James Taylor
The first James Taylor song I ever heard was “Every Day,” which was by no means one of the jams that solidified his stature as an Unequivocal American Treasure. But it did happen to be one of the songs airing on the Frank-and-Pat-Kalin-sanctioned easy-listening station that we were approved to listen to when I was eleven. I didn’t know that it was a remake from the poodle-skirted decade that I’ve always hated the very sound of its music (and still do); all I know was, it had an R&B sound to it, sung by a…a… golden-voiced meadowlark, I think it was. I didn’t pay much attention to who sung it; all I know is, every time it came on the car radio on the way to church, I asked my dad to turn it up.
The next time I remember encountering James Taylor was in college. I was hanging out in the den of my dormitory with a few friends my freshman year. It was a relatively “cold” winter’s night in East Texas, and the amusingly delinquent Ambassador College administration actually housed its students in a dorm with a working fireplace, so we had it blazing. (See, this is what it’s like to go to a religious liberal arts college; the only thing “blazing” is an actual, wooden log, more’s the pity. Ah, well. I made up for that after graduation. Allegedly.) Someone had what we called in those days a “boom box” with a tape of “Something in the Way She Moves” being strummed and crooned on as we intellectually discussed the merits of Dr. Sherrod’s regular history classes vs. Dr. Ward’s Biblical history classes. Way too cool for the groovy folk stylings of Mr. James Taylor, I suggested popping in something like Bel Biv Devoe, I’m sure, only to be shot down by my friend Troy who could not believe that I wasn’t digging the smooth and mellow sound, cretin that I was.
Troy was right. I stopped for second to actually listen to the song, and later, many many others, and that was it: love happened. Over the course of my next three years at college, I educated myself in all things James Taylor. My senior year, I splurged $27 and bought the 2-disc live album he’d released 3 years before and played it until I couldn’t listen to any other recording of his without anticipating the concert sounds captured on that 1993 album. I educated myself. Napster was a big help, and I would like to take this opportunity to apologize for stealing Mr. Taylor’s music and offer recompense – maybe like $6 or so? Just a guess of what I owe. Hard to say. I will literally hand that money to him should I ever meet him. I am DYING to hand over that money should the occasion present itself.
Anyway, anyone who knows me knows what a palavering, salivatingly rabid fan I am – and have been – over the years for James Taylor. I like to think I’m dignified about it, but one of my greatest personal life achievements is arranging for two of my nieces to experience their first concert with James Taylor. Sure, they were 4 and 6 years old and fell asleep roughly about the time he started crooning Country Road, but <brushing hands> the foundation is laid.
He’s on my dinner party list, the one I make up in my head of people I’d love to host in my home for one legendary evening. I’d find out his favorite dish and make it, even though I’m not particularly good at cooking. I’d even invite his wife Kim, because she seems like a really nice lady, in addition to his kids, Ben, Sally, Rufus and Henry. See? #1fan
But seriously, guys: tell me you don’t smile during “Whenever I See Your Smiling Face”. Tell me you don’t feel it in your throat during “Shower the People.” (A few years ago, when I remodeled my bathroom I wanted to stencil “Shower the People You Love with Love” on the wall, but it ended up being just a tad too on the nose, so I went with a nice robin’s egg blue instead. But damn, Arnold McCuller can sing.)
His hair has receded. His mustache has disappeared. His face has aged. His voice has changed. He’s beaten a crazy heroin addiction, thank God. His IG and FB accounts show him doing old man things like petting his pug Ting and chopping firewood, and I couldn’t love him more.
