Dead Man

Sometime in 2006 — can't remember when exactly — I decided to collect all of Neil Young's official releases on CD, including his work with Crosby, Stills, and Nash. I've loved Neil Young's music for most of my life, but we're talking about a guy who has no fewer than 30 titles in print and a few more out of print, plus several releases with CSNY. Collecting his stuff is hard.

Consider also that not all of Neil's stuff is good — much of what he released between 1980 and 1985, for example, is effing terrible.

But I have completist tendencies. I even want the bad stuff. Maybe someday, that stuff will grow on me. Maybe not. I go out of my way to find the stuff anyway.

Four years later, I have all of Neil's solo stuff (save for Archives: Vol. 1), and I'm missing only one CSNY live album.

I found Young's soundtrack to Jim Jarmusch's Dead Man in Soho in London, when the wife and I visited two summers ago. I love this soundtrack, even if the theme is repetitive. Call it western mood music for the modern age.

I also found Trans, and let me just say, that album's terrible. I knew that going in, but I bought the thing anyway. You don't leave a copy of Trans in the used bin. The damned thing isn't available in the U.S., and I was standing in England. We're talking about a moral imperative here.

I also found (on eBay) a rare promo single of the acoustic song played over the opening credits. I paid out the nose for that one, but having this in my collection is pretty satisfying. I did the same with El Dorado, the Japanese import.

This film is loaded with connections. When Depp's character visits the trading post near the end, he pulls some wanted posters down and reads one. He finds he's wanted for the murders of "Big George" Drakoulias, Benmont Tench, and Salvatore (Sally) Jenco. Sal Jenco is a childhood friend of Johnny Depp's. Benmont Tench is the keyboard player for Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers, with whom Depp worked on the music video for "Into the Great Wide Open," and for whom the wife and I have tickets to see this summer.

Pretty cool, but not as cool as this: George Drakoulias produced the first album I ever bought — a cassette copy of The Black Crowes Shake Your Money Maker, which stands as one of my favorite albums all-time. I can't help but feel connected to this film. There's a sideways reference to the start of my music collection, for crying out loud.

But you know, the problem with collecting is that as long as an artist is still alive and producing (and in some cases, long after an artist dies) there is always something else to get.

For someone as prolific as Neil Young, I wore myself out trying to find everything, and I'm still not done. The guy puts out an album a year, plus a live release, and the Archives sets started with Vol. 1, which I can't afford (and the title implies at least a Vol. 2). I'm not saying I want to stop, and I'm not complaining. I like the challenge, the thrill of hunting for stuff. I like the tactile sense. I like the smell of liner notes. I love the way a record feels. I love the way a compact disc or DVD is like a reflector of us...and so is the digital content.

A bigger problem, though, is that you can't take anything with you.

My boss asked me last week, "What are you going to do with your collection? Like what happens to it after you die?" A fair question. (Two, actually.)

My will stipulates that when I'm a dead man, my collection will go to my relatives. My wife will get first dibs, and then the rest of my family, and whatever happens after that, I don't care. I just want someone besides me to get a great deal of enjoyment out of all this stuff I've collected for nearly 20 years. I want someone besides me to appreciate this stuff long after I'm gone.