Past Prime

On episode 25 of ⁠⁠Past Prime⁠⁠, we travel through The Mystic to the other side, where, in 2022, lockdown Van was consumed with "the data," Bill Gates and Klaus Schwab (head of the World Economic Forum). In Van's hard to explain new phase, however, Matty and Steve discover an unexpected new frontier -- Past Past Prime. Past Past Prime Van Morrison is part freedom fighter, part scientist and part Don Quixote. Steve, who believes that Van is his "twin flame," wonders if there is radical honesty and vulnerability in these curious songs. Matty (and the rest of the world) is less convinced. "What's It Gonna Take" sold poorly and was alternately ignored or reviled by critics. In this -- our twenty-fifth episode -- we return to the artist who inspired our Past Prime project way back when. Van's forty-third studio album is confounding, infuriating, trolling and -- yes -- daring. It may be performance art. It may be dangerous. But, for avowed fans, it cannot be ignored. This is the work we do. To read more about Van Morrison's "What's It Gonna Take?", check out the full essay at ⁠⁠Past Prime⁠⁠.

On episode 24 of ⁠Past Prime⁠, we go full “Sad Dad.” In 2017, after a decade being carried in the arms of cheerleaders, The National were disoriented. Their unexpected stardom was bumping up against their middle-aged domesticity. There was the scary new President. Members of the band even dared to leave Brooklyn for “the ru-burbs.” “Sleep Well Beast” was the band anxiously experimenting their way through the malaise of middle-age complacency. In this episode we discuss the contemporary compulsion for change (“Kid A Syndrome”), modern farmhouse architecture & the fine line between anxiety & depression in The National’s seventh studio album. To read more about The National, check out the full essay at ⁠Past Prime⁠.

On episode 23 of Past Prime, Steve and Matty revisit The King of Pop's penultimate album, which was really a double album, consisting of one greatest hits record and one lavish, eighty minute, fifteen track selection of new songs. "HIStory" was made while Jackson was being investigated by the Santa Barbara District Attorney for child abuse & endangerment, while he was also in the midst of his brief, mind-exploding marriage to Lisa Marie Presley, and while every aspect of his public and private persona was being obsessed over by paparazzi, headlines and gossip. Suffice it to say, it's a lot. The credits for "HIStory" name 260 individuals, including R. Kelly, Janet Jackson, Quincy Jones, Notorious BIG, David Foster, Shaquille O'Neil and Elizabeth Taylor. It features defiant New Jack Swing, goopy ballads and thinly veiled defenses and threats. But, most of all, it features the most famous man on the planet assuring us that he could never hurt a child because he is the true victim and the true savior. Though it's perhaps the saddest, angriest and least relatable album Michael ever made, it is also luxurious in its arrangements and quite fierce in its rhythms. There will never be anything else like it and while Matty cowers from its tawdriness, Steve is more than a little fascinated by its psychological thrills. Buckle up -- Wacko Jacko is Backo. To read more about "HIStory: Past, Present and Future, Book I," check out the full essay at Past Prime.

On episode 22 of Past Prime, and with the passing of Tom Verlaine still very much a recent event, Steve and Matty return to the third (and final) album from New York proto-punk legends, Television. Released in 1992, fourteen years after the band had broken up, but just before the world wide web became a source for instant information, "Television" arrived as a titanic surprise to fans of the band but as a non-event for the other 7.8 billion people on planet Earth. Matty, an avowed devotee, and Steve, a reluctant victim of his co-host's aesthetic intimidation, reflect on the merits of the album and the enduring significance of its elusive frontman. Though Television soldiered on right up until Verlaine's death (albeit without Richard Lloyd for many of those years) and though Tom Verlaine released two modest solo albums in the Aughts, "Television" is the band's swan song. Whereas Matty received this arrival breathlessly, eager to decode its poetry, its noir and its horror, Steve found it to be a "Low T," tossed off fade out. Where Matty heard beauty, Steve heard depression. Where Matty noticed invention and precision, Steve saw a bunch of middle-aged guys dozing off. This album that united two friends decades ago as college freshman, threatens to divide them decades later. Will they find common ground? Will they resolve the mystery of Tom Verlaine? Stay tuned for another episode of Past Prime! To read more about Television's self-titled reunion album, check out the full essay at Past Prime.

