by Neil Young
Christmas was approaching and we had to get back to California so two-year-old Zeke could come to the ranch and celebrate with us. It was a strange little family, made up of a bunch of big guys and this little kid, Zeke Young. Zeke held his own with the boys. Mazzeo and Ranger Dave helped me decorate, and we set up a tree in the White House. It was big, and we had lots of gifts. Some of the cheesy Gemco decorations we got at the last minute are still around our tree today and bring back beautiful memories of those times every Christmas. They are nowhere near as fine as the ones Pegi and I have collected, and somewhere along the line I lost the illuminated string of Pinocchio bells that my mom had had, the same ones we put around our trees back in Canada, but the memories sure are deep and meaningful.
All your dreams and your lovers won’t protect you.
They’re only passing through you in the end.
They’ll leave you stripped of all that they can get to,
And wait for you to come back again.
Yet still a light is shining,
From that lamp on down the hall.
Maybe the Star of Bethlehem
Wasn’t a star at all.
—“STAR OF BETHLEHEM”
When we left Nashville, the 1959 Eldorado convertible stayed behind with Long Grain. The plan was that he was going to drive it out to California after the New Year, which he did, adding 3,900 pounds of CO2 to the atmosphere at 10 mpg. Ben drove the 1959 Eldorado convertible about two thousand miles.
I really think Homegrown was one of my best albums, and I hope it gets out there in its original form someday. That’s how I will always remember it. Although Homegrown was not released, some of those original songs have already surfaced on subsequent albums over the years. A total of about thirteen or fourteen songs were recorded, including some more that Ben and I did in LA in January of 1975.
• • •
AS 1975 ARRIVED, I was living between the ranch and a rented house on Broad Beach Road. I liked Malibu and the beach walks with a cup of coffee every morning, as well as the abundance of friends down there. The blue Eldorado convertible was in the driveway. Briggs was living in a house nearby at Point Dume, just south of Zuma. Poncho was living on the Coast Highway farther south about halfway to Topanga. Billy and Ralph still lived in town, in Echo Park, an hour or so away.
Life was very good to us. We had a lot to do, youth on our side, money, homes at the beach, and every day was full. Briggs named the Eldorado “Nanu the Lovesick Moose.” There was little pressure on us. Music was always flowing. I did a lot of driving between the ranch and Broad Beach and was looking to buy a house in the area instead of renting. We would go out at night in Nanu, drinking beer and Mexican coffee (coffee and tequila), which was Briggs’s drink of choice. Sometimes we would go to the Crazy Horse Saloon and party, having a great time, then return to Briggs’s house in Dume, where we had set up a studio with the Green Board and a tape machine. Then we would record deep into the night, rocking our brains out.
I have seen you in the movies,
And in those magazines at night,
I saw you on the barstool
When you held that glass so tight.
I saw you in my nightmares and I’ll see you in my dreams,
But I might live a thousand years before I know what that means.
—“BARSTOOL BLUES”
So back and forth we would go in Nanu the Lovesick Moose, up and down the Pacific Coast Highway. During the summer of 1975, Crazy Horse and I wrote and recorded furiously and often. I did not write in different ways on purpose; rather, I wrote naturally, and only in retrospect can I even notice the difference in styles:
There were songs living in the past:
Aurora Borealis, the icy sky at night
Paddles cut the water in a long and endless flight,
From the white man to the fields of green
And the homeland we’ve never seen.
—“POCAHONTAS”
I was not only writing personally:
I’m making another delivery
of chemicals and sacred roots.
I’ll hold what you have to give me
but I’ll use what I have to use.
The lasers are in the lab.
The old man is dressed in white clothes.
Everybody says he’s mad,
but no one knows the things that he knows.
—“SEDAN DELIVERY”
There were songs that traveled around. I seemed to be in a lot of places at the same time:
He came dancing across the water with his galleons and guns,
Looking for the new world and that palace in the sun.
On the shore lay Montezuma with his coca leaves and pearls,
In his halls he often wandered with the secrets of the worlds.
—“CORTEZ THE KILLER”
There was searching:
I see the light of a thousand lamps
Burning in your eyes.
Still I have to stay away
From you to stay alive.
—“BORN TO RUN”
I was a bird:
And though these wings have turned to stone,
I can fly. Fly away.
Watch me fly above the city, like a shadow on the sky.
—“DANGERBIRD”
I was rooted in the past, like I really was there:
Look out mama there’s a white boat comin’ up the river,
With a big red beacon and a flag and a man on the rail.
I think you better call John, ’cause it don’t look like they’re here to deliver the mail.
—“POWDERFINGER”
Every once in a while I was direct:
I saw you in a Mercedes-Benz
Practicing self-defense.
You got it pretty good I guess.
I couldn’t see your eyes.
