Cover: Neil Young, "Mr. Soul"

"Mr. Soul" was initially a ripper recorded by Young with Buffalo Springfield in the 60's, featuring a riff not totally dissimilar to the Stones' "Satisfaction." By the early 1980's, Young was with Geffen Records and indulging his mercurial side by recording a synth/New Wave/Kraftwerk album, Trans. He processed his vocals through a vocoder until they were utterly unhuman and in many case incomprehensible. He included a cover of "Mr. Soul" with this package, taming and moderating it with the plastic technology at his disposal. The result is so 80's it hurts, and the album was lambasted by critics but... listen.

At the time, Young was very concerned with caring for his son Ben, who was afflicted with cerebral palsy, and having difficulties communicating. The impossibility of communication must be fascinating for any performer, an intriguing and inspiring dilemma. In his own words: "At that time [Ben] was simply trying to find a way to talk, to communicate with other people. That's what Trans is all about. And that's why, on that record, you know I'm saying something but you can't understand what it is. Well, that's exactly the same feeling I was getting from my son."

I'm never one to say you should have to know the backstory of a song in order to enjoy it, but as often as not it doesn't hurt to get that added context. This version of "Mr. Soul," or anything else off Trans, doesn't necessarily stand on its own, but thinking of it in that way, it's quite sweet, and rather poetic.

Neil Young: Le Noise

It's probably not a coincidence that I was thinking of the My Bloody Valentine album when I was looking to review this most recent release by Neil Young. MBV worked so hard to generate its sound you can't help but notice it as much as the songs themselves. Likewise, here Neil Young works with a sound that is more noteworthy than the songs it is attached to. Leave it to him to complicate the idea of simplicity.

Mostly, the album is just a voice and an electric guitar, something that is rarely done. Sure, you can go unplugged with an acoustic and strum away, it'll sound beautiful and delicate, but to plug in and let it roar while you warble echoey, sometimes impenetrable lyrics? That's a new one on me. Oftentimes throughout the album, all you can hear is the lack of anything else, as much as the repeating riffs or the vocals. They're not songs so much as exercises, sonic events. They don't welcome you in.

Sometimes it's vague, sometimes it's heartbreaking. Sometimes he does switch down to the acoustic (as on "Love & War," a self-reflexive meditation on his own songwriting and "Peaceful Valley Boulevard," a largely conventional folk tune about social change and the environment.) Fittingly, some songs like "Hitchhiker" and the unnaturally-moving "Someone's Gonna Rescue You" preach about needing others. Coupled with the rumbling, half-empty sound of the album, underscores how lonely life can seem.

An album like this doesn't need to be loved -- I'm not sure I do, for its difficulty and rawness -- but it does command respect. Unlike a lot of music, but like a lot of art, it doesn't need to be "good" to justify its existence. It's enough that someone, particularly Neil Young, would go and make an album this way, because for whatever reason people forget how multifaceted his music is. In this case, it's as much about the message as how it's being communicated. He's never grown too comfortable with letting people think what a "Neil Young record" should sound like.

Buy this album from iTunes now!