By now six years into a career of great renown, Neil Young, whose profound, occasionally abstract songs and expressive guitar playing had been prominent in the work of seminal folk-rockers Buffalo Springfield, the ‘super-group’ of Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young and across three memorable solo albums, arrived at the one place his musical explorations had so far not ventured.
Always more comfortable working in the margins, Young had long since decided it was here his individualistic, self-contained approach to making records, particularly the trio bearing just his name, was best served. In eschewing orthodoxy, the 26-year-old Canadian viewed life, interaction with fame, indeed the creative process from the pavement edge – but with ‘HARVEST‘ (1972), he moved directly into the middle of the road.
Through 1970 Young, a somewhat detached element of the CSN&Y aggregation, had seen their era-defining ‘Deja Vu‘ set enjoy colossal worldwide sales, their status as ‘spokesmen of the counter-culture‘ further enhanced by hit single ‘Ohio‘ – a strident Young composition written in response to the killing of four protesting students by the National Guard on May 4, 1970, at Kent State University, Ohio.
When clashing egos brought the group to a standstill, Young set in motion plans for his next solo album. The monumental ‘After the Gold Rush‘ (August 1970) was for some an adieu to the 60s, while to others a projection of where the new decade was heading.
Either way this sparse, often lyrically obscure collection was rightly hailed as a tour-de-force and established Young as the preeminent singer-songwriter of the day.
From this point to release of ‘Harvest‘ 18 months later, events have a habit of becoming confused – although even those with long-standing fascination on where his muse will take him next can never be sure whether Young thrives on creating order from chaos or vice-versa.
Rather than capitalise on the substantial success of ‘After the Gold Rush‘ and hit the road with a touring band – the ‘Crazy Horse’ ensemble with whom he recorded his superb second album ‘Everybody Knows This is Nowhere‘ the obvious choice – Young set out on a solo tour. With the odd exception he played mostly small venues, giving full reign to his single-minded instincts by performing mostly new songs on either piano or acoustic guitar.
Through the same period Young began a relationship with American actress Carrie Snodgrass whose career had ultimately peaked by winning a Golden Globe and Oscar nomination for her role in ‘Diary of a Mad Housewife‘ (1970). She would inform a number of the songs Young wrote in a love-struck state for the album he was working towards and also bear him a son, Zeke, born in September 1972.
Not that he would have been unduly worried, but through 1971 Young faded from the radar of critical approval, replaced by Joni Mitchell (‘Blue‘), Carole King (‘Tapestry‘) and to a slightly lesser extent his old Springfield/CSNY compadre Stephen Stills (‘Stephen Stills II‘) each of whom who had delivered notable albums (okay, given his affectionate/antagonistic friendship with Stills that might have rankled).
But worse than Stephen receiving rare pleasantries from the rock press was Young suffering debilitating back pains that greatly restricted his movements – as he later recalled:
‘Due to having surgery on my back I had to wear a brace the whole time I was making ‘Harvest’ – that’s a lot of the reason its such a mellow album. I couldn’t physically play electric guitar.‘
If his physical limitations were one factor in how ‘Harvest‘ sounded the way it did, even more significant were the chance circumstances attached to where the album was made and the eclectic group of musicians with whom most of the tracks were recorded.
In the Spring of 1971 Young was asked to appear on ‘The Johnny Cash Show‘ filmed in Nashville and after recording his segment decided, out of curiosity, to visit a number of local recording studios. At Quadrophonic Sound Young met part owner of the establishment Elliot Mazer (‘I had no awareness of who he was,’ Mazer later told Young biographer Jimmy McDonough, ‘other than the fact my girlfriend had played ‘After the Gold Rush’ to death‘).
In no time, Mazer, who had previously worked with Janis Joplin and Linda Ronstadt, found his studio booked and himself enlisted as co-producer of the next Neil Young album.