—“STUPID GIRL”
Our setup in Brigg’s Dume garage was tight and comfortable. The Green Board was right down the hall, out of sight of the control room, which was a rec room bar. There was no video monitor. Briggs just listened and talked to us. One night, we were recording late and Rod Stewart showed up with Britt Ekland in tow. He wanted to know if we had any songs. We played “Powderfinger” for him. Another day, Dylan came by in the late morning and played with us, just making up something on the spot, a three-chord blues thing. That’s what it was like recording Zuma. I can’t bring it back. The blue Eldorado is gone now and I think it had a lot to do with that music. It’s like when you get old; there’s nothing you can do about it. When someone asked Dylan about it in an interview, he said, “I can’t help it.” There is a time when things bloom and if you are lucky, things bloom more than once. But they don’t bloom forever, and eventually they just live and soak up the sun.
When somebody is haunting your mind,
Look in my eyes. Let me hide you
From yourself and all your old friends.
Every good thing comes to an end.
—“DRIVE BACK”
Eventually I found a little house about a mile and a half north of where I was renting. I discovered it when I was walking along the beach in the morning, which I loved to do with a cup of coffee.
It was the most charming beach house I had ever seen, like a fairy tale. I purchased it and parked Nanu the Lovesick Moose right in front, tucked under the bougainvillea vines and flowers. Those flowers were my mother’s favorite, although she never visited the house. As with everything else at the time, I was very fortunate. I was only feet from the sand and had two miles of beach to walk on with no houses.
Nanu, however, was not as fortunate. One day, leaving the ranch, Nanu was involved in an accident that caused a lot of damage to her body. Driving up the hill, climbing out of Broken Arrow Ranch, Nanu was hit in the side by a little Volkswagen.
Coincidentally, strangely and sadly, after this accident, my new songs changed and became more introspective and less wide-open and far-reaching than they had been in the months before. A spell was broken. The music changed.
Lookin’ for a love that’s right for me,
I don’t know how long it’s gonna be,
But I hope I treat her kind and don’t mess with her mind
When she starts to see the darker side of me.
—“LOOKIN’ FOR A LOVE”
I don’t want to stop talking about this car, but there is only a sad story left to tell, or maybe a real story, I am not sure. The fact is, the 1959 Eldorado is still not fixed. When the accident happened I decided to get it completely restored to museum quality and hired Jon McKeig to work on it. It is still in a warehouse in pieces, many of them painted, and the car is not as prepared for completion as it should be. It is unfinished. Unresolved. I haven’t given up on it, but a lot of things have changed. The unfinished cars mean something. They represent broken dreams, lost loves, and abandoned ideas. This is the sad part. Dealing with that reality is something everyone has to do. I had to bring it up.
1941 Lincoln Zephyr Coupe
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
hile living in Zuma at the Meeker Mansion on Broad Beach Road, I discovered a place in Santa Monica that was selling old cars called Automotive Classics. I stopped by one day and didn’t see much. Then I remembered Old Time Cars was still open on La Cienega Boulevard in LA. Having some time on my hands, I drove by just to see what was happening. I had seen a lot of cool cars there in the past.
On the drive I thought about Zeke, as I often did. I was missing him a lot; Carrie had called to tell me about a big seizure he’d had, his first, which had scared us all. Having talked to his doctor, I was wondering about cerebral palsy for the first time, not knowing much about it, and was worried. Also, in talking to his mom I found out that he was doing poorly in school, misbehaving and getting into trouble and having problems with the other kids.
Living in Malibu I was close to Carrie’s house in Hollywood and could go to see him, but I wasn’t comfortable going there. The people who were there with Carrie were impressed with me and seemed to be hiding something; they were just too nervous around me. I looked forward to weekends when I could be one-on-one with Zeke. He liked that, too. Soon Carrie and Zeke had moved to Santa Barbara to a beach house they had found through Larry Johnson. About then, I noticed Old Time Cars, passing it just across the street.
In the front window, visible as I drove by, was a giant three-window coupe on display, an old Lincoln Zephyr, and being a Lincoln of that vintage, I knew it was powered by a V12. I had to stop and ask about it. There was nothing else in there that interested me at all; the place had slowed down a lot since it had opened and not much was happening. A salesman walked up and I asked to see the V12 engine. He told me it had been replaced by a big V8, which was a lot more reliable. I was disappointed. The car was beautiful. “It’s too bad it doesn’t have all of its original equipment. Maybe I could find a V12 and put it back in. How much is it?” I asked. He gave me an amount and I looked at the car for a while and craftily offered him less. We arrived at a price and I went back the next day and picked it up for way too much money.
Driving it home, I noticed that I was a bit uncomfortable in the seat, which had been reupholstered and had a back that was too upright. I knew it wasn’t originally like that. Looking down at the mechanics of the seat, I saw an oversized bolt that was definitely not original. Easy enough to fix, I thought to myself.
I drove it out to the beach and picked up Jeanne Field, an old friend of mine who was part of the crew I had met while filming CSNY in New York, with the cinematographer David Myers, and Larry. Larry always called Jeanne “Miss Field” in those days. Miss Field and I were going out to Santa Barbara to see where Zeke was living now in Larry’s old house. It had been hard for me to understand the directions Carrie gave me to get there. They had seemed vague. Since it was Larry’s house, Miss Field already knew right where it was and it only took about an hour to drive there from Malibu. When we arrived, the place was empty. We waited around for a while but no one came.
