NEIL YOUNG & CRAZY HORSE

The Point, Dublin

Maybe it was unrealistic to expect Neil & Crazy Horse – the loudest, most brutal garage combo in the world – to top their last show at this venue five years ago, and in all honesty, they didn’t really try. Rather, the quartet opted for a looser and more dishevelled approach, kicking off with a brace of standards – ‘Don’t Cry No Tears’ and ‘Love And Only Love’ – sandwiching a generic new tune.

Initially, one missed the sheer drama of yore, and it took maybe 15 minutes for Sampedro and the boys to get their famous furry mammoth groove back. But when they did, well, Neil Young doesn’t play the guitar, it uses him as a medium, and his body – now a couple of stone lighter – bucks and convulses like he’s holding onto something large and gruesome. Only problem is, he sometimes favours hunks of used jet trash like ‘Piece Of Crap’ as a mode of expression.

The good news though, is that some of the new material sounds like his best since Mirror Ball. ‘Going Home’ (excuse the guessed titles), with its boneyard guitar, Custer’s-last-stand drumming and epic arrangement, is Neil riding across Blood Meridian with entrails on his saddle and bits of sinew in his teeth. Later, another premiere signified his most musically inventive effort in ages, a Dick Dale-meets-Duane Eddy twang backed up by some surprisingly light-fingered roadhouse jazz from Molina and Talbot.

But it was the acoustic set that yielded the people’s favourites, including a glistening ‘Pocahontas’ and a version of ‘Only Love Can Break Your Heart’ that could’ve done with a few squirts of oil around the rhythm section.

Meanwhile back at Zuma ranch, electric protocol was observed. ‘Hey Hey My My’ always sounds like instant apocalypse, while ‘Like A Hurricane’ was a total mindfuck; Gulf War syndrome in 3D.

Encores of ‘Cinnamon Girl’ and ‘Fuckin’ Up’ were perfunctory enough, but by then we’d already had our 30 minutes’ worth of out-of-body-experience.