IRVINE, CA
But not frozen in bearing. In his low-key way, the smiling,
ever-gracious Taylor had no problem establishing a warm connection with
his fans. And certainly not frozen out of the marketplace. At 46, this
epitome of the early '70s introspective singer-songwriter movement
remains a hot concert draw. At Irvine, the 15,000-capacity house was
virtually packed.
What's frozen, and has been since early in his career, is Taylor's
artistic development. Ideally, a performer's path can take new directions
even as he or she moves through middle age. Taylor doesn't seem
interested in any such shifts.
His fans evidently don't mind. Taylor's voice remains as pleasing as
ever, with its gentle, reedy appeal and comfortable hangdog quality. He
plays most of the old favorites and usually renders them much as he
originally recorded them. His backing band is a nine-piece ensemble with
the skills to bring recording studio precision to the concert stage.
This conservative approach has its practical advantages if you
consider the commercial fate of some of the other noted
singer-songwriters of Taylor's generation.
Joni Mitchell took a drastic leap into the avant-garde during the late
'70s and her mass following dwindled, never to return. Jackson Browne
became political and stumbled over his own soapbox. Cat Stevens found
religion. So did Van Morrison, who, though he didn't feel compelled to
sacrifice his art on the altar of faith, alienated a whole bunch of
"Moondance" and "Tupelo Honey" fans as he journeyed further and further
into the mystic.
Neil Young turned down his big post-"Harvest" chance to be a sensitive
troubadour with a huge following because he was too fond of making a big,
noisy mess. Bob Dylan became known for willfully unpredictable
performances that could make classic songs unrecognizable, and his draw
fell off as a result.
Taylor has gone on as always, putting out a craftsmanlike new album
every three or four years over the past decade and a half. "The Frozen
Man" was drawn from his last studio release, "New Moon Shine" (1991). It
is a wry, fanciful tale about a 19th-Century mariner who gets frozen in
seawater when his ship goes down in the Arctic, only to be thawed out and
revived more than 100 years later. Metaphorically, it fits in with the
essential theme of Taylor's career--the search for warmth following
chilling exposure to bad emotional weather.
Obviously, a lot of people can still relate to that theme, and many
appreciate the comforting tone Taylor takes in conveying it. There's
nothing wrong with offering comfort, but it would have been better if
Taylor could also have mustered contrasting moments that were genuinely,
disturbingly dramatic, or more rough-hewn and unruly.
At Irvine Meadows, he played a solid opening hour that began with nods
to gospel and R&B influences in his own "Lo and Behold" and a laid-back
but reasonably funky take on Chuck Berry's "Promised Land." The headlong
Berry chug-a-lug riffing was replaced by the same easy-rolling New
Orleans slip-and-slide groove that Little Feat used for "Dixie Chicken."
"Your Smiling Face," one of Taylor's brightest and most affirmative
songs, got the biggest ovation, but his most striking performance was
"Country Road." Rather than play it just like the record, Taylor
came up with a well-wrought instrumental intro in which his rippling
acoustic guitar danced a while with Jimmy Johnson's trebly bass. The song
eventually shifted from melancholy to hopefulness with soul-style vocal
vamps and an elegant but sinewy band accompaniment that avoided the
slickness that would creep in from time to time during the show.
Taylor finished his first set nicely with a simple, just-so rendition
of the lullaby "Sweet Baby James," then took a 25-minute intermission.
During the second half, Taylor tried to find a higher gear, but the
show meandered uneventfully. A second Chuck Berry song, "Memphis," had
all the fire and humor taken out of it in a doleful, slow-moving
arrangement. A neutered version of Buddy Holly's "Not Fade Away" lacked
urgency and propulsion, while Taylor tinkered with the lyrics in a way
that turned it from a desperate bid to win a romantic cause into
something entirely more carefree and easygoing. Holly's anguished "My
love is bigger than a Cadillac/I try to show it but you drive me back"
became the lovey-dovey "I drive you and you drive me back." A run through
Eddie Cochran's "Summertime Blues" lacked the requisite wildness.
As soon as Taylor finished "You've Got a Friend," significant numbers
in the house turned into walking men and women, even though there was
still a good deal of music yet to come. The last half hour of the concert
was marked by an exodus to the parking lot reminiscent of Dodger Stadium
after the seventh inning. Not even "Fire and Rain" could halt the
defections. Maybe the fans wouldn't be so eager to get a head start if
they knew Taylor had some fresh twists and surprises in mind.
Once he was the Walking Man. Now you might peg James Taylor by one
of the more recent song titles on his set list Saturday night at Irvine
Meadows: "The Frozen Man."