University of Virginia Library

Nothing New Or Fancy, Taylor's Mystique Remains

By LARRY BUXTON

CD/Arthur Laurent

James Taylor; Troubador Of The Seventies

P-K German has vindicated
itself. After several mediocre
attempts at big names and
quality performances, a
winning formula has finally
been discovered.

The fall concerts weren't
particularly outstanding,
although both John Denver
and The Kinks delivered
enjoyable performances.
Chicago was the year's first
sell-out, thanks to Rugby Road
and the local high schools; but
those who were tired of living
in the past and hearing the "big
hits" repeated on stage began
to feel disillusioned. This
disillusionment reached its
zenith, and concert quality its
nadir, with the appearance of
the Elephant's Memory Band
and Chuck Berry in December.

Since March, however, P-K
German has brought three of
the finest concerts
Charlottesville has yet seen to
U. Hall: the Fifth Dimension,
Manassas, and "Sweet Baby
James" Taylor. Saturday
night's performance was a
near-perfect merger of a crowd
that was eagerly anticipating
some good vibes, and an artist
who is quite adept at providing
them. There was nothing new,
nothing very fancy, just some
good quiet music from the
troubadour of the early
Seventies.

"Sweet Baby James" served
as his calling card, and from
there on in it was like Old
Home Week. Danny (Kootch)
Kortchmar and Leland "Mr.
Natural" Sklar came strolling
on for a down-home version of
"Pretty Boy Floyd" that they
probably play in their hotel
rooms at night. The trio was
then augmented by Betty
Sandwick on keyboards, Joel
O'Brien (from Carole King's
albums) on drums, and two
Nicaraguans, Sergio and Libro
Castorro, on percussion.

The complete group
launched into "Nobody But
You," and the jazz feel that
was hinted at on the One Man
Dog album was quite explicit.
Kootch's short and choppy
guitar licks, often out of place
on many songs, fit the tune
impeccably, and he turned in
one of his best solos of the
evening.

This new jazz-folk approach
works well for Taylor and he
knows it. Many of his old
standby tunes–"Let Me Ride,"
"Mud Slide Slim," "Sunny
Skies," "You've Got a
Friend"–have all gotten this
rejuvenation treatment. Before
intermission, there was a
bouncy, even joyous "Fire and
Rain," done like all the painful
past was behind him, and it was
all worth it.

The old favorites, bird
whistles, and good vibes
continued into the second half,
but no new material was to be
heard. The songs ranged from a
sing-along "You've Got a

Friend" to a bluesy
"Steamroller" and a cute
Okie From Muskogee," but it
was soon apparent that there
were to be no new musical
surprises.

Instead, all of the stock
favorites were done, all the the
delight of a good Wahoo
crowd. Only six of his 27 songs
were recent ones; the rest were
those that have defined, and
limited, the appeal of James
Taylor. What was that about
living in the past?

Taylor's reluctance, or
inability, to break new musical
ground seems both healthy and
dangerous. For James Taylor as
a person it signals an
acceptance of his past, a
personal history of loneliness,
despair, and drugs.

On previous tours, his angry
refusals to sing "Fire and
Rain," for example, intimated
a desire to repress that past and
press on, even while still
hooked on heroin.

But the slightly
disappointing sales of One Man
Dog and, most importantly, his
recent marriage to Carly Simon
(yes, she was there too) have
forced him to re-evaluate who
he is and where he is going. He
has since kicked the habit and
has apparently gained enough
self-confidence to face those
days squarely.

But for James Taylor as a
performer, the realization that
"Fire and Rain" is closer to the
real James Taylor than "Chili
Dog" can be a dangerous and
suffocating one. It is a
realization that inevitably
causes one to wonder what is
his future in the music world.
Can he forever sing "Fire and
Rain" and "Sweet Baby
James"?

The new jazz-folk influences
bode well for the future, but it
is doubtful that he will ever
release another Sweet Baby
James or Mud Slide Slim.
James Taylor may have fallen
from the ranks of the pop
idols, yet the mystique
remains. It was that very
mystique that sent over 5800
people out of University Hall
happy, a fitting conclusion to a
Happy Days weekend.