Magisterial: Neil Young at the Greek Theatre July 10 2023 6

It wasn’t a smooth performance. He hemmed and hawed, he paced. He ambled between an upright Steinway to a grand piano and then to a vintage pump organ. He swapped his harmonica — he had a bunch of them. That made loud clicks in the holder he wore around his neck, as it banged against his body mike. Abandoning a song, he groused, “I just don’t have the time to play out of tune,” and a minion scampered on stage to swap his electric guitar for an acoustic one — ostensibly one that was tuned.

He was wearing denims and a kooky train conductor’s hat. He wasn’t fat, he wasn’t thin. He was kind of lumbering, bulky. He played his set list … but as time went on, things seemed to stretch. He seemed in need of direction. Thrice in the evening, he turned to the house and croaked, “How ‘ya doin’ out there?” We roared back with applause … reassurance. Perhaps a band would have kept him on track. (This was a solo show.) But over the course of a 1.5 hour compendium of a songspiel quoting across sixty years, and despite his interruptive, often very witty, ruminations, he delivered. The guitar strum was foundational, rock-solid, the harmonica added texture and dimension.

He was in good voice. Very good voice. Surprisingly pure and unwavering. Stable and on pitch. Full of feeling. And out those lyrics tumbled, in a set list of 16 songs. “I’m the Ocean,” he posited in his opening number, and there we sat, clinging to that promise, ready to float away on an incredible song.

I’m the ocean
I’m a drug that makes you dream.
I’m an Aerostar. I’m a Cutlass Supreme.
In the wrong lane, trying to turn against the flow.
I’m the ocean. I’m the giant undertow.

“Don’t forget love,” he wailed plaintively. And then he sang that line, it seemed like one hundred times in a Crazy Horse song of the same title. “Ohio” was as funereal a dirge as in 1971. It was overpowering to hear it drummed out by its author. “On my Way Home” a beautiful love song written for Buffalo Springfield, delivered characteristic wistful romanticism. A call to the senses and emotions.

And I love you. Can you feel it now? Can you feel it now? Can you feel it now??

Taking in the amphitheater, Young remarked, “I remember this place from a long time ago, I was here in Very. Early. Times.” He reflected, “This is where CSNY’s first gig was as I remember it.” He used the acronym. He added for clarity, “They’re not here right now.”

“I want to get this right for you,” he said, “because you’re a real professional audience.” A hilarious comment. He then shared an odd story. Once, when exiting the stage, he said, he heard booing. And it got to him. “I was saying to myself, oh shit. Because it meant something. Because they felt it. But I’m still working on it, so I’ll keep you posted.” After “Mr. Soul,” slowed to non-swinging tempo on the pump organ (She said you’re strange but don’t change and I let her), an exalted Neil Young sent “Heart of Gold” into the dark sky above Griffith Park.