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.
Elton John “The One”
In 1992, Elton John was newly sober, pre-Lion King and still writing the preface to his second act. When I hear “The One” I wonder what would have happened if, that year, Sir Elton simply decided to be a songwriter and band leader. What if he wrote the great songs and led the band from his piano, but allowed his friends and admirers lend their voices and vigor? Because, here’s the thing about Reginald, Elton, Captain Fantastic and Sir Elton — they all wrote great songs. But, they just didn’t always know what to do with them.
Donald Fagen “Morph the Cat”
I had successfully avoided my Steely Dan reckoning for decades. But, every five years, there would be another drip. A friend would ask my position — pro or con? Another might ask if I’d heard Donald Fagen’s latest solo record. Drip. Drip. It was torture. And so, in 2020, I resolved to kind of, sort of, take on The Dan. I dipped a toe into the cool water of Fagen’s solo album “Morph the Cat.” Everything I feared and hoped for was right there.
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.
John Mellencamp “Mr. Happy Go Lucky”
He gave us so much. He gave us “Jack and Diane,” “Hurts So Good” and “Pink Houses.” But then, in 1994, he gave us all a little scare when his four pack a day habit caught up with him. He was forty three, had a hell of a run on the charts and married a super model. It seemed like it might be the end. But then, in 1996, stripped of bravado, Mellencamp returned to the heartland between Americana and what would eventually be the sound Matchbox 20.
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.
Elvis Presley “Moody Blue”
Elvis wore the white jumpsuit on stage for seven straight years. It flexed with his changing size. If it didn’t, he got one that did. He was the first rock star and the original past prime poster boy. He was only 42 when he died in 1977, but in the cultural memory he was a bloated, pill popping monster who died on the toilet. It was really not long ago that he was just the boy from Tupelo. The one who didn’t like to perform in public but had the golden voice.
Richard Thompson “Rumor and Sigh”
If there has ever been an artist who completely sustained their prime for an entire career, it is Richard Thompson. His highs are not as high as Dylan’s. And his finest records are not perfect in the way that, say, “Astral Weeks” is. But while his peaks are not as high, his consistency is almost unprecedented. What is the “best” Richard Thompson album? Was it 1974s “I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight”? Was it 1982s “Shoot Out The Lights”? 1999s “Mock Tudor”? Or was it, as many would say, 1991s “Rumor and Sigh”?
David Lee Roth “Your Filthy Little Mouth”
Any way I looked at it, the road led here. I couldn’t just go on listening to the tasteful, critically correct middle-aged stuff, could I? No. I knew at some point soon, that I’d have to eat the dog food. And so, last night, with genuine trepidation, I pressed play on David Lee Roth’s 1994 album, “Your Filthy Little Mouth.” Spanning metal, jazz, cabaret, reggae (don’t ask) and blues, the album is equally ambitious, aimless, slick, cheap, loud, fun, boring, safe and a complete mess.
Bob Seger “The Fire Inside”
Bob Seger has this trick where he basically lets two chords of guitar syncopate to a simple beat, repeating themselves, gradually building momentum until you want him to howl to just break the tension. And you know what Seger does, then? He fucking howls. He gives you what you want. It’s an indefensible trick. It’s like Kareem’s sky hook. Why didn’t Kareem only shoot his sky hook? The answer lies on Seger’s fourteenth studio album, “The Fire Inside.”
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?
Sting “The Soul Cages”
This is the middle-aged therapy album. Not the raw scream “Mama don’t go” therapy of 1970 John Lennon. This is erudite stuff, real necktie and monocle material. A concert of this album would be advertised as “An Evening with Sting” and you could watch it seated. Once a spike-haired rock god, Sting was standing on the precipice of Adult Contemporary, and he was unafraid.
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.
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.
The Beach Boys “The Beach Boys Love You”
Promiscuity and excess have been the gold standard for rockers running in terror from the middle age slump. But there’s a less commonly utilized strategy that can be effective: regress farther. Past adult, past teenager, past kid. Go full baby. Wear only a bathrobe, write a song called “Ding Dang.” Build a sandbox in your bedroom and put your piano in the middle. Take one listen to “The Beach Boys Love You” and you will know that Brian Wilson alone conceived this deeply personal, bat-shit, Beach Boys in name only album.
David Bowie “Black Tie, White Noise”
After two bad albums Bowie was on the ropes. So, he decided not to come back as a solo artist, but as a humble member of a band called Tin Machine that everyone called “Shit Machine” behind his back. He went from the coolest guy on the planet to the guy no one would sit with in the school cafeteria. Ever the chameleon, though, newlywed Bowie shifted again. He returned in 1993 as a solo artist with the kind of loud, kind of danceable, “Black Tie, White Noise.”
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.