Cuba Si, Nixon No

The only version of this song available in full is on an S&G concert album titled Back to College, a recording of a performance in November of 1969. The college in question was Miami University of Ohio. As I learned when visiting that school, it was named for the Miami tribe of Native Americans, whose territory ranged from that area, in what is now Cincinnati, to the current city of Miami in Florida.

The song itself, as the title indicates, is one of Simon's most overtly political, and therefore one of his most dated, tracks. Only his songs "He Was My Brother," which mentions the Freedom Riders, and "Desultory Phillipic,"  which name-checks then-current newsmakers, come close in that regard (sadly, this does not apply to "A Church is Burning"; attacks on houses of worship persist well into the 21st century).

The song seems to be about a US airplane hijacked and flown to Havana, Cuba, forcibly rerouted from its intended destination, New Orleans.

In case it is unclear, the "he" for the duration of the song is the pilot-- the one who is supposed to be in the cockpit, not the pistol-packing one who forced his way in: "He's got 120 passengers he'd like to get them back alive/ [unclear but sounds like] Pistol man is talkin'; he don't believe the man is jive." 

Does the song depict a specific incident? There was a huge string of US planes hijacked to, or from, Cuba, starting in the 1950s and running through to 2007. They peaked between 1968-1970... with more than 30 such hijackings in 1969 alone! Many of the planes originated in the Southern US, naturally, but some from as far away as New York.

Still, I did not see any, as described in the song, specifically bound for New Orleans but forcibly rerouted to Cuba.

The nearest approximation was a Boeing 727 flight from New Orleans to Cuba hijacked in November 1968 by one Raymond Johnson. (One from Dallas was landed in New Orleans, and another from New Orleans was bound for Atlanta... but that one did not occur until 1980.) The passengers numbering "120," as the song indicates, does match the idea of a smaller plane; the 727 generally carries 150-190 people (a 747 can carry more than 400). 

But even the Johnson case is not a decent match. That particular case came a full year before the song was performed, for one. Also, the song describes the following scenario: "You know he's sitting in the cockpit, feels like he's in a dream/ Because he's heading to Havana, he should be goin' to New Orleans/ Pistol-cockin' senor, talking very slow and mean."

So it's seemingly not a "Raymond Johnson" doing the dirty hijacking deed. To drive the point home, the narrator points out: "The Spanish-speaking people have a different way of running the show."

Lastly, this hijacking took place in late 1968, while Nixon did not assume the presidency until January 1969. Now, he might have been president-elect at the time; elections are held in mid-November, and the Johnson hijacking was also that month. Unfortunately, I don't have the exact date of the crime. But it may not matter; "Nixon no" might be in protest of a potential or impending Nixon presidency.

The only logical conclusion is that this song was not intended to refer to a specific incident, but was a scenario cobbled from pieces of the many such incidents that had occurred.

Even though a planeload of US citizens is being hijacked, Simon seems to side with the desperado doing the hijacking: "Cuba si, Nixon no." (This may sound like language-switching, but the Spanish word for "no" is also "no.") It may seem odd that an American would side against an American president and in favor of a Communist regime run by Fidel Castro, and one that had aimed nukes at the US (back in 1962, in the Cuban Missile Crisis) at that.

But by then, people had a good idea of who Nixon was, too. And, you can be against both sides of a debate (as Shakespeare put it: "a plague o' both your houses!"). If more people had said "no" at that point-- even without also saying "si" to Cuba-- US history would be very different indeed. 

It's only 90 miles from a US coast to Cuba. By plane even the New Orleans-to-Havana flight is a very short journey indeed, just under 2 hours. This is reflected by the song saying that "there's Havana on the radio," meaning that even in mid-flight, they are within radio range of the Havana airport. 

Musically, the song is raucous. It's a gut-bucket blues heavily influenced by Chuck Berry, along the lines of "Johnny B. Goode"... but lyrically it is snidely political, like a Dylan or even a Phil Ochs number.


Musical Note:
It seems Garfunkel was against performing it. Given that there is only one recording of it altogether, it also seems that Simon agreed to retire it almost immediately. It is also reported that the song was written for the Bridge album but left off of the final version. It remains a curious... curiosity in Simon's catalog.

Next Song: Carlos Dominguez

My Little Town

This is an odd choice for a reunion song. It is a sad and hurt song, full of anger and frustration.

The song does not seem to be autobiographical; are there "factories" in Queens? Rather, it seems to be a song about growing up feeling pent-up in, perhaps, a steel town; compare the song to Billy Joel's "Allentown" or Springsteen's "Youngstown." The images of factories and guns are later combined in John Gorka's number "The One That Got Away: "I grew up beneath the trees/ Not far from the refineries/ Aimed at the sky like smoking guns/ I learned to walk; I learned to run away."

Gorka, a folksinger-songwriter, is the laureate of leaving. He has over a dozen songs in his catalog on the subject, with titles like "The Gypsy Life," "Out of the Valley," and "You're On Your Way." But even he would be hard-pressed to come up with a leaving song as completely bitter as "My Little Town."

The song's anger is all the more shocking when one realizes that the subject is a child. The song's events and impressions are related by an adult remembering the claustrophobia-- both physical and emotional-- of his "little" town. The adjective is key-- the town is not just small, but small-minded.

The song begins with an unwanted prayer at school. "God" watches "us all," but he is especially oppressive to the speaker: "He used to lean upon me."

