...uh... not much of an excuse...
Back in Yellowknife, after one of those gone in a flash whirlwind weekend trips, and coming to grips with winter.
Had a hell of a time though, meeting up with so many people it had been years since I'd seen. It's very strange to keep in touch with people through facebook and text message and then when you see them face to face, you still do all the catching up on things that you could pick up from profiles and stuff. Something we haven't reconciled socially yet, I suppose.
Slinginlingo got big-upped in a big way Saturday night. Thanks for the words, Jung (although I still can't decipher if you were pulling my leg or what, but it's nice knowing there are people that read this thing). It was good to catch up, man. We should definitely shoot shotguns next time I'm through.
So the genesis of the trip was to see Neil Young on Sunday. I'd seen the old man about five years ago in Vancouver, where he kicked off the Greendale tour at the Queen E. Not that it wasn't a great show, because it's Neil Fucking Young, but he played the entire Greendale album, which is like a smalltown concept album, and there were characters mouthing all the lyrics, acting out the album and I'd never heard any of it before, and so that went on for an hour, before he came back out for an encore and tore through 'Rockin' in the Free World' and 'Hey Hey, My My!'.
This time, I had no idea what to expect, and similarly how the crowd would react. I couldn't get any kind of feeling of how the show would be, as grandparents walked in with grandkids, and groups of youngsters paraded around beside the bearded and braided and balding in the concourse. It all seemed random.
Me and V found our seats despite the pints and Stampede beers (which Jung used to call heroine beers because of the punch they pack) and watched Death Cab plow through their set.
The Saddledome felt dead. We left to the concourse again. Grabbed more beer. Returned. I spoke with a dude in line who had read up about the previous four tour dates, and he told me to expect all the classics. (And another one for an encore).
Anyways, upon returning, something had happened inside the dome. It was buzzing. Like majorly. We sat on the second level, with an unobstructed side view of the stage and floor.
"Neil! Neil!" chants began and every second, an orange light would flash for a few moments then a puff of smoke poofed above groups mashed together on the floor, as they prepared for the show.
Neil apparently heard the chants and patiently walked up the stairs beside the stage with the six musicians that would accompany him that night. 15 minutes early.
Their entrance was markedly different from the way Death Cab sprinted up the stairs with exuberance and nervous energy. Neil and his crew were cool. Patient. Learned.
And then he grabbed his guitar and he ripped into 'Love and Only Love' and it was like everyone in the whole place released at once. And the place literally felt electric. And the crowd celebrated every word.
The Youngest 62-year old out there. (pun kind of intended)
And immediately, I could tell it was real. This wasn't a money grab. This wasn't a soulless old man trying to cash in one last time on his fame and catalogue. This still felt kind of edgy. And the energy! He ripped and thrashed through solos like he had on the Rust Never Sleeps tour I saw on DVD, filmed 30 years ago. It was all so sincere. It didn't look like he had been playing those songs for decades.
I'm pretty sure Neil Young could have kicked Elton John or Motley Crew or even Metallica's aging, safe, choreographed and over-structured asses that night.
Neil bounced and shuffled and his grey hair waved and he had a big bald spot on the back of his head. But he was wailing. And he still looked young, somehow.
V couldn't get over his sneakers.
The man sitting beside V watched with welled up eyes. He'd been a grade school classmate of Neil. And I imagined how it might feel to watch someone who I knew as a kid command such respect and awe and such a genuinely joyful reaction from such a massively wide demographic. Twelve year olds sang to 'Old Man'. Seventy year old crooned to 'The Needle and the Damage Done.'
This was a celebration of the man. This was a truly Canadian icon: a man who has always taken risks. A man with bigger balls than Kellen Winslow. A Canadian who was one of the only artists to take shots at the war in Iraq and President Bush when it was still taboo to do it. And he's Canadian. And no one got in too big a tiffy, because he did it and people knew he was right.
Anyways, I clapped so hard that my palms were swollen after. I yelled some crazy things, I'm sure. I think I realized how much his odd lyrics (at times) are so personal but universal that they are relatable to pretty much anybody and that pretty much explained the range in ages.
It was something else.
And he played for two hours.
He's 62.
And he had an aneurism just over a year ago.
He played everything. All the good ones, but they're all good ones. He played 'Powderfinger'. I almost shat during 'Cinnamon Girl' and wanted to text every girl I ever loved to go put on that song because it was so perfect at that time and made all that good stuff feel all real.
'Out on the Weekend' and 'Oh Lonesome Me' brought me back to the bottom of that roller coaster, but at the same time, he flipped the latter and made it sound new, somehow.
He played 'Unknown Legend', an ode to his once-waitress wife. She was onstage singing background and bashing a tambourine. He spelled it out to the crowd after the song was over, pointing to her: "There's the Unknown Legend." Damn, Neil. You're good.
When the show ended, there was no doubt they were coming back out after 'Rockin' in the Free World.' Everyone held hands onstage and acknowledged the crowd, which was one of the most grateful and giving I have ever been part of.
And it was then when I remember what song the dude had told me they would perform.
The final track off Sgt. Peppers.. A Day in the Life.
So out he came and then it started and I don't think anyone clued in until he sang the first verse and then the roof collapsed.
It was great. Not only did he do a fantastic job with the Lennon/McCartney track, but he stayed completely true to himself. He didn't do what so many do, and repeat the original singer's accent. He sounded SO Canadian when he sang that song. I laughed out loud.
Lennon: "Faw thousund holes in Blackbuhn, Lankasheeya"
Young: "Fohwer thousand holes in Blackbern Lank-u-sherrr"
And then when the concert ended on that note the Sgt. Pepper album does (the same one Apple jacked for when their computers start) it was just like "Yesssss!" And then he thrashed off the strings from Old Black and smashed and scratched them against the neck, getting every last ounce of energy out of that guitar.
And the crowd roared with every thrash. It felt like a celebration. Like something special had just happened.
I devoted myself to a 700-page biography -- 'Shakey' -- during my last few weeks in Calgary in '06. I think I learned as much about the man from the show as I did the book. It completely solidified his place as the greatest Canadian artist in my eyes. I couldn't believe how many of his songs have connected with me over the years.
Even the horribly corny. (See: Wonderin')
And then it was over.
I apologize about the length of this thing (Holy shneykees!). That was long. And possibly overdrawn. And probably not very interesting to non-Neil fans, but I just got carried away. And I'll most certainly feel like a knob tomorrow for swooning over the show like a schoolgirl. But alas...
Trust, it was not just I that thought it was something powerful... (again, just so it doesn't seem fanboy and biased)
The Reading Rainbow-style 'Don't take my word for it!'
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