just by the time of the fourth cut, “Pocahontas;” as Young switches from acoustic guitar and harmonica to piano, the mood doesn’t so much lighten as remain deeply thought-provoking.
The rationale for the choices of material isn’t all that clear–no overriding theme arises–but there’s no questioning the artist’s engagement with the tracks individually (half are in the five to six-minute range of duration) or with the set as a whole. The end result of the extra effort only ratifies the decision in favor of a second attempt at filming.
To that end, “Helpless,” benefits tremendously from the absence of melodrama with which the recording was imbued on CSNY’s Deja Vu. Nils Lofgren’s accordion, plus sweet backing vocals from Nicolette Larson and Astrid Young (Neil’s half-sister), is a sufficient decoration to elicit an honestly bittersweet air from the song.
At that juncture, it becomes noticeable how the audience response, having been somewhat erratic at the outset, is increasingly raucous as the show progresses. The running time of sixty-five minutes doesn’t include four other similarly varied numbers performed for the program– “Dreamin’ Man,” “Sample and Hold,” “War of Man” and “Winterlong”–all of which no doubt whetted the appetite of the attendees even if they didn’t recognize them.
Cryptic as is the music so often on Unplugged, at least in many respects, it’s no more so than the collage of photos on the ten-page fold-out in the CD. Most specifically, is the blue color scheme deliberately designed to recall 1971’s Four Way Street cover art? On the other hand, in an unusual gesture of practical transparency, the lyrics to all the songs appear on the insert, printed in readable font rather than the often illegible ‘handwriting’ of the author.
But then that’s the persona Neil Young has consciously or unconsciously formulated for himself and the public during the over a half century he’s been performing and recording. On so many of his releases, including Unplugged, he and his creations are perfectly clear one moment, perfectly vague the next, even when, like this one, the work is filtered through thirty years of hindsight.