Then there is, of course, the Pledge of Allegiance. Only instead of pledging to a flag, the speaker pledges to "the wall." Perhaps his desk is by a wall, so he can't even see the flag clearly from his seat; he might as well be pledging his allegiance to that hard, blank surface. Or perhaps the school itself is a "wall," as in the Pink Floyd image of education: "Teacher, leave those kids alone/ All in all, you're just another brick in the wall."

The next images are of grim dinginess. There are the "factories" spewing the pollution that makes for a "dirty breeze" to hang clean "laundry" in. There is the black rainbow. The pall of grayness spewed by the smokestacks captures the "lack" of "imagination" the speaker feels in his surroundings, discoloring even a rainbow.

(The image of an all-black rainbow, Simon reveals in the Still Crazy liner notes, is Ted Hughes': "a black rainbow/ bent in emptiness.")

Only on his ride home does he engage in metaphor, as he "flies" his bike home. Only alone, in between the school and home, is there freedom. Yes, there is the omnipresent factory. But at school, he pledges allegiance to a wall, while on the ride home, he "flies" past restrictive "gates."

And what is waiting at home? A mother doing laundry, and a father who-- like everyone else in town-- defines the speaker in his terms, and his generation's: "I never meant nothin'/ I was just my father's son."

But then alone again, perhaps in his bedroom, he "dream[s] of glory." And he doesn't just dream, he plans, by "saving [his] money."

All the while, he is as ready to explode as a "gun," waiting until he is 18, or perhaps just old enough to drive, to leave. On his stereo, he might even have the (also 1975) LP of "Born to Run," with the rallying cry in its title track: "Baby, this town rips the bones from your back... We gotta get out while we're young."

Now an adult, he has no nostalgia for the place whatsoever. He regards those he left behind as "dead and dying." We imagine he means the latter term not literally (although, with that pollution...), but in the same way Bob Dylan did in his observation: "He not busy being born is busy dying."

Considering the negative emotion that caused the breakup and then followed it, this song would be a strange reunion song for any other duo... but perhaps not this one.


IMPACT: Simon included the track on his Still Crazy After All These Years album, which would go on to win a Grammy, and Garfunkel placed it on his album Breakaway. Both albums came out in 1975. The song went to #9 and the do performed it on Saturday Night Live.

In 2012, a band called AJR released a song called "Way Less Sad," which sampled the piano and trumpets from this song. It went to #54 on the Hot 100, #45 in Canada, #33 in New Zealand, and also landed on other, more specific charts. 

Some Thoughts on Simon's S&G Material:
While Simon is primarily thought of as a serious and even somber folk songwriter, his S&G work also pulls a great deal from the lighthearted and innocent work of '50s pop. Further, while his world-music phase is often thought to start circa Graceland, we see a constant exploration of sounds outside the American sonic landscape even very early on.

Had Simon never written another song after the breakup, his legacy as one of the premier songwriters of all time would still be assured. Lucky for us, he kept going... and still is.

[If any reader knows of a S&aG track I have missed, skipped, or forgotten, please let me know. Next week starts Simon's post-S&G solo material. Those who "only" like music from this era of Simon's output are encouraged to stay and explore this fascinating series of albums, which is still unfolding.]


Next Song: Mother and Child Reunion

Someday, One Day

The song's theme is optimism. The very title speaks to the idea that, whatever the setbacks, one's goal can be achieved with persistence.

One notable feature of the song is its lack of consistent rhyme. The chorus is a/a/b/a, with the first and last lines ending in "day." The first verse's lines end with the words "mirror/you/of/love," for a rhyme scheme of a/b/c/c. The second verse: "dreamer/thinkin'/doin'/say," or a/b/c/d (which is to say, no rhymed lines). And then the third verse is "discouraged/slowly/doin'/movin'," so the slant rhyme of the last two lines brings us back to a/b/c/c.

Perhaps this lack of rhyme reflects the state of mind of the listener-- not so much the person speaking, but the one being spoken to. The listener is someone who is "down" and needs to be "bucked up." He (or she) is not feeling like there is much rhyme is his life.

The lyrics themselves are very straightforward and comprise a "pep talk." The way The Seekers perform it, it could be addressed to anyone needing encouragement.

While I am a bit hesitant to assign meanings to Simon's songs based on his circumstances at the time of their writing, I must wonder if in this case such an ideas isn't warranted.

Simon and Garfunkel, no longer Tom and Jerry, had regrouped as a folk duo and put out "Wednesday Morning." It did not do well. So Simon might have been addressing the song to Garfunkel, telling him that with some persistence, they might still find success.

Another, even bolder, interpretation might be that Simon addressed this song to himself. In England at the time, he recorded an album of solo acoustic material (his "Songbook") and was writing songs with Woodley, but neither was the success he had hoped for with Garfunkel.

One can imagine him "look(ing) in the mirror," trying to convince himself that in a "time not so far away," that could still happen.

What he did not know is that, back in New York, a producer named Tom Wilson was creating an electric "remix" of "Sound of Silence"... which would go to #1 and start Simon and Garfunkel on their way.

NOTE: On Paul Simon's official website's lyric page, there is a song listed as "Some Day." It is nearly identical, with some of the verses being in a different order, and lacking a chorus. I can't imagine that it was anything other than an early draft of this hit.

IMPACT:
Another collaboration with Woodley, this was The Seekers' follow-up to their #1 hit "I'll Never Find Another You." (Thanks to a reader for correcting me; this was not The Seekers' first hit, as I had said.)

As The Seekers were the first act with international impact from Australia, it is fair to say that Simon, aside from his part in South Africa's musical history, is also part of that island continent's cultural story.

