Make Room For Mayer

I've noticed a puzzling trend: In my social circles, when the subject is John Mayer, the reaction is almost always negative.

Early on a recent Saturday morning, a co-worker heard the tunes blaring from my computer and stopped to ask what I was listening to. When I told her it was "Try!" by the John Mayer Trio, she said, "I thought it was John Mayer, but I didn't want to offend you if it wasn't."

That was far from an isolated reaction. Back around Thanksgiving, I was field-testing a mix CD I had compiled for my mother. Another co-worker caught wind of my music from across the aisle and inquired about it via e-mail. I sent her the track list, which was chock full of bands that she, as an Americana/alt-country fan, would be sure to like. Her reply, though, was simply, "John Mayer?!?"

The list goes on. Yet another editor in my office regaled me with a story about the night a friend agreed to be the designated driver, only to have his balls busted by a car full of drunks over his choice of Mayer as the soundtrack for the ride home. "Pussy Rock," they called it.

Finally, if you'll allow me just one more, I have a friend who once was so displeased by the sight of Mayer's mug in a reputable music magazine that he pulled down his pants and rubbed his bare bottom on the photo. I'm not going to out you, G., but you know who you are.

These folks are entitled to their opinions. But I have a feeling that they might someday soon have to eat their words. Because from what I've been hearing for the past few years, Mayer is emerging as a Major Artist.

I realize that this topic might seem to be coming from left field. It's not. Last week's Grammy telecast gave me a reason to put it in writing. Mayer was nominated for five awards and won two (Best Male Pop Vocal Performance for "Waiting on the World to Change," Best Pop Vocal Album for "Continuum"). It was his performance on stage with two other rising young stars, John Legend and Corinne Bailey Rae, that made me think about Mayer's musicianship and his long-term potential. They played a medley comprising Rae's "Like a Star," Legend's "Coming Home" and Mayer's "Gravity." On Rae's song, Mayer provided tasteful guitar fills plucked with his fingers a la Mark Knopfler. Legend's track featured nice three-part harmonies. Mayer's "Gravity" kept with the low-key theme. Until the last minute or so, that is. That's when Mayer stepped on a stompbox and proceeded to delight the crowd with a muscular, soulful guitar solo straight out of the Stevie Ray Vaughan goodie bag. That moment alone has the potential to be the turning point in the public's perception of Mayer.

My eye-opening came long before the Grammys. It began when I saw a replay of Mayer's 2003 appearance on the revered PBS music series "Austin City Limits." In addition to playing tracks from his multiplatinum pop-rock albums, Mayer backed up his back story. Specifically, the tale about how Mayer grew up in Bridgeport, Conn., idolizing Vaughan, the late, great Texas bluesman. On this night, Mayer was joined for part of his set by Vaughan's backing band, Double Trouble, and one of Vaughan's biggest influences, Buddy Guy. It was a little chill-inducing, seeing a young man best known for his, well, "P-Rock," wringing honest-to-goodness throaty Texas blues out of his Fender Stratocaster. In SRV's old stomping grounds, no less. While fronting the man's band. I wasn't won over in the same way that I had been the first time I heard Stevie Ray on the radio, but I quickly was becoming a believer.

Breaking out of the box in which you made your name is a tricky proposition. Mayer's major-label debut, 2001's "Room For Squares," sold about a gazillion copies on the strength of the singles "No Such Thing" and "Your Body is a Wonderland," but it also brought heaps of criticism. Mainly, he was dismissed as a Dave Matthews wannabe. Vocally, he did resemble Matthews. As a songwriter, though, he was already showing a gift for melody. Still, it can be hard to be respected as an artist when you're a good-looking guy filling the seats with young girls who would like to get a guided tour of your wonderland.

Why couldn't Mayer become one of the great musicians of our time? By no means is his early career, a sonic portrait of the artist as a young man, meant to be a complete picture. Anyone who doesn't believe this should go dig out their high school yearbook. Take a look at your 18-year-old self and think about whether that represents the person you are today.

