Released: May 1979
Chart Peak: #10
Weeks Charted: 23
Certified Gold: 5/15/79
The James Taylor who gazes out from the gatefold of Flag is an emaciated, jaundiced Yankee eccentric glaring at us with cold, eagle-eyed skepticism. The picture is almost the negative of the movie-star-glamorous photo on the cover of JT, the album that marked Taylor's corporate switch from Warner Bros. to Columbia in 1978. But the aesthetic shift from last year's debonair to this year's dour isn't just a gimmick. Whereas the material and tone of JT suggested a similar mellowing of Taylor's personality, Flag's thorny songs and hard, tense arrangements bear witness to the stark and piercing artwork.
If JT presented the kind of urbane, sexy, humorous person that we'd all like to know, Flag peels away the glamour to expose the flinty marrow of a hostile stranger. None of the new cuts has the tantalizing wit of "Handy Man" or the delicious ironic glee of "Secret of Life." Instead, Flag offers the grim self-portrait of a chronically depressed man with a monkey on his back, as Taylor relentlessly accumulates correlatives to his own despair.
Desolation and rage abound in the compositions that aren't concerned with work. In "I Will Not Lie for You," the artist administers a savage tongue-lashing to a close friend's wife for coming on to him. "Johnnie Comes Back" cryptically describes a man's desperate game of hide-and-seek with his own drug habit. "B.S.U.R." evokes the paranoia and duplicity that can poison a relationship when one of the parties is self-destructing. Finally, there's an icy remake of Taylor's decade-old "Rainy Day Man," perhaps rock's definitive ballad about clinical depression and addiction.
From the predominating darkness, Flag's lighter moments are thrown to us like crumbs -- and bitter ones at that. James Taylor's beautiful version of Gerry Goffin and Carole King's "Up on the Roof" is also the saddest ever recorded. He reedy, throbbing twang transforms this big-city anthem of freedom and mystical escape into a ravaged recollection of better days. A churning, modal version of the Beatles' "Day Tripper" (with a disco edge to it) finds the singer keening the chorus in an eerie, Sylvester-like falsetto that turns wit into shrill sarcasm. In "Is That the Way You Look?," a throwaway doo-wop novelty, Taylor does all the backup vocals trompe l'oeil á la the Persuasions -- his most controversial use of R&B to date.
Though Flag probably won't be the hit that JT was, on its on uncompromising terms, it's every bit as impressive. Maybe more so. Taylor's new songs are exquisitely crafted, and their pain is so brilliantly understated that you can't dismiss the bleakness as mere self-pity, any more than you can dismiss Ingmar Bergman's darker musings as simple morbidity. What we've got here is as evocative an exploration of one strain of the American character -- the Puritan sensibility under extreme stress -- as pop music has yet offered.
Taylor's powerful and authentic vision has been masterfully delineated by producer Peter Asher, who keeps the focus on the singer's voice, which has never sounded better. With Bob Dylan in decline, James Taylor has risen to become the foremost vocal exponent of Appalachian folk and Southern blues classicism. No one else can make the plainest phrase ring with so much grit, tenderness and irony.
Flag is the aural equivalent of an Andrew Wyeth painting: austere, meticulous, its palette the color of cracked, dried mud. Like Wyeth's, Taylor's is a tormented and moralistic soul, drawn to the past, but -- in some crucial way -- cut off from its wellsprings. The result is art that expresses an inexhaustible patrician dolor.
- Stephen Holden, Rolling Stone, 6/28/79.
Despite the bland album graphics, Taylor's followup to his successful J.T. album, which produced "Handy Man," is a rather charming mix of pop songs, highlighted by Taylor's patented laidback style. While Taylor's vocals are nothing of any revelation, the backing instrumentation dresses the songs with musical muscle courtesy of Jackson Browne's band comprised of Waddy Wachtel on guitar, Russ Kunkel on drums, Leland Sklar on bass, Danny Kortchmar on drums, Don Grolnick on keyboards along with guest background vocalists Graham Nash, Carly Simon and producer Asher. Among the more interesting covers are the Beatles' "Day Tripper" rendered in a semi-disco vein and Goffin/King's "Up On The Roof." There's also a Taylor original written and sung entirely in French. Best cuts: "Company Man," "Day Tripper," "Johnnie Come Back," "Rainy Day Man," "Up On The Roof."
- Billboard, 1979.
What's wrong with most of these songs is that Taylor is singing them. He can sing, sure -- the "Day Tripper" cover and "Is That the Way You Look" show off his amused, mildly funky self-involvement at its sharpest and sexiest. But too often the material reveals him at his sharpest and most small-minded. John Lennon might get away with "I Will Not Lie for You," but JT's whine undermines whatever honesty the sentiment may have. C+
- Robert Christgau, Christgau's Record Guide, 1981.
James Taylor followed his double-platinum Columbia Records label debut JT with this hodgepodge of a record. There are pointless covers of The Beatles' "Day Tripper" and the Drifters' "Up On The Roof" (#7 Adult Contemporary, #28 Pop), a remake of Taylor's own "Rainy Day Man," songs written for the failed Broadway musical "Working," and a few inconsequential new Taylor compositions. The usual brain trust (producer Peter Asher) and the usual backup team (Danny Kortchmar, Dan Grolnick, Leland Sklar, Russ Kunkel) were on board, but the cruise was a snooze. * * * *
- William Ruhlmann, The All-Music Guide to Rock, 1995.
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