On episode 21 of Past Prime, Steve and Matty put on their dayglo, double-breasted suits and grab their headless guitars to fully absorb the proto-Alt noise of Tin Machine "II," the second album from David Bowie's alleged band of equals. Alongside Staten Island everyman, Reeves Gabrels, and two of Soupy Sales kiddos, the once Thin White Duke maintained he was just one fourth of a middle-aged band that was obsessed with The Pixies, but who also might have predicted Grunge. Our co-hosts tackle everything from the album's de-phallused cover, to their one great hit, to the contributions of drummer, Hunt Sales, who liked to perform in his underwear and who wrestled the mic away from Bowie for the album's most bombastic, least defensible moments. "II" (1991) was the band's final studio album. After a world tour that spawned a live album ("Oy Vey Baby"), Bowie married Iman, pulled Gabrels aside and said farewell to the Sales brothers. Though for years he insisted that Tin Machine would return, it never came to be. They survive primarily as the butt of jokes about middle-aged rock star missteps and as an awkward transition from Bowie's dry period to his less dry turn towards Trent Reznor. "II" is not available on most streaming services. It wants to be forgotten, but our co-hosts won't let that happen because middle age comes for everyone -- even Ziggy Stardust. To read more about Tin Machine's "II" check out the full essay at Past Prime.

On episode 20 of Past Prime, Steve and Matty hoist a nautical distress signal and recount every headline of the second half of the twentieth century, including "Belgians in the Congo," as they try to figure out who, exactly, started that fire. They bravely confront the middle-aged storm that was Billy Joel's eleventh studio album, a song cycle about supermodels, Long Island fisherman, Russian clowns and being "totally cool." In the process, they manage to unmask the most complicated, commercially beloved, critically reviled singer-songwriter of his generation. "Storm Front" (1989) was the second to last Pop album the Piano Man recorded. Though massively popular in its day, "Storm Front" is ultimately a strange, shrill record that grunts a lot without ever really saying all that much. And so, our co-hosts have to dig deep to figure out the enigma that is Billy Joel. Is he a misunderstood genius? An overqualified Paul Shaffer? Why was he so upset all the time? What was that fire and was Billy really trying to fight it? To read more about Billy Joel's "Storm Front" check out the full essay at Past Prime.

On episode 19 of Past Prime, Steve and Matty bravely slog their way through "Calling All Stations," the fifteenth studio album from Prog Rock turned Stadium Pop legends, Genesis, and one of the most infamously awful last gasps in the history of Rock and Roll. In 1986, a decade after Peter Gabriel left them behind, Phil, Tony & Mike reached the top of the charts with "Invisible Touch." But one decade later, with Phil Sussudio-ing his way around the world as a solo act, Tony and Mike were left searching for a new lead singer. They found their hot, new guy in twenty-eight year old, Scotsman Ray Wilson, who was asked to make tedious middle-aged ennui sound young and exciting. Very few people in the world have ever listened to "Calling All Stations" all the way through. Those who did either blocked it our who or came to seriously regret it. For Steve, who went deep into the abyss, this pod was a chance to share his profound knowledge and personal torment with a friend. For Matty, it represented an opportunity to delve into Steve's curious, youthful fascination with early, proggy Genesis and to test out his theory that Prog Rock, in general, and early Genesis, in particular, is music for cult leaders. To read more about Genesis' "Calling All Stations" check out the full essay at Past Prime.

On episode 18 of Past Prime, Steve and Matty confront their demons which, as it turns out, do not look like Jam Bands. Nor do they resemble hacky sackers or fratty teens drinking Zimas and smoking joints in the parking lot. No, Matty and Steve come face to face with the most insidious of fiends -- their own biases. The problem apparently was not with Dave. The problem was with our co-hosts and their pretensions. So, after decades rolling their eyes, making snarky asides and generally avoiding the subject, they immerse themselves in "Big Whiskey and the GrooGrux King," the seventh studio album from the Dave Matthews Band, released in 2009. Following the death of saxophonist LeRoi Moore, DMB made a sprawling, celebratory album for their legions of fraternity and sorority alums. In middle age, Dave, Carter and the band were among the biggest rock bands in the world and in full control of the "GrooGrux" -- a nickname for their musical "flow" or "juju." As with their previous albums, there are a couple tender ballads, some B- middle school poetry, and the unlikely combination of lite, worldly Jazz and athletic Funk. There are still songs with numbers for titles, lots of sex talk and several of references to monkeys doing things. But, in the end, Matty and Steve have to admit the thing they tens of millions of fans already knew: Dave Matthews Band aren't so bad. In fact, they're pretty impressive. Spoiler alert: Matty even loved one of the songs on this one. Not liked. Loved. To read more about Dave Matthews Band's "Big Whiskey and the GrooGrux King," check out the full essay at Past Prime.

