James Taylor: Portrait of a Troubled Legend

The news that Taylor would be a dad again, and at his age, sent a tremor through his family. "Surprised is one of the lesser of the emotions," says Sally, who, like Ben, is an upstart musician. "I was shocked and fearful and happy and freaked out. Fearful that it would take him away from us, my brother and I." More than a few friends express concern, including Asher and Kortchmar, who haven't heard from Taylor in years. But for once, Taylor seems comfortable both on stage and off. "Is James chased by demons? Can he be distant?" asks Livingston. "The answer is, absolutely." But, he adds, "he's in a good deal less pain in his 50s than he was in his 20s and 30s."

How Taylor's tranquillity will affect his music (a new album is due this spring) remains to be seen, since angst has fueled so many of his best songs. But more than ever, he appears to be taking life in stride. He doesn't even reject ferocious attacks on his music, as epitomized by Lester Bangs' 1971 critical diatribe "James Taylor Marked for Death," in which the late wimp-rock-hating scribe (and Almost Famous curmudgeon) fantasized about disemboweling the musician with a broken bottle of Ripple. Taylor says he's never read that rant or any other dismissive reviews, but observes, "If you think [my music] is sentimental and self-absorbed, I agree with you. If you like that kind of thing, then listen to it. If you don't, you don't have to remove it from the face of the earth. It's not for everybody. But to me, there's still something compelling about doing it. Regardless of what the guy with the bottle of Ripple feels."

Cradling Logan, Taylor drifts to the front door. The driveway needs a new layer of asphalt, and, like any Joe, he's waiting for the workers to arrive. Before you can say it, he does. "Handyman work," he cracks, flashing a puckish smile.