Continuum: John Mayer Sings the Blues

John Mayer has made a reputation for being an earnest singer-songwriter with a boy next door ethos. Blessed with a gift for writing poetic lyrics and catchy little songs that stick in your head, the Connecticut born artist succeeded the old-fashioned way; he cut a demo album and promoted the heck out of it by playing in Atlanta blues clubs until studios could no longer afford to ignore him.

Though handsome, Mayer is an unlikely pop star, who seems genuinely dismissive of his own fame. He risked it all recently with a blues project that was not a great commercial success but screamed talent. Touring constantly, it sometimes seems as if Mayer's work ethic alone has propelled him to stardom. He maintains a great relationship with his fans and is so down-to-earth he even keeps his own blog. (And it's good.)

His best songs have always had a strange appeal - speaking to neither the cool kids nor the outcasts, but to those strange creatures who flirt with several social groups without fitting into any. His sardonic lyrics made you laugh, his naivete made you cry. He was the boy just out of high school, thumbing his nose at school counselors. He was the young man intimidated by a big city. He was a lover still amazed at the female body.

His new album hasn't lost the earnestness, but it's clear in Continuum that Mayer is no longer innocent. His sound is more sophisticated, and so are his lyrics. Continuum gives us, of course, the standout smash hit, Waiting on the World To Change. Building on the nostalgic stylings of Curtis Mayfield, the song shows a political conscience behind Mayer's pop star veneer. But this song is less an anthem than it is a political apologia, and the bewilderment Mayer expresses about the state of the world is likely to resonate with Gen Y. Still it's hard not to bristle at Mayer's transformation of a musical call to action into an excuse for apathy - if he's being intentionally ironic, he's too clever by half.

But Waiting on the World to Change is neither the only political song on the album, nor the only one that pays tribute to war era protest singers. Belief is a heartfelt critique of the force religion is playing in the wars around the world. Mayer sings, "What puts a hundred thousand children in the sand? Belief can. Belief can. What puts the folded flag inside his mother's hand? Belief can."

The minor chords in the song are unexpected and mesmerizing, the lyrics are haunting, and Mayer's voice is dark and raspy. But it's the strange flirtation between the melody and the harmony that turns Belief into the unforgettable song it is. Even after winning three Grammys, John Mayer is often thought to be a heart-throb lightweight. That's probably about to change, it's likely this song, Belief, will earn Mayer the right to be taken seriously. It shows just how much Mayer has grown as a person and as a musician.

Growing up has always been a theme of Mayer's music, and on Continuum at least one song worries about growing old. For an artist who has built a career on youth and precociousness, it has to be a genuine concern. He has a heartfelt exchange with his father in Stop This Train and worries that he's "only good at being young." This folk-inspired song is vintage John Mayer. And it's one of the few songs on the album not reminiscent of anybody but him. Minimalist style, sweet guitar strumming, and a catchy little rhythm that will loop in your head for hours.

But nothing on Continuum is as breezy as John Mayer's earlier albums. Mayer is no longer the boy next door. He's now 28, with the brooding sensibilities of an artist who is driven to prove himself technically and live up to his blues and adult contemporary heroes. In Continuum, he emulates them, pays tribute to them, and makes them new again.

At several points, you can hear Marvin Gaye - but he's singing songs that only John Mayer could have written. Even more surprising is the Mayer's cover of Hendrix' Bold As Love. The vocals are all wrong; John Mayer's voice is much too pretty, and he's far too self-conscious to shout. He's also erased Hendrix' psychedelic funk. But after warming up, Mayer launches into guitar riffs that credit both men.

You'd have to look hard to find something to complain about on this album. The only thing this reviewer was able to come up with is that Mayer's production precision neuters the potential powerhouse song Gravity, which speaks to the soul on his album Try! but is a meek imitation of itself on Continuum.

Bottom line? Continuum is sure to please old fans and win him new ones. Not every song showcases his genius, but there isn't a single clunker on the album. John Mayer is a prodigious talent, and Continuum is his finest album yet.