Time Takes Time (1992)
1. Weight of the World 2. Don't Know a Thing (About Love) 3. Don't Go Where the Road Don't Go 4. Golden Blunders 5. All in the Name of Love 6. After All These Years 7. I Don't Believe You 8. Runaways 9. In a Heartbeat 10.What Goes Around
A comeback of sorts—though calling it that almost undersells the effort. Time Takes Time, released in 1992, was Ringo Starr’s first studio album in nearly a decade, and in many ways, his finest since the early '70s. His previous outing, Old Wave, had been quietly shelved in the United States and largely forgotten elsewhere, while the intervening years were filled with shifting line-ups of his "All-Starr Band" (a likeable but rotating revue that seldom left more than a novelty imprint). Behind the scenes, Ringo was grappling with alcoholism—a fact he later acknowledged with unflinching honesty. By the time this album emerged, he was sober, steady, and, somewhat unexpectedly, back in form.
Gone were the Beatles. Not a single ex-bandmate appears on the record. And yet, oddly, Time Takes Time may be the most Beatlesque thing Ringo had done in two decades. It’s brimming with the kind of melodic charm, vocal warmth, and pop craftsmanship that once seemed his birthright. Instead of calling on familiar faces, Ringo turned to a new generation of collaborators—though not exactly radicals. Members of Jellyfish and The Posies contribute, as do four different producers, including the ever-industrious Jeff Lynne. These choices may suggest modernity, but the result is more reverent than revolutionary. If anything, these artists had built careers on their ability to channel mid-’60s classicism. Ringo, knowingly or not, played directly to their strengths—and they to his.
Of course, four producers on a single LP invites a certain lack of cohesion, and the album does have its moments of stylistic whiplash. But it’s never disjointed enough to derail the listening experience. In fact, the Jeff Lynne-produced tracks—Don’t Go Where the Road Don’t Go and After All These Years—stand out not only for their sheer professionalism but for their uncanny polish. Lynne’s fingerprints are unmistakable: ringing guitars, stacked harmonies, precision drum loops. These could just as easily have appeared on an ELO album—or a Tom Petty single, or a George Harrison comeback. But Ringo co-wrote both songs, and whether or not the arrangements blur his identity, his voice remains the grounding thread.
Elsewhere, the tone is lighter, even whimsical. Several tracks radiate that unmistakable McCartney-esque bounce—so much so that it’s genuinely surprising to learn Paul had no hand in the songwriting. Whether this was conscious emulation or mere coincidence hardly matters. What matters is that it works. Songs feel breezy without being hollow, nostalgic without being tired. This was the album fans had been hoping Ringo might still have in him: clean, charming, tuneful, and above all, sincere.
There are a few minor missteps—moments where the material doesn’t quite rise to the occasion—but none are egregious. And taken as a whole, Time Takes Time marks a return not only to form, but to credibility. Ringo, no longer a novelty act or footnote, managed to make a record that felt both like a tribute to his past and a modest step forward. A late-period triumph? Perhaps not quite. But certainly a reminder that the most underestimated Beatle still had something worth saying.