Neil Young risks trying our patience on Oceanside Countryside

For greying Gen X indie kids like me, slipping back into 1970s Neil Young records feels like stretching our arms into the sleeves of our old checked shirts. As the Godfather of Grunge, his raw, plaintive, ornery spirit underpinned the Nineties indie scene and any party that ended with guitars out likely included singalongs of “Only Love Can Break Your Heart” (covered by St Etienne in 1990) or “Hey Hey, My My”. Equal parts sensitive acoustic strummer and snarling electric cynic, he was the elder statesman who allowed us to indulge our hippie dreams and sneer at them.

But has this latest collection of Young’s “lost” recordings been released to indulge fans, or to sneer at us? In the wake of his self-important shilly-shallying over appearing at this year’s Glastonbury Festival (at last check, he’s coming) it seems greedy to drop an album containing no new songs. Versions of these 10 tunes have already come out in the relentless flood of confusing, multi-format material that flows from Young’s archives (they have appeared on Rust Never Sleeps, Hawks and Doves, Comes a Time, Live At Massey Hall 1971 and Archives Vol III). Online fan forums are filling up with annoyed collectors admitting that “Neil’s really trying my patience with this one”.

For the more casual listener, the backstory is that these lovely country rock songs were all recorded in 1977 and intended to be released as a complete album, ahead of 1978’s Comes a Time. The first five songs were recorded in Florida, with Young playing most of the instruments, and the next five were created in Nashville with a full band. Younger fans looking for a primer ahead of Glastonbury could do worse than download it and kick back to the classic, mandolin-flecked yearning of “Sail Away” and “Goin’ Back”. The song “Pocahontas”, which has appeared on three previous albums in various forms, places a slightly more urgent strumming higher up in the mix, intensifying Young’s tale of Native Americans fleeing European colonisers who “killed us in our teepee, cut our women down”.

One of the USPs of this release is that these are all original 1977 mixes, making it maddeningly essential for completists. Maybe you can hear the crackles of the late 20th century if you strain for them? There is a bristle of metal treble in the guitars. Young sounds like he’s standing farther back from the mic – like a man outdoors, gazing up at the aurora borealis which he hymns with his creaky old barn door hinge of a voice. The lesser-known track “The Old Homestead” (which first appeared on Hawks and Doves) finds the spooky theremin wafting to icy prominence as Young brings a rasp to his campfire ghost story of a naked horse rider galloping away from the shifting menace of the FBI and prehistoric birds.

“It Might Have Been” is a full band number. It’s a mellow toe-tapper that leans warmly into the country vibe: frayed fiddle lurching tipsy heartache over 4/4 guitar chords, with drums rattling like shot glasses on a tin tray. You can almost taste the chewed straw in your mouth. Lyrically it mines Young’s regular themes of regret and yearning: dreams slipping through his hands. “It’s not too late to set things straight,” he sings. “Let’s never say ‘it might have been’.”

Young increasingly feels like an artist determined to monetise every last syllable of recorded music in his vaults. Oceanside Countryside will be released in both clear and black vinyl versions, which feels hypocritical coming from a man who’s soap-boxed all his life about environmental destruction and corporate greed. Ethical issues aside, I know I’ll tune in to watch Young’s Glastonbury set this summer. I’ll pull on an old shirt and, I suspect, forgive him for all this nonsense. At least until he tries to sell us his Live at Glastonbury 2025! album.