Neil Young remains one of the more compelling of the '60s rock stars because he just doesn't give a hoot about pleasing his fans or recycling his greatest hits. On the contrary, he's been particularly prolific lately, producing good, bad and sometimes just plain weird albums at an astonishing rate for a 71-year-old artist who should be in the resting-on-his-laurels phase of his career.
"Peace Trail" (Reprise) _ his second album this year and sixth since 2014 _ is one of the strange ones. It's even occasionally fascinating. It's also not very good, a release that surely would've benefited from a bit more time and consideration, which might have given Young's ad hoc band _ drummer Jim Keltner and bassist Paul Bushnell _ a chance to actually learn the songs. But the four-day recording session sounds like a getting-to-know-you warmup instead of a finished product.
"Peace Trail" is in the tradition of Young music that aims to serve as instant-coffee commentary on world affairs: last year's "The Monsanto Years," "Living With War" (2006), the 2002 track "Let's Roll" or the Crosby Stills Nash & Young protest anthem "Ohio." It addresses the North Dakota pipeline standoff in "Indian Givers," racist fearmongering in "Terrorist Suicide Hang Gliders" and police corruption in "Texas Rangers."
"Watch what you don't see on the TV when they hide the truth," Young sings. The world is tumbling toward "end days," a "glass accident" waiting to happen. It's an ongoing mantra in Young's music: Planet Earth is under siege, wake up before it's too late. Over 10 loosely linked songs, "Peace Trail" shows the country devolving into chaos and autocracy under police and corporate control, until automation makes the human race obsolete.
Young's voice is gentle, the arrangements largely subdued, with occasional jarring blasts of overmodulated harmonica and electronically distorted vocals that induce flashbacks to Young's surrealist "Trans" phase in the '80s. There are some intriguing ideas flying around, but it's as if Young couldn't be bothered to think them through and refine them. On "Texas Rangers," the poetic meter breaks down completely, and the narrow dynamics of the five-minute talking blues "John Oaks" make it feel twice as long.
Young remains a treasure because he refuses to bow to convention, and his inherent distrust of studio sugarcoating or polishing has led to some of the rawest, most powerful music of our time. But it can also lead to slapdash projects such as this one. No need to fret about it, though. There'll likely be another Neil Young album to chew on in a matter of months.
