The above is from Amy Kaufman's article for the Los Angeles Times.
James Taylor is a little s**t who drugged so much he was infamous for trying to sleep around with groupies when he was on the road but failing because he couldn't get it up.
I'm not a Jamie Taylor fan, if you missed that fact.
Among male singer-songwriters, he's an ant. He lacks the imagination of Paul Simon, the sincerity of Jackson Browne and the daring of Bob Dylan. To listen to most James Taylor albums (especially all after 1973) is to discover a hack at work trying to churn out enough songs for an album.
Listening, you can hear him thinking, "I have nothing to write about. I know, I'll pretend I'm a steam roller! Wait, I'm a bartender for a bartender's blues song! No, I drive a truck! I'm a trucker! I'm Brother Trucker! No, I'm a Millworker! No, I'm a limo driver!!!!"
He has nothing to say so he pretends he's someone else.
It's so sad and so obvious.
But that pretty much describes James Taylor's writing.
He really needs to get over it. If you don't know, he has a hissy fit that Carly spoke about him in an interview -- all nice things -- and griped her out insisting that she was not allowed to talk about him ever! He's an ass.
Closing with C.I.'s "Iraq snapshot:"