Later acts from Australia ranged from The Little River Band to Men At Work, and perhaps most notably another harmony act like The Seekers-- The Bee Gees. Well, not much like The Seekers.


Next song: My Little Town

I Wish You Could Be Here

This song was co-written with Bruce Woodley of The Seekers, and performed by that Australian group. It was written in the short hiatus between the letdown of the first proper S&G album, "Wednesday Morning" and their follow-up, "Silence." (Woodley also co-wrote "Cloudy.")

While it does not seem to have been recorded by S&G, it is included in the songbook "Songs by Paul Simon" (Charing Cross Music, 1967), which largely contains S&G material.

Thematically, the song prefigures "Kathy's Song." The opening imagery, however, is of snow, not rain, as in "I Am a Rock": "Lookin' from my window at the freshly fallen snow/ That sparkles as it tumbles upon the street below."

The song does not discuss the internal angst of the speaker, as "Kathy's Song" does. It simply speaks of the speaker's longing for his absent love, describes the ambiance of the room, as in "Dangling Conversation," and discusses what the speaker does with his "lot of empty time to kill"-- There is a fire in the fireplace; "the room is warm and sleepy." He listens to "some records," and tries to "read the paper."

But, while he doesn't use these words, his mind is distracted and diffused. The words in the paper "aren't very clear," and his "thoughts return to you/ And I know there's somethin' missin', I wish you could be here."

While he aches for her return, he does not expect it. "I keep list'nin' for your footsteps or your key turned in the door/ I sure could use your company, but we've been through that before."

This last line is the only one that provides any context for the relationship. This is not just "I miss you," but "I miss you since we broke up."

Somewhat like "Somewhere They Can't Find Me" is a rock remake of "Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M." "I Wish You Could Be Here" is a pop remake of "Kathy's Song." It is roughly the same song, with simpler words and concepts substituted for the others' collegiate and poetic sensibilities.

Also, in "Kathy's Song," the couple is geographically apart but still together. More importantly, here the singer is upset but still "has it together," while in "Kathy's Song" he has a major crisis: "I have come to doubt all that I once held as true."

What makes this song interesting is that it shows that Simon is capable of presenting the same material in two different ways-- as a simple folk-pop ditty, or as a highly philosophical and emotional poem.


Next Song: "Someday, One Day."

Hey Schoolgirl

Puppy love used to have a soundtrack.

This is an innocent little flirtation about a young "crush" that, in a situation that seems rare in Simon's later work, is mutual.

The boy makes the first move, and daringly whispers-- during class!-- that he'd like to meet up with this young lady after "after school."

She agrees, but is demure. Her school day is over an entire hour and a half later. If they are in the same classroom, they must be in the same school and even the same grade... how is her school day so much different? Does she have after-school activities? Detention? (Heaven forbid.)

She then puts him off three times more. "Maybe when we're older, then we can date" seems like a very big put-off. Her excuse about homework taking her "hours" would only mean he'd have to wait hours, not years until they are "older."

And then the vague "Someday we'll go steady" seems a timeframe of months, perhaps years again.

But each put-off is equalled by a come-on: "Let's wait" means later, yes, but not never-- as does "So don't you fret/ Ooh, not yet."

At this point, our poor young fellow might be forgiven if he feels "played" or "strung along," what with such mixed messages.

But then, just as suddenly, the girl changes her mind, and with a sense of purpose commits herself: "I'm gonna skip my homework, gonna cut my class/ Bug out of here real fast."

Our young Romeo could not be happier, with the situation or with himself: "Now we're going steady... You're mine/ I knew it all the time." Sure he did.

Still, what was it about him that won her over? His brazenness in approaching her during class? His confidence in suggesting a date before he even knew her name? His doo-wop influenced pick-up line: "hoo-babaloo-chi-bop"? The fact that once he made his overture, he hung back, letting her come to him?

We'll never know for sure. But this extremely early song does remain one of the few songs in Simon's portfolio about a successful relationship. Is such a thing possible only when the participants are as uncomplicatedly innocent-- or as obliviously confident-- as children?


IMPACT:
This is the one song from the Tom and Jerry, pre-S&G, days that the duo still performs.

They were still in high school when, with this song, they found their first taste of success. It was their first professional recording, cut in 1957. It sold 100,000 copies and cracked the Top 50 (#49, but still).

It even took them to the performance show of their time-- long before American Idol, MTV, Star Search or even Soul Train-- called American Bandstand. New artists took turns playing their hits, teens danced, and Dick Clark hosted the proceedings. (The TV show central to the plot of Hairspray is based on this show.)

When he introduced them, Clark asked them where they were from. Garfunkel admitted to being from New York, but Simon falsely drawled that he was from Macon, Georgia. This fib was, perhaps, in an attempt at authenticity... or at not wanting to be out-authentic-ed by the act that they were to follow: Jerry Lee Lewis, performing "Great Balls of Fire."


Next Song: I Wish You Could Be Here

Red Rubber Ball

Simon co-wrote this song, but he does not seem to have recorded a solo version. Then again, neither did S&G... except on a concert CD that was released many years post-breakup.

Since there is an  S&G  recording of the song, and since Simon co-wrote the song pre-breakup, let's call this an "S&G-era song," if not an "S&G song" proper.

While the previously discussed track recalls Simon's 1960's style protest work, this number hearkens back even further, to his Brill Building, "Hey Schoolgirl" days.

The lyrics, as befitting that time and place, are straightforward, if somewhat clever. The main imagery is childlike: a "roller-coaster," a "starfish," and the titular red ball.

