When a brilliant artist of any discipline reaches their twilight years — which in popular music is mid-to-late thirties — the best you can usually hope for is good rather than great.
The lightning bolt of inspiration that made them what they are is in the rear-view mirror, and although there’s almost always the occasional spark that reminds you of who they were and sometimes still are, the artist is in a constant battle with their former selves. They might still crush it live, but there’s a reason why the new songs are bathroom breaks. Some resign themselves to it; others try, with seeming desperation, to stay relevant or, worse,
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