Neil Young turns a bank-branded pavilion into church, skips the sermon (and the new album)

Neil Young is one of the very few people on earth who can make a corporate-branded amphitheater feel like a cathedral. Not because he tries to — he doesn’t — but because the gravitational pull of his career, and the stubborn refusal to sand down its jagged edges, turns even a place named after a bank into something approaching holy ground.

Friday night in Charlotte, an unseasonably cool August evening that felt suspiciously like October, the 79-year-old shuffled onstage in flannel and an engineer’s cap. He looked like every Neil Young you’ve ever seen, whether in grainy ‘70s footage or last week’s news photo, the guy who’s seen it all, grumbled about half of it, and kept going anyway.

This was the U.S. kickoff of the Love Earth tour, his first time back on the road after bailing on a Crazy Horse run last year due to exhaustion. On paper, that sounds ominous. In person, Neil seemed clear-eyed, steady, and — as much as Neil Young is ever “present” — present.

He opened with On the Beach’s “Ambulance Blues,” a slow-burner that immediately set the tone: we were getting a show for the lifers, not the dabblers. The voice started wobbly but settled in by the back half, that unmistakable cracked falsetto cutting through like it always has. Then came “Cowgirl in the Sand,” prompting Wendell to enter a sort of ecstatic trance when Neil, guitarist Micah Nelson, and bassist Corey McCormick started huddling together in that classic three-man prayer circle jam, the kind where the outside world ceases to exist.

By song three, the flannel was gone, replaced by a t-shirt stamped with the word “Earth.” Of course it was. This is Neil Young, the man who will put voter registration booths next to your organic kettle corn stand, and to make sure the beer is brewed within a hundred miles.

The middle stretch swerved into politics with Greendale’s “Be the Rain” and “Sun Green,” Neil barking: “There’s corruption on the highest floor!” into a megaphone like a cranky town crier. He skipped the full lecture circuit, letting the music chew the scenery instead. Still, there was an audible ripple when he broke into “Southern Man” in North Carolina — less provocation than reminder.

The Chrome Hearts aren’t Crazy Horse, but they don’t need to be. Nelson deferred the hero solos to Neil. Spooner Oldham, 82 and unflappable, filled in the cracks with that warm, churchy organ tone that makes even the cynics sway. “Harvest Moon” turned the place into a massive slow dance, strangers leaning into each other for just a minute before the next feedback squall.

The encore was the kind of flex only Neil can pull. Wendell’s highlight of the evening was “Like a Hurricane,” with the Danger Bird synth dropping from the rafters like a guest star in a wrestling match, Nelson stabbing out the chords, and Neil shredding like the amps were plugged straight into his stubborn will to keep going. 

Then, after a brief exit, “Rockin’ in the Free World” — messy, joyous, fists pumping from pit to lawn, the perfect cap to a glorious evening. This was an easy highlight contender for Megan as the nostalgia rang loud into the crowd of decades-old fans. The imagery of his old, weathered hands on the jumbotron was a stark contrast to the familiar voice that boomed throughout the venue. You could close your eyes and imagine a younger Young with the same conviction and stage presence he continues to achieve at 79 years old.

And in the most Neil Young move possible, he didn’t play a single track off his new 2025 record, Talkin’ to the Trees. Not one. Instead, he delivered a set that was chaotic and reverent, loud and whisper-quiet, political and personal, a living contradiction that somehow hung together. It didn’t feel like nostalgia; it felt like proof of life. In 2025, when we’re all still wondering how to stay conscious without losing our minds, Neil Young isn’t handing out easy answers. But he’s still asking the right questions — one wild, imperfect chord at a time.