But there is a sophistication in the message. Yes, there is some residual anger in this breakup song, but nothing like the venom of "Interest" or the petulance of "I Am a Rock."

Breakups can be like other losses, and move through the five basic emotions of grieving outlined by psychiatrist Elisabeth Kubler-Ross (she never intended for people to think that these had to be felt "in order," though, or even one at a time): Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.

So if those other songs have a speaker stuck in Anger mode, the speaker of "Rubber Ball" is largely in a state of Acceptance: "I think it's gonna be all right/ Yeah, the worst is over now/ The morning sun is shining."

Yes, but why "like a red rubber ball"? Well, anything from childhood can be seen as a sign of hope.

One could read a sense of resiliency, of "bouncing back" from a let-down, into the fact that the ball is rubber.

That might be pushing things. After all, Bobby Vee's "Rubber Ball" uses the same image to refer to an overly pliant boy who can't get over a girl: "Like a rubber ball, I come bouncing back to you."

Instead, let's look at Simon's song as he uses Anger as a lever to move himself into a place of Acceptance. As the speaker looks back over the relationship-- the song itself starts with "I should have known"-- he lists the reasons that he is relieved the relationship's sun has set:

She was dismissive of, perhaps even loose with, his "secrets"... she treated him like 'arm candy,' as they say today... and she never had "time" for him. Overall, he felt uncared for, and uncared about: "You never cared... never caring."

Whatever good times there were do not seem to have been worth the anguish the relationship caused. Simon uses the somewhat cliche image of a "roller-coaster ride" to illustrate these ups-and-downs...

...then tries to extend the metaphor-- "I bought my ticket with my tears." Rather than smirk at the histrionics of that line, let us realize that this was at least an attempt to elevate a cliche, and that it is entirely in keeping with what passed for poetry in song lyrics of its era (again compare to the Bobby Vee song). Lastly, even if someone was trying to write a song in the voice of a wounded teen today, they might very well write that line; it is entirely in character.

Lastly, let us applaud the speaker for personal strength of the rest of the line: "...that's all I'm gonna spend." No Bargaining going on here, no "If only you'd..." or "I promise to..." The speaker has cried enough, and is done.

In case he was unclear, the speaker states his case plainly in other lines: "I don't need you at all... If I never hear your name again, it's all the same to me."

He realizes he's worth more than the sort of treatment he's been getting... and after all, she's not the only fish in the sea.

Not even the only "starfish."


IMPACT:
The song was made famous by a band called The Cyrkle, who opened for The Beatles in the US and spelled their name like that because John Lennon told them to.

The song rose to #2, and "went gold," which means it sold over a million copies. It was co-written by The Seekers' Bruce Woodley.

Also, after I selected it last week for this week's post, I heard it blasting from a car stereo here in Chicago on a fall weekend afternoon.


Next Song: Hey Schoolgirl

A Church is Burning

Simon released this song on his 1965 solo album Songbook, and it does not appear on any of the five official S&G releases. So, it's a Simon solo number, yes?

Well, it also appears on several S&G compilations, box sets, and concert albums, sung as a duet. And since all of the other material on Songbook appears on one of these five albums, and since it was written when Simon was part of the duo, we'll cover it here.

Thematically and historically, it fits here as well. It is clearly a 1960s protest song, along the lines of "He Was My Brother."

The story is a sadly common one, a church burning. Three "hooded men," evidently KKK members, set a black church ablaze at night. The devastation is contrasted with the hopeful prayers that were being said their earlier that day: "I won't be a slave anymore."

But while the church burns, the fire itself prays: "You can burn down my churches/ But I shall be free."

I have no proof of this, but I have a theory that this imagery was at least in part taken from the Jewish High Holiday service. The prayers on Yom Kippur include the story of the Ten Martyrs. These were ten Torah scholars tortured to death by the Romans for disobeying the order to stop teaching Jewish law; the text details the graphic horror of their tortures. The Chabad website puts the story in context and provides some background information on each of the martyrs:

"One of the martyrs was Rabbi Chananya ben [son of] Teradyon... one of the preeminent sages of his day, yet more than anything he was known as a man with an overriding concern for the poor. His efforts to raise funds on their behalf are legendary...

In the end, he too became a victim of Roman savagery. Before they burned him at the stake, the Romans wrapped his body in a Torah scroll and packed tufts of water-soaked wool around his heart to delay his death and prolong the suffering...

...In his final moments [he] continued to embody the triumph of a noble soul. His final words to his disciples were, 'I see the parchment [of the scroll] burning, but the letters themselves are flying up to Heaven'."

The text in the prayerbook continues that the executioner was so moved that he removed the wool, fanned the flames to hasten the end of the scholar's suffering... and jumped into the blaze himself.

While the imagery is only similar, we know that even the most uninvolved Jews tend to attend Yom Kippur services. Simon is highly likely to have been familiar with this story-- one of religious/racial persecution, with a book-burning image.

As far as the rest of the lyrics, they are fairly self-explanatory. Two images stand out, however. One is the comparison of flame's shape with that of hands placed together in prayer. Both rounded at the bottom and tapered at the top, like a teardrop, the shapes are undeniably similar. We have all seen both shapes our whole lives, but it takes the eye of a poet to connect them.

The other is "the ashes of a Bible." As he later would in "Keep the Customer Satisfied"-- with the lines "I been slandered, libeled/ I heard words I never heard in the Bible"-- Simon contrasts the proclaimed piety of many Bible-thumpers with the horrible things they actually, hypocritically, do.

