Inside Out

Phil Collins is easy to mock. The gated drums. The Disney ballads. The fact that he looks like a substitute teacher who accidentally became one of the biggest rock stars on the planet. Critics have been taking shots at him for forty years.

But then you encounter a track like “Inside Out,” buried on …But Seriously between “Another Day in Paradise” and songs you’ve forgotten, and you remember: this guy can write.

The album was his turn toward social commentary—homelessness, inequality, the things pop stars weren’t supposed to talk about in 1989. But while those singles made the news, “Inside Out” asked quieter questions. The ones you ask yourself at 3 AM when you can’t sleep.

Who are you when no one’s watching? Is there even a difference anymore between the mask and the face? Collins doesn’t pretend to have answers. He just knows the questions keep him up at night.

The production is peak late-eighties—polished, layered, that specific glow that records had in 1989 before Pro Tools flattened everything. But it never overwhelms what he’s actually saying. The vulnerability in his voice cuts through the reverb.

We live in an age of curated identities now. Instagram filters and LinkedIn personas and the version of yourself you perform for different audiences. Collins saw it coming. “Inside Out” is about the exhausting work of being perceived, and the terrifying prospect of being truly known.

Turns out the substitute teacher understood something the cool kids missed.