Neil Young. Elsewhere in this issue you may find the ad by the guy who's willing to pay ANYTHING for four tickets to Neil's Music Hall shows. This is the stuff dreams, and cult heroes, are made of. Neil's in the middle of a three-month tour of the whole country, and, while I wouldn't go across Stuart Street to see Neil Young (with or without the Stray Gators) there are an awful lotta people who would, like roughly 25,000. My roommate wanted nothing more than to see Neil Young, but that was before Harvest. I'm inclined to agree; it's been artistically downhill for him ever since the momentary flashes of brilliance on After the Goldrush. But Jesus, what can you expect from a guy responsible for "Hello Cowgirl in the Sand/Is this place at your command?"

Traffic. I marvel at the things Steve Winwood did before the age of twenty. Total artistic control of Spencer Davis's group at sixteen, Dear Mr. Fantasy at seventeen, playing with Clapton at nineteen, it goes on. Winwood may be the most talented person making music today, his virtuosity on keyboards, bass and guitar makes me think Stills has a lotta gall trying to play those three instruments. Shoot Out at the Fantasy Factory is a shade better than Low Spark. It's one of the few albums I can listen to, in its entirety, at one sitting. And what never fails to impress me is how Winwood gets away with those "40,000 Headmen" acid image lyrics this long after flower power.

NEIL YOUNG. Boston Garden, Thurs., Feb. 8, 8 p.m. Music Hall. Fri. and Sat., Feb. 9 and 10.

TRAFFIC. Music Hall. Sun., Feb. 11, 7 and 10 p.m.