Church burnings are, sadly, not a thing of the past. As recently as 2006, there was a rash of church burnings in the South. And houses of worship of all faiths continue to be bombed and desecrated to this day. [Note: a French synagogue was firebombed in 2014.] Like this song said in 1965, "The future is now."


Next Song: Red Rubber Ball

You Don't Know Where Your Interest Lies

This 1967 song was released as a flipside to a (slight) remake of "Fakin' It."

The theme of the song is common enough: an entreaty to a potential lover. However, the speaker does not take the usual tacks of begging, promising, flattering, etc.

No, this person wants to argue and insult her into being his girlfriend. His premise? It is in her own best "interest," and she seems ignorant of that, to her own detriment.

The speaker posits himself as the more intelligent of the pair: "You don't know that you love me... What you think isn't always true... You don't begin to comprehend." He knows what is best for her, and it is him.

She doesn't appreciate his superiority, either, "You may think you're above me... You should know that I'm womanly wise... Don't try to debate me."

Another thing she is unaware of is that they are more than friends, or are soon to be. Our speaker is not going to let the fact of their friendship prevent him from trying to increase their status a notch, and is willing to risk losing her as a friend to gain her as a girlfriend.

A bold ploy, and a necessary one in many cases. But first, he says something cruel: "You're just a game that I like to play." What, then, is the point of risking the friendship? Not to gain a lover, but to win a "game"?

He says that she dare not "try to manipulate" him, but what would he like to do to her if not the exact same thing?

Musically, the song mimics many of the British Invasion songs of the time; played instrumentally (and, minus the bent blues notes), it might be mistaken for an early Police track, with its somewhat-reggae beat.

At this point, however, the song turns into an electric-piano lounge number for a few measures. Someone-- either a friend or a voice from his subconscious-- tells the speaker that his tactics will fail: "Obviously, you're going to blow it."

This wiser voice takes the idea of "you don't know" and turns it back on the speaker. His oncoming failure may be obvious to this detached observer, but "you [i.e., the speaker] don't know it."

So here is the speaker, bragging about his intellect and what his target doesn't "know," when it's obvious to everyone else that this person doesn't "know," ahem, squat about relationships or how to start them.

The beat picks back up, and our dogged if maladroit speaker continues his bluster unabated. Obviously, he is going to blow it.

For her part, she probably is well aware that her interest lies elsewhere.

IMPACT: The song was covered by a singer named Dana Valery in 1977. She was born in Italy, but moved to South Africa at 16, where she broke into music. 


Next Track: A Church Is Burning

Song for the Asking

This simple song hearkens back to Simon's early S&G-era folksongs, like "April Come She Will" and especially "Leaves That Are Green."

The instrumentation, sparse as it is, shows some complexity. The string quartet-style accompaniment might seem an odd choice for the folksy guitar with the odd bent blues note thrown in. But this is the same Simon who would later write a song called "American Tune" based on a Bach piece. One of Simon's great musical gifts as a composer and arranger is exactly this kind of synthesis of Old and New World sounds, of ancient and modern styles.

Lyrically, the song is very straightforward. "Ask me and I will play," Simon tells his audience, perhaps an audience of one. "Take it... I've been waiting all my life..." he offers, and then it trails off. "Waiting" for what? For the addressee of the song to ask him to play, evidently.

And then the song turns into an apology: "...I'd be more than glad/ To change my ways." First, the request not to "turn away," now this. What did he do, and on a regular basis, that upset the other party so greatly that they would leave, and leave him "sad"? We are left wondering.

There is a purposeful parallel Simon is creating: Just tell him, and he'll change. Just ask him, and he'll play.

The solution to both is his song itself. "Ask me, and I will play/ All the love that I hold inside." If you just give him a chance to play, to express himself in his terms, he will be able to explain and apologize and, well, love.

There are dozens of break-up albums, but very few about the break-up of the band itself. After several songs of farewell, it is curious to end the album-- and the partnership-- with this song. A song that says, "Don't go, I'll change-- whatever you want, just ask."

It is the first indication that Simon was perhaps ambivalent about the break-up. Unlike many bands thrown together by studio executives, or created through auditions, Simon and Garfunkel were friends. Even at their young age at this point, they were "old friends," having been performing together since high school.

Yes, together, they were once-in-forever team. But each was also immensely talented on his own, and each had musical and other artistic ambitions that the other did not share (Admittedly, like Garfunkel, Simon did have a brief acting career; Simon had a cameo in Annie Hall, aside from One Trick Pony. But he and Garfunkel never shared a film). And there was that personality conflict, too.

It seems to be taken as historical fact that the break was inevitable and mutual, and both parties felt relieved by it.

And yet... assume for a moment that this song, in the context of the album, is about the break-up. Then "Song for the Asking" might be the only indication that Simon was "sad" about the situation, was willing to admit fault, and even willing to make amends. He even offered Garfunkel his greatest gift, to play whatever Garfunkel wanted. But, as Simon said in "Overs," "Why don't we stop fooling ourselves?/ The game is over."

The album does not end with one of the farewell songs, or upbeat numbers. It does not end with the title track, and its promise to stay supportive as the other "sails on by." It ends with a song more suited for a re-beginning. And it really ends, not with the crescendo that ends "Bridge," but with a bent, bluesy, "sad" note.

As TS Eliot said, an ending not with a bang, but with a whimper.

Simon and Garfunkel would end up reuniting for concerts and a song or two. But "Simon and Garfunkel" was no more.


