Neil Young - 'Le Noise' (Warner Bros) Released 11/10/10

Having endured a long string of albums not so much half-cooked as chucked in a cold over for five minutes before serving, the occasional flashes of promise – such as 2007’s ‘Chrome Dreams II’ - consisting of new recordings of old tunes and half-decent retreads of familiar tricks, many Neil Young fans may by now have given up on any hope of ever witnessing a genuine creative revival. 

Recorded during four consecutive full moons with famed uber-producer Daniel Lanois, ‘Le Noise’ rewards the patience of the remaining faithful amply. It’s startling to realise that the Canadian songwriting legend’s umpteenth platter is the first bona fide solo studio album – only Young’s guitar and vocals feature on these eight tracks - for an artist renowned for refusing to be tied down to a particular band.

Anyone expecting a dose of mellow acoustic folk’s in for one hell of a shock, though. Undoubtedly inspired by the recent loss of Young’s two most long-standing creative partners, pedal steel master Ben Keith and film producer L.A. Johnson, ‘Le Noise’ is a defiantly distorted, angry and upset record that practically reeks of overheated amps, with even the odd full-on love song – the powerful ‘Sign of Love’ – riding the gnarliest of riffs, whilst ‘Hitchhiker’ – a majestic dose of autobiography in song - twists the reflective calm of its original early-90’s incarnation into a stomping tornado of feedback.

Few 60-something rock legends could be bothered to cook up an entirely new sound, but Young does so with admirable gusto here. For the most part, Young’s guitar-playing forgoes such pleasantries as melody in favour of pure metallic texture, with Lanois’s subtle echo chamber tweaks and electronica-hued treatments – there’s not a trace of the swampy atmospherics that’s the producer’s trademark - exposing every detail of the ensuing hypnotic racket. None of which would mean much if the songs weren’t up to scratch, but there’s not a duff one in the bunch. A few – the righteously ticked-off ‘Angry World’, the bruised, uneasy beauty of ‘Rumblin’ – are downright anthemic. Just in case the eccentric sonics become a bit much, two gleaming ballads – the backwards-gazing ‘Love and War’ and the time-hopping ‘Peaceful Valley Boulevard’ – prove Young can still command full attention armed with just an acoustic guitar.  

As with Young’s last thoroughly excellent album, 1994’s uncharacteristically mournful Crazy Horse workout ‘Sleeps with Angels’, ‘Le Noise’ will undoubtedly piss off some seasoned fans, as well as appealing to others otherwise wary of Young’s reputation as the granddaddy of Americana. After several years of doing what he’s always done, only nowhere near as well as he used to, it’s a startling reminder of what Young’s capable of when inspiration compels him to follow the most contrary route available.