James Taylor

important work in color

1969: James Taylor. 1970: Sweet Baby James. 1971: Mud Slide Slim and the Blue Horizon. 1972: One Man Dog. 1973: Walking Man. 1975: Gorilla. 1976: In the Pocket * Greatest Hits. 1977: JT. 1979: Flag. 1981: Dad Loves His Work. 1985: That’s Why I’m Here. 1988: Never Die Young. 1991: New Moon Shine.

A member of the aristocracy even before he became a member of the pop music aristocracy, James Taylor’s music has always been genteel. Like Joni Mitchell, Taylor was unable to relate to the sixties when he was in the middle of the turbulence: but unlike Mitchell, who at least provided voyeurs with a gregarious diarist’s inside view of how the other half lived, Taylor’s music has always been based on exclusion, avoidance, isolation. As such, Taylor is always getting back to the country though he seldom seems to leave it (musically or spiritually) – and the country he seems to cherish is the exclusive confines of out-of-the-way New England, or the secure environs of LA studio catering. When he writes, "I need your Golden-Gated cities like I need a hole in the head," he seems to be reconciled to being a partisan songwriter – one who is only trying to reach a particular group of people. Taylor’s main metaphors, which involve sunsets, darkness, and gray, rainy days, suggest that he’s been able to enjoy a few too many of them compared to the average Joe.

Taylor’s overly-conceived, laid-back approach to his art usually defeats him whenever he stretches for a first person narrative outside of his social status: "Johnnie Comes Back," "Brother Trucker," "Is That the Way You Look," "Mill Worker," "Bartender Blues," "Going Around One More Time," "Limousine Driver," "T-Bone" and "Runaway Boy" underline Taylor’s lack of story-telling dimension. This isn’t a matter of class, it’s a matter of aesthetic – and Taylor’s grasp of this domain just doesn’t compare to Mick Jagger’s, Lou Reed’s, Ray Davies’ or, on a folk level – Dave Van Ronk, Spider John Koerner, Nina Simone and a host of other rock writers (not just because "they’ve been there" – but because they have a more imaginative approach to song styling).

When Taylor tries to rock, it sound like he’s going easy on a hernia. He writes blues songs that are slightly condescending given their generalized concerns. "Night Owl," "Machine Gun Kelly," "Steam Roller," "Angry Blues," "Company Man," "Don’t Be Sad ‘Cause Your Sun is Down," "Everybody Has the Blues," "I Was Only Telling a Lie," "Terra Nova" and "Sleep Come Free Me" show the problems of a stylist that leans heavily on subservient backup musicians. (Taylor has used many of the same musicians longer than most bands have existed –guitarist Danny Kortchmar, bassist Leland Sklar, drummer Russ Kunkel – but these player’s aesthetic is egoless to the point of distraction.) Taylor’s is an art that never catches fire: the passion of musicians cutting loose, themes getting messy, his own comfort questioned, are well outside of his interests. Folky narcissism is triumphant.

There have been a few times when Taylor is like the Hollywood actor who is bland playing good guy roles, but comes to life when he plays a creep. Though "I Will Not Lie For You," "A Junkie’s Lament," "Nothing Like a Hundred Miles," "Gorilla" and "Sun on the Moon" aren’t sufficient enough to up his potency as an artist, they are side-trips that are definitely more rewarding than what’s found on the main road.

Pleasantness isn’t always a liability, and Taylor occasionally writes a good love song. He’s adept at road songs, and light, crooning complaints about things not going too well. His first two albums, James Taylor and Sweet Baby James – albums released when Taylor was closest to adolescent tragedy – are still provocatively sentimental, and for the most part, irresistibly singable. This isn’t nostalgia; the tunes are real good: but subsequent albums show Taylor, in typical singer-songwriter fashion, failing to match them. Mud Slide Slim and One Man Dog immediately followed, and and seem disengaged form the real world – Taylor’s is almost an art that doesn’t wish to communicate. His seventies’ work is uninspired except for everyman’s average amount of listenable songs per album, though Gorilla peaks somewhat as a cohesive batch of good material. Taylor released only three albums during the eighties, and none of them seem any better than usual given the time between.

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