IT’S the spring of 1965 and Fred Neil is recording his first solo album, Bleecker & MacDougal, at Elektra in midtown Manhattan. He and the studio’s in-house engineer Paul Rothchild are at loggerheads. The singer-songwriter can’t settle into the recording process, much to Rothchild’s exasperation. Neil’s solution is to suddenly take flight. “Fred stormed out of the sessions,” recalls guitarist Peter Childs. “There was a lot of friction. He had the greatest natural talent, but he was an extremely sensitive soul. So in order to work with Fred, you had to learn to love him.”
This isn’t the first time it’s happened either. “Fred’s relationship with the studio was very much a push-me, pull-you kind of thing,” adds John Sebastian, later of The Lovin’ Spoonful, who played harmonica on the album. “I could see him tighten up whenever we got into position. Paul Rothchild was aware of Fred’s difficulties in recording, but he also knew of his enormous talent. Let’s be candid here. There were fabulous songwriters and insightful protest singers in Greenwich Village. But there was no-one like Fred.”
Before the Bleecker & MacDougal sessions were through, Neil had quit another two or three times, only to be coaxed back by his supporting cast. These capricious tendencies, magnified in a studio setting, were responsible for a disappointingly slim body of recorded work. Yet it was outweighed by the sheer quality of Neil’s songs and their effect on those who heard them. Ostensibly a folk singer, Neil reached deep into gospel, soul, blues and jazz, blessed with a fathomless baritone and a unique sense of syncopated rhythm on 12-string guitar. He laid his emotions bare through song – introspective, damaged, often intensely personal.
“Fred was a very sophisticated musician,” says Judy Collins, another New York City peer. “A lot of people loved him. When Bob Dylan got to the Village, he was told that he had to get to know him, because Fred Neil was very, very important. Dylan became a big fan and I think he sought him
