Rock and Roll Will Never Die

I admit it, I'm one of those people who has little use for classic rock.

Maybe it's an age thing, but I have no interest in hearing songs I've been hearing for decades.

But I still wanted to see "Neil Young Journeys."

While I'm not a rabid Neil Young fan, I am a fan and I did see him many moons ago (okay, the '70s) as part of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young.

But on a Monday night at the Westhampton, there were few fans to be found.

Fact is, it was me and three middle-aged men.

There were so few of us that you could hear crickets chirping.

And I don't mean that metaphorically; there were clearly crickets in the theater.

The Jonathan Demme-directed documentary begins appropriately in "a town in north Ontario," much like Young did.

Driving around his hometown before the show, he points out the school named after his father.

Hilariously, he tells a story of where and how he blew up a turtle (firecracker in its butt), chuckling and saying, "So my environmental roots are not that deep."

It's the kind of low-key humor he uses throughout the film.

But there are sober moments, too, especially when he's shown singing "Ohio" and clips of the Kent State massacre are shown over him.

The footage of peacefully protesting and then terrified running college students is still deeply disturbing.

The shot ends with individual photographs of the four victims and their lifespans, much like tombstones.

It was touching that Young still makes a case for certain causes.

He seems so comfortable in his own skin, even for  66-year old who's smoked a lot of weed over a long period.

Following his brother to the site of their childhood house, he praises him. "My brother is driving the perfect speed, not too fast, not too slow. It's just beautiful."

I am also one of those people who appreciates a well-paced and not overly fast drive.

The scenes of him driving around his hometown before playing a show at Massey Hall are interspersed with scenes of his show that night.

It was just Young with no backing musicians but with plenty of instruments: multiple guitars, a piano and organ, not to mention our house crickets.

And his voice was in fine fettle; he hit every note on "After the Goldrush," pumping the organ in accompaniment and giving me chills for how much his voice resembled what I'd heard all those years ago.

While I'm sure I wasn't the only one surprised at a magisterial version of the classic "I Believe in You," I think all of us were sure we'd hear "My My, Hey Hey" and we did.

Demme's camera angles were often interesting or odd (duh), giving us the bottom half of his grizzly face, his open mouth or peeking around instruments.

Because it had been so long since I'd seen Young live, the film was like an almost-concert, giving me the sense of having seen him again.

When he leaves the stage at the end of the show, he goes backstage where he sucks orange slices, gulps coffee and drinks part of a beer.

It wouldn't be my choice of post-show indulgence, but the man moves lithely and without any of the cumbersome effort of some people his age.

He encored with "Walk with Me" and the seminal "Helpless" before pulling the plug on his amp and walking offstage to thunderous applause.

Even the credits provided entertainment.

One said "Burgers and Fries provided by In-n-Out Burger."

Always credit your burgers.

A musical experience like that requires post-film conversation, so just after the rain surprised everyone on the streets, we ducked into Ipanema for wine and desert.

Normally I avoid the sausagefest at Ips on Monday night, preferring to let boys drink draughts with their own kind, but it worked out fine.

We got pear/blueberry pie a la mode and a bottle of Franco Serra 10 Dolcetto d'Alba at the far end of the bar.

The medium-bodied wine had light tannins, balanced acidity and a nose of red fruits, making it the ideal wine to transition us into slightly cooler weather.

But rather than finish it amongst the suds drinkers, the bottle followed us home to the porch and a view of the lightly falling rain.

A view, yes, but the sound of the rain was lost to crickets chirping.

Only Neil Young can compete with the sound of crickets on a September night.