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Loading... Waging Heavy Peace: a hippie dream (original 2012; edition 2012)by Neil Young
Work detailsWaging Heavy Peace by Neil Young (2012)
None. Some interesting stuff, but I could have used a breadcrumb trail to connect all the memories. Scattered and rambling doesn't begin to describe it. But hey, it's Neil Young and I love Neil Young. It was good to spend some time with the real Neil. Sober now for seven months at the time of his last page it was obvious he was trying on voices and ideas about who he was and might be. Though goofy and rather emotionally stunted in parts, I found the book an honest attempt to get clean and come clean with his past and where he goes from here. Not the writer he thinks he is, there is a promise at the back of more books to come which I think might not be such a good idea. Neil Young needs a filter and is not the type of personality to either recognize or accept the outside help in editing or the extremely necessary revising of his words. In most cases this book was a "love it or leave it" enterprise. I know some readers who left, but I wasn't one of them. I stayed for the duration no matter how goofy and sentimental the old boy was creaming on me. His spiritual ramblings were just that and difficult to be taken seriously. His lyrics were never his strong suit and the inclusion of some of them for our edification was pathetic at best. But Neil, long may you run pal. Long may you run. Neil and I are neighbors, sort of. For 30-odd years. That is, we live on the same mountain and I pass by his gate all the time when I'm on the way to some job or other (I'm in construction). We've been in the same places, sometimes, but we've never talked. I'm fine with that, and I'm sure he is, too. He's a public person but a private soul. People should be left alone when they want to be left alone. This book is all the conversations we never had. A lifetime of rambling chitchat, some of it silly, some of it boring, most of it straight from the heart. Neil is an amazing, funny, honest man. I already knew it from his music and his interviews, but this book fills in the blanks: his old cars, his Lionel trains, his family, his wonderful children. (His son Ben sells eggs, and I've bought them - it's all part of the neighborhood.) It's a mess of a book, and I love it. Don't go methodically from page one to the end. You'll go nuts. I read it pretty much the way I read an encyclopedia: here and there, skipping around, following what interests me at that particular time. Like conversing (well, listening) with an old friend. Which Neil and I are. Only he doesn't know it. James Joyce he ain't, but despite the conversational style and endless repetitions about his current obsessions, I couldn't help but enjoy the book. He's clearly insufferable in person, but so enthusiastic about music, life and its possibilities, and so head-over-heels in love with his kids that it overrode all other reservations about the book. Should've been about a hundred pages shorter, and he should write a whole book about his relationship with his kids, that's where he shines best here. I wouldn't recommend this to anyone who isn't already a very big fan, the McDonough biography should serve better for more casual Young enthusiasts.
That a musical shape-shifter like Neil Young would take an unorthodox approach to his memoirs is to be expected. Indeed, this charming, poignant volume is much like Young’s oeuvre: sustained periods of pure delight punctuated by sudden, unexpected turns. The stream in Young’s stream-of-consciousness is more like a river that’s burst its banks. Seemingly unfettered by editors, and certainly not by chronology, Young tells us what he can remember in the manner and order he remembers it and – as he frequently informs his readers – has a blast doing so. We get a cursory tour of his upbringing in Winnipeg and the Ontario town of Omemee, and his early days in Toronto’s Yorkville music scene. A good portion of the book deals with the 1970s, and Young writes with passionate nostalgia about his work with bands such as Buffalo Springfield, CSNY, and Crazy Horse. Inevitably, the book is in part a paean to the many people Young has lost over the years, including David Briggs, his long-time producer and best friend. Young is an avid collector of guitars, model railways, and vintage cars (he cannot describe a journey without telling us what he was driving). He also has an entrepreneurial streak, and allots a considerable – some might say inordinate – amount of space to his current pet projects: a hybrid electric car and a master-quality digital music format. Fans are bound to feel frustrated by the book’s many omissions. For example, we never find out when Young first picked up a guitar. And though he speaks lovingly of both parents, he fails to mention his mother’s death. Young’s sons Ben and Zeke both have cerebral palsy, despite being born to different mothers. Although Young devotes a good number of pages to Ben, more insight into his personality and the challenges of raising him would have helped round out the picture. Young’s relative lack of attention to his personal life feels less like self-editing than simple honesty: he often describes his life as being “dedicated to the muse.” Drugs and alcohol form an integral part of that muse. Young explains that he hasn’t written a single song since going sober in 2011. He may, however, have found a different outlet for his creative side: Young credits sobriety with unleashing his inner author, and we can apparently look forward not only to another instalment in his memoirs, but a book of fiction as well. Not many authors explain their reasons for writing books as bluntly as Neil Young does in “Waging Heavy Peace.” First of all there’s the thing now known as the Keith Richards phenomenon: there turns out to be a large and lucrative market for memoirs from rock stars. In a two-page chapter called “Why This Book Exists” Mr. Young explains that his book will be a goose that lays a golden egg. He’s writing it because it will earn him enough money to stay off the stage for a while, which he badly needs to do for mental and physical reasons. “It all started when I broke my toe at the pool,” he explains.....
References to this work on external resources.
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RatingAverage: (3.63)
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(Originally posted at A Progressive on the Prairie.)