50 years from ’70: A Revisited Review of Neil Young’s 'After the Gold Rush'
By Gracie Williams
Over the years, Neil Young has proved himself able to churn out albums at a John Grisham-like pace. But amid his lengthy discography lies a true shining star, in my eyes—his 1970 release, After the Gold Rush.
By 1970, Young was already two years deep into his record-a-year mentality after his band, Buffalo Springfield, dissipated in the summer of 1968. At the same time, his unrivaled work ethic helped him contribute to the Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young album, Déjà Vu (1970); write the politically charged single, “Ohio,” inspired by the May 4 Kent State shooting; do a solo tour; and make After the Gold Rush all in a year’s time. Listening to this album in 2020 shows its eerie timelessness, and along with any counterculture kids who’ve since grown up, I’m unbelievably haunted by it whenever I turn it on.
Coming off the back of his 1969 record’s hard-rocking singles, “Cinnamon Girl,” “Down by the River,” and “Cowgirl in the Sand” (which Young supposedly wrote all in one sitting while nursing a 103 °F fever), the songs on After the Gold Rush are soft by comparison—but soft never means weak when it comes to the “Godfather of Grunge.”
Immediately into the first track, there’s a taste of what proves to be an eccentric, country-Medieval fairytale, with glimmers of his signature moody rock style. But, the record ultimately focuses on powerful, all-around tenderness, which is best illustrated in Young’s rendition of Don Gibson’s “Oh, Lonesome Me” and his original, “Only Love Can Break Your Heart.”
While “sad boi” anthems give the album its heart, however, the hard-hitting metaphors in “Southern Man” and the title track, “After the Gold Rush,” give the record its soul. It seems Young could’ve never predicted the relevance of these tracks: when he whines in his timid way, “Look at Mother Nature on the run in the 1970s,” he reflects on the words’ meaning by saying, “Hell, I don’t know. I just wrote it” (but to the average, untormented listener, they hit deep). The simple lyrics and melodies on tracks such as these make Young’s messages so much more palatable; they seem less standing-on-a-soapbox-preachy and more pain-filled-human.
Sure, this holistic album is not necessarily a masterpiece in the craftsmanship category; I’ve personally heard Young play better in many of his live performances. But, that’s not what this is about: this album’s greatness lies in that flying-on-the-ground feeling I get when the melody climbs in the bridge of “Oh, Lonesome Me” and it floats me through the black clouds of the astral plane Young has created. Despite the record’s underdeveloped production, it undoubtedly checks every box in its ability to evoke in the emotion category.
During the comedown of the ‘60s and the rise of new freedom, Young managed to produce a body of work that seemed to be a palate cleanser from the utter chaos of 1969 alone. While 2020 may feel like ’69 in that way, I can only hope that this time will produce a breath of fresh air like After the Gold Rush. Fifty years later, it still manages to stay timeless with its melancholic notes, hopeless lyrics, and all-around haziness. There is truly no better time than now to put it on and float along.
Neil Young walking with Graham Nash in Greenwich Village, New York City (Joel Bernstein, 1970)