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Review: “Waging Heavy Peace,” by Neil Young

By far, this is one of the worst autobiographies I have ever read. Let me be clearer, this may be one of the worst books I’ve ever read. And here’s what’s worse, I read every page. That’s because I can’t get enough of Neil Young. But now I understand myself much better. I’m addicted to the genius of Neil’s music and there is a ton of that in many different iterations and varieties. But Neil is not only a weird, weird, person, he’s also a bit of a nut case. I can’t believe any self-respecting editor did not grab Neil by the scruff of the neck and shake him. Vigorously. Everything that Keith Richard’s book was, this was not. Honestly, I give respect, but do not really give a damn for Neil’s insane dedication to saving music with his concept of Puretone, so that people can “hear” music the way it was meant to be heard. Especially not for 50 pages spread throughout the book. I also care, but only a little, about Neil’s love of cars. And him simply mentioning many cool and interesting people and simply bowing and scraping and thanking them. Didn’t he ever argue with anyone? The publisher obviously gave him free rein to meander around in his memories, and Neil did. I guess you can’t blame him, but wow, what a bore. Neil, stick to “Powderfinger” and “Rockin’ In The Free World” and if you have to “Harvest Moon”.

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