Peter Gabriel ”Up”
Gabriel was not known for his balance. His first four untitled solo album covers feature a distortion of his face to let you know he was a little intense. But, if you listened closely, he started opening up more. First, he empathized with Stephen Biko, a real life political dissident. Then he even started empathizing with regular people, culminating in his commercial breakthrough album, “So.” But Gabriel still had a long way to go from his first solo album where he thought a song called “Moribund the Burgermeister” was a good idea.
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.
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.
Paul Westerberg “Folker”
Westerberg solo and sober had difficulty finding his voice. When he rocked with expensive producers he sounded like watered down Replacements. When he switched to a piano and tried to be a singer songwriter, he sounded like a morose Carole King. Fans began to move on. But then, something happened. The malcontent outcast found his voice again. “Folker” is desperate middle-aged music. Also-ran music. Music about regret and compromise. Music written from your knees.
Frank Black “Honeycomb”
In 2005, nearly twenty years after he founded The Pixies, a whole bunch of shit happened to Frank Black. The Pixies simply could not work together and cancelled a tour. And, sadly, his marriage of sixteen years ended. So, Frank Black went into therapy to figure out what he needed to do. The “what” apparently was to head to Nashville, assemble a group of legendary session players, and finally record his “Black on Blonde” record.
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.”
Tom Waits “Bone Machine”
Bob Dylan was known for his disappearances. He is unknowable. Tom Waits is sort of the opposite of Dylan, one of his many heroes. Tom Waits is the accumulation of everything. He’s Andy Kauffman. He’s Bob Dylan. He’s Jackson Pollack. He’s Jack Kerouac. He’s Marlon Brando. He’s Captain Beefheart. He’s a drunk pawnbroker. He’s a hobo. He’s a nowhere, nobody jazz singer. He’s an actor. He’s a lounge lizard. In fact, Tom Waits might be the most accomplished artist of the later 20th century.
Michael Jackson “HIStory”
“HIStory” is the tipping point, where Michael’s work becomes a very defensive offense against his attackers and where he loses that thing that got us dancing in the first place. It is so much a response to headlines, that if you remove the context, some of these songs are just skeletal thumps and ‘hee-hee’s” echoing in the dark. “HIStory” is either awash in the goopiest of ballads or screaming at oppressors. He’s really turned into your tragic uncle who cries when he’s drunk.
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.
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.
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?