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.