Months away from becoming an octogenarian, Neil Young remains as spunky, fearless and outspoken as any major artist of his generation — let alone those who followed. Making his first Chicago appearance in more than seven years on Wednesday at Huntington Bank Pavilion at Northerly Island, the iconic singer-guitarist delivered a rousing 110-minute concert steeped in political dissent and social commentary. A musty greatest-hits revue this was not.
Many of Young’s signature facets were on display. A packed crowd witnessed his cantankerous side when, frustrated with uncooperative equipment, Young flashed a sour expression and slugged the microphone stand, knocking it to the ground. Fans saw him gentle and relaxed, a folkie strumming an acoustic guitar and sonically summoning moonlight, breezes and campfires. They watched him crank the distortion on wiry, thundering garage rock that paid little regard to conventional structures or stop signs.
Most frequently, the audience experienced Young tap his inner firebrand. Refusing to back down or keep quiet, the 79-year-old channeled the values and messages of the counterculture that paralleled his rise in the ‘60s. He approached material with resolute sincerity. That extended to Young surprising everyone with the guerrilla-style premiere of an unreleased song (“Big Crime”) that eviscerated the current presidential administration. Courageous, determined, unsparing and willing to take a stand for what he believes to be right: Some things never change.
A road warrior for more than five decades, Young took an extended touring break before the onset of the pandemic and then waited out his return to the stage for a longer period than most of his peers. Young even skipped concerts for Farm Aid — an organization he co-founded — twice. The Canadian native finally resumed performing in summer 2023 with a brief West Coast solo tour.
Scheduled to end the longest Chicago-area drought of his career in May 2024, Young called off the concert with backing band Crazy Horse a few hours before gates opened. He subsequently canceled the rest of the trek due to unspecified members’ illnesses. By last September, Young introduced a new quartet, the Chrome Hearts, which includes veteran collaborator Spooner Oldham on organ and the rhythm section from another of his collectives, Promise of the Real.
Reliably unpredictable and obsessively prolific, Young stayed in the news by inundating record store shelves. In the past five years, he has issued more than two dozen titles in the form of live sets, multi-disc archival collections, “found” albums comprised of previously shelved material and new studio LPs.
Backed by the Chrome Hearts amid a minimalist stage setup, Young performed just one recent publicly released cut, the stripped-down shuffle “Silver Eagle.” And while he included faithful renditions of “Old Man” and “Harvest Moon,” each buffeted with lap-steel accompaniment courtesy of Micah Nelson, Young focused on songs that transcended nostalgic limitations. As a bonus, he brought along a generous sampling of famous guitars — the heavily modified and weathered 1953 Les Paul known as Old Black; an orange Gretsch 6120 hollow-body he used in his first consistent band (the Squires) and very recently reacquired after a 60-year separation; a Gretsch White Falcon studded with multiple switches and a tremolo tailpiece — and his familiar, red wooden pedal board for the job.
Wearing a T-shirt, flannel and jeans, his frizzy hair poking from under the back and sides of a train-conductor cap, Young resembled his late-middle-aged self save for a noticeably paunchier belly, whiter sideburns and craggier face. Save for his falsetto drifting on occasion, and a tempered yowl, he sounded the same. Distinguished with trademark quivers and phrasings that underlined meaning and action, his voice and range revealed few signs of deterioration.
Understandably, he ambled at a slower clip than before. The pace of certain arrangements followed suit. But the manner in which he drowned out the surroundings, hunched over and squeezed the necks of his electric guitars — his torso seesawing and eyes staring at his mates — communicated an intensity and exigency on par with the primal nature of songs that went for the throat.
He expressed gratitude and exhorted people to take care of one another, and inserted acoustic pieces into the mix to heighten dynamics and provide space.
Soft, quiet songs emerged as antidotes to cruelty and callousness. Over light, brushed percussion on “One of These Days,” Young reflected on friendships, influences and good memories. For the shuffling “Singer without a Song,” a rarity first performed at the United Center in 2012 that he said he forgot about until he received a letter asking about it, Young leaned on rustic melody. A hushed rendition of the Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young deep cut “Looking Forward” emphasized optimism and warmth.
Again and again, Young returned to a precept often lost in the churn of business enterprise and alleged progress: love. It punctuated the “Love Earth” title of the tour, floated through the mystical fog of “Like a Hurricane” and the spiritual “Name of Love,” whose narrative requests and questions arose amid references to missiles and bombs that evoked the ongoing conflict in the Middle East.
Apart from the songs, in a village of tents on the venue grounds, grassroots organizations promoted social justice, voting rights, clean energy and sustainable farming.
Activism and awareness surged through the anthemic “Be the Rain” and undulating grooves of “Sun Green,” the esteemed cuts from Young’s eco-minded “Greendale” concept album (2003), railing against corruption, pollution and FBI surveillance. Using his thumb to strum and stab guitar strings rather than a pick, and sending his voicing of primary characters through a revolving megaphone, Young fed an urgency made all the more vital as the songs unfolded against a grim backdrop of record-breaking weather disasters, science denialism and a U.S. administration now attempting to strong-arm other countries to weaken their climate pledges.
Similarly, Young and company’s barbed version of the cautionary “Ohio” resonated with significant weight. Its historical references to soldiers and carnage hit all too close to home as Chicago girds for the potential arrival of the National Guard. Equally electrifying, a crackling “Southern Man” boldly addressed racism, bigotry and slavery — topics under attack as the government orders their histories revised everywhere from schools to museums and libraries.
Though he never mentioned the sitting president by name, the target of Young’s antipathy and ire couldn’t have been clearer. He chronicled disapproval and dissatisfaction on the brilliant mid-’70s ramble “Ambulance Blues,” and for the final scathing verse about a man who tells countless lies, added emotional emphasis to underscore his intent. With the exception of Oldham, whose near-inaudible contributions and muted presence called his role into question, the youthful Chrome Hearts leaned into every one of Young’s moves.
And how, as on this night, the middle ground was never an option. “No more great again,” Young repeatedly raged on the ragged “Big Crime” as he tied fascism, payoffs and military occupations to the White House. “Black out the system.”
Draining the swamp never sounded so invigorating.
Bob Gendron is a freelance critic.
Setlist from Huntington Bank Pavilion at Northerly Island on Aug. 27:
“Ambulance Blues”
“Cowgirl in the Sand”
“Be the Rain”
“Southern Man”
“Ohio”
“Silver Eagle”
“Looking Forward”
“One of These Days”
“Harvest Moon”
“Singer without a Song”
“Mr. Soul”
“Sun Green”
“Big Crime”
“Like a Hurricane”
“Name of Love”
“Old Man”
Encore
“Hey Hey, My My (Into the Black)”
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