Neil Young - Roskilde Festival 1996 (review)

     A beer and a raised sunhat greet the prince of the reddened wood. I count at least four flags. They are leaning like heaps of moving and naked backs under the dome. "Respect Mother Earth". A big artillery on the shoulder bombards ahead and on the right. The arches became legendary. Our fingers and our lips are topped with sweet things. The strokes of the foot spread woolly wings that embrace the currents of a rapid. On this same wave, a white boat. Its blaze removes any shade. A broad smile whirls... A long squeal... The end is near. Separation appears with noisy overflows. Your eyes are hazy. I am sure that with the next roll, you still have two six... Let’s see now... The candles wipe the  sickly car that is orphaned for a few long minutes yet... for a nostalgia to drown in a blue monochrome close to the gray colour. The quadrichromy is still in our dream whose its caress is not adulterated. The rage is always mother of all human imbalances. The cry continues, stretches out over the clear line working its way between the junkies to be dying in the north-facing side of the sweetened mountain inaccessible once we have left. A glance in the shaft of the past. Only a cinnamon girl can prevent us to sink in it. The call is there, for the girl having the burning shoulders by the rays of the love. Shit! The life to come doesn’t have future if you bring your plastic heart to me with barking of steel. I lost you before I found you. Blasted life! Blasted life that gnaws and digests the life. Nourishing who? Nourishing what? Even at that time, the sparkling gods believed in Eldorado when they drank blood. The wind that leaves their skeleton has a bitter echo from a beautiful nostalgia. Arms, the swell. Feet, ships. The head, characters. Eyes, stars. The bay relaxes the sailors. Their thoughts don’t fill the empty space between their sidereal eyes and nevertheless their heart works properly but quite alone in front of this skylight that destroy the forces that should break it. A cry, a tear, don’t distract your padlocked loneliness by a closed soap of which you are the only one to know the code that you left behind this window belonging to you. Learns how to open it... how to give the way to the violent winds that are in you and that will touch me like a flight of Graces. The castors are not the only ones becoming crazy. The paring knife peels this sweet potato being the heart. The peel is long and beautiful like a rope at your feet. Water has the glorious flight even if it is a little bit heavy. The knees graze never more to die. It's really worth it! We empty our pockets. And our empty pockets, we are happy to be recyclable for a sudden and premature delivery. Now the good luck brings its beer, its weewee and... its hour. The harvest of teeth is good. There is no loss with this leathercraft. Why does the engineer smile? Printed papers tattoo my skin. I read them mirror writing in the illuminated windows, decorated. The news doesn’t change... Then I catch my precious caddy and I push it far off... until tomorrow... you ascend above the fray, with outspread arms. Twigs from the Redwood forest whistle past my ears.


Denis Between The Rusty Words (October 8, 2005)
© IDDN 2005

My original text 

Setlist from this show: w/ Crazy Horse; 06-27-1996, Roskilde Festival, Roskilde, Denmark

Down By The River / Powderfinger / Drive Back / Roll Another Number / Big Time / Welfare Mothers / The Needle And The Damage Done / Sugar Mountain / Cinnamon Girl / Fuckin' Up / Cortez The Killer / Music Arcade / Slip Away / Like A Hurricane / Hey Hey, My My // Sedan Delivery / Rockin' In The Free World

Neil Young: vocals, guitar, harmonica
Frank Sampedro: guitar, keyboards, vocals
Billy Talbot: bass, vocals
Ralph Molina: drums, vocals