Right around this time every year, when the thermometer quits dipping its toes in the sub-60s range and does a cannonball into coldness, the radio station in my head switches format. No more blistering summer tracks. It's fall now—time for some Neil Young.
Weird Neil's entire discography is worthy of more words than I can convince you to stick around to read, but this album in particular, 1972's Harvest, just feels perfect for fall. It's as familiar as a college sweatshirt, as pleasant as the scent of dry leaves on the breeze.
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