Fire and Rain
I turned twelve in 1968.  My first record was a â45â by James Taylor, Fire and Rain on the âAâ side, and âAnywhere Like Heavenâ on the âBâ side.  (So fifty-four years later, a â45â was a small vinyl record, with a single song on each side, played at forty-five RPM on the record player, versus the multiple song âalbumsâ played at thirty-three).  I wish I could say I still had that record, but I wore it out before the seventies.
Iâve gone to see James Taylor live several times over the years, the last time this past December.  He does Fire and Rain at every concert.  Where ever in the show his âmasterpieceâ is placed â itâs always done with a blackout â a pause â then James alone in the spotlight.  Itâs almost like a prayer, a tunnel through time as the audience goes back to that first time, the record spinning fast on the turntable, an era when everything was possible. We could get Civil Rights, we could end a War, we could change the World.  It was ââŚjust yesterday morningâŚâ.Â
Fire and Rain isnât a protest song.  Itâs about personal loss.  But it introduced an entire genre of music to my young ears.  Soon I was listening to Carole King, Bob Dylan, and Simon and Garfunkel.  As I progressed in my teens, I wanted something more âaggressiveâ, more electric.   And I found a âsuper groupâ called Crosby-Stills-Nash and Young.Â
Pirate Radio
My first introduction to CSNY was soon after the shooting of student protestors at Kent State in May of 1970.  We got most of our ânewâ music on the car radio, and I was a fourteen year-old getting shuttled around Cincinnati in the back seat, usually by one of my older sisters, and far from the radio controls.  We heard about a song that was supposedly âbannedâ in the state of Ohio, a song with the refrain ââŚFour dead in Ohioâ.  Rumor had it that Ohioâs Governor, James Rhoades, threatened the broadcast license of any station that played it.
It was also in the early days of FM Radio (music was on AM then â mostly talk and sports now).   There were small âpirateâ FM stations, that played the cutting edge music we were looking for.  The signals werenât very strong and you had to be relatively close to the broadcast tower to hear them. Their channel numbers were passed around almost like a secret code (âtry 102.7, Jelly Pudding Radioâ).   It seemed like listening to Radio Free Europe or the BBC during World War II.
But if you could âcatchâ the station, you could hear CSNYâs grinding protest of the Kent State shootings â âOhioâ by Neil Young. I was hooked, and Iâm still hooked today.
By the time I was a senior in high school, my friends and I had become CSNY aficionados. I was more towards the acoustic David Crosby and Stephen Stills side, while others were definitely Neil Young fans. We all liked them all, and we all had their albums, both as a group and individually. But I didnât get around to getting the âliveâ CSNY album, 4 Way Street, until my freshman year of college.
Four Way Street
In 1974, a college dorm room in Crawford Hall at Denison University was a just a single room, maybe sixteen by sixteen, with two beds, two desks with chairs, two chests of drawers, one window and one hard âloungeâ chair. The bathroom was down the hall, just past the âgrand stairsâ to the front lobby. My roommate Charlie was a veteran of dorm life, having gone to prep school at the famous Deerfield Academy. But it was all new to me. We shared my record player, a combination of turntable and speaker.
Charlie was in love with a group called Bread.  Hearing their songs today brings back good memories, but at the time he played it so much that I threatened to spin the record out of our second floor window into the Quad. Charlie had the answer â Bread goes, then so goes 4 Way Street.  I played that album so often that I literally wore it out, and had to buy a second copy.  I dubbed it for my tape cassette in my Volkswagen Squareback, and it was always the go to, middle of the night on a long journey, play. Â
CSNY was the last, great musical voices of Vietnam protest.  By 1974 the war was almost over, Nixon resigned, and Denison students’ music turned to some guy from New Jersey singing about love and motorcycles â Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen.  But I was still steeped in the music of political change, of an era now past.  I hoped I could make a difference, first in politics, and then through teaching. Â
Old Man (Iâm a lot like you are)
CSNY are old men now. They toured together on and off until a decade ago. While their incredible harmonies still resonated, their personalities clashed to the point that they can hardly speak to each other today. But their influence still is powerful, particularly among those of us who grew up on their harmonies. They collectively and individually have weighed in on almost every major issue of their time, from wars to saving the environment to the failures of a materialistic world.
So it shouldnât be a surprise that Neil Young has taken a stand in the current Covid information crisis. He is incredibly aware of the influence of communication, whether itâs a song about campus protests, or a podcast featuring Covid deniers. And Young has always been divergent, even from his bandmates. He sees Joe Rogan influencing younger people to ignore science, and risk both their own health, and the health of those around them.
Neil Young is willing to lose 60% of his current revenue by pulling his music from the digital music and podcast giant, Spotify, unless they control Rogan.  He has determined not to associate himself with the same service Rogan uses, and heâs encouraging others to do the same.
The Damage Done
Some of Youngâs old friends have followed his lead, like  Joni Mitchell and Nils Lofgren.  Others no longer control their own music, David Crosby for example, sold his entire catalog.  But Crosby voiced his support for Youngâs action.  And Spotify says it will âwarnâ folks who listen to Rogan of unfounded or inaccurate information.
Neil Young is seventy-seven years old. His generation is most at risk from Covid denial. Heâs always been irascible, and heâs never backed away from a fight, even with his friends. So itâs no surprise to me that heâs made a very public stand. The man who wrote Needle and the Damage Done , about the loss of friends to drug abuse, would certainly stand up against those who are killing folks by spewing falsehoods.
There are already more than 33,000 dead in Ohio. Just like in 1970, Neil Young doesnât want there to be more.