
Why Neil Young Sounded So Worn Down on On the Beach — and Why the Album Still Works 52 Years Later
A grim, deliberate turn from Neil Young: a record of ruin and quiet accusation, never once eased for the listener.

Records we have scored.

A grim, deliberate turn from Neil Young: a record of ruin and quiet accusation, never once eased for the listener.

A swift, forceful record named for the band itself: many songs in mere minutes, no second wasted proving it belongs.

Songs done quick, thirty minutes total, nothing wasted, one band asking nothing of your mind but joy.

Ten songs, one voice, no distance left between singer and listener — a plain, sad, perfect record.

Brian Fallon quiets his voice for ten sacred songs, bare and cut in forty minutes — a solemn hour of old melodies held back.

A record of car radios and dead friends, twelve songs long, not one wasted upon the ear.

A soundtrack review of Pink Floyd's 1969 record More, a fevered work caught between gentle melody and dark, driving experiment.

A record of quiet guitar, piano, and fierce song, wherein a man moves through every voice within his soul, a grand and lasting work.

A record of grief, war, and the world's sad state, told in gentle song by a voice that never once raised itself in vain rage.

Brian Fallon's Sleepwalkers weighs clear writing and a melancholy voice against classic rock ground he has long walked.
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