by SUSANNAH FELTS
MAY 11, 2024
1. I almost didn’t go see Neil Young.
2. I’m trying to figure out why. I think it has something to do with sadness—the sadness that rides shotgun with the joy.
3. The crowd was all over the ages. Parents and children, like us. Millennial men dancing with great gusto to one of the bangers. A favorite sight of the night: A grown dude and his father, arm in arm, weaving back and forth as Neil played “Heart of Gold.”
4. 
Girls at the show.
5. Neil seemed to rev up as the show went on, gaining power from the sound.
6. Three encores. The longest show of the tour so far.
7. White stars mapped a black backdrop behind him and his band—stars, and the great white horse. Stars mapped the sky above, and around us, the quarry lit up like a fishtank.
8. 
May 9, Franklin, Tennessee, in a quarry turned amphitheater
9. How did you first hear Neil Young? my daughter asked. Mom and Dad, I say, it was definitely mom and dad. But later, there was also this boy, one day, in Paris.
10. On the way out to the amphitheater on a perfect spring evening, we listened to “Cinnamon Girl,” which might be my favorite song of all time, if I could bear to make such a designation. We listened to CSNY’s “Country Girl,” which, she agreed, is a beautiful song. We listened to the Dan’s “With a Gun,” we listened to “Help Me.” We listened to “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere,” and she said, I know it sounds ridiculous but I want a boyfriend who is the vibe of this song.
11. I’ve been wanting to write about Neil Young for a long time. I’m trying to figure out why.
12. The thing about Neil’s voice: It ages well. It was warbly and wobbly to begin with.
13. My daughter had researched the setlist before the show, which is something Gen Z will do. And you, if you are like me, might wonder, how does this not flatten the buzz of the whole experience? She was cross about the fact that her research suggested he would not play “Harvest Moon,” and cross again when, in fact, he did not.
14. Four songs in, she asked what song he was playing; it was not one she knew. Like a Hurricane, I said. I like this song, she said, and this became one of several cherishable moments in the Neil Young concert I almost missed but did not.
15. here’s a story my mom has told me many times,
about seeing Neil at the Ryman in the 70s. How he played “A Man Needs a Maid,” and then said, “I think I can do that better,” and played the whole song over again.
16. Neil’s music keeps coming back to aging:
Old man take a look at my life, I’m a lot like you.
Keeps me searchin for a heart of gold, and I’m gettin old.
Hey hey, my my, rock and roll will never die.
It’s better to burn out, than it is to rust.
Oh, this oh world keeps spinnin round / It’s a wonder tall trees ain’t layin down
Tell me whyyyy / Is it hard to make arrangements with yourself, when you’re old enough to repay, but young enough to sell.
When you were young and on your own, how did it feel to be alone.
And so on, and so on.
17. I wondered if he’d tell us stories, like he did in the documentary concert film I’d watched the night before. He did not tell any stories. He said, repeatedly, Thanks for bein’ here, people.
18. He did wear a hat, as he did in the documentary. A different kind of hat, though. Neil Young wears many hats.
19. 
20. His stage crew all wore long white coats—physician lab coats. I like to think this is Neil’s dark humor at play.
21. How do I write about Neil when everything seems so connected, so vast—Neil and nature and my kid and Jesus’ Son and my parents and my childhood and Gen X and sex and Sewanee and cicadas and grunge and who’m I to write about Neil, anyway and college and his million fucking albums and lore and, fuck, just everything?
22. 78, my daughter said at one point in the show. He’s 78. I nodded. I knew.
23. There was a whole row of tour buses out back of the amphitheater. Bus upon bus upon bus, and semi upon semi. I imagined each member of Crazy Horse getting their own bus. But that wouldn’t even cover the buses!… I imagined each guitar getting its own bus. Stop obsessing over the buses, my daughter said.
24. I’ve heard many a turned-up-to-11, full-onslaught-of-electric-guitars song finale in my days. Never have I ever been moved to tears by one. Neil did that to me.
25. I worry over the day Neil Young will die. Like, I obsess about it. I think about it so much, and I’m trying to figure out why.
26. I’m trying to figure out why, I’m trying to figure out why. Tell me whyyyyy.
27. 
28. After the show, on grass heavy and fragrant with dew, my daughter told me she’s gonna be famous. She said, It’s the only way to have a life in music.
29. Just before the third encore, a star shot across the sky, right above the stage. Did she wish? I know I did.
30. want to write about Neil. This is not my Neil Young essay. I’m trying to figure it out, figure out why. Maybe this will help me get there.
Susannah Felts is a writer, editor, and cofounder/codirector of The Porch, a literary arts organization based in Nashville, Tenn. Her writing has appeared in publications such as The Best American Science and Nature Writing, Oxford American, Guernica, Longreads, StorySouth, Literary Hub, and elsewhere. She has received residencies and fellowships from the Sewanee Writers’ Conference, The Hambidge Center, the Ragdale Foundation, and the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts. Susannah writes the Substack newsletter F I E L D T R I P, where this piece originally appeared, and is working on a longform essay about Neil Young.