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"James Taylor: Immense Singer, Considerable Cranium" MOJO April 1998 By David Hepworth His father was a senior academic, and as he approaches his 50th birthday it's easy to see the son in Dad's shoes. James Taylor would be a hugely popular figure on campus. He could even use his vacations to play shows like this one, opening The Barbican's Inventing America season. He's tall, stringly cove, bending carefully between each number to take a sip from the glass of water at his feet; his spiels are masterpieces of self-effacement, a single eyebrow shooting up the considerable cranium to signal surprise when somebody calls for a tune, the salute with which he periodically acknowledges the audience's applause, and every now and then the little jig that serves to emphasise that this apparently most self-possesed of individuals is quite capable of being overtaken by the outrageous prettiness of the music he has come to play. It's a surprise to discover what an immense singer he is, with a fifth gear that becomes apparent not just in the rousing extempore section at the end of the best version of "Up On the Roof" I've ever heard, but also in the surefootedness with which he picks his way through the giddy complexities of "Slap Leather" or "Your Smiling Face." Starting solo with "Something In the Way She Moves" from his first album, he's joined by drummer Carlos Vega, bassist Jimmy Johnson and keyboardsman Clifford Carter for crowd-pleasers like "Riding On a Railroad" and "Carolina In My Mind.". Then the inevitable new album material - though happily Hourglass just happens to be among the very best records that James Taylor has ever made. There's "Line 'Em Up" which begins with Nixon saying goodbye to his staff on the White House lawn before tracking through "some sensitive singer-songwriter shit" to climax with a mass Moonie wedding in Madison Square; "Enough To Be On Your Way," a strange and encouraging dream about a death in the family, and, pertinent to his obsession with the notion that the secret of his life is enjoying the passing of time, a ravishing song called "Another Day." He did all his hits - "Fire And Rain," "Steamroller Blues," a solo "Sweet Baby James." These were good but no more affecting than his version of "Frozen Man," a song inspired by the discovery of a 19th century sailor buried in the permafrost, which contains the verse, "I know what it means to freeze to death / To lose a little life with every breath / To say goodbye to life on earth / To come around again." If you read the sory of his bad times you can recognise the truth of that testament. But James Taylor's artistry is such that you don't have to. |
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