Review: James Taylor returns to the Mann with timeless classics, charming stories and droll humor

“The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time,” James Taylor sang from the stage of the Mann Center on Friday night. The message seemed more reflective coming from the 76-year-old singer-songwriter than it did in 1977 when he originally recorded it, but for 2½ hours, Taylor did all he could to help the adoring crowd enjoy their time together.

More than half a century passed by in a flash during an opening video that spliced together performances of one of Taylor’s earliest songs, “Something in the Way She Moves,” from his career. Starting out fresh-faced and long-haired, growing and losing a mustache, cutting then losing his hair, he offered renditions that progressed from youth through middle age while the smooth, mellow voice remained remarkably the same. Taylor strode onstage to seamlessly pick up the final verse live, a bit more crackle in that glowing campfire of a voice but retaining the ability to imbue rich emotion into a near-whisper.

Taylor recalled playing the song for Paul McCartney and George Harrison as his audition for Apple Records. “George liked it so much he went home and wrote it himself,” he joked, referencing the Beatles guitarist lifting the title phrase for his own “Something.”

An unhurried cover of Buddy Holly’s “Everyday” followed, before Taylor took a seat to play “Anywhere Like Heaven” from 1970. An earlier glance at the perch led to a shrugging crack about his doctor’s warnings about “trouble moving my stool,” the first of multiple references to his advancing years over the course of the show. After removing his jacket a little later, a shouted, “Take it all off!” from the audience was met with a sly promise to remove his teeth.

The understated power of Taylor’s timeless songwriting broke the “aw, shucks” illusion at several points, nowhere more than on a stirring “Sweet Baby James,” which was met with a rapturous, extended standing ovation. The show was billed as “An Evening with James Taylor and his All-Star Band,” and the seven-piece ensemble and trio of backing vocalists lived up to the promise. Pianist Larry Goldings’ poignant accordion was integral to casting the mesmerizing spell of “Sweet Baby James,” while veteran drummer Steve Gadd brought a sharp-edged jauntiness to “Country Road.”

Taylor not only gave the musicians heartfelt introductions but also shared a handshake or a hug with each of them.

The hour-long first set ended with the “meaning free” 1988 track “Sun on the Moon,” a bit of percolating silliness to lead into a brief intermission. The second half piled on the hits, a garrulous “Carolina on My Mind” followed by the buoyant “Mexico,” soaring on Luis Conté's percussion and the horns of Blue Lou Marini and Walt Fowler. Taylor mugged his way through the blues pastiche, leaping spryly around the stage and mugging theatrically while wielding electric guitar for the only time in the show. (“We were in Amish country earlier,” he deadpanned, “where they still use the old horse-drawn guitars.”)

Parody it may be, but Goldings’ organ solo and Michael Landau’s guitar pyrotechnics thrilled nonetheless.

“Fire and Rain” followed, the song’s ubiquity doing nothing to diminish its raw pain and hard-won resignation. The set ended on a celebratory note with the crowd on its feet for “Shower the People” and “How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You).” A three-song encore culminated in an a cappella “That Lonesome Road” with Taylor and his backing singers.

Friday’s concert marked Taylor’s 22nd performance at the Mann, more than any other artist, dating to the venue’s opening season in 1976. He didn’t acknowledge that landmark from the stage, but did promise that the less-than-welcoming city referenced in “Anywhere Like Heaven” was not intended to be Philadelphia. “It’s Pittsburgh,” he confided to a roar of approval, before adding, “Unless we’re in Pittsburgh, in which case it’s Los Angeles.”

Introducing a pair of songs written by Carole King, Taylor did recall that “Up on the Roof” had been performed for the first time, if not written, in Philly. That Drifters classic led inevitably to “You’ve Got a Friend,” which Taylor recalled hearing in Philly for the first time, just 12 hours after it was written. He immediately ran to his guitar, not knowing, he noted wryly, that he was fated to play the song “every night for the rest of my life.” It could be worse, he added. “Your hit could be a novelty song like ‘Monster Mash’ or ‘Disco Duck.’”

Throughout the evening Taylor played the avuncular host, poking droll fun at his age or sharing brief memories of classic songs. The windy, unseasonably cool late-August night did its part — dark clouds threatened but never gave way to a storm — as the autumnal, starry backdrops projected onto the screen behind the band, but the singer’s wry humor and unassuming charm easily transformed the Mann stage into a front porch, the packed crowd into an intimate gathering of friends enjoying the passage of time.