It struck me the other day as I was reading Waging Heavy Peace, the fabulous new book by Neil Young, that only a book by Neil Young–obviously put together by the man himself, with little help from editors or other humans–would not only devote a significant passage to the merits of shopping at Costco, but also of his quest to buy new heads for his electric toothbrush, which, not incidentally, he considers quite fabulous.

My own copy of the book, coincidentally, was also purchased at Costco–at a fine price, I might add!–where I’d also return the next week to buy the new book by Pete Townshend. Also written by the man himself, with little outside assistance.

That I would purchase both books quite willingly, and with my own money, I found interesting. Though I regularly read e-books via my Kindle, in both cases here I wanted to buy the physical product–the tome, the pages, the cover picture, etc.–mostly because in late 2012, when record albums are likely as not wave, flac or MP3 files capable of simply evaporating on a faulty iPod or hard drive, I wanted to own the actual thing that both artists produced, to hold it in my hand, to put it down and leave it half-opened on the chair next to my computer while I downloaded flac versions of albums by Brit band Kaleidoscope that I had yet to physically purchase, and probably never would.

Plus, the Costco cashier always looks at me funny when I only buy scotch and cartons of cigarettes!

Neil Young & Crazy Horse: Psychedelic Pill (Reprise) While I have been a lifelong fan of Neil Young, around long enough to buy his first album when it came out, I can’t say I’ve bought into everything he’s ever done. My favorite album of his is–ironically, since he rails against it in his book–his very first, which along with scattered tracks he wrote like Buffalo Springfield’s “Expecting To Fly,” and, way later, “We Never Danced” from Life, contain a certain melodic flair that’s absolutely heart-wrenching, though it’s a part of what he does that he’s tended to underplay. That said, his manic workouts with Crazy Horse–the intense one-note twang, the primitive beat–are inspiring in another way entirely. It’s just the stuff in between that I like but don’t love. Psychedelic Pill is more the latter than the former–particularly via the three extended tracks proudly on display here–but there is a hint of melancholy melody on the opening mega-opus that recalls Young’s other side, and that it is paired with a rock romp in which Young tosses off lyrics that read like sentences from his book, about religion, MP3s, and the actual act of writing his book, that in terms of really odd appeal rank right up there with his “got mashed potatoes–ain’t got no T-bone” lyric from 1981’s Re-ac-tor. The band is great throughout, the vocal harmonies inspiring, and the fact that a major artist is allowed to release an album like this on a major label in 2012 absolutely stunning. Pretty great, actually.