NEIL Young is usually at his best when he’s angry.

Tonight’s The Night, his most-underrated album, was an anguished howl at the havoc wrought by drug addiction; On The Beach was a desolate portrait of the spiritually-impoverished state of the 20th century America; and Living With War was a furious attack on Bush and Blair’s horror show in Iraq.

All are classics. Alas, although Young is still angry, his latest record Fork In The Road is amongst the limpest he has produced.

The concept, as usually with Young, is great. He uses his beloved car, a 1959 white Lincoln convertible which he is converting to eco-friendly fuels, as a metaphor for change in the debt and greed-ridden United States. So far, so good. But the music, especially the grinding, lumpen and uninspired guitars and the trite lyrics, never get out of first gear. In Cough Up The Bucks, a would-be anthem on the road to nowhere, Young asks: “Where did all the money go? Where did all the cash flow?” I think we know, Neil.

There are highlights in the gloom. Just Singing A Song and Johnny Magic hint at Young’s fine ear for melody, although the refrain “Just singing a song don’t change the world” rather undermines the purpose of this album, whilst Light A Candle is the latest in the fine production line of Young ballads.

But the rest? Very disappointing. Sadly, Fork In The Road takes a wrong turning.