David Crosby “Oh Yes I Can”
On his first solo album in almost twenty years, Crosby managed to sound quite vital on 1989s “Oh Yes I Can.” “Vital” as in “healthy,” rather than “essential.” There’s a big difference. His life story has been rich and compelling. He has been a cautionary tale and an inspirational voice. But, stripped of the counterculture and of his greatest collaborators, Croz ends up sounding like the guy playing on the small stage at a farmers market.
James Taylor “Never Die Young”
James Taylor is more opaque than Prince or Bob Dylan. Is he the genteel, humanist who invented Adult Contemporary music fifty years ago? Or is he an overly-sensitive, over-valued bar singer who succeeded by virtue of his good looks and birthright? By 1988s “Never Die Young,” Taylor had recently re-married and was still very much in the throes of a fledgling sobriety. It was a miracle he was alive, much less a viable recording artist. If ever there was a time reveal his true self, this was not it.
Randy Newman “Land of Dreams”
By the mid-80s, with his soundtrack work increasing, it began to sound like Randy Newman was losing focus — writing and composing for all of the disparate ideas piling up on his mental desk. Some were his own. Some were others’. Some were political. Some were literary. All had characters. Most sounded “personal” but none sounded “autobiographical.” 1988s “Land of Dreams,” like all of his previous albums, is a record about People in America. Unlike his previous albums, however, one of the People on “Land of Dreams” seems to be Randy Newman himself.
Levon Helm “American Son”
Levon Helm already had a lot of miles on him by 1980. Over the ensuing thirty years, he would travel fewer miles, but the wear and tear would still be great. The man who could drum and sing like no other suffered physically, financially and personally. He battled cancer. He battled his bandmate. He settled in Woodstock. Lost in his rich and complex story is “American Son,” the out of print, raucous, joyous, flawed album that is hard to think about but so easy to feel.
Darryl Hall “Three Hearts in the Happy Ending Machine”
Darryl Hall was born to sing. By 1986, much of the world knew this. What we didn’t know is if he could produce hits without John Oates or if he could make a great solo album. That year, the charts were filled with Contemporary Soul and R&B -- Whitney Houston and Lionel Richie. The pop charts in 1986 were not the realm of the young. So, at forty years old, conditions were quite ripe for Darryl Hall’s solo record, “Three Hearts in the Happy Ending Machine.”
Leonard Cohen “Various Positions”
In 1984 Leonard Cohen released “Various Positions.” It was his first album to substantially use the Casio keyboard. It is also the first wherein Jennifer Warnes is billed as “co-singer.” At fifty years old, with Cohen’s voice bottoming out, his soul sounded like it was one hundred. Plus, the curious new sound was greeted with cynicism by Cohen’s label. Turns out, the label was wrong. “Various Positions” not only gave us “Hallelujah,” it also crystallized the sound that would become the hallmark of Cohen’s extraordinary third act.
Willie Nelson “Always On My Mind”
Something happened with Willie in the 80s. It’s hard to know if it was a creative choice or exhaustion or age or a dry spell. Or none of the above. Maybe it was Reagan. Country music had gotten wind-swept into the realm of Adult Contemporary. The wind carried most everyone in this direction — Kenny Rogers, Dolly Parton, Eddie Rabbit and Conway Twitty all got nudged to the right by this wind. And, yes, so did Willie.
Roger Daltrey “Under a Raging Moon”
Roger Daltrey didn’t write the songs. He didn’t need to play a lead instrument. He wasn’t going to make the mistake Rod Stewart made, thinking he was an artist just because he could sing. Pete was the artist and he was the front man. And it worked. Roger Daltrey stayed in his lane — at least until 1985. That year, Roger Daltrey released a solo album that I am certain is really the soundtrack to a straight to video, erotic action thriller. There’s no other logical explanation for at least half of this record.
Bryan Ferry “Bête Noire”
Can something be too refined? When you whittle and whittle endlessly, what becomes of the original thing? Bryan Ferry is nothing, if not refined. He presaged everything from Sade to The National. And he was so good, for so long, that we often take his music for granted. Today, the notion of Bryan Ferry is as much a cover photo on Italian Vogue as it is his music. And that is probably a result of all that damn whittling.
George Harrison “Cloud Nine”
Coaxed, coached and sculpted by Jeff Lynne, it’s easy to wonder if “Cloud Nine” was a return to form, as it was frequently celebrated in 1987, or simply a Jeff Lynne product with George Harrison as a primary ingredient. Did Harrison find a well of creativity and really miss making popular music? Did he just want to provide a kindness to his fans? Or is the album a product, logically designed, developed and marketed by Lynne, the most ardent and famous of Beatle fans?
Don Henley “The End of the Innocence”
Don Henley — pretty, singular, brilliant, boring, insidious. Photo and video evidence from 1989 bears out these assertions. He stands there — broad shouldered lapel, serious face, a pony tail and, most importantly, a single lock falling out from the pulled back hair. Today, a tousled man bun is a misdemeanor. In 1989, it was a goddam crime. It was the murder of genuine surprise and pain in guitar-driven, Classic Rock.
Phil Collins “No Jacket Required”
I was driving my car and listening to the radio. The familiar intro to Tom Cochrane’s 1992 hit “Life is A Highway” made my soul drop. Ugh. Why didn’t this song go away? I pulled the car onto the shoulder so I could think. I wondered when was the last time I heard “Sussudio?” I sat for two hours. I couldn’t remember. Years. Maybe decades? “Sussudio” was one of two number one hits from Phil Collins’ “No Jacket Required.” It was huge. What had happened to it?
Bob Dylan “Shot of Love”
There have been countless revisionist takes on every part of Dylan’s career, including his “born again” phase. So, I guess you can add this to that pile. But, while I don’t feel original, I do feel so lucky that I came to this album without the baggage of trying to unpack in during its original context backlash. Today, it’s nothing short of a gift. Sure, Jesus is there. But, Dylan also conjures Levon Helm, Mavis Staples, Johnny Cash and most of his past lives.
Billy Joel “Storm Front”
Why is it that when Billy Joel kicks of his eleventh studio album, “Storm Front,” with a “one, two, three, four” count off -- fully invoking The Boss -- it sounds so cloying? Why do the critics adore Bruce and roll their eyes at Billy? After all, Billy Joel has written a lot of great songs. Songs that you want to sing along with. Songs that tell stories. So, why did Bruce win and Billy lose? The answer is, I think, complicated.
Mick Jagger “She’s The Boss”
Mick Jagger was 42 when his solo debut came out. He was mack in the middle of his version of domesticity with Jerry Hall, on the heels of The Stone’s tepid “Undercover” and in a period of strain with Keith. Mick has stated that, with “She’s the Boss,” he wanted to establish himself as an artist outside of The Stones. Keith compared Mick to another legendary artist when he said of “She’s The Boss”: “It’s like Mein Kampf. Everyone owns a copy but nobody has listened to it.”
Jackson Browne “Hold Out”
Jackson Browne never changed his hair. It’s the one constant in music, maybe on Earth. It may be a wig. Jackson Browne has never rushed anywhere. Not for a plane, or a taxi, certainly not in a song. He’s steady. Like a pair of loafers. He also never reinvented music or tried to harness a hot new sound. He’s one of these anomalies that seemed to understand being old while young. I mean who writes a song as weary as “These Days” at sixteen?
Rod Stewart “Camouflage”
In the summer of 1984, Rod Stewart released “Camouflage,” a lightweight, occasionally fun, occasionally terrible and mostly disposable pop album. 1984 was also the year that Miami Vice debuted on TV. Looking back, it seems impossible that these two events were unrelated “Camouflage” sounds like a chipper soundtrack to “Miami Vice,” complete with lite intrigue, the pastel sex appeal, the white suit, the synths, the mechanical beats.
Lou Reed “The Blue Mask”
Most every Lou Reed solo album can sound like a middle age album. Even during his twenties and thirties, he seemed closer to death than most. But in 1982, the year he got sober, turned forty and released “The Blue Mask.” He fully surrendered to middle age. He sang about his house. His motorcycle. His average life. His wife (a lot). He reveled in it. He considered it. He adored it. And, thankfully, he also feared it.
Paul McCartney “Flowers in the Dirt”
1989’s “Flowers in the Dirt” was supported by Paul McCartney’s first tour since Wings and had a lot of press around it. It features four songs co-written with Elvis Costello. It was all there in the sticker on the cover of the album “a return to form”. All signs point towards creative rebirth. What could go wrong?
Eric Clapton “Journeyman”
Is Eric Clapton god, as Londoners of the 60s claimed? Is he the world’s greatest guitarist? Is he a good songwriter? Can he even sing? Honestly, I have no clue. Without question, though, his most underrated talent is his fashion sense. In 1989, Clapton wore tortoise shell glasses and carried himself like the love child of Sting and Indiana Jones. Shit, he looked good. And I don’t mean “cool.” I mean “good.” BMW advertisement good. 1989 was also the year Clapton released his eleventh solo album, “Journeyman.”