Note to readers: This is the last song on Simon and Garfunkel's official five albums. However, there were other Simon and Garfunkel tracks. One, which we will discuss next, was released on a 45. Others did not surface until concerts and box sets covering the S&G years were released. Some do not seem to have been recorded at all, yet are included in sheet-music books as S&G songs. We will deal with these songs-- as many as I am are of-- in the coming months.

After those, we will delve into the songs of Simon's solo career through the Surprise album, unless he comes out with another album by then [Note: as I edit this, he has-- the album So Beautiful or So What.] And, after that, we will double back around to discuss Simon's pre-Garfunkel, pop-oriented work.

So, those of you who are S&G fans, don't despair; there is plenty S&G left to go. And I will tell you where these tracks are to be found, naturally. And those who were expecting to move on to Simon's solo work at this point, don't tune out-- you may discover a track or two you'll like.


Next Song: You Don't Know Where Your Interest Lies

Why Don't You Write Me

This song is more significant-- if at all-- for its music than its lyrics, which are either off-handed or half-hearted, depending on your level of generosity.

The bright spots are the inventive rhymes: "jungle/hungry," "write me/brighten," "sign/iodine." Also, the device of rhyming the end of one line with the middle of the next is quite clever.

Musically, the song hearkens back to earlier rock sounds while its loose ranginess looking forward to Simon's international explorations. And then the whole ending is rapped.

The notion that this song is aimed at Garfunkel-- that he left for Mexico and refused to get in touch from there-- seems hard to prove. First of all, he sings on the track itself. Second, the song is framed as a request for correspondence from a lover, not a friend.

The album is so strong overall that it is hard to fathom how this number crept in. It's not as if there weren't other fun songs included, such as "Baby Driver" and "Customer." And "Bye Bye Love" covers the duo as far as sending a salute to the sounds that inspired them.

Place this one in the column with "Groovey Thing" and "Pleasure Machine" as the sound of a songwriter having fun and blowing off creative steam.

Oh, and the title was "borrowed" from a doo-wop song by a group called The Jacks.

(I did not expect to be able to post an "Impact" for this song, but I just learned that Olivia Newton-John covered it. I had to listen to that. So I can, sadly, tell you that you don't have to.)

Next song: Song for the Asking

The Only Living Boy in New York

To understand this song, one must know a bit about what was going on in the duo at the time. Yes, they were breaking up. But one of the reasons is less well-remembered today, and that was Garfunkel's desire to pursue a career as an actor.

The song is addressed to "Tom." This was Garfunkel's name when the duo was going by Tom and Jerry; Garfunkel was Tom Garr and Simon was Jerry Landis. The reference, of course, was to the famous cat-and-mouse cartoon.

Garfunkel was about to shoot the movie version of the anti-war novel Catch-22, which was going to film in Mexico. Which explains the first verse, in which Tom has a "part" for which he is going there.

Leaving Jerry, which is to say Paul, as the one left back in New York. He will feel as isolated as if everyone else in the city were dead.

The next verse hearkens back to their earlier, perhaps simpler days. A verse about the weather being the only important news, and having "nothing to do... but smile," could just as well have been said by the speaker of "Cloudy" or "Feelin' Groovy."

The final verse returns to the sentiment of farewell. (Along with "So Long" and the Everly cover "Bye Bye Love," this makes three farewell songs on one album, in case anyone had missed the point.)

The word "fly" here, in "I know your eager to fly, now," means more than just to take an airplane flight. Simon knows Garfunkel is eager to "fly" in the sense of "flee." He wants to escape the group and embark on his new artistic adventure, and he does not begrudge him his enthusiasm.

Simon's only acting advice to his departing partner is "Let your honesty shine/ Like it shines on me." Interesting, that to be "honest" is the best way to play a fictional character in a fictional story. But honesty, Simon admits, is one of Garfunkel's strongest traits, and he might as well use it.

(As it turned out, Garfunkel's acting career was brief. Its highlights were Catch-22 with an all-star cast, and Carnal Knowledge, playing Jack Nicholson's friend. He would soon return to singing.)

The chorus is intriguing-- simply the line "Half of the time, we're gone/ And we don't know where." Again, this aimlessness is one of Simon's main themes. It echoes "Cloudy" and also foreshadows the line in "Me and Julio": "Don't know where I'm goin'/ But I'm on my way."

To this searching line comes the wafting "Here I am," which is present, yes... but faint and receding, as if drifting down from an airplane speeding away overhead. Garfunkel sings this line, appropriately. Even when he is gone, he will still be "there" in some sense.

While many of Simon's songs refer to events and people in his life, few are as autobiographical as this. There were so many emotions around the break-up-- anger, betrayal, disappointment, bewilderment, abandonment... resignation, and finally, acceptance. This slight song manages to work through many of them in a short space, focusing on the final two.

Go catch your plane, Tom, Simon says. If this is what you want, I wish you all the luck there is. I'll miss you, but don't worry about me-- I'll be fine.

And, if you were the one leaving, what else would you want to hear?


IMPACT:
A pretty, if slight, song, it seemed destined to be forgotten by all but ardent S&G fans.

It was revived by inclusion on the emo-heavy soundtrack of the Wes Anderson-esque movie-- written and directed by and even starring Zach Braff-- Garden State. It is, by decades, the oldest song in the batch, and it stakes an interesting claim for S&G as a grandfather to today's emo groups (much as grunge fans rediscovered Neil Young).


Next Song: Why Don't You Write Me

Baby Driver

This song reads like a playground hand-jive, but sounds like a Beach Boys track. There is a great deal of childhood imagery... and then a whole lot of car-racing imagery. The title itself is, in fact, the two words "baby" and "driver."