Episode 17 is another edition of Past Prime Pastime, wherein Matty and Past Prime baseball correspondent, Kevin Blake, try to explain the unexplainable career of Giant (and Met and Mariner and Padre and Red and Daiei Hawk) great, Kevin Mitchell. In 1989, Mitchell was on pace to break Roger Maris' coveted single season home run record. The man who was previously the twelfth best player on the 1986 Mets and who was allegedly traded because he freaked out Darryl and Doc (two men who were hard to freak out), came out of nowhere to capture the imagination of baseball fans everywhere. One of those fans was eleven year old Kevin Blake, who traded in every piece of baseball memorabilia he owned, plus every birthday card check and government bond, to corner the market on Mitchell rookie cards. Suffice it to say, Mitchell did not hit sixty two home runs and our co-host's card collection is now functionally worthless. But we will always have 1989 -- the year when Kevin Mitchell made "the catch" and won the NL MVP award and when Kevin Blake was certain that he was living through baseball history. Join Matty and Kevin as they try to piece together what happened. What was the deal with Kevin Mitchell and Will Clark? Did Mitchell, as Doc Gooden once allege, really decapitate a cat? Was Mitchell really an elite high school water polo player? And, most importantly, just how bad was Kevin's investment in those Mitchell rookie cards? So, get out your Beckett baseball card guide. Start taking some Creatine. And get ready to go "All In." To read more about Kevin Mitchell, check out the full essay at Past Prime.

On episode 16 of Past Prime, Steve and Matty comb through the voluminous hair, pick at the long fingernails and revisit the rumors of an elusive stadium Rock star who spent his adulthood feeling miscast and misunderstood. Steve is a lifelong Fleetwood Mac fan, enamored equally of Stevie and Lindsey, but perhaps more "Buck-curious." So curious, in fact, that he'd traveled down the wormhole of Buckingham-Nicks erotic fan fiction. Matty is more of a neophyte, familiar with the canonical Mac releases but generally unaware of and confused by Buckingham's solo career. Together, they return to "Under the Skin," Buckingham's fourth solo album, released in 2006. As he approached sixty, Buckingham was a relative newlywed, a new (old) dad and still at odds with his former girlfriend and bandmate. Circumstances led to him making a very hushed, insular solo album, full of diary confessions and his trademark finger picking. He plays nearly every instrument, quietly harmonizes with himself, and manages to sound a good deal like Iron & Wine or Jose Gonzalez. If he were thirty and Swedish, "Under the Skin" would likely have been hailed by Pitchfork. In middle age, however, his ennui, though delivered quietly, sounds loud, clear and decidedly less "hip." During the conversation, our hosts cover everything from Art Garfunkel to "What About Bob?" Both of which, it turns out, have something to do with "Under the Skin." To read more about Lindsey Buckingham's "Under the Skin," check out the full essay at Past Prime.

On episode 15 of Past Prime, Steve and Matty try to recapture "That Summer Feeling" through the music of a wide-eyed, hip shaking, Velvet Underground acolyte (and sometimes stonemason). Our co-hosts return to "I, Jonathan," from 1992, when Jonathan Richman was was forty-one, on the brink of a star turn with the Farrelly Brothers, and in a reflective, autobiographical mode. Many years after his famous brush with greatness in the early 70s with The Modern Lovers and his, perhaps more famous, and surprising pivot into music for grown up children, Richman delivered what many considered by many to be his greatest solo album. "I, Jonathan" is, on the surface, a breezy, delightful trip from Boston to California, from the 1960s to the 1990s, from a rooming house on Venice Beach to a lesbian bar in northern California. Beneath the surface, however, it is also a revealing look at an artist who'd spent decades getting simpler, more acoustic, more elemental and closer to the core of something innocent and true. Along the way, we get a handful of Richman's very best songs, a little surf guitar, a killer Lou Reed imitation and six minutes of that twilight, grass on the bare feet, summer feeling. To read more about Jonathan Richman's "I, Jonathan," check out the full essay at Past Prime.

