Like the Hercules of folk-rock, James Taylor has earned himself a permanent spot in the pantheon of singer-songwriters by the merit of his almost supernatural musicianship. “Before This World” comes after a hiatus over a decade long. Taylor had simply stopped writing songs, and he began to feel like something was missing, fearing that he may never make another album. He knew that in order to focus, he would have to detach from the incessant nag of daily life, so like some old Zen master holed up in a cave, Taylor isolated himself in an apartment in Rhode Island with little more than a sketchbook and a guitar, and the space that he allowed himself was soon filled. Into that mental and emotional vacuum rushed the ten songs that comprise “Before This World.”
Eschewing the trappings of a traditional recording studio, and again, favoring freedom and solitude—this time in a barn on his property in Massachusetts—Taylor was joined by his touring band: legendary drummer Steve Gadd and bass innovator Jimmy Johnson. Having Steve Gadd play with you is like showing up at your high school prom in the Batmobile with Aphrodite as your date. With the assistance of some of the finest studio musicians alive, including celebrity cellist Yo-Yo Ma, Taylor and his unblemished, youthful voice effortlessly carries these well-crafted tunes to their full potential. If there is a weak spot, it’s that some of his lyrics are reminiscent and sentimental to a fault; however, nostalgia and warm fuzzies are, to some extent, an aspect of Taylor’s oeuvre, so whether it’s a flaw or not is up to the listener. The recording itself, however, is truly pristine, as if Taylor aims to step out above the chaotic din of the 2015 music industry to—ahem—show the riffraff how the pros do it.
“Today Today Today” opens with a touch of bluegrass, textured with violin and dobro. It ambles comfortably, modulating seamlessly several times in the chorus—something most contemporary songwriters seemingly have forgotten, or never learned, how to do—saying everything that needs to be said in three short, rich minutes.
Opening with a brief statement from horns and cello that sounds arrestingly like something Aaron Copland would have composed, “You and I Again” stays in lush, mellow territory. “Angels of Fenway” picks up a bit, with fittingly beatific choral harmonies, as Taylor recalls both a rough century for the Red Sox as well as spectator memories with his grandmother.
With a Hammond organ floating amid the confident strut of “Stretch of the Highway,” Taylor seems to wink at “Walking Man” while also evoking the elements of “Fire and Rain” with lines like, “In the burning sun / and the freezing cold” as he tips his hat to his one-time home Chicago and pays tribute to the workers who built the roads he loves to sing about.
For a few seconds, it feels like Taylor is about to break into the Doobie Brothers’ “Black Water,” but it’s a harmonic sleight-of-hand (and probably an intentional one, at that). Both songs are pastoral in theme. The Waldenesque “Montana” again conjures the forces of nature, lauding that “The world is a wonder / Of lightning and thunder.”
From heroin addiction to heartbreak, a penitent but grateful Taylor has had a life full of struggle and pain to draw from in “Watchin’ Over Me,” wherein he nearly waxes religious, again modulating fluidly from key to key unnoticed.
“SnowTime” opens in Spanish and discreetly quotes the opening melody of the Canadian national anthem, “O Canada.” Stylistically, he uses a few of the same maneuvers heard in “Shower the People,” with a similarly leading bass line, syncopated in octaves, and familiar gentle choral harmonies. However, rather than singing about love, Taylor plays the tour guide for another blue-collar promenade through North America.
Sting lends backup vocals for the first half of “Before This World / Jolly Springtime,” and Taylor’s velvety baritone is buttery and luxuriant next to Sting’s breathy, feathered accompaniment. An instrumental bridge transitions into the second section, which has a vaguely Celtic feel, reaching back to touch upon Taylor’s own Scottish roots.
The drums of “Far Afghanistan” make it seem like it might be another military-glamorizing anthem. Refreshingly, it’s Taylor’s storytelling take on the beauty of Afghani landscapes, the demoralizing and delusional nature of war, and the folly of religious crusade: “The enemy’s no different / Bad as holy whim / Crazy pastor talks to God / And his god talks back to him.” Finally, the quiet, hymnal “Wild Mountain Thyme” is short and sweet, as if to suggest that life is too.
Taylor’s uncanny ability to effectively blur blues, pop, rock, folk, and jazz with the intuition of a painter mixing colors on a palette is unprecedented. No one understands the effectiveness of a tastefully placed eleventh chord better. No other lyricist uses bucolic imagery with such natural ease or to such great effect. To be able to perform at this level at age 67—to still have the same vigor, clarity, and precision as he did decades ago—is astounding. And that voice! He still sounds like he’s 25. To be able to step back into the public arena after over a decade of silence with something this solid is a viable argument for either divine blood or musical genius. “Before This World” is a lesson on both masterful songwriting and immaculate production for musicians and aficionados alike. Music lovers, take heed: Sweet Baby James has still got it.
