Another new Neil Young album, this is his third in three years (fourth if you count the miserable live Earth). And, in keeping with 2015’s The Monsanto Years, it’s one that addresses current issues and politics in the way folk-rock has always done.
Indeed, it would seem that Young is keeping this spirit alive, although musically he seems content to tread similar ground again and again, finding only miniscule variations on his trademark shambolic, ragged rock sound. The band is a power trio, with a couple of hired hands taking over drum and bass duties, but it’s obviously Young’s show front to back.
Musically, at 10 songs and 38 minutes, this could have been released in 1974, 1990, or 2016 and you wouldn’t know the difference. Lyrically, Young touches on current hot topics like the Dakota Access Pipeline controversy (and, as of this writing, subsequent victory for the American Indian protestors, thankfully), Islamophobia in America, the treatment of protestors across the land by police, the inability of the working man to retire with any sort of financial cushion, political responsibility for the future, and the struggle of the baby boom generation to grasp the point of some of today’s technology. 
As with most of his recent albums, dating back to 2006’s Living With War, the songs seem hastily composed and recorded. More thought is put into the message than into the songwriting, making it so that you don’t remember much of the actual melodies when the album is done. By design, I suspect, the album is meant for right now, affirming one of folk music’s original and strongest intentions. But this immediacy doesn’t leave many long-lasting pleasures; there’s nothing like “Ohio” or “Rockin’ In The Free World” that will resonate long after the current news cycle ends.
About half the record is solid, albeit a bit cranky-old-man and full of random amped-up harmonica solos that sound like a demented badger being run through a food processor. The best songs are the longer ones – the title cut and “Indian Givers” – while “Terrorist Suicide Hang-Gliders” smartly makes its point in less than three minutes and “Glass Accident” is one of those lyrics that could be a metaphor for picking up the pieces as a country, or as a person, or as a partner.
Things go off the rails with the irritating “Texas Rangers,” the overlong talk-story of “John Oaks,” and the incoherent narrative “My Pledge,” which has some interesting ideas but throws in random history references and never really gets to whatever the pledge is. And when I say “Texas Rangers” is irritating, it’s downright awful, a wince-inducing embarrassment that should be forgotten by all involved. The closing “My New Robot” also has an interesting premise, but it dissolves into computerized voices asking for a password, then simply pulling the plug. Again, this may have been by design, but it’s unclear what this design is, and the song simply comes off as annoying as a result.
Still, Young continues to play, showing himself an observer of the news in solidarity with protestors of all types and a restless spirit who refuses to retire, play the hits, or do “special appearances” once every three years on the Today show or whatever. The drive is admirable – nobody does shambolic self-effacement like Neil Young – which makes Peace Trail fitfully entertaining and politically relevant, if hardly one that will be remembered next year.