It's baseball season! So, it seems only fitting that episode 14 is about Past Prime Pastime! Matty is joined by Past Prime baseball correspondent, Kevin H. Blake to discuss the greatness of former Baltimore Orioles great, Edward Clarence Murray -- specifically his abominable final season, with the Angels and Dodgers in 1997, wherein he bounced between the Majors and AAA. After a Hall of Fame career defined by uncanny consistency, "Steady Eddie" had nothing left in the tank at the age of forty-one. His body was finally breaking down, he struggled to bat .200 and he'd been left merely with "warning track power." For a quarter of a century, Matty -- a lifelong Eddie Murray fan -- has been scarred by his hero's feeble last stand. Matty had once been so inordinately invested in Murray's great career that, in school, if his (so called) friends wanted to insult him, they would simply shout "Murray sucks" in his general direction. Fortunately, Kevin is here to help provide counsel through the rupture of fandom. With one psych class under his belt but an honorary PHD in neuroses, Dr. (he's a lawyer) Blake gently helps Matty understand "why Eddie" and what those final few weeks that the great, middle-aged ballplayer spent in the minor leagues actually signify. This is a podcast about professional baseball in middle age and the attachments we make and break with our heroes. Also, it's completely funny. So, oil up your gloves. Throw some pine tar on those bats. And get ready for "Steady Eddie." To read more about Eddie Murray, check out the full essay at Past Prime.

On episode 13 of Past Prime, Steve and Matty return to 1985, when a thirty four year old, mullet-curious drummer, who loved Hawaiian shirts and Motown, ruled the airwaves. We know what you're saying -- this album is not "Past Prime" -- it's the very definition of "prime!" Maybe so. It produced number one hits. It won Grammys. It sold tens of millions of copies. It landed Collins on the mountaintop, alongside more telegenic Pop stars like MJ, Prince, Madonna and Sting. But critics did not abide. In fact, Phil Collins, himself, doesn't even think it's his best work. Moreover, in spite of its popularity, the album has basically been erased from the airwaves. When was the last time you heard "Sussudio," "Take Me Home" or "Don't Lose My Number?" Steve theorizes that Phil's mixture of horns, drums and synth programming literally went beyond Pop -- beyond prime. And, in that way, it went to Past Prime. Matty, is less convinced. While he loves several of the songs and was enamored of Phil's "talented Dad" vibe, he's less enchanted by the relentless "Jazzercise Rock" on the album's deep cuts. After a frisky battle, our co-hosts move on to unite in their assessment of Collins' 1993 one man show, "Both Sides." Whereas "No Jacket" pushed into the stratosphere, beyond Prime, "Both Sides" is the sad, lonely diary entry of a middle-aged man. It features eleven, glacially slow, sad-sack tracks -- most of them over six minutes in length. And while none of those songs are entitled "Can I Smell Your Hair," they all could be. It's Phil's own favorite solo album. It's also perhaps the very definition of Past Prime. Get your white linen pants, your bold, short-sleeved collared shirts and your Casios ready. It goes without saying, however -- jackets are optional for this one. To read more about Phil Collins "No Jacket Required," check out the full essay at Past Prime.

On episode 12 of Past Prime, Steve and Matty dust off their monocles and their old, college Comp Lit textbooks to try to understand Sting's 1991 solo album, "The Soul Cages." Following his too short stint as the too handsome frontman of the world's most popular Rock band, the former Gordon Matthew Thomas Sumner turned his attention to headier subjects. Jazz replaced Reggae and then Jazz was paired with modern Classical music. After two hit solo albums, however, Sting hit a wall. He had writer's block, coupled with the tragic deaths of both of his parents. "The Soul Cages" was his literal breakthrough, but also an elaborate metaphor for trapped spirits and trapped creativity. And if that sounds even vaguely fun, rest assured it is just that -- only vaguely so. The album won a bunch of Grammys, nearly topped the charts and was violently approved by polite society. But now, thirty years later, it is time to ask: What were we all thinking? How did this music win a Grammy for best Rock song against Metallica, Jane's Addiction and Tom Petty? Was this music even made for public consumption or was it simply a sad, if lovely, tool for personal catharsis? And, most importantly, can we ever isolate Sting's musical appeal from his sexual appeal? Join us, as we search for meaning in the hull of "The Soul Cages." To read more about Sting's "The Soul Cages" check out the full essay at Past Prime.

