His last album may have earned him some of the worst reviews of his 30-year career, but Neil Young's sense of ambition remains as undimmed as ever. Greendale is his first proper concept record, a mournful song-cycle about a small Californian town disturbed by sudden death. The insularity of these homely, God-fearing people is challenged when a traffic cop is shot dead by a dope smuggler - a storyline which Young's lo-fi bluesy songs detail in often mind-numbing detail. As a whole, Greendale simply doesn't work - the characters are drab, the narrative is hard to follow and the songs are far too long (some dragging on as far as 13 minutes). It's redeemed, however, by a handful of beautifully sad ruminations on old age, echoes of former glories that remind you just what an exceptional talent the so-called Godfather of Grunge can be. An album of this sort of stuff really would be something to celebrate - but for the moment, the sad fact is that Young is still far too self-indulgent for his own good.

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