In my head I keep hearing songs that he didn’t actually play, situating them on the stage with Young, dressed like a hobo, strumming chords I’ve known forever. In part it is the effect of solo performance. Experiencing songs plucked from his forty-plus albums, stripped down to voice and guitar or piano, reveals the essence of Young’s craft and makes it easy to imagine most any one of his songs presented in that format. The effect is also due to the remarkable integrity of Young’s songwriting, that feeling that he is drawing something sepulchral out into the light, onto the stage.
