The very concept of a polished and heavily produced Neil Young album seems like the greatest of musical oxymorons. Known for deeply passionate, rough hewn, greasy, unshaven and gritty instrumentation, not to mention his distinctive crackling yodel-esque vocals, Young has made a career on powerfully raw music, sometimes near to reckless abandon, that always sounds sincere, heartfelt and true to its own spirit. Though he has flopped more than once in his decades of recording, even his lesser works exude an honesty and integrity that few entertainers can even conceive of mustering. He manages to keep releasing material into his seventies with largely the same conviction and uncompromising attitude that guided his early career.



Given all of that, it seems strange that one of Young's most memorable and gruffly edgy albums, "Time Fades Away," remained in unreleased obscurity for so long. The album's mood swings from buzz-saws and razor blades to tender heart-breaking lament. Sometimes things don't seem quite right and the balance seems precarious, seemingly ready to tip and smash, but this underlying tension also provides the rocket fuel for its undeniable energy. Recorded live in 1973 at various venues, the reverberations of Young's classic "Harvest" album two years earlier still resonated. People undoubtedly wanted more of the same. Another "Old Man," another "Heart of Gold." Young, again true to his craft, didn't want to give it to them. Apparently somewhat shocked and overwhelmed by his sudden success, he retreated into his famous "ditch" and released an elliptical film and soundtrack, "Journey Through the Past," and followed that up with the raucous and grungy "Time Fades Away." Neither of these follow-ups exploited the success of "Harvest" in the least. In fact, they outright challenged it and almost defied people to listen. Many did anyway. "Time Fades Away" sold well, but in the intervening years it pretty much vanished, making it a desired collectible for Young fans. In those doldrums years, fans who luckily found a copy, maybe sitting silently in a Canadian mall record shop or providing a lean-to for insects in a shadowed dusty used bin somewhere, the search proved more than worth the effort.



"Time Fades Away" explodes into existence with the bouncy title track. Young wails the lines "fourteen junkies too weak to work, one sells diamonds for what they're worth, down on pain street disappointment lurks." Not exactly a pop music Utopian vision. By the end of the rollicking verses only thirteen junkies remain. The song contains a musical drawl that sounds both uplifting and bitterly introspective all at once. It has the feeling of a runaway train that never quite loses control, but the danger seems immanent. "Journey Through The Past," relation to the film of the same name unknown, strips everything down to Young and a piano into an almost shocking contrast of calm and melancholy reflection. A poignant internal dialogue on deeply regretted lost love pours from Young's quaking voice. "Will I still be in your eyes and on your mind?" The faint object feels distant and perhaps unattainable, or lost forever, tinged with a longing that seems slightly helpless. "Yonder Stands the Sinner" continues the havoc of the first track. Thumping rhythms punctuate Young's screeching of "Sinner!" The somewhat nebulous lyrics talk about "The Great Pretender" and playing "his game." Double standards? Hypocrisy? "L.A." features a smooth chorus floating on a wave of slide guitar that doesn't seem to tire. References to earthquakes, smog and uptightness make this the ultimate anti-city anthem. No Sinatra "New York, New York" good time celebration here. This song explores an ugly side of the urban life. "Love In Mind," another piano ballad, feels tentative, lacks the emotional charge of "Journey Through the Past" and even echoes "After the Goldrush" lyrically in places. The crowd applauds it politely with no hooting or really any enthusiasm whatsoever. Though not outright awful, this song may qualify as the album's low point.



"Don't Be Denied" may stand as one of Young's most defiantly passionate numbers. The chorus alone, sung with an almost angry exhortation, has probably inspired many listeners to seek what they desire. The lyrics sure sound autobiographical since they tell of a boy who overcomes ridicule and grows up to play in a band "for the highest bid." But something sinister lingers in the final verse: "Well, all that glitters isn't gold, I know you've heard that story told. And I'm a pauper in a naked disguise, a millionaire through a businessman's eyes." The song intensifies as it progresses. Gradually layered vocals on the chorus add to the effect. The final piano-only song, "The Bridge," returns to the topic of sad, possibly betrayed, love, but this time a hint of optimism peeks through the gloom. Nonetheless, the closing line "it may take a lot of time" suggests the bridge started to fall for rather ominous reasons. Yet, one can still rebuild bridges. "Last Dance," though driving, arguably serves up the album's most ineffable eight minutes. It starts with a distorted guitar rizz and Young yelping "Last Dance!" Grungy and thumping, it seems to relate a Monday morning "back to reality" horror story. Yet, "you can live your own life, making it happen, working on your own time, laid back and laughin'." The album's longest guitar solo breaks into a bleak ramble about hot coffee, cold orange juice and the sun being up for hours and hours and hours and hours and hours. It ends with the words that can spread terror into the masses: "It's time to go to work." Next, a chorus of "no's," some Theramin-inspiried slide guitar and the song ends abruptly. Someone who doesn't sound like Young yells "Last Dance!" The end.



Despite decent sales, this album produced no hits. That's probably not surprising given its mood and the majority of its subject matter. Like every other Neil Young album, it sounds different from every other Neil Young album. But it has a certain abrasive aura, something difficult to pin down, that puts it in a class all by itself. Maybe its prolonged unavailability, scarcity and Young's insistence on not re-releasing it gives it a delicious "forbidden fruit" taste? It seems more complicated than that. The album has a unique quality that's hard to describe but simultaneously doesn't tire with repeated listenings. Sure, it contains mistakes, flubbed playing and singing, and passages that approach sloppiness. But that somehow seems to make it all the better. Neil Young works in strange ways.



So why did it stay in limbo for so long? According to various sources, including Young himself, the tour was a disaster. The band apparently didn't get along, equipment failed and the entire thing left a sour taste in Young's mouth. Doubtlessly, this gives "Time Fades Away" a mystique that none of his other work possesses. That the album really contains some astounding material makes it all the more desirable. Sadly, it took the era of digital downloads to finally bring this obscured classic back to mass availability. Now everyone can see, and hear, that the ditch wasn't such a bad place after all.