"Can you smell the horse?" asks crazed-but-still-in-control, band leader Neil in the hissing, smoldering wake of another feedback cannonball war between the guitars, bass, drums and voice of Neil. A rusted orange singing voice that careens above the wreckage like the falcon that has departed the falconer. Hearing "Rust Never Sleeps" on the family stereo in the late 70s, Crazy Horse's music sounded as the chugging engine of a battered Oldsmobile... which to me, at the time, was the sound of no-time or eternity.
I took Crazy Horse for granted because it seems as if they've always existed - their charred and bursting sounds swirling among the earliest bacteria of the planet. Coming back to hear the band years later, upon experiencing an urgent need to listen to the song "Fucking Up" earlier today, I understand that these are regular mortals playing regular instruments, but that something blindingly sparks when they play together. As all their rising and decaying sound gestures coalesce into a rumbling force approaching from over the hills.
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