Neil Young and his prairie pals

I'm currently working my way through Neil Young's memoir, Waging Heavy Peace. It's nearly 500 pages long, all over the place chronologically and thematically, mixing the tedious with the inspired and inspiring...

So he's not risking any law suits for making books that are unrepresentative of Neil Young (the stunt that Geffen pulled when they were pissed off by his run of eighties albums, and a story he gleefully recalls here).

The fact that the narrative voice is so unequivocally his makes it a fascinating read overall. And every so often, just as in his songwriting and performing, he puts it so perfectly that you want to stop and applaud.

Here's his account of what it's like to play with Crazy Horse:

When music is your life, there is a key that gets you to the core.  I am so grateful that I still have Crazy Horse, knock on wood.  You see, they are my window to the cosmic world where the muse lives and breathes.  I can find myself there and go to the special area of my soul where those songs graze like buffalo.  The herd is still there, and the plains are endless.  Just getting there is the key thing, and Crazy Horse is my way of getting there.  That is the place where music lives in my soul.  It is not youth, time, or age.  I dream of playing those long jams and floating over the herd like a condor.  I dream of the changing wind playing on my feathers, my brothers and sisters around me, silently telling their stories and sharing their spirits with the sky. 

I'm listening to 'Ramada Inn' as I write - my current favourite track on Psychedelic Pill - and seeing that condor glide over the bison. Bonkers, of course, but brilliant.

Long may he run.