Happy 2013
Jan. 1st, 2013 12:52 amNew Year's Eve was delicious (if you're in Ottawa and like Indian food, the Golden India on McArthur is the best I've had in Ottawa. And they're not kidding about the dishes labelled extra hot) but otherwise quiet.
Some issues that need dealing with on the home front put a bit of a damper on our celebrations (and have taken up way too much of our time and energy), but we both can look back on 2012 as a pretty good year. And we're looking forward to the next being even better.
Happy new year, Gentle Readers. Though there is much wrong with this old world of ours — or rather, with what we are doing to it (and to each other) — there is a great deal of beauty and courage also.
All of which is to say, any summing up is going to have to wait (if I can get around to it at all). So I'll just leave you with a video. Remember when Neil Young was great? That's right, it was 2012.
"I too was disapointed [sic] in Neil's concert... I wished I had stayed home and watched one of his old DVD's.. I personally thought he had lost his mind!! Really a song that carries on for 15 minutes with the only lyrics "You're a F*&&up?" I put my coat on and left.."
— Commentator Mrsopinionated on a message board at the Ottawa Sun.
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Trawling the web after seeing Neil Young and Crazy Horse on the last Saturday in November, I came across quite a few complaints similar to Mrsopinionated's, from people who clearly expected to encounter the folkie troubadour famous for songs like "Helpless" and "Harvest Moon".
Instead of the sensitive folk-singer, they got four old men bent over their instruments like a coven of witches torturing cats to produce an orgy of distortion and feedback, steel strings twisted to breaking in jams pushing half an hour of sonic indulgence.
"I put my coat on and left.." I can empathize, I really can.
I once was Mrsopinionated, or someone a lot like her ...
Some of you may know this story; I've dined out on it at my own expense for years. So, feel free to skip it and go straight to my review. But for those of you still reading ...
( Cut to spare your friend's page. But really, you should click the link. )
This was supposed to have been my personal Month of the Horse, when I leveraged my attendance tonight at my first arena concert since I walked out on the Rolling Stones back in the 80s to (re?) establish my presence as an awesome, and awesomely consistent, blogger.
Tonight I will be off to Ottawa's big arena to see Neil Young and Crazy Horse (and also Patty Smith, who at one time I would have been more excited about, but who has not, to my mind, made a truly important record since the 1970s, merely good ones).
I was going to start off by offering the ultimate version of the time I walked out on the film, Rust Never Sleeps when the electric music started and demanded my money back because, well, What the fuck happened to the hippy with the acoustic guitar?
I was going to segue into my brief career as a street musician (busker to you hipsters), when I played lots of Neil's stuff, even though I thought the lyrics often inane, but because the chord progressions were easy (and also, somehow, the songs were good and because the songs were popular.
I was going to review Neil's recent memoir, Waging Heavy Peace, which is without a doubt the worst book I will ever recommend to any and everyone. Indisputably written without the help of a ghost-writer, Waging Heavy Peace is a spiralling self-portrait by an "old hippy" who just babbles away about the people he loves and the things that interest him — music, Nature, model trains, old cars, high fidelity digital audio and alternative energy systems. No intellectual, he is an artist of the classically intuitive kind, answering only to his muse.
I was going to review his two new records, Americana and the double-CD Psychedelic Pill. On first listen, Americana, which is Young and Crazy Horse reinterpreting old standards like "Clementine" and "Oh Susannah" (and also not-so-standards, like "God Save the Queen" and "Get a Job") is one of those things better in theory than in practice; truth is, most of those old folk songs aren't all that good and grunging them up doesn't make them so. Also on first listen, however, Psychedelic Pill is awesome if you want to hear a load of veteran musicians really get into their groove. But if songs that go as long as 27 minutes of guitar riffs being traded back and forth aren't your cup of tea, you might want to give it a miss.
I was even going to re-visit the scene of my introduction to my personal Rock and Roll Hall of Shame, Rust Never Sleeps and who knows what else.
But life and procrastination all conspired to get in the way, and now I have hours only before I venture out into the cold.
I leave this entry more for myself than for any of you. A reminder of what was meant to be, and possibly, a rack upon which I will remake the past through the future. Links may appear above where now there are none.
For now, I leave you with a taste of what I anticipate tonight.