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Feb 08, 2011 By Frank Valish Web Exclusive

It's strange to go back and revisit the music of your younger days. Sometimes it's gratifying. Occasionally it's revelatory. But often it's simply embarrassing. Regardless, this sort of auditory reminiscence and examination of youth in hindsight is almost always satisfying in some form or fashion, at least for me —as if one could go back to high school knowing what ones knows today.

One of the artists that, for whatever reason, struck my immature and naïve ears and heart in my younger days was John Waite. While best known for the 1980s staple "Missing You," and such ballads as "How Did I Get By Without You" and (sigh) "When I See You Smile," the latter with his then-band Bad English, Waite cut his teeth in the '70s as leader of the English power-pop band, The Babys, an act which may very well have been more highly regarded today as progenitors of power pop if not for the mainstream success of Waite's later years.

Waite's mainstream hits ruled radio during my suburban middle- and high-school years. I've always liked his voice and still do, perhaps at least in part due to the nostalgic feelings it brings. So, when the opportunity arose to see Waite perform in mid-November at a dinner-and-a-show venue in the hipster community of New Hope, PA, I decided to go. Now, though the bright lights of fame dimmed for Waite as the '90s turned to grunge, he has continued to work, releasing solo albums at a relatively consistent pace and touring more regularly than anyone would have reason to expect, most often as of late with that other staple of '80s radio gold, Eddie Money. But tonight, Waite, with an acoustic band, was headliner. As one might expect, the audience was chock full of middle-aged wives and mothers painting the town red, in the way only middle-aged wives and mothers can do. When Waite came onto the stage after a bizarrely rousing introduction by a local DJ who looked like he would have been more at home at a Bad Brains performance than a one by a Bad English alum, the female swooning began. Most notable was one particular woman who screamed compliments like bloody murder seemingly at every toss of Waite's perfectly smooth, shoulder length mane of hair.

Frontloading the set with his schmaltzy hits, Waite sounded exactly as I'd remembered him from 20 years ago, his voice seemingly unaffected by the rigors of past fame and the indignities of constantly touring with Eddie Money. But for my own particular nostalgic experience, this was a downer, mostly for the realization that I had actually enjoyed these songs all those years ago. Couldn't I have been into Joy Division or The Smiths? (Incidentally, I often wonder whether my early musical tastes would have been more advanced had my parents had any Stones, Joplin, or Lennon in their collections instead of Mathis, Denver, and Fogelberg.)

Thankfully, however, if one digs beneath the surface of Waite's pop career, there are more than a couple laudable compositions, and the second part of his set on this night featured some of this more gratifying material. In his lost late '90s/early '00s years, Waite released some truly affecting pieces of singer/songwriter pop, examinations of New York City life, introspections, possibly autobiographical, on a self-medicating former rock star, and narratives about young musicians dreaming of stardom. And it is songs like these that are the most moving and revelatory in terms of the artist John Waite has become. "Downtown," the tale of the downtrodden former star whose hit song is now more recognizably sung by another, is a window seldom seen into the consciousness of an artist whose more famous days are past him. And, even more impressively, when Waite launches into early career peaks, such as 1982's rocking "Mr. Wonderful" and such '70s Babys material as the "Midnight Rendezvous," or the show closer "Head First," it's like the years have melted away. Here, the man is untethered by his former fame or the weight of past hits, such like that which led the protagonist of "Downtown" to the street corner for his high 15 years ago. It's a man reborn. And for me, it is some small reassurance that maybe you can in fact go home again.

As a postscript to this story, just prior to its post, I received word that John Waite was officially making a comeback, with his first new album of new material in almost 10 years, entitled Rough & Tumble. I sought it out, somewhat hesitantly, wondering whether the old bird had any new songs in him. And skeptics be damned, because the album is not half bad. Guitar oriented, without the cheese of his more recognizable work, Rough & Tumble is more blues than it is pop, a down and dirty return of sorts for Waite. Such songs as the title track and a supercharged, kick-ass version of Ike and Tina's "Sweet Rhode Island Red" update Waite's classic Babys sound, while cuts like "Better Off Gone" and "If You Ever Get Lonely" successfully recall the big power-ballady tracks of Waite's heyday. Add some hit or miss experimentation, and Rough & Tumble is a largely successful return. Perhaps it will even allow good old Mr. Wonderful another taste of the spotlight.