As befitting the ongoing sense of improvisation, an eccentric group of Nashville players known as the Stray Gators, whose personal and collective quirks right away appealed to Young, were assembled to perform the material – Ben Keith (steel guitar), Tim Drummond (bass), Kenny Buttery (drums, described by Mazer as ‘a guy living in Nashville who hated country music,’) to whom were added long-time Young collaborator Jack Nitzsche (piano & slide guitar) with guest contributions taken from a stellar line-up of Crosby, Stills, Nash, Ronstadt and James Taylor.
As a musical match-up Young and the Stray Gators sounded made for each other – as evident from the recollections of drummer Buttery: ‘Neil tells everybody what to play, note for note. If you play somethin’ he doesn’t like, boy, he’ll put a look on you you’ll never forget. Neil hires some of the best musicians in the world and has ’em play as stupid as they possibly can.’
The essence of the strange amalgamation between Young and his helpers is possibly captured in the ‘Harvest‘ rear sleeve photograph. The Gators are sitting at their respective instruments each one looking at Neil for direction, only for him to be staring intently at the neck of his guitar as they record an album that in equal measure is brilliant, becalmed, baffling and was bought by millions – while dividing the critics for almost fifty years.
The ‘mellow’ vibe referred to by Young is most evident on the seven tracks cut in Nashville, (of the other three, two are performed with the London Symphony Orchestra and one a 1971 ‘live’ performance), the minimalist feel particularly evident on opening cut ‘Out on the Weekend‘ – a gently lilting country song decorated with mournful harmonica from Young.
Clearly smitten by the lady who has entered his life, he remains wary of giving full commitment through fear of being hurt, his quivering vocal style perfect for expressing vulnerability, ‘The woman I’m thinking of, she loved me all up, but I’m so down today/She’s so fine, she’s on my mind, I hear her calling,’ he sings to accompaniment of understated drums and distinct steel guitar – having already considered the option of packing it in, buying a pick-up and heading to L.A.
The next up title track sees piano player John Harris join the Gators ensemble, his doleful touch framing a notable composition in which the narrator (Young) asks questions of a mother from the perspective of her daughter.
Clearly there are complexities in this family saga, the author never denying he took episodes from what Snodgrass had told him of her life in shaping the lyrics – referring perhaps to the reported suicide attempt of Carrie’s mother Carolyn in the line ‘did she wake you up to tell you that it was only a change of plan,’ the darkness at the heart of the song offset by the melodic piano work.
Originally written on piano but transported to acoustic guitar and harmonica with Young receiving sparse Gator support, ‘Heart of Gold‘ is the song that moved him, at least for the time being, from the margins to the mainstream – reaching number one in the US charts when released as a single.
An ode to the search for love, this plaintive ballad finds Young both hopeful (‘I want to live/I want to give,’) and fatalistic (‘And I’m gettin’ old‘), what instrumentation there is beefed up by strident background vocals from Ronstadt and Taylor.
By way of irony, it was knocked from top spot by ‘A Horse with No Name‘ the debut hit from US soft-rockers America, a song so derivative of Young, his father rang to congratulate him on having another huge-selling 45. By all accounts Neil was none too impressed by this direct form of cloning, although Young himself may have made a ‘hands-up’ gesture some years later when his musical avatar Bob Dylan spoke of ‘Heart of Gold‘ in somewhat disparaging terms:
‘I used to hate it coming on the radio. I’d say, that’s me. If it sounds like me, it should as well be me.’
The Gators receive opportunity to stretch out on side one closer, ‘Are You Ready for the Country?‘ to which Nitzsche adds some showy slide guitar (suffice to say he had never played slide before). Whether the ‘God was on my side‘ line is an actual nod to Dylan is hard to say – much like the ‘big brass bed‘ reference in ‘Out on the Weekend‘ – but the song rattles by to good effect, propelled by rollicking piano but smoothed in the harmonies of Crosby and Nash.
On ‘Old Man‘ Young is once again joined by Ronstadt and Taylor (who also contributes on six-string banjo despite not being familiar with the instrument). The writer ponders age, sex and death in standing his life against that of the ageing caretaker who had come with the ranch in Northern California Young bought from the royalties of recent albums. The sharply honed steel guitar adds a prickly edge to some already terse lyrics, ‘old man take a look at my life – twenty-four and there’s so much more‘, going on to state, ‘Doesn’t mean that much to me to mean that much to you.’
Yet for all his insecurities Young is still moved to say, or perhaps, conclude, ‘I need someone to love me the whole day through.’
Despite the pains in his spine Neil finds the strength to remain upright in giving an electric guitar some attention through the four minutes or so of ‘Alabama‘ – a pained attack on racial prejudice in the southern state of the title.
In protesting against bigotry, the artist Young is most in thrall to is not Dylan but himself – the song treading the same ground as ‘Southern Man‘ on ‘After the Gold Rush‘ and although there is no lack of sincerity in the lyric, as a sequel it lacks the originality and impact of its predecessor.
Not content with alienating a southern-based audience (as a riposte Lynyrd Skynyrd defended their territory with the rousing ‘Sweet Home Alabama‘ giving Young by name a bit of his own back), he then risked the wrath of the burgeoning early-70s feminist movement with ‘A Man Needs a Maid.’
One of the orchestral tracks recorded by Nitzsche and Young in London, both are burdened by overbearing string arrangements that lessen the impact of two interesting songs. Performing each at the piano, they were more effective played this way during his solo shows of the time, the lyrics of ‘Maid‘ earnest but overtly chauvinistic – ‘Just someone to keep my house clean, fix my meals and go away,’ yearns Neil in longing for a maid rather than maiden.
If anything, the strings are even more intrusive on ‘There’s A World.’ Young produces an excellent vocal performance on a song addressing vagaries in everyday life, the track at its strongest in the middle section when he sings, ‘In the mountains, in the cities, you can see the dream/Look around you/Has it found you/Is it what it seems?’ The string section is withdrawn at this point only to return in the foreboding manner that brought Dan Fogelberg years of negative reviews.
At the other end of the spectrum, ‘The Needle and the Damage Done‘ is taken from a solo ‘live’ performance at Royce Hall, UCLA, Young delivering this powerful lament to the horrible spectre of drug abuse on his acoustic guitar.
For Young the issue had been brought sharply into focus by the heroin addiction of Crazy Horse guitarist Danny Whitten, the line, ‘I sing the song because I love the man,’ indicative of the despair he felt at seeing his friend succumb. But of all the anguished phrases most evocative (and sadly prophetic) is the closing ‘but every junkie’s like a setting sun‘ – Whitten, due to his dependency, relieved of guitar duties in the band Young was assembling for a forthcoming tour, was dead before the end of 1972, his life ended by a cocktail of diazepam and alcohol as he strove to kick heroin.
At almost seven minutes long, last track ‘Words‘ (Between the Lines of Age), recorded with the Stray Gators and embellished by support vocals from Stills and Nash, has Young giving his life what appears serious thought. Yet by adding an ambiguous tail-end twist to the lyrics leaves the song, indeed the album, floating in a realm of uncertainty.
As it moves through some mid-tempo, if downbeat country rock progressions, Young depicts scenes from his ranch (‘Out in the fields they were turning the soil/I’m sitting here hoping this water will boil‘), and then comments vaguely on the notion of stardom (‘If I was a junkman selling you cars/Washing your windows, shining your stars‘) – but as it draws to a close no clear conclusion has been reached. All of which leaves the final couplet, ‘Living in castles, a bit at a time/The King started laughing and talking in rhyme,’ open to any number of interpretations.
Is Young, with a laugh up his sleeve, saying he sets up words that rhyme without any thought to intent or meaning? Wouldn’t be the first (or last) time a song of his would come over that way. Is he really being so obvious in declaring himself ‘The King‘? The listener is given time to ponder such things as the Gators and Young on electric guitar take the song through a lumbering climax, Neil and Nitzsche (piano) sounding in their element being at such cross-purposes.
On release in early 1972, few critics were moved to describe Young in ‘king-like’ terms for his efforts on ‘Harvest‘ – the record appearing to decidedly mixed reviews. Noted New York scribe Robert Christgau accused Young of ‘self-imitation‘ on ‘Alabama‘ marking the collection B+ in his A-D rating system, while in England the New Musical Express were even less impressed, describing ‘Harvest‘ as ‘a bland retread of ‘After the Gold Rush‘ and more pointedly still, ‘the incisiveness of earlier lyrics are replaced by self-pitying declamations.’
Even Rolling Stone, who as a critical vessel Young would have onside for most of his career, sounded underwhelmed and while not exactly giving ‘Harvest‘ a panning were only lukewarm when it came to praise. But over time, a long time actually, few albums would undergo such a transformation in regard to appraisal – years of ambivalence by one generation of critics ending in 2003 when it came in at 78 on the Rolling Stone list of the 500 Greatest Albums Ever Made, climbing to 72 when the magazine last compiled its ‘Best 500‘ chart in 2020.
Back in 1972 the overall reaction of the rock press made no impression on record buyers who sent the album to number one across the globe – the world at large in thrall to the downcast, guitar-playing troubadour, being touted by many as ‘a Dylan for the 70s.’
Such a comparison would not be fanciful. Whatever misgivings there were about ‘Harvest‘ – even on repeated listens today it swings between classy and clumsy – Young would often be the singular most important force in the game, his 70s work enigmatic, wildly unpredictable, but rarely less than potent.
On the back of huge sales for ‘Harvest‘ expectations of Young taking a less obtuse approach to his career proved well wide of the mark, the drug induced deaths of Whitten and CSNY roadie Bruce Berry casting a huge shadow. Forthcoming albums saw him head deep into the darkness to explore bleak, emotional wastelands, while at no time making any concessions to popularity.
After scoring big with ‘Harvest‘ Young took a sideways step, making the documentary ‘Journey Though The Past‘ (1972), an unscripted, nonsensical film attempting to depict his hippy lifestyle of the early-70s. Inter-cut with surreal imagery, it was convoluted, unconventional and left those who saw it plain confused.
To prove just how far he could go in regard to being perverse, Young then went on the road with the Stray Gators for a tour entitled ‘Time Fades Away.’
Night after night he refused to play well known material in favour of new songs, some of which landed on the gloriously erratic 1973 ‘live’ album of the tour name. More often than not Young and the Gators were shambolic rather than synchronised, but even then he had the brass neck, or bravery depending on your viewpoint, to put eight previously unheard tracks on the LP.
Up to his death in 2019, Elliot Roberts had managed Young for fifty years, so was well qualified to say, ‘Whenever Neil had a big success, he’s had to do something to counter it or he can’t appreciate it. After a big album he’ll do something inane.’
Although ‘inane‘ is not the most accurate way to describe the moves Young made after ‘Harvest‘ (‘cussed‘, perhaps, ‘willful‘ certainly), albums did not come much bigger, so you can see the gist of what Roberts is saying – but even then there would be a strange final twist to the ‘Harvest‘ story.
In 1992, 18 months after releasing ‘Ragged Glory’ a rampant slice of primitive garage rock recorded with Crazy Horse, Young reassembled Nitzsche, Drummond, Buttery, Taylor and Ronstadt for ‘Harvest Moon‘ – a collection of endearing, largely acoustic relationship songs, that harked back to his album of twenty years previous.
At first Young embraced the sequel aspect then distanced himself from it, ‘I’m not trying to go back and re-create where I was when I did ‘Harvest’…..I’m entering my Perry Como phase,’ he told one interviewer – this from the man who had recently been dubbed ‘the Godfather of grunge.’
‘Harvest Moon‘ sold millions and split the critics.
Neil followed it by returning to Crazy Horse for the abrasive ‘Sleeps with Angels‘……………
NEIL YOUNG – ‘HARVEST‘ (Released February 14 1972):
Out on the Weekend/Harvest/A Man Needs A Maid/Heart of Gold/Are You Ready for the Country?/Old Man/There’s A World/Alabama/The Needle and the Damage Done/Words (Between the lines of Age);
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NEIL SAMBROOK is the author of ‘MONTY’S DOUBLE‘ – an acclaimed thriller now available in paperback and as an Amazon Kindle book.