The jump-rope sing-song element is the "my daddy"/"my mama" part. The information about the parents is adult, however, and at least somewhat autobiographical. Simon's father was a very successful session bass-player, for instance. In one interview, Simon recalls a song coming on the radio and his father off-handedly remarking, "I think I played on that." (I admit I have no idea if any of the military information has any basis in fact.)

Another childhood element is the phrase "once upon," as "once upon a time." Yet another is the invitation "come to my room and play."

(The speaker does mention the circumstances of his birth, but that can hardly be counted as childhood imagery. Many songs have lyrics like "born in the USA" or "born to be wild.")

As for racing imagery, there is the chorus, which mentions "wheels," the "road," an "engine," and the line "what's my number," as all racecars have numbers.

Whether childhood imagery or car imagery, by the end of the song, they both seem to be metaphors for sex. "I wonder how your engine feels" refers to the same thing as the line in Springsteen's "Born to Run": "strap your hands 'cross my engines."

And then there is the blatant line: "Yes we can play/ I'm not talkin' 'bout your pigtails/ I was talkin' 'bout your sex appeal."

My theory? It's about a guy trying to lose his virginity. Put together, the song seems to be one giant come-on. He is young, still a "baby," with no accomplishments to his name, so he brags about his parents as a way of strutting.

Further, he "wonders how [the girl's] engine feels", and wants to "play," but has as much intention of staying around as Dion's Wanderer: "I hit the road and I'm gone... scoot down the road..." (The Wanderer explains, "When I find myself falling for some girl/ I hop right into my car and I drive around the world.")

The line "What's my number?" could then mean "You don't even know my phone number or address, do you? I'm gone before you can find out."

The virginity theory also explains the line about carrying a "gun," but not yet getting a chance to "serve"-- i.e. use his "gun" to serve anyone else.

He is a "baby driver," with temporary tags and a learner's permit, but still no license. This would explain his ridiculous attempts at seduction... and his likelihood of crashing instead of making it all the way around the track.


Next Song: The Only Living Boy in New York

The Boxer

One of the songs on which S&G's reputation, indeed Simon's reputation, rests.

Less a full narrative like a Harry Chapin or Bruce Springsteen song-- or Simon's later "Duncan"-- "The Boxer" is a character study. In the few minutes of a song, Simon sketches a young male character as identifiable and indelible as Holden Caulfield, and one with a similar attitude of disappointment with the world (although Holden had higher hopes and was therefore more disappointed).

One might think that the second line of the song refers back to the first, given when the rest falls (at the end of that second line). But that would make little sense. Why would there be a "though," as if he expected his "poor boy" story to be told? Poor boys stories are seldom told, aside from those of Twain, Dickens, and Algren. It's mostly the rich boys' stories, like that of Richard Cory, that are recounted.

Rather, the second line addresses what follows: "Though my story's seldom told, I have squandered my resistance for a pocketful of mumbles." Rather than hold out and insist that his story be told, he has used up his "resistance"-- or failed to use it-- and so has had to settle for "mumbles... lies and jests."

But he remains philosophical about that situation, noting that people will "hear what (they) want to hear" in any case. Since no one else will tell his story, he proceeds to, himself.

He started off "I am just a poor boy," but now says "I was no more than a boy." So how old is he now, and how old (or young) was he then? In the first line, he means "boy" as "guy," in the sense of being a "child" of certain circumstances. Compare this to, say, "Thank God I'm a Country Boy," meant to be sung by a person old enough to "have a fine wife." And in the second instance, he means it in the literal sense of "youngster."

But it is significant that he does not characterize himself as "a poor man." With everything he has been through (as we shall see), he is resigned to dealing with life as it comes, with the powerlessness to change his situation equal to that of a boy's. At this point, anyway.

He leaves his home while still a child, at least at a child's small level of worldliness and maturity. He tries not to draw attention to himself, sensing he will be accepted or at least ignored if he stays among "strangers"-- others who also prefer to remain anonymous and mind their own business.

The phrase "quiet of the railway station" is odd, considering that such places are usually bustling with human and vehicular traffic. He must go there after the crowds have left for the evening, perhaps to pick up some scraps of food or clothing.

Eventually, he grows to young manhood and decides that such a hand-to-mouth existence is no longer necessary. He is old and strong enough to be a "workman," and seems willing to sell his efforts to the lowest bidder, if only to get a foot in the door. Frustratingly, not even this compromise is accepted.

While he found somewhat of a community among "the ragged people" before, he now finds himself only attractive to "whores." Given how everyone else in society has rejected him, he admits to taking "some comfort" in their embraces. He doesn't dare the listener to judge him for this sin or crime, figuring he is already beneath their notice, let alone contempt.

Now it comes clear that he is not from New York. Possibly, he was at that railway station coming in from somewhere else, somewhere warmer and more rural. Perhaps he was "laying low" and "running scared" from the inbound train's conductor, since he was stowing away on board, too poor for a ticket.

Next, see him "laying out [his] winter clothes." On what? A bed? Does he finally have enough wherewithal for a room, perhaps with a closet, and enough clothes to take him through seasonal changes? He must have finally found a job of some sort.

He is laying out winter clothes to prepare, presumably, for the winter. But while he does so, he longs for the milder winters of wherever his boyhood home was.

Then comes the line "leading me." Usually, things "lead" one to stay, or they "drive" one away. In this case, the "New York City winters" are (he wishes they weren't, which indicates that they in fact are) "leading [him] to go."

