Neil Young has spent almost half a century compiling a catalog that is nothing less than extraordinary. It’s difficult to explain exactly what is so extraordinary about his music without blatantly contradicting myself: it’s straightforward, yet imbued with hidden meaning; it’s impulsive and disjointed, yet always seemingly true to a singular vision; it’s intensely personal, yet completely universal. However, perhaps the most extraordinary thing about the music of Neil Young is that almost everybody comes around to it eventually. Whether you discovered him on the internet, through your cool older brother, in your parents’ record collections, or on the radio in 1972, I can pretty much guarantee that you either are already a fan, or will be someday.

It almost goes without saying that any investigation into the world of Neil Young requires a visit to his fourth album Harvest, which just turned 40 this month. What is it about Harvest that has kept people coming back for 40 years? I would argue that the pure clarity of Neil’s songwriting is what initially draws people in. “I need someone to love me the whole day through;” “Let me fill your cup / with the promise of a man;” “I wanna live / I wanna give,” etc. These songs make it painfully clear that Neil is a human being with needs, desires, the ability to hurt and be hurt. Upon closer listening, it becomes apparent that Neil isn’t sure how much he really wants the things he is searching for; his fear of commitment is surpassed only by his fear of being alone. There are no convoluted metaphors or storybook endings here, only ten simple songs brimming with real doubt and emotional insecurity that are bound to mean something to you at some point in your life.

The real secret weapon of Harvest is melody. It’s easy to underestimate the weight of this statement in 2012, when “melodic” has essentially become shorthand for “catchy”. This isn’t to say that the lead lines from “Heart of Gold,” “Out on the Weekend,” or “Are You Ready for the Country?” won’t lodge themselves in your head after a few listens, but the melodies of Harvest offer so much more than mere familiarity. Throughout the album, the melodies that Neil chooses give his voice the shape and definition it needs to completely rip your heart out. Listen to how the melody in “A Man Needs a Maid” allows Neil’s signature warble to briefly open up before being dragged back down as he sings “I don’t know who to trust anymore.” Or, how the pre-chorus of “Alabama” gradually preps his voice for the primal, open-syllable howling of the chorus. Essentially, Neil shows incredible restraint in allowing his songwriting to direct his dynamic voice rather than the other way around, and I honestly think people subconsciously pick up on this aspect of his music and are thankful for it at a time when “the song” has frequently been downgraded to a vehicle for vocal acrobatics.

Sadly, as the prime of his career slips further and further into antiquity, it is only natural that fewer new listeners will make the pilgrimage to fill their cups with the promise of Neil Young. However, as long as Harvest has the chance to be heard, it will continue to open young minds to the life and works of an extraordinary man.