The Zephyr rode fairly well along 101 on the way home, with its big bastard V8 rumbling along, out of place. That weekend, I returned and drove Zeke Young back to Broad Beach, and showed him how to play airplane as we cruised along California Highway 1, heading south. I loved those times with little three- or four-year-old Zeke. He was so full of love. We talked about his problems at school, and he didn’t have much to say, preferring to play airplane. I waited, and eventually he opened up and talked about it. It wasn’t much but it was a beginning.
We got into it a little more at bedtime. Then he fell asleep. I stayed there, watching him for a minute or two, wondering at the beauty of his little face, then lit a fire in the fireplace and played my guitar before going to bed. Before I did, I went out and got the little plastic tricycle he had brought with him, called a Hot Trax or something like that. We had left it in the trunk of the Lincoln. I wanted him to see his Hot Trax in the living room when he got up.
I kept this car a long time. It was always wonderful to look at with its huge trunk, although I never found the V12 to bring it back to the original. The big Zephyr coupe spent its last years with me in the car gallery, a beautiful piece of art, not moving too much. It was a sad day when I had to give it up in the big purge in 2010, but for one who has had such good fortune, who am I to complain?
1975 Dodge Power Wagon Crew Cab Long-bed Pickup “Stretch Armstrong”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
y sea-level house in Malibu was truly a unique little place, and I loved it. I was the luckiest man on earth just to be able to spend time there, let alone own it, a piece of paradise. I thought I would be there for a very long time. When I first moved there, Zeke and I both slept on the top floor. Zeke lived in the back bedroom that looked out onto the small patio behind the house. He had bunk beds. My bedroom looked out at the ocean, and I had placed the bed right up against the window so I could just look up and see the ocean. There was a public access stairway that went down from the cliff top just to the north side of the house through evergreens so people could get to the beach. That stairway was barely visible from the house.
I had a dog named Art who lived there with me. We all shared many great walks on the beach. He was a very smart dog and I enjoyed his company. A medium-sized Australian shepherd–cocker spaniel cross, he really listened and seemed to know instinctively what I was up to all the time. I had Art from the time that he was a puppy. This was a wonderful and simple time in my life. Zeke Young would visit me often, and we have a few memories of that time, both good and not so good.
Zeke’s spirit, as always, was great. He was positive no matter what, and he was a great inspiration to me. Both my sons, Zeke and Ben, have CP, or something like it. Ben Young is a quadriplegic and a truly amazing young man. Zeke Young, as I’ve said, is an inspiration, and of course I have my talented and beautifully artistic daughter, Amber Young, who has a habit of showing me many things. I love them all dearly. My children have all taught me many lessons. Some of the most important ones are listening and caring. I am still working on them, and it may take me a lifetime to get them right.
One day Zeke and I went to Orange County together and bought a brand-new 1975 Dodge Power Wagon crew cab long-bed pickup truck. He loved it. Zeke was only about three years old at that time, and he talked about trucks nonstop for the whole month. If he wasn’t talking about trucks, he was singing his favorite song by Linda Ronstadt, “It’s So Easy,” over and over. Just the one line, “It’s so easy to fall in love, It’s so easy to fall in love, It’s so easy to fall in love, It’s so easy to fall in love.” He was a lot like me, getting something in his head and not letting go of it. It was about that time that we named the truck “Stretch Armstrong.”
For the next few years we travel
ed back and forth between the ranch and Malibu in Stretch, approximately an eight-hour drive, releasing about 550 to 650 pounds of CO2 into the atmosphere each time. It was a trip we always enjoyed, and we made it many times.
One such trip on a summer day, Zeke was stretched out on the front seat, sleeping on my lap, on Highway 5. We were climbing the grapevine grade on our way to Malibu in one-hundred-degree heat. Zeke got really thirsty, and we stopped for a drink. He drank the whole Coke or Pepsi without stopping and asked me for another one immediately, which I got for him. Then he was jacked out of his mind. Even I could see that that was not a good drink for him to have too many of. As a father, I tried my best but didn’t always get it right.
• • •
A TENNESSEE BLUETICK HOUND, sometimes called a coonhound, Elvis was a good dog, and I took him with me everywhere I could. Of course, being a hound, he was hard to manage and took off whenever he saw anything to chase. He was never scared to jump out of a moving vehicle if he saw a deer. One time, he jumped out of the back of Stretch Armstrong before we put the Alaskan camper in it, and actually slid along the road on his chin before he started running, just so he could chase a deer. He took off into the hills. I had to wait for him to come back. He always came back to wherever I was. All I had to do was wait, but sometimes I had to wait a long time. I was not going to lose Elvis. Hounds are very independent. I sent him to training school and he learned some good things there, but he never forgot who he was.
King went a-runnin’ after deer.
Wasn’t scared of jumpin’
Off the truck in high gear.
King went a-sniffin’
And he would go.