Category: rock

Musically, it was the best weekend of my life.

Months ago, before moving from San Diego to the Sacramento area, we’d bought tickets to see James Taylor at Coors Amphitheatre. I’d never been there, but had heard consistent good reports about the venue, and I was excited about seeing a lifelong favorite perform there. The next day was going to be spent at the Museum of Making Music in San Diego’s north county, with the evening after free for general San Diego-specific sightseeing.

James Taylor Live in San Diego

Coors is a wonderful venue—the open starry sky above, miles from the real city; the comfortable, almost pastoral surroundings seemed to have a calming effect on the crowd. People seemed cheerful, relaxed, friendly; characteristics you won’t always find in a concert crowd in San Diego.

I won’t attempt to describe the evening musically. If you’ve heard James Taylor all your life, as I have, you have your favorites, you’ve heard his popular tunes, you know what was played. It was, essentially, greatest hits plus “October Road“; not a bad mix.

What I will describe is the emotional impact of seeing a performer whose music and lyrics have become a part of your psyche.

The traffic was bad, as expected, but we were on vacation and not in a hurry, so we arrived a bit late. Walking in from the parking lot, we heard the crowd’s opening cheer, and a track from “October Road.” It’s a long walk, so as we finally got close to our seats, James started “Something in the Way She Moves.” We both stopped dead in our tracks and turned to smile at each other. It’s become a special song around here, and having him start it just as we walked in was amazing.

Taylor knows what an audience wants: the old stuff. He mentioned more than once that he was going to play ‘the old stuff’, then smiled wryly as the audience went wild. He threatened, though, to play ‘some new stuff’ too, and included nearly every track from “October Road”, a genuinely enjoyable collection.

But it’s ‘the old stuff’ that has the emotional impact. Perhaps I’m more sensitive than is warranted, but it’s nearly overwhelming to hear songs like “You’ve Got a Friend”, “Fire and Rain”, and finally, finally, as the third encore, “Sweet Baby James.” I know my best beloved understands, but I occasionally felt guilty for forgetting she was even there, I was so wrapped in the music and the moment.

There were a few surprises which made the evening fun, not just nostalgic. Taylor, never loquacious, chatted more than I expected. He’s an intelligent, witty guy; fun to listen to. Oddly, his wit wasn’t so evident in the first song of the first encore, a cover of “The Midnight Hour.” It was faithful and fun, but not as fiery as I expected after the rest of the show.

The high point, and to me, biggest surprise, was a medley including one song I knew I’d hear, and one I never expected. Toward the midpoint, James walked across the darkened stage to his lead guitarist Michael Landau and started thrashing his poor acoustic guitar mercilessly. About two bars into their mutual harassment I recognized “Oh Baby, Don’t You Loose Your Lip on Me” from “
Sweet Baby James.” In case you missed it 30 years ago, it’s a blues shout interspersed in this case with two guitarists doing their best to hurt their instruments, or themselves, or each other; at the end of the tune they were side by side, guitar heads jammed into the stage at their feet, engaged in a pushing match as they flailed more musically than you might think possible.

As “Loose Your Lip” faded reluctantly from Landau’s screaming final solo, Taylor jumped into one verse from “Mescalito”, which suddenly grew quiet, then flowed into one of the inevitables: “Steamroller.” Every live version is different; growing, changing, reflecting the performer’s (and the audience’s) mood at the moment. It’s loads of fun live, but I’m glad I’ve got the original on disc to refer to whenever I want.

I was impressed that a name of Taylor’s stature played for three hours. Not a bad job if you can get it.

A Skunk in the Museum of Making Music

Carlsbad’s “Museum of Making Music” is a remarkable place. Hearing they had a special Gibson exhibit (their Martin exhibit was phenomenal) we planned to include it in our trip.

When we walked in, the receptionist asked, “Are you here for the tour?” I stammered and blathered, and finally said, “What tour?”

“Oh, Jeff ‘Skunk’ Baxter is giving a tour at 2:00 today. You’re half an hour early.”

Yes; we were there for the tour; we just didn’t know it.

I won’t spend much time on Baxter’s discography; you can look up Steely Dan, the Doobie Brothers, Donna Summers, and Jimi Hendrix as a homework exercise. What fascinated me was an article I was given a year ago about Baxter’s work with the US Department of Defense.

Huh?

