What a start to the twenty-first century it was for Neil Young. Silver & Gold could hardly have landed better for the veteran performer, who managed to tap into the beauty and sincerity which guided his very best works in the 1970s. It was not long-lasting, though, and a drought of solid writing would affect the albums to follow. Greendale, a bloated attempt at pulling a narrative twist to his writing style, was a sincere attempt but a failure all the same. Following it up with Prairie Wind just two years later has Young drift into a relatively generic form of country rock. Classy it may be, the sound throughout Prairie Wind does feel a little too close to nostalgia bait. But such is the gift of Young’s voice, which sounds the same now as it did on his first recordings. But that’s the point. From using Hank Williams’ guitar to conjuring a tone similar to Harvest, Young uses the familiarity of his best years as a way to track himself through the years ahead, contemplating mortality along the way.
Opening song The Painter does this best of all. Friends come and go, those lost along the way that “can’t be found,” it’s lingered on for that moment extra, giving it that heavier-hitting feeling. Young does that brilliantly, and very consistently too, over Prairie Wind. Pair that with the acoustic sound and familiarity of follow-up song, No Wonder, and the overlap between Harvest and Prairie Wind is clear. Mortality is a striking tool when used honestly, and Young is not shying away from his thoughts here. An aneurysm and reflections on the state of the country between Silver and Gold and now is what overwhelms the album. Willie Nelson songs, Chris Rock chatter, the contemporary field is where Young finds himself, toiling away for some grasp at a whole new life after undergoing surgery around the time Prairie Wind was first coming together.
Young works at his best when he lets the simplicity of his sincerity take over. He pushes himself to the very limit on Falling off the Face of the Earth, and it’s nothing short of beautiful. His reflections, inevitably led by a gorgeous working of the acoustic guitar and a few piano thrills, are built on honesty and a little hint of fear. Reminiscent family times on Far from Home are as obvious as they come but there’s some real delight in hearing Young piece together the warmth of a get-together in the studio. It’s a Dream heightens those emotionally tender moments with the string sections and, because a violin makes listeners sentimental in the same way Pavlov’s dog salivates at the sound of a bell, it works. It’s the title track that marks the first letdown, just a little too plain considering what precedes it.
Prairie Wind is as contemplative a piece for Young as it is for a listener in the right headspace. Both Here for You and This Old Guitar are brushes with greatness for Young, whose lyrical choices are that fine line between reminiscent and reactive to the sudden changes of life. Prairie Wind is built on that change in mood, with This Old Guitar just about hinting at the acoustics to the title track of Harvest Moon. It sounds as though Young is gearing up to do just that but holds off from the cheap trick of nostalgia, as we all should too. Spiritual guidance, reflections on close bonds with family, it brings out the best in Young and he in turn provides some career-best instrumental work. Phenomenal work, and not just because it’s such a bettering of Greendale, but because the interpretations found in these open lyrics is sincere. It makes Prairie Wind a brilliant, touching experience.
