It’s almost time for Neil to start his tour, and I’ve been thinking about how many years of his life have been spent in front of an audience — and how special this tour will be. It’s the Love Earth Tour, and it promises to bring many unforgettable moments to fans across Europe, Canada, and America once more.
I pray for peace and good health for all the members of the tour. Neil’s ability to rise above the unrest in our world and face humanity as one — regardless of our differences — speaks to his remarkable character and strength.
Now I would like to take you back to the beginning.
Almost Sixty Years Ago
Buffalo Springfield performed live shows at the Whisky from May 3rd until June 18th, 1966. On June 26th and 27th, they played the Cinnamon Cinder in San Diego, just before heading into Gold Star Studios to begin recording that July.
I was with Neil almost daily during this time. The live sets at the Whisky made Buffalo Springfield local celebrities almost overnight. After the first couple of weeks, I started wondering why Neil wasn’t singing the songs he was writing — songs like “Nowadays Clancy Can’t Even Sing,” which he sang so beautifully at home. His voice carried something raw and honest, and it felt like a loss not to hear it on stage. I may have said something to him about it, though I don’t really remember.
Not long after, Stephen began calling band meetings after the final set of the night. I noticed that Neil always seemed anxious to leave right away. One night, we walked a couple of miles before he finally opened up. He told me he was being criticized at these meetings, often harshly, and usually by Stephen — and always in front of the whole band. He was hurt and embarrassed.
Donna and I began attending the meetings. We were surprised by the tone — the criticism seemed exaggerated or misplaced. To be sure, we started watching the sets more closely, paying attention to Neil’s playing. But there was nothing to criticize. He didn’t miss a beat, his timing was sharp, and his guitar was always in tune.
No one else challenged Stephen. He had taken on the role of the leader, and no one wanted to upset the balance. Dickie wasn’t a musician, and his focus was just on keeping the band together, which turned out to be harder than anyone expected.
Neil endured more than I thought he should have, but he stayed committed to the music. Stephen knew how valuable Neil was — not just as a lead guitarist, but as a songwriter. “Mr. Soul,” “Clancy,” and so many others were essential to the band’s sound and identity.
When Neil was given the chance to sing his own material, it often felt like the stage got crowded. The other frontmen sometimes moved behind or in front of him as he stood at the mic, trying to share something personal with the audience. Maybe it was just youthful energy, but it could also distract from what he was trying to communicate.
Neil didn’t come to Hollywood expecting to be a star overnight, or even necessarily to be a solo act — but he certainly didn’t come to play backup guitar and hand off his songs for someone else to sing. He had already been writing and performing in Canada, playing solo and in bands, and he came to L.A. ready to contribute.
Looking back, I think there was a mix of egos, ambition, and inexperience in that band — not uncommon for young musicians on the verge of success. But Neil’s focus stayed on the music, even when the rest got messy. And in the end, the songs speak for themselves.
48” x 24” Oil Painting on Wood with Photo Collage
A Film for Neil
Fellini artfully captured the essence of his life and the era he inhabited. Neil Young did the same — he captured life in his era, in song, with that same artful essence. He does this without apology for the content in his lyrics and doesn’t try to sugarcoat the pain.
Neil stepped away from the typical and moved toward reality — toward the problems life inevitably brings. You can see yourself in Neil’s characters; he bleeds so we can grow. He shows us the world we live in, the world we create for ourselves, and the traps we sometimes can’t escape. Neil finds himself caught in that same world and doesn’t mind showing us his own failures.
Early bandmates, in their youthful folly, often disregarded Neil’s talent and his feelings — as do fans, still, 60 years later. It’s ego gone wild. Neil’s message was never about ego; it was about a commitment to truth. A deep connection to sharing reality — not out of compulsion, but as a gift he was given, and had to share. He’ll tell you that a song comes to him, and he honors the giver by turning his full attention to the gift.
To see the pictures of life flash before your eyes and live to tell about it is no small feat — but to do it with friends is even bigger. Those who grew to understand that working with Neil was a privilege, not a right, include Stephen Stills.
“Out of My Mind,” often overlooked when Neil’s early songs are discussed, shows his ability — even then — to describe what he sees while others can’t. I had to tell the singer, in the Buffalo Springfield, what the song was about before he could sing it.
Neil sees the images in his songs like film scenes. If I had been there — if I was part of the moment he was writing about — I would know exactly what he was saying.
Like Fellini’s Amarcord, which brings to life the imagery of a bygone era, I imagine a cinematic portrayal of Neil’s life — especially during the wild, untamed ’60s, when Hollywood was buzzing with music and discord.
As a master storyteller, Neil’s songs replace dialogue. They carry his consciousness — one that refused to be lost to despair, even as those around him seemed blind to the trauma he alone was battling.
Digital Art any size…
Digital Art. 5” X 9”
Or any size
Digital Art 7” X 5” or any size