Every rock musician, at some point, admits to borrowing from others. After all, rock and roll is a lineage—built on the riffs, progressions, and emotions of what came before. Even the greatest artists have taken ideas from their heroes and reshaped them into something new. But Neil Young has always stood apart for doing the exact opposite of what was expected—and sometimes, even he didn’t realize how deeply his influences ran.
Neil Young’s career has never followed a straight path. He doesn’t chase trends. He doesn’t try to please crowds. He follows only one thing: the muse. That’s made him one of the most unpredictable—and respected—voices in rock history. One moment, he’s redefining folk rock on Harvest or Rust Never Sleeps, and the next, he’s taking an unexpected turn into commercial territory with albums like Landing on Water. You never know where he’ll go next—and that’s part of the magic.
Despite being a proud Canadian, Young’s music bleeds Americana. His lyrics tell stories of everyday life, of struggle and hope, of dusty roads and heartbreak. He sounds like someone who’s lived every mile of the American experience, even if it’s just a feeling he’s always carried with him. From folk to country to gritty electric rock, Young has always drawn from the deep well of American roots music.
One of his biggest influences, though, came from across the ocean—British acoustic legend Bert Jansch.
Unlike some artists who hide their inspirations, Neil Young openly praised Jansch for shaping his approach to guitar playing. But on one occasion, his admiration turned into something more than inspiration—it became unconscious imitation. Speaking candidly in later years, Young admitted:
“I wrote ‘Ambulance Blues’ for On the Beach, and I picked up the melody from [Bert’s] record—the guitar part exactly—without realizing I had completely copied the whole thing… Then years later, someone mentioned it to me, and I went back and heard him playing. Sure enough, it’s almost note for note.”
Was it theft? Hardly. In Young’s hands, it became a heartfelt tribute. While the chord progression and melody echoed Jansch’s style, the emotion was distinctly Neil’s. His version didn’t mimic the master—it mourned with him. His playing, more fragile and cracked than polished, wasn’t trying to outdo Jansch. It was reaching out to him, spirit to spirit.
That emotional depth is what sets ‘Ambulance Blues’ apart. Known more for ragged solos and rough-edged electric jams, Young was suddenly delicate, precise, and haunting. His guitar didn’t roar or snarl—it cried. The notes felt like they were bleeding out of the wood.
That’s what Bert Jansch did best. He didn’t need flash. He used space and silence as powerfully as sound. Listening to both artists, it becomes clear: sometimes, the most devastating songs are the quietest.
Young may have “copied” Jansch—but in doing so, he created something heartbreakingly original. Not a replica, but a reverent echo.