Yep; a genuinely intelligent chap, Baxter works with the DoD as a ‘defense analyst and consultant.’ He didn’t spend much time discussing what that involved. Instead, he made intelligent, insightful, and usually humorous comments on each of the 5 20-year displays, plus the Gibson exhibit. Baxter’s knowledge of music is impressive and considerable; history, instrumentation, personnel, physics, sociology— if it related to popular music, he seemed to have something useful to say. Wish I’d been taking notes!

At the end of the tour, I got a chance to chat briefly with the man. Since I’m looking for an electric guitar at the moment, I asked if, when he was playing just for himself, there was one particular instrument he reached for most often. Head nodding and broad smile before I finished the question.

“My D’Angelico New Yorker. Every time I play that thing, I’m in awe.” No kidding, Skunk. I’m in awe, too. This is not the model I’m likely to end up with unless certain stock options prove more remunerative than expected.

With the evening left open to ponder the remarkable coincidence of the afternoon, we headed for the waterfront to see what we stumbled across. First stop is always the Upstart Crow coffee shop and bookstore in Seaport Village. A nice mocha and some rhubarb pie is a great way to fortify yourself for sightseeing.

As we waited to pay for our mochas, we heard an amplified acoustic guitar being tuned behind the stairs. (As in, the staircase descends through the center of the shop, so no matter where you are, half the store is behind them. Not as in, under a staircase.) A mutual smile, and we headed around to “Philosophy” and “Language” to see what was up.

What was up was what looked like a smiling recoveree (you’ll only understand if you suffered from the 60s yourself) from the late 60s with a gorgeous Martin guitar and a vintage amp. The tuning up sounds as we rounded the corner were encouraging.

The music itself was astonishing, amazing, awe-inspiring; but mostly, it was soul-filling. Never, in one evening of live music, have I spent so much time laughing out loud at the beauty of a melody, then fighting tears at the memories and feelings evoked by the next.

Jim Earp is a master of melody. Yes, he’s a spectacular guitarist, an accomplished composer, and a witty performer. But what hit me during the hours we spent as Earp traded places in 20-minute shifts with buddy Greg Campbell, was the absolute presence of melody. So many musicians confuse technical prowess with musicianship. Jim, whether pulling from his own considerable repertoire or culling bits from musicians he himself respects, never forgets the melody. Each tune has an identifiable, hummable, recognizable melody. And each melody carries a wave of emotion straight to your core, gently, insistently finding a way into the place that’s really you, touching, prodding, plucking emotions until you find the right feelings for the tune you’re now part of.

Earp is also a technically proficient player. He favors ‘open tunings’, meaning the guitar is tuned so that when all the strings are played without any fretboard fingering, the sound is harmonious rather than discordant. Funny how obvious it seems now that an open tuning would lend itself to harmonious melodies; the standard tuning is so prevalent and assumed that I only recently began investigating alternate and open tunings meself.

Earp is a two-handed player, often emulating a Stanley Jordan style and then flowing into what looks to me like a harpist’s fingering, playing the fretboard as if it were a dulcimer, a harpsichord, and a Celtic harp all bound together.

I had the opportunity to chat with Jim (okay, when he stepped outside to retune I followed him and butted in) and discovered a man who loves people even more than he loves music. Jim is a very spiritual person, but not overtly so in the way some folks are. His beliefs and faith are strongly evident in his conversation and the music he performs, but it’s an attractive spirituality; one that draws you, making you want to get to know him and his feelings better.

I brought home two of Jim’s albums, “Rosewood” and “
Smiles to Go“; watch for full reviews in the near future. Musically, they were strongly represented during the show (partly because at one point, Jim asked me which albums I’d bought, and played a few tunes from them both so we’d know what we were getting.) The cover photos presented an interesting developmental timeline: Rosewood shows Jim in full beard, Smiles has him down to a robust mustache, and the Jim we saw at Upstart Crow was clean-shaven. Don’t tell me the hair is going next, Jim; it suits you.

If you enjoy exceptional guitar playing, Celtic music, emotionally evocative music, or just a happy melody that makes you smile, you’d have to travel far and dig deep to find a better choice than Jim Earp. The evening we spent with him was a watershed in my life; one of those pivotal points where you’re turning down a new path, and in a remarkable moment of insight, realize it.

At this point, I’m on a path from an old life to a new one. Your music is a bridge, Jim. I’m gonna make it across.