I watched–and listened to–James Taylor fighting emotional distress with his music.
My wife and I saw him perform in Fort Worth last week, and from the moment it started, I was transfixed by the man and the music. Taylor’s struggles with his mental health, such as a 1965 stint in a psychiatric hospital, have been well-documented. In a Time feature from 1971, the dean of Taylor’s prep school, Milton Academy, “…recalls James with a sigh. ‘We just weren’t ready for him,’ Torney explains. ‘James was more sensitive and less goal-oriented than most students of his day.'”
Taylor’s breakthrough hit was “Fire and Rain,” which alluded to his own struggles with drug addiction, fame, and the suicide of a childhood friend named Suzanne Schnerr. The music industry is replete with larger than life personalities, yet Taylor always has always come across as genuine and empathetic.
“I am troubled,” he said that night in Fort Worth. With no fanfare, he’d walked alone to the front of the stage and addressed the crowd. He went on to say that he needed the music he was about to perform. This was the last night of a lengthy tour.
Hoarse and reserved, Taylor led his crack band through a beautifully-rendered cross-section of his catalog. Not long into the performance, he turned to take off his jacket between songs. The crowd applauded, and with a sly grin, he said, “You people are starved for entertainment.”
It seemed as if the ice had broken.
As a counselor, my job is talk therapy. The work of getting better is in no way limited to sessions, however. An engaged client should address their distress by doing what they can to support their mental health. Counseling is but one ingredient in the improvement recipe.
Music is part of my self-care, both as a performer and a listener. The power of music to soothe and heal has never been in question, though watching Taylor use it to bring him out of his distress was revelatory. I won’t soon forget it.