The syntax then breaks down, as if the speaker is trying to assemble his thoughts: "Wishing I was gone, going home, where the New York City winters aren't bleeding me... leading me... going home..."

"Hey," he seems to think, "Why not? What do I have here that is keeping me?" And a decision is made. The clothes are not laid out on bed now, but folded into a suitcase.

Just a few guitar notes later, bent in country-music fashion, we have a radical shift. Now the point of view is third person instead of the first is has been thus far.

We are to presume that the "boxer" in the last verse is in fact the same person who had just been speaking to us all along. We assume that the job that enabled him to get his furnished room was prizefighting. We assume he has now gone home, to a place rural enough for a "clearing," which must mean far from New York City.

But why the shift in point of view? Why now "his" and "him" instead of "I" and "my"?

Because now, finally, someone else is telling his "story," which is what he said he wanted in the first verse.

And what is his story? One of survival. While he "carries the reminder of every glove that laid him down," he "still remains." His survival is his triumph. The hands of others made him fall, both before his boxing career and during it.

But the last verse asserts that he "stands," despite it all. He stood, and withstood, all of those hardships. They turned him from a "boy" into a "fighter," and while he was not a winner, he is far from a loser, simply because he endured and "remained."

The music is fascinating. It starts with a simply folk ramble, then adds a galloping drum, perhaps to signify the train that brought him to New York. There is also a twangy instrument, perhaps a bass harmonica, which disappears, then returns for the last verse, to make sure we know it is still the same character. This rustic instrument also marks his departure from and re-entry into the rural world.

The time lapse during which the young man takes up boxing and finds his apartment is marked by an electronic instrument tuned to sound somewhat like an oboe.

The famous "lie-la-lie" chorus hearkens back to ancient ballads, but the cymbal crashes give them significance of the cannons of the 1812 Overture. These choruses build and fade throughout.

Then, after the last line, they crescendo and swell to truly orchestral proportions, with soaring strings and a profound tuba filling in the bottom. Compare this symphonic arrangement to the one at the end of the Beatles' "A Day in the Life," and you will find it much more cohesive and melodic (this is not a criticism of the Beatles' crescendo, just a mark of contrast; the effect is different, but so is the motive).

Why all the fireworks? Because the boxer is worthy of such a fanfare. As Willy Loman's wife ruefully observes after his death: "Attention must be paid." There is something to honor in the simply act of surviving excruciating circumstances, of enduring heaps of humiliations with one's dignity intact.

"The fighter still remains." He never won a belt, or perhaps even many matches. But through jobless poverty and friendless isolation, he still remains... and that is a triumph in itself.


IMPACT: The song is a unanimously hailed part of the S&G canon-- and no S&G, or Simon, compilation is complete without it.

If the duo plays just one song for a public appearance, it might well be this one, and the audience is satisfied. This is only true of a handful of their hits, also including "Mrs. Robinson," "Scarborough Fair," "Sounds of Silence," and "Bridge."

When Paul Simon received an exhibit at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, a nearby Cleveland university held a smaller exhibit of materials regarding just one song-- this one. While it is true that many individuals have received museum exhibitions of their life and work, for how many songs is that true?

It has held special resonance for folk and country fans and artists, and has been covered by Bob Dylan, Emmylou Harris, Chet Atkins, Waylon Jennings, and Mumford & Sons... as well as Yes keyboardist Rick Wakeman in one of his solo outings. 

Next song: Baby Driver

So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright

Title aside, this song is not about the celebrated architect. Rather, "Frank Lloyd Wright" was one of Simon's nicknames for Garfunkel, who was an architecture student in college.

The "farewell" nature of the song is due to Garfunkel's leaving the duo to pursue an acting career. (More about this in the discussion of "The Only Living Boy in New York.")

The hand drums and flute are unusual, Caribbean touches. As is the fact that Grafunkel carries the vocals in a song in which Simon is saying farewell to him.

It is a pleasant-enough farewell at that, an amicable split. The "so soon" is interesting, given that the duo had known each other and worked together musically since high school. "I've never laughed so long" is also nice to hear, given the famous, or rather infamous, nature of their relationship as depicted in the general media.

The line "never change your point of view" is a nice way of saying that Simon felt he was continuously evolving, while Garfunkel seemed happily stuck in a groove. Their subsequent careers bear this out, with Simon collaborating with everyone from Brazilian drummers to avant-garde dancers....

...while Garfunkel, who had his pick of songwriters, did not choose, say, Randy Newman or Leonard Cohen to interpret, or even Cole Porter, but Jimmy Webb. Webb wrote "Witchita Lineman," "By the Time I Get to Phoenix" and "McArthur Park."

Still, Simon admits, "when I run dry, I stop awhile and think of you." Perhaps Garfunkel's reliance on classic songcraft provided Simon with some structure, when his exploratory nature could have led him to take a song almost anywhere.

Ultimately, though, it seems that their deep appreciation for each other's musical talent --and each other's sheer love of the art form-- was enough to sustain their friendship as long as it has lasted.

"All of the nights we'd harmonize 'til dawn..." even when the concert was over, or there had been no concert, the two would simply sit and play and sing for hours... and revel in the uniquely beautiful sound they made together. The laughter must have been that of pure joy.

Perhaps they only "harmony" they had was musical. Even if so, what harmony it was.


Next Song: The Boxer

Keep the Customer Satisfied

The most famous tracks (the somber title track, the elegiac "The Boxer," and the lyrical "El Condor Pasa,") aside, much of the Bridge album is lively and upbeat. Count