Mayer's evolution has been incremental. His 2003 release, "Heavier Things," was still in a pop-rock vein, but it was a distinct break from his more acoustic debut. The electric guitars were textured, and the influence of SRV, Jimi Hendrix and Eric Clapton clearly were starting to show.

Mayer upped the ante again in 2005 with "Try!," which was credited to John Mayer Trio. The group comprised Mayer and two heavyweight players, bassist Pino Palladino and drummer Steve Jordan. Mayer's bandmates pushed him to new heights as a writer, and he continued to reveal his guitar-god influences. The live disc, which featured new compositions, reworked material from Mayer's earlier albums and a couple of covers, sounds like the work of an artist still assimilating influences into his own style. "Gravity" features the midrange moan that marks so much of Clapton's playing. The slow blues "Out of My Mind" proved that SRV still was near and dear, and that the "Austin City Limits" appearance was no fluke. The trio tackled the work of another famous threesome, The Jimi Hendrix Experience, with a cover of "Wait Until Tomorrow."

Mayer's latest album, 2006's "Continuum," showed a still-developing musicianship and a heightened awareness of the world. On the Grammy-winning "Waiting on the World to Change," he tackles the subject of Generation Y's apathy toward government. In attitude, it's a descendant of Marvin Gaye's "What's Going On?". Musically, it borrows from Gaye's classic track and outright steals from Curtis Mayfield's "People Get Ready." There's also another Hendrix cover, "Bold as Love." There are fewer guitar solos on "Continuum," but Mayer's playing clearly has progressed. Dialing back the leads brought out more colorful chord tones. Ideally, Mayer's development might combine the stinging lead playing of Clapton and Vaughan, the tonal color and atmosphere of Hendrix and the rhythm-guitar chops of soul man Steve Cropper. Such an all-around attack coupled with his undeniable ear for melody would make Mayer not only formidable but capable of writing a truly classic album.

A significant sign that Mayer is being accepted in the mainstream as more than a mere pop idol hit the newsstands a couple weeks ago. He was on the cover of Rolling Stone with The Red Hot Chili Peppers' John Frusciante and The Allman Brothers' Derek Trucks. They were being billed as three of "The New Guitar Gods" � Frusciante as "The Visionary," Trucks as "The Jam King" and Mayer as "Slowhand Jr." Invoking Clapton's nickname is lofty praise, indeed, even if it is being done to sell magazines. The interview within happens to lend it credibility. Apparently among the benefits of being a handsome megastar, aside from having a veritable Whitman's sampler of attractive, famous young ladies now within your reach, is that you get to hang out and write songs with Clapton. As Mayer tells it, Clapton "let on that just as Muddy Waters took him in, he was taking me in, as a passing on."

Considering Clapton's place in the pantheon of guitarists, and the skills that inspired a fervent follower to spray-paint "Clapton is God" on the wall of an Underground station, that anecdote is telling. God's not gonna pass the baton to someone who's likely to sully his good name.

There's no reason that Mayer has to be locked in the "adult alternative" box forever. Ironically, Stevie Ray Vaughan was moving in a poppier direction around the time of his death in a 1990 helicopter crash. Listen to SRV's album "In Step" or his collaboration with his brother Jimmie, the posthumously released "Family Style," and follow it with Mayer's "Continuum," and you'll see what I mean. But changing can be tough. Had he lived, Vaughan might have gone on to make recordings that alienated his base of blues fans. Ricky Nelson, despite his best efforts, never really got past his image as a teenage idol.

Musicians are people, too, and people can only change if we allow them to. Mayer seems eager for that chance. He says so on "In Repair," from "Continuum." At the end of the verse after ripping off a modernly Claptonesque solo, Mayer sings, "I'm not together but I'm getting there." I'm willing to stay open-minded and go for the ride. It's not so much that I want the naysayers to be wrong as it is my desire to be right. The great ones come along so infrequently.