Sunday, August 18, 2019

A Sunday Somethin'


I'm not James Taylor's biggest fan. He always seemed like a girls' act to me - at least all the frails of my acquaintance were smitten by his sweet baby looks, th' cheap heel, th' nogood bum. But his first, eponymous, as rock critics like to say, album gets overlooked, and it's - perhaps predictably - my favorite. Criticized not least by himself for being "over produced" (by ginger adult baby Peter Asher), it's a swell pop album with some of his best tunes. I'll take Carolina In My Mind over Sweet Baby James, thank you.


Which brings us to the showbiz tragedy of Carly Simon. Why tragedy? Because she could of had me, th' dumb broad. Instead of that soybean whiner James Taylor. I was there for her. Waiting. Sensitive to her needs. Fantasizing wildly, in preparation for when she came to her senses and into my arms. But no. Well, her cross to bear, right? But Carly - if you're reading this - perhaps sprawled erotically in a windowseat, a glass of chilled Chardonnay in your delicate fingers and an expression of regret coloring your lovely pan - I'm still here for ya, baby. Come to poppa. Anyway, this is my bestest Carly album, and not just for that mind-tattoo cover. Be right back. Okay! Playing Possum is summer in the Hamptons, and we're poolside with Carly as the sun dips into the ocean, like a maraschino cherry in a Manhattan. Parr-tay!

6 comments:

  1. Today's Dual Download© comes with a swell free gift! It's something every housewife wants! A glamorous centerpiece for when unexpected guests drop by!


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  2. What you like most, what you don’t like so much, it can all be down to time and place. Late summer ’69 on a beautiful sunshine evening I went to a “folk club” in a country hotel somewhere betwixt Wrexham and Chester, to see Archie Fisher. In the middle of doing what he did, Arch broke off to tell us that he had an advance copy of an album by a troubled chap who we would hear more of - he then performed “Sweet Baby James” and “Fire and Rain” and left me stunned.
    Couple of months later (the LP was released in February ’70) I was browsing the racks in Boots the Chemist in Oswestry and there it was, the cover with the eyes that followed you around the room wherever you sat. Bought it, loved it and had to backtrack to the Apple album.
    Strangely, my fave LP is “One Man Dog”. 18 tracks done and delivered in 37 minutes. But not fragments, just James and The Section saying what they needed to say without artifice or embellishment and then moving on to the next one. Plus added Linda Ronstadt. Oh, and a strange, unexpected song: “Someone” written by and performed with John McLaughlin who manages to squeeze 7,374 notes into a brief solo in the middle of the track.
    Anyway, “Nobody But You” is on there so all is well: “When I'm in need of a little bit of consultation, used to call on my Uncle John. / Took a trip down to West Virginia, found him dead and gone. / And as some sort of silly little consolation, they gave me a ticket back. / What you gonna do with folks like that?”
    Hope you don’t mind me writing. Somebody should.
    Cheers, Peanuts Molloy

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    1. Peanuts, your home is th' Foam, and thank you for your great comment. One Man Dog is the only other Taylor album I have time for these days, every bit as good as you say. I've always found his other albums too patchy. I saw him live in Paris a good few years back, with Steve Gadd, and had to choke back a tear when he played Fire and Rain. My main problem with him is jealousy. Good looking, talented, and stole my rightful gal away. Why, for two cents I'd ...

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    2. Actually, whilst I’m here let’s give a quick name-check to the strange lookin’ brother, Livingstone. I heard “In my Reply”, listened to some more and realised there was a second talented Taylor.
      Of course, the law of diminishing returns led me to albums by Kate and Alex but as Meatloaf may not have said, two outta four ain’t bad.
      Cheers, Peanuts Molloy.

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  3. Dang, I'd clean forgot about that Carly cover. Enough to restore one's vigor, if you get my drift.

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    1. Your drift is my drift, Mr Ing. Wotta gal! Wotta dame! Plus the sexiest, creamiest voice I ever heard. A contralto, I think. The album is beautiful - not her best-known, but it's faultless.

      Like James, she had musical siblings, and like James, they're mostly forgotten. Not unfairly.

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