This review was published in The Daily Telegraph, 6 June 2016
Neil Young is still campaigning, still railing with passion if not precision at corporate threats to everything from farming to energy supplies to the quality of our audio files. But do the indulged passions of a 70 year old rock star make for a compelling show?
Thousands in Glasgow's Hydro thought so and paid devoted, roaring respect to a hero. Nonetheless, early signs were not good.
This tour promotes a protest album about agribusiness behemoth Monsanto which also carries a dig at Starbucks for good measure. As his young band joined him after a solo start, two figures in farming hats and denims walked across the stage spreading seeds while the big screen showed a picture of a daisy. A few songs later sinister figures in gleaming biohazard suits sprayed the ground in a decidedly evil manner. It was not subtle stuff.
Other indulgences were on display. Songs grew longer the later in the set they appeared. A fuzzy intro and a brief snatch of singing was typically followed by five minutes or more of leg-splayed posing and stomping to the squealing guitar wanderings of Young and his two guitarists, sons of his friend Willie Nelson.
Young has long been a noise merchant but the lack of fretboard discipline would shame a prog rocker or metal hero. Songs lasted ten, fifteen, even twenty minutes. Young has a distinctive soloing style and sound - it can be jagged, attack-filled and thrilling. But it can also be languid and meandering, and excitement fades as the minutes drift by.
As a celebration of the hypnotic power of repetitive, throbbing noise, Young's approach sometimes worked. The bone-shaking cadence of Love And Only Love - whose final winding-up was longer than most pop songs - felt like the grave pealing of distorted, doom-laden bells. The solemn repetition of single heavy notes was artful and moving, but the guitar histrionics produced too few of these moments.
A different Young had opened the concert. Alone behind piano or guitar he rattled through earlier, folkier hits like After The Gold Rush and Heart Of Gold. His voice had lost much of its power but had gained a wispy mournfulness. It was a moving contrast to the strident young man of the recordings, but the performances here felt rushed, something to get through to reach the noisy indulgence of the following two hours.
Neil Young is still campaigning, still railing with passion if not precision at corporate threats to everything from farming to energy supplies to the quality of our audio files. But do the indulged passions of a 70 year old rock star make for a compelling show?
Thousands in Glasgow's Hydro thought so and paid devoted, roaring respect to a hero. Nonetheless, early signs were not good.
This tour promotes a protest album about agribusiness behemoth Monsanto which also carries a dig at Starbucks for good measure. As his young band joined him after a solo start, two figures in farming hats and denims walked across the stage spreading seeds while the big screen showed a picture of a daisy. A few songs later sinister figures in gleaming biohazard suits sprayed the ground in a decidedly evil manner. It was not subtle stuff.
Other indulgences were on display. Songs grew longer the later in the set they appeared. A fuzzy intro and a brief snatch of singing was typically followed by five minutes or more of leg-splayed posing and stomping to the squealing guitar wanderings of Young and his two guitarists, sons of his friend Willie Nelson.
Young has long been a noise merchant but the lack of fretboard discipline would shame a prog rocker or metal hero. Songs lasted ten, fifteen, even twenty minutes. Young has a distinctive soloing style and sound - it can be jagged, attack-filled and thrilling. But it can also be languid and meandering, and excitement fades as the minutes drift by.
As a celebration of the hypnotic power of repetitive, throbbing noise, Young's approach sometimes worked. The bone-shaking cadence of Love And Only Love - whose final winding-up was longer than most pop songs - felt like the grave pealing of distorted, doom-laden bells. The solemn repetition of single heavy notes was artful and moving, but the guitar histrionics produced too few of these moments.
A different Young had opened the concert. Alone behind piano or guitar he rattled through earlier, folkier hits like After The Gold Rush and Heart Of Gold. His voice had lost much of its power but had gained a wispy mournfulness. It was a moving contrast to the strident young man of the recordings, but the performances here felt rushed, something to get through to reach the noisy indulgence of the following two hours.