Neil youngs Waging Heavy Peace isnt an autobiography. Its a memoir. But the most floaty weird spacey thing imaginable. Similar in that disjointed style employed by Dyaln in Chronicles, but in a way not as effective owing to a different style. Weird tangent side roads and odd seemingly disjointed build ups lead us into memories that are sort of like 'oh this is what I was trying to tell you, I nearly forgot'. and he makes excuses for his dilettante state throughout, reminding you here and there he needs to switch gear/astral plane every now and then.

It's difficult to read but hypnotic in a way. He's in one moment rambling on about model trains and then he wanders off into some story about some vague moment he remembers from the 70s, cast members long gone, sadly missed. It should work but I'm having trouble. Its method is purely him and is lovely in it's own way. It just doesn't manage to give you the window you want from him, sadly.

I'm not gonna give up. It's Neil. I'll get it before the end but right now it's cushioned spoiled ultra eccentric rock star rambling about how interesting he thinks he is, therefore you should too, and how happy and rich he is. But never thankful for it. Weirdly.