What do ya wanna make those eyes at me for?

Ah, pop music, a pedant's paradise. Well, Shaky, where shall we begin. Oh hang on a minute, that sounds like a really bad link into the best song ever. Shaking Stevens to Neil Young. Any eagle eyed sad geeks out there with that kind of knowledge need to be, oh hang, that's me too.
Any way, as I own seven hundred and forty-two of Neil Young's two thousand and twenty-six albums (or is just that the similar sounding acoustic make it feel that way, well done Neil, Harvest VI - Revenge of the Tractors - coming soon) it was inevitable that Neil would find his way on here. Chuck in last night's character assassination (see below) and even an idiot (hello)could see that his back catalogue would be on my mind.
So here it is, whiny Canadian singing about what it's like to be a Native American and how beastly the settlers were by killing us all before randomly wanting to talk to Marlon Brando (have you got any Native American in you? Do you want some?).
Disclaimer - any jokes relating to sex with obese dead American men are purely the result of over-wrought emotion and a lack of sleep.
The thing is that even Neil Young's inability to sing without his voice giving up the ghost and packing its bags can't spoil the beauty of the best song ever (for at least the next fifteen minutes):
Pocahontas from Rust Never Sleeps.
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