I’m the biggest fan in a certain sense, because my brain and heart is a startlingly impressive catalog of (mostly) American popular music. I could have been a DJ. I haven’t heard everything by any means, but I’ve heard a lot.
Even some of you who proverbially live under a pop culture rock [Bryan Cross.—ed.] may have heard of our actual leader, Empress of The Free World, Taylor Swift. What many do not know is that she is named after a notable musician of much older vintage, James Taylor. I’ll just say that probably his fans and fans of Bob Dylan could duke it out for the question of who is America’s greatest living songwriter. Mr. Taylor in fact is so influential that a young boy growing up in Oklahoma put on his records (and others) and dreamed of being a singer. When the boy made good, he changed music forever, selling over 200 million LPs in about 10 years, and taking the “Country” radio format from a niche to outright competing with the biggest stars in rock history. We know that man today as Garth Brooks. I saw Garth in Vegas in 2012, at the Wynn Hotel. Only 250 people in the room, and we paid $500 each. It wasn’t a concert like we’re familiar with; it was an intimate narration of his experiences with the music that inspired him. Anyway, when Garth became a father, he named his eldest daughter Taylor, also.
And the funny thing is, when you see James Taylor, he doesn’t at all scream “rock legend.” He walks out on stage in comfortable clothes with his hands folded, and bows to the audience, sits on a stool, and plays most of his songs on an acoustic guitar. Frankly, he looks like a professor. And in fact, his Dad was one. I got to see him live in 2016. A dude that was 68 years old at the time shouldn’t be this good, I thought. Singing and playing an instrument is hard. I’m sure now being 78, he won’t tour much longer at all. I wouldn’t. I’m sure I cried a little; I’m pretty sure the whole audience did. I wouldn’t say James Taylor has narrated my life; I would say he just narrates his own, and other friends, and we’ve just eaten it up for almost 60 years.
As I quote a few things here, I’ll let you know that it’s from how I’ve heard them sung and played, not liner notes.
The earliest and most known songs were written from 1968 to 1976, but a funny thing happened somewhere in there: he’d sung remakes of some soul classics, or blues, and they got popular. And he was inspired to write reams of new albums and songs in my lifetime. Dare I say that the stuff from 1985 to now rivals his earliest music. They invented various songwriters halls of fame for guys like this.
In 1970, his brother Alex had a son. Fittingly, they named him James. And so the elder James intended to drive down from Boston to North Carolina to see the baby. Wondering what he’d look like, and what it’d be like to hold him. And he thought he should write a lullaby for him. But manly. A “cowboy lullaby.” And so the celebrated “Sweet Baby James” narrates the start of that trip this way:
Now the first of December was covered with snow
And so was the turnpike from Stockbridge to Boston
Now the Berkshires seem dreamlike on account of that frosting
With ten miles behind me
And ten thousand more to go
—
James Taylor is the sort of singer-songwriter that you listen to on a record, in a room. He’s not background music. Because once that song becomes part of you, it becomes the story that you tell with his words. On the other hand, this kinda shy unassuming guy has filled stadiums.
The aforementioned Taylor Swift sings her song “Begin Again,” released in 2012 in part with these words, describing a date with a new love:
You said you never met one girl who had
As many James Taylor records as you
But I do
—
At the risk of being insolent to the Empress—granted that her catalog for a full 20 years now is rightfully celebrated around the world—Yearning Taylor is better than Fornicating Taylor. This makes sense; “Will they, or won’t they?” is every great sitcom, and Jane Austen. The immodest divulging of every detail is pornography.
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