Neil Young
Homegrown
Reprise
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Neil Young fans have waited 46 years for Homegrown. Young calls the record “the one that got away.” Recorded during the same two years as On The Beach (1974) and Tonight’s The Night (1975), sonically, the three records are sisters. But each tells its own story.
Tonight’s The Night is a processing of death, recorded in a wake of grief after the loss of Crazy Horse guitarist Danny Whitten and Young’s longtime roadie and friend Bruce Barry. Both died of a heroin overdose. On The Beach is the sound of an exposed, desolate surf—recorded after Tonight but released before it. Both feel like a craving to have the unknown take you because there is nothing else.
Homegrown is a heartbreak record written and recorded after Young’s split with actress Carrie Snodgress. In 1972 they had a son, Zeke. After finishing it, Young deemed Homegrown too personal and locked it away.
A few Homegrown tracks have appeared on later studio albums, compilations, and he’s performed some live with CSNY and Crazy Horse. This lost record is bigger than Bob Dylan’s The Basement Tapes (famously recorded with The Band in 1964 after Dylan’s “motorcycle accident” and not released until 1975) because fans have known Homegrown was there all along. Pure mystery is heavier than surprise.
In the official press release, Young describes it as “the unheard bridge between Harvest and Comes a Time.” Writing about it in his online archives, he explains, “This album Homegrown should have been there for you a couple of years after Harvest. It's the sad side of a love affair. The damage done. The heartache. I just couldn't listen to it. I wanted to move on. So I kept it to myself, hidden away in the vault, on the shelf, in the back of my mind....but I should have shared it. It's actually beautiful. That's why I made it in the first place. Sometimes life hurts. You know what I mean.”
Originally scheduled as a Record Store Day release back in April, it was pushed back due to the COVID quarantine. Now Homegrown is finally here.
Levon Helm tears the record open with sharp, tight snares on “Separate Ways.” Young’s long-time bassist Tim Drummond thrums a heavy pulse and Young’s croon has never sounded fresher: “And it's all because / Of that love we knew / That makes the world go round / Separate ways, separate ways,” he sings. It’s the promise of an end and a nod towards a beginning.
Helm and Drummond stick together for track two, “Try,” a tribute to Snodgress. That’s Young doodling on the piano at the end and on “Mexico,” he’s alone behind the keys. Piano organically highlights the frailty in Young’s voice making them a perfect match.
“Love Is A Rose” is a bright folk song, a reworking of “Dance Dance Dance” from his self-titled debut. The title track is a too-short jam, the song you play as you roll up to your hometown, no matter how long you’ve been away. It’s comfort blues.
Halfway through the record, Young tells the studio, “Let’s go to Florida” and what follows is the narration of a dream. There are gliders in the sky, swooping between the buildings and ducking in alleyways. “I couldn’t believe it was really happening,” he says. “I don’t believe this. It isn’t real.” A man from one of the gliders runs into a building and tumbles down, onto a couple standing on the street. Behind Young’s voice are the shrill sounds of wine glasses and piano strings creating a menacing atmosphere. “I ran over to them and could see that they were really gone.” A baby appears and Young takes it. A woman tries to tell him it’s hers, and he says it belongs to the couple, now gone.
“Florida” lands on a question: “What happened to them?” It could be an allegory—a man flying, falling, a couple that disappears, and an unattended child. But I believe it’s answered on the next track, “Kansas.” A slow strum of a story, a different version of what happened in Florida: “I just feel like I woke up from a bad dream,” Young sings. “It’s so good to have you sleeping by my side / although I’m not so sure / if I even know your name / hold on baby, hold on / we can go gliding through the air / far from the tears you’ve cried.” See that word “gliding?” Yes, I see it too.
The clarity of Homegrown’s recording is unreal and the personnel is to boot. Helm’s drums are hard to top, so it’s only fair another member of The Band can do it. Robbie Robertson’s guitar on “White Line” is so tender and textured, it’s only natural to layer it next to Young’s skill.
“Vacancy,” released as the first single, is the classic Neil Young fuzz you’ve been craving all these years. Turn up the volume and let it rage. The follow-up “Little Wing” is an acoustic lullaby: “winter is the best time of them all.” You can almost hear the snow falling in the background. Young’s mastery and control of the guitar is on full display across the record. It’s matched by some of his strongest harmonica work. It’s blues, it’s folk, it’s grunge before it had a name.
Young saves the best for last and shares his vocal duties with Emmylou Harris on album-closer “Star of Bethlehem.” Harris sings backup on “Try” but her voice here is unmistakable. Ben Keith puts down the slide and pedal steel guitars, picks up the dobro and joins in on vocals. And if you forgot what Homegrown is about, let the last line tell you: “maybe the star of Bethlehem wasn’t a star at all.”
As far as guiding lights go, Homegrown is a path to many places—Mexico, Florida, Kansas, the White Line on the open road. Recorded in Redwood City, Los Angeles, Nashville, and London, I wonder if place is more than a theme. Can home be anywhere you let it be? Or is it just a state of mind?
Notable Tracks: “Kansas” | “Little Wing” | “Separate Ways” | “Vacancy” | “White Line”
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