On episode 11 of Past Prime, Steve and Matty reassess a guitar great who was called "god" in the 1960s, "Slowhand" in the 1970s, and who was passed down generation to generation as a Classic Rock treasure. But, perhaps his greatest accomplishments are as a style icon. His Armani blazers fit great. He pulls off a mock turtleneck somehow. And he offsets his lack of a chin with a heck of a five o'clock shadow. But that's not what Eric Clapton is known for. We know The Yardbirds. Cream. Blind Faith. Derek and the Dominos. Layla. After Midnight. Wonderful Tonight. Cocaine. If you grew up in the 70s or 80s, Clapton's accomplishments and status were not questioned. He was simply the greatest living guitarist. He was a critically important artist. These were presented as facts. But, by the time Eric Clapton released "Journeyman" in 1989, he was coming back from a bruising decade and the truth was slowly revealing itself. Clapton was telling us the truth in that title -- "Journeyman." So, while forty-something Boomers popped the CD into their BMWs and The Grammy was getting engraved, some of us were finally able to hear the actual revelations: That Clapton was never much of a songwriter. That he mostly covered other people's songs. That he was less than a great singer. And that he never made a masterpiece as a solo artist. Derek and the Dominos was the outlier. The rest was a lot of fiddling with The Blues -- sometimes louder, sometimes trippier, mostly softer. But, for over fifty years, Clapton has been trying to tell us the truth -- he's a journeyman, with no chin, but a lot of style. To read more about Eric Clapton's "Journeyman" check out the full essay at Past Prime.

On episode 10 of Past Prime, Steve and Matty lift the veil off of one of the great cold cases of American Classic Rock. The co-hosts first travel back to 1988 and pull on the thread of CSNY's "American Dream." And then they keep pulling and pulling, all the way back through "Deja Vu" and through CSN's (minus Y) 1969 debut. They shed their Gen X biases, the decades of Boomer propaganda and cast a sober look at the 80s comeback and everything that came before it. What they discover is grisly -- not for the faint of heart. And especially not for avid CSN fans. Ultimately, they find that CSNY was a folksy "boy band," highly competent at three part harmonies and not a whole lot more (except for the Young songs). They discover that CSNY were elevated to Hippie Rock Mt. Rushmore on the basis of great timing and bad drugs. And, for nearly fifty years, most of us bought the story. But, no more. "American Dream" is quickly dispatched with. The songs are mostly awful. Croz struggles with competence, Nash with depth and Stills with self-awareness. The longer, winding journey, however, is the investigation of how the band ascended and who was to blame for the fraud? If you are curious about late 60s fin de siecle moment when the Hippie dream was on the line, then this is the episode for you. On the other hand, if you still believe that American bands of the 60s and 70s made the best Rock and Roll (we don't mean Soul, Funk, Jazz, Country or Folk) in the world, please brace yourself before pressing play. To read more about CSNY's "American Dream" check out the full essay at Past Prime.

On episode 9 of Past Prime, Steve helps Matty confront the shame he has lived with for turning his back on Queen in the late 1980s. "The Miracle," was released in 1989 amid a very public divorce for Brian May and, more importantly, private, terminal suffering for Freddie. Steve has the revelation that Queen was the sort of band that would strike out nine times in a row before hitting an unthinkable home run in their tenth at bat. Together, he and Matty try to understand how a band could make timeless hits out of opera, foot stomps and laser beams. Along the way, and in an effort to redeem his former self, Matty digs in and tries his best suggest that "The Miracle," while not a good album, is an above average Queen album. Steve demurs and suggests that there may actually be nine terrible songs on the record and that the best of them ("I Want it All") is only redeemable as a clear statement of purpose. Matty takes a couple of cheap shots, appealing to Steve's love of Meat Loaf and Michael Jackson. But Steve rebuffs the comparison while kindly granting Matty forgiveness for dumping Queen in favor of The Clash. To read more about Queen's "The Miracle" check out the full essay at Past Prime.

On episode 8 of Past Prime, Matty & Steve head to Muswell Hill and share a pint as they gush over The Kinks' oft-maligned, 1984 album, "Word of Mouth." This album, a staple of used record bins and thrift stores, marked the end of a relative hot streak the Davies brothers had experienced at the end of the 70s and beginning of the 80s. Its cover was ghastly, desperately insisting this original British Invasion band was as modern as Duran Duran. It had Rauchenberg-esque pink lips on it and yellow swooshes — a pop art eyesore. “Word of Mouth” was described as chasing trends and as containing production that sounded "pinched" and "compressed," even by the 1980’s worst standards. Its songs were been called “forgettable.” Well, we dissent! The album did not have any musical problem, it had a marketing problem. Matty & Steve spend nearly an hour wistfully discussing sibling rivalry, Dave Davies greatest song ("Living on a Thin Line"), and The Kinks unique position as the greatest supporting actors in Rock history. They draw a through line from this album to the music of Husker Du and The Replacements before concluding that, while "Word of Mouth" may not be an elite Kinks' album, it is, in fact, a stellar collection of songs. It also, sadly, marked the beginning of the end for the band's final, unexpected third (fourth?) peak. To read more about The Kinks "Word of Mouth," check out the full essay at Past Prime.

On episode 7 of Past Prime, Matty & Steve sit down in their bespoke suits for a cup of Earl Grey tea to discuss The Rolling Stones' 1994 "comeback" album, "Voodoo Lounge." Released after a string of tepid albums and more frequent and public spats between The Glimmer Twins, the band got into the studio with taskmaster Don Was and aimed to reclaim some of their greatness. The result was a bloated, if beloved, album that sounded like The Stones' politely imitating The Stones. Mothers and fathers were delighted by it familiarity. They shared it with their children. Together, half of the people on Earth went to see the gargantuan tour. MTV played the video with the band walking around New York City, taller than skyscrapers. If you were alive in 1994, you were very aware of "Voodoo Lounge." Matty suggests that "Voodoo Lounge" sounds like a well delivered press release from Rolling Stones Inc. Steve suggests it sounds like expensive plastic surgery. They both agree that the two songs that Keith sings -- "The Worst" and "Through and Through" -- are actually the best songs on the album. As lifelong Stones fans, they miss Billy Preston on piano. They miss when the guys would sing back up. But they don not miss "Dirty Work" or "Steel Wheels." It's easy for our hosts to conclude that "Voodoo Lounge" is a step forward after several steps back. But like man of us, they do wonder if Mick will ever lay off the dick jokes and lady car metaphors. To read more about The Rolling Stones' "Voodoo Lounge," check out the full essay at Past Prime.

On episode 6 of Past Prime, Matty & Steve gather their twenty-sided dice and Ren Faire costumes to revisit Jethro Tull's 1999 album slash website advertisement, "J-Tull Dot Com." Nearly thirty years after "Aqualung" and over a decade after the Heavy Metal Grammy winning, "Crest of a Knave," Ian Anderson and company returned with what would become the final Tull studio album. Our co-hosts try to unpack a band that has been simultaneously more enduring, more successful and weirder than any Rock band in music history. Over fifty years, Jethro Tull released several number one albums, many top ten albums and outsold Yes and Genesis combined. In search and in honor of the band's legacy, Matty and Steve try to find some middle-aged connection with Anderson's "Prog Flute Bangers" from 1999. Underneath the trill of the woodwind and the flash of Martin Lancelot (really his middle name) Barre's guitar, they discover a very literate songwriter, with indisputable vision and craft. As to what it all means and whether he is sincerely singing about woodland creatures, fjords and semi-feral cats, however, is beyond Matty & Steve's comprehension. They discuss whether any musician has ever "owned" an instrument the way Anderson owns the flute. They wonder what other bands are most likely to be played at Renaissance Fairs. Matty confesses that, as a teen, he assumed Jethro Tull was a man's name and that he was some sort of rail-riding, hobo genius. Steve, meanwhile was forever saddened by his experience seeing Tull live in upstate New York in the early 1990s, in a one eighth full arena. In their middle-aged search, the hosts find some grace and affection but very little insight into the meaning of Tull. To read more about Jethro Tull's "J-Tull Dot Com" check out the full essay at Past Prime.