In late 1976, there were rumblings that folk-rocking Canadian Neil Young was set to release a new album that he had entitled “Chrome Dreams,” instead of a three-disk retrospective album that record companies had at first expected. What Young eventually produced was ultimately called “American Stars and Bars.” Rumors persisted, however, that “Chrome Dreams” still existed on Young’s shelf, due in no small part to a fake acetate recording that purported to be a leaked version of the album. Either way, many of the songs listed on the acetate eventually made it on to subsequent recordings, and a legitimate “Chrome Dreams” was never released.

Three decades after the original project was conceived, Young returned to the studio to make its sequel, “Chrome Dreams II,” with seven original songs and three written in the early ’80s. Long-time collaborator Ralph Molina of Crazy Horse sat in on drums, alongside Rick Rosas, who has worked with Young on his most recent albums, filling out the rhythm section on bass. Ben Keith, also an experienced hand at working with Young, plays Dobro and pedal steel guitar. The album was mostly recorded live, and the performance-feel of the music is preserved even with a few studio overdubs.

There are two Neil Youngs. There is the Neil Young of “Prairie Wind,” who accompanies his fragile vocals with slide guitar and 12-string strumming. And then there is the Neil Young who played with Crazy Horse, wailing on distorted guitars (sometimes less-than-skillfully) and earning himself the media title “Godfather of Grunge.” This album contains both versions of the man, and a few somewhere in between. He said of the new album, “It’s an album with a form based on some of my original recordings, with a large variety of songs, rather than one specific type of song.” No matter the style of music is playing, Young has found a new kind of shamanistic spiritualism that informs this album unlike any of his others

The album opens with the soft “Beautiful Bluebird,” with slide guitar accompanying lyrics that deal with loss and returning home—themes that pervade the entire disk. Songs like “Boxcar” and “Shining Light” are short and sweet, featuring Young’s distinctive wavering voice, which is none the worse for wear despite recent throat surgery. “Spirit Road” and bar-room-chanter “Dirty Old Man,” an album highlight, turn up the distortion and keep the pace varied, while perhaps showing that these musicians are more suited to stick to the soft stuff. The garage-band sound is a far cry from virtuosity but fits Young perfectly.

The one blemish is “Ordinary People,” a guitar ballad that would be a solid addition if it didn’t clock in at an unforgivable 18 minutes, long enough to make a Phish fan look for something else to do. It shoots for epic but hits boring, and hits it hard. The other monster track, the 14-minute “No Hidden Path,” gets it right, mixing it up enough to keep the listener engaged. The album closes with “The Way,” a collaboration with Young and a chorus of children that brings the presentation, both musically and symbolically, to a beautiful full-circle conclusion.

With a few exceptions, the lyrics on this album all lead one to believe that Young is trying hard to make sense of the decline into old age that he had in mind when he wrote that it is better to “burn out than it is to rust.” Here is his retrospective, and the story of his travels far from home. And it is getting home that is the real theme of the album, along with the things in our life that stay strong even as our bodies wither. As he enters the later stages of his career, Young realizes that although those who “burn out” become rock gods, we mortals don’t have to settle for merely fading away.