We are keen to give legends a little leeway when it comes to new material. That is the case for most who, on previous occasions, vaulted that high bar. For Neil Young and the Chrome Hearts, the new band has done little to convince that they will serve to a legendary status. Competent? Absolutely. Talkin’ to the Trees had some fine moments to it but felt a little warped and wavering in places that Young should know better. Second Song rectifies this somewhat. His itch for protest scratched through with his Big Change-featuring album last year. It means Young can move on to what his contemporaries, specifically Paul McCartney and The Rolling Stones, did this year. Reflection. Second Song is full of commentaries on the past and what it means to be alive, to still experience the memory of what once was. There’s enough of a sentimental swing here from Young to make for an earnest expedition through his notable career and the depths of his personal life. It’s all you can ask for of an artist willing to put themselves in the spotlight yet again.
At a time when artists are bending over backwards to maintain relevancy, Young being consistently competent and releasing albums that feel like they’ve got a few, slow-burning songs to them, is refreshing. But that goes against what Talkin’ to the Trees was all about, what with its punchy, politically charged writing. Young finds himself on the right side but with the wrong lyrics. He fails not in being active but in honing his craft to that sweet spot of contemporary commentary and long-term relevance. But he strips all that back on Second Song and taps into a laid-back instrumental softness that defined the likes of Comes a Time and Harvest Moon. There were moments of gut-punching commentary. It’s Young relating to the times rather than commenting on them. What does it mean for him, rather than what it means for us. We know how rough it’s getting, but how do those we look up to for guidance or respite deal with those same situations? Young reveals all on Second Song.
Second Song features a warmth quite unlike anything Young has put out in the last decade. Opening song The Foggy Edge of Time captures that at-home appeal that sits on releases like Harvest. You’re in the room with Young as he contemplates the prime of his career, the journey he embarked on and the regrets he has. It’s all the usual fluff and cliché of an artist who has works worth reflecting on, but with an instrumental sway that contrasts with what Young has done as of late. He is guttingly open about the bumps along the way of raising three children, the unexpected twists of fame and instrumental experimentation. Young has always held an impressive octave range but the highs he can hit on The Foggy Edge of Time are the best since Prairie Wind. An apt comparison it is, considering the open-door policy Young has put into place. He sounds as though he’s on the verge of tears throughout Second Song; such is the state of reflection when accomplishments are constant.
Day After Day is a gut punch of a second song. We can do what we can every day, but how much can you do when you’re down and out? Suckerpunched, sold out, short-changed, whatever you want to call it, there’s an overwhelming urge to begin again without what’s been learned in the past. It presents itself in the softer moments of Day After Day, not even the sunlight and snow Young notes can change that. Those little flickers of life with another, the special cup and that constant return to the title of the song. Haunting stuff when you spent most of the year making those special cups. Thanks for that, Neil. He hardly lets up there either, with some beautiful acoustic work scattered across his long and winding interpretation of what love should look like. Little moments is what Young offers, and it’s exactly what builds the best relationships.
Muster up the courage to move on, and then Young brings out Earth Girl, an instrumentally charming and light piece paired with a message of being so lucky to find someone to spend his life with. How Young articulates love will shake you to your core. Whether you’ve lost or gained that love of your life, the way Young processes the experience of intimacy, the shared moments and silences, is just staggering. Earth Girl and his lead single, title track Second Song, are beautiful contrasts. From a grounded and simple-sounding ditty with brass backing it the whole way to a roaring, eleven-minute epic that settles nicely between two short and sweet songs. Casting Me Away from You is on the other side of Second Song and is the first sign of doubt in that loved-up state. Young values love. That’s a simple message to send but an incredibly powerful one, irrespective of modern times and current context.
Young has managed to strip away the noise of the world around us and speaks directly to those listening in. Forget the troubles, the toil and stress of moving or finding a job or doing both and coming up with nothing for six months of the year. Pull back all the filler and noise, and you’re left with yourself, your loved ones, and a desire to maintain it all. Few albums this year have lingered quite so heavily as Second Song. There’s not been a drought of quality but an ability problem. Listening to new music, experiencing life with too much pressure, it sticks you into autopilot. Little, if anything, can get you out of it. Second Song will come across as a touch too familiar to the hardened Young listener, but for those who needed to take a break from him because he reminds you of moments in time that’re too painful, too recent in the mind, this’ll throw you back into the real world. It’ll puncture the echo chamber you made for yourself in trying to avoid the stresses of modern living.
That’s not to say Young has softened completely. A few reminders that he’s the Godfather of Grunge feature on Soon I Might Be Going. His wandering lyricism is touching in a way that only works when you’re rummaging through your memories and hoping, somewhere deep within this reflection, is a chance for change. Pair that with the occasionally heavy strum of electric guitar, feedback and all, and you have that jolt of energy needed to enact change. A nine-minute powerhouse from Young. He works best when he has room to breathe. The longest songs of Second Song are the best of the bunch, but don’t discredit the shock switch-out of Casting Me Away from You, where one lover tires of another, or the album closer, I’ll Love You Forever. Even the throwaway comments on recycling the old culture, finding nostalgia for a generation above and their trinkets, are featured on Soon I Might Be Going. From the hotels popping up to the cars cruising down the road, it’s a heavy and discomforting, but brutally honest assessment of where the world is headed.
There’s a physical heaviness to Second Song that lingers long after finishing a listen. Young hasn’t managed to conjure that feeling in over two decades and has done it out of the blue, slap bang in the middle of a September, months after a scrapped tour of Europe. “Too much has changed around us, but we can bring it back, somehow,” he sings on the title track. We can blindly believe that and without it we’d be lost, but it’s that last word that he elongates; that’s where the fear bubbles and festers. Somehow. Somehow, Young has pulled off what McCartney and The Rolling Stones did earlier this year. He has put out a career-best album that’ll remind listeners not of his ongoing talent, but of the music we share with loved ones and what it means to do so. Listen in again. Second Song is a life-altering album if you open your heart even just a little to its message of boundless love.
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