Playing a Neil Young song on this site is like putting lipstick on a pig. Young is the ultra dude of American rock, the shot of tequila in your eye, the collateral skag, unless he was getting quiet.
Plus, he’s a star. Like Dylan, Joni, and the rest.
But driving to Boston for the feast today I got put in mind of this song, which I typed almost all my college papers to (because the vinyl was longer than the usual pop record).
Sorry, this is mainstream, but these are killer guitars, some of which sound like the guitar I made out of a shoebox when I was in fifth grade. It made sounds, it didn’t endure. But this does.