From soft country tones on his previous release to the roaring sounds of heavy rock on Rust Never Sleeps, Neil Young managed to always keep his audience guessing. It is part of the charm of his discography and his live presence too. Young has maintained his place at the top of the pile by being an artist who continually reinvents himself without care for the impact it has on a wider listening experience. Therein lies the point of Rust Never Sleeps, one of many examples of Young at his very best. He is an artist unfulfilled by stagnant writing, by plain-sailing instrumentals. His overdubbed live album marks a departure from the Comes a Time sound which felt like a rut when compared to Young’s best efforts. Rust Never Sleeps is an explosive piece of work, and who better to maintain those perplexing, volatile instrumentals heard in the latter half, than Crazy Horse?
An acoustic first half still has an edge to it. Opener My My, Hey Hey (Out of the Blue) pairs well with Thrasher. Both songs focus on Young’s beautiful writing but do not lose sight of the jagged suggestions, the road-weary traveller coming to terms with a journey taking its toll. Young remains a defiant part of the genre, an ongoing, often exciting artist who was ahead and against the popular music of the times. Rust Never Sleeps showcases this extremely well. Those acoustic details are reliant on the constant instrumental push, the feeling of being on the road at a time when it was cooler to lay down and wait for the pop steamroller to crush the heart. But a reluctant Young pushes for more, to stoke the fire of alternate sounds as he does on Pocahontas. A blur between the bulls in the field and staring at the TV, blank eyes and all, is a resounding experience. Young interprets the loss of the modern world and compares it to the open road once more, this escapism becomes a prominent theme for Rust Never Sleeps.
Flutters of heavy rock tones appear on Powderfinger, the rage in the distance on My My, Hey Hey (Out of the Blue) beginning to take hold. It is the slow transition into those harsher tones which makes Rust Never Sleeps such a standout. Welfare Mothers is where it becomes an obvious shock, a boom of political commentary backed by a roaring electric guitar. Repetitive, sure, but exciting all the same. Here Young finds a burst of revolution once more, a tone which has him rise against the popular notions of the time, the sleek appearance of stars at the time and their flippant reaction to songs with meaning and heart behind them. “People, pick up on what I’m puttin’ down now,” is a rage against the inevitable. Young stands as a man with conviction, even if it goes unnoticed. That is his greatest strength on Rust Never Sleeps.
He was right, and though it is all too easy to see that now, at the time it must have felt like going out on a limb. But the industrialisation of popular music, and the state it is in now, can be routed back to Rust Never Sleeps, a warning in plain sight. This is not a knock on the quality of those hitting the charts, many putting out great music, but an urgent call to arms for those who are not in the pocket of one government or another corporation. Young liberates himself and always has done, Rust Never Sleeps is historic proof of this. Pointing out the hypocritical stance of the times is one thing, to make it last as it does on a powerhouse piece like Sedan Delivery is another joy entirely. Engulfed by anger and laying these raging tides out as clear as can be, Young rises to the protest occasion on Rust Never Sleeps.
