Crosby Stills Nash, Live It Up (1990)

From the very first sounds, several thwacks of a reverb-drenched drum leading into some limp synth vamping, Live It Up is such a sad embarrassment that you almost, almost feel sorry for these poor desperate fools. They’re so washed up that they farmed out much of the songwriting to a bunch of anonymous hacks and hangers-on, and when Stills does deliver a composition at track three, you immediately wish they’d just admitted defeat and brought Desmond Child onboard. A quarter-century of wealth and fame, and here’s what Stills has to say: “Tomboy, always with the wrong boy/You need a strong boy, Tomboy, Tomboy.” She also shoots pool, and –wait for it, I quote verbatim—“got a heart of gold.” For shame, man.

Crosby’s accumulated wisdom isn’t much better—let’s see, it’s bad when teenagers in Ireland suffer, and he “don’t care what has got you down/You can turn it around.” Graham Nash just fades into the backdrop, an anonymous voice singing anonymous songs, and there’s nothing to say about the sound of the album beyond the fact that it consists of stale aping of already-retrograde sonic trends (for comparison: the Damn Yankees’s debut came out this same year, and sounded vastly more relevant). Every one of the ten tracks is a dull, plodding, soulless fiasco; offhand I cannot think of a worse record by a washed-up 60s group striving for relevance. The single meager positive thing to be said of this is that its goofy hot-dogs-on-the-moon cover is better than some of the poor visual choices Joni Mitchell was making around this time. Otherwise, an absolute zero all around.