Otis Taylor gracefully reclaims an ancestral instrument

“The whites made it into a more commercial looking instrument, a more factory-oriented instrument, with rims and brackets, which made it more bluegrassy.” We are blessed that “the whites” aren’t the only ones jangling away these days. Who knows how much more the world can handle of Béla Fleck’s banjo-noodle or “Man of Constant Sorrow.” Yes, we are blessed that Taylor stands among us, breathing his blistering, socially conscious lyrics, and, as he puts it, “recapturing” the banjo.

Taylor’s newest release is completely centered on the much-maligned and misunderstood instrument. To understand what he means by “recapturing,” one only need listen to a song like “Bow-Legged Charlie,” which transforms the usually bluesy instrument into a bright, modal, afro-pop arpeggiator. It sounds more like a kora (the 21-stringed West African lute-like instrument traditionally used by bard-like oral historians) or the ngoni (West African predecessor of the banjo) than what we typically think of as “banjo,” and it is beautiful. “We did two shows with Bassekou [Kouyate], famous African musician from Mali, and he totally related to me,” Taylor says, “We did this encore song, and it was so bizarre. I was tripped out. I played ‘Jump Jelly Belly,’ this song I play from one of my older albums. They started singing this song on top of it, like they had been singing it, like they just knew that song! Like I was playing a song that they knew, but I didn’t know it. It was so bizarre. I can’t explain it to you,” he sings a snippet of melody in a rhythmic, distinctly African style, “It was like someone was singing their ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat’ to me. Like, ‘no problem, here, I know that.’ It was just such a bizarre experience.”

The other sense in which Taylor reclaims his instrument is via the subject matter he broaches atop the music. You won’t hear much about the blue moons of Kentucky or lonesome Appalachia here. Just take a look at some of his celebrated album/song titles: White Africa, When Negroes Walked the Earth, the aforementioned “Ten Million Slaves.” Taylor’s songs are often unflinching looks at the predicament of blacks in America, now and then. “I’m always a little on the militant side, you know,” Taylor says, “I’m just letting people know, you know, we used to do this.” However, he’s got his lyrical soft spots too. Take “Live Your Life” for example, off his new album, featuring his daughter on backup vocals. The song is sweet, sentimental, the type of blues-pop perfection every artist only gets to do once per album. Taylor is refreshingly forthcoming when asked about the song. “Just do something for yourself, you know? If it’s even for three minutes, do something close to your heart. Not change your life, just live your life. Celebrate it: buy that pair of shoes, that bicycle, go take yourself out to dinner, go to college, do whatever, just live it.” And how does Mr. Taylor plan on continuing to live his life? He laughs. “I concentrate on playing Otis, because nobody else can do what I do. So long as nobody else can do what I do and nobody else can, I can make a living.”

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