COSTA MESA, CA
Taylor's problem had to do with the increasingly dull state of his
quasi-annual summer strolls through the "sheds"--the circuit of big,
lucrative, outdoor amphitheaters he routinely plied with big, slick,
polished soft-rock bands replicating the sound of his albums.
His last appearance in Orange County, in 1994 at Irvine Meadows, made
it clear that the routine was played out. Many fans streamed for the
exits long before the end of the marathon performance, not even pausing
when "Fire and Rain" rolled around. It may have had something to do with
the predictability of Taylor's presentation: the gently melancholy
nuggets at which he frequently can excel mixed with too many unconvincing
attempts at rock 'n' roll for the sake of pacing and balance.
Now, Taylor is midway through his first-ever symphonic pops tour, a
22-city itinerary that included stops Friday and Saturday at the Orange
County Performing Arts Center. He is being backed by local orchestras--in
this case, the Pacific Symphony--and his own understated bass-drums-piano
trio.
Not exactly a daring move, given the familiarity of that ploy, but an
excellent one nevertheless. When Taylor sang "Fire and Rain" on Friday,
conductor Edward Cumming and the orchestra helped him turn it into a
grand, swelling anthem, writing large the song's ultra-familiar but still
arresting portrait of a man struggling in a moment of shock and grief to
hang onto his fragile mental balance.
The orchestral backing lent sweep and scope to other Taylor nuggets,
including "The Frozen Man," "Millworker" and a splendid "Carolina in My
Mind." There wasn't a hint of syrup or bombast, and Taylor's warm,
wistful voice remained at the emotional and musical core of every song.
The widened aural scope was not achieved at the expense of the personal,
intimate feeling that is the essence of Taylor's singing and his best
songwriting.
He used the occasion to stretch a bit. After an opening half hour by
the orchestra, which performed selections from Aaron Copland's "Rodeo,"
Taylor appeared--looking for all the world like a New England parson in
black suit and white collar--and established linkage by singing Copland
settings of two 19th-Century folk songs.
He sang the hymn "At the River" with humble but confident equanimity
rather than with a dynamic pouring of the soul. During the whimsical "I
Bought Me a Cat," he stumbled--probably deliberately--at various points
for the sake of laughs.
Later, he offered a folksy, appealingly hangdog-but-hopeful reading of
"Getting to Know You" from "The King and I" and a couple of Gershwin
songs--a passable "Fascinating Rhythm" (Taylor won't ever be the king of
swing) and an introspective take on "They Can't Take That Away From Me,"
a song of wistful but self-comforting reflection that is right up his
alley.
Taylor won the house easily with his customary low-keyed,
self-deprecatory humor and he seemed to have an instant, huggy,
pat-on-the-back rapport with Cumming. The long, lanky conductor joked
before the singer's arrival onstage that "for the first time, I'm working
with somebody who's taller and skinnier than myself."
Taylor joked a couple of times about the predictability--or, if you
want to look at it in a positive light, the reliability--of being Sweet
Baby James. Introducing a new song, he quipped that "it sounds like all
the old songs. It's technically new." Because of that sameness,
it can be easy to dismiss Taylor as the cliched epitome of the sensitive
singer-songwriter, but there is nothing cliched about his most-persistent
theme, which ran through much of his 90-minute performance at OCPAC.
Taylor sings about--and for many fans, no doubt promotes--the process
of finding ways to comfort and calm the soul amid turbulence and trouble.
If his reedy, naturally melancholy, easily pleasing (and, at 47, still
undiminished) voice omits the turbulence, it doesn't minimize the
trouble, and that's enough to avoid trivialization of his art.
His new song, "It's Enough to Be on Your Way," takes as its point of
departure the funeral of a friend and hones in on the necessity of
finding a source of inner peace to see one through the inevitable sorrows
that life brings:
This is your home, boy
One hopes that Taylor will explore other possibilities and
combinations. Maybe a "Me and Mephisto" tour with Randy Newman, whose
recent musical adaptation of "Faust" cast Taylor as God opposite Newman's
devil. Or perhaps a folksy "Walking on a Country Road" excursion in
collaboration with the fine, versatile bluegrass star Allison Krauss and
her Union Station band.
Anything, anything, but a return to routine shedding.
Shedding had become a problem for James Taylor, and no, we would
not stoop so low as to mock a fellow for the state of his hairline.
In an intimate hall, with the warm, rich sound of a well-tempered
orchestra surrounding him, it was obvious that Taylor's best performing
home is not lined with bare concrete. The only thing shed during this
fine evening was the tedium of the same old thing.
Build it behind your eyes
Carry it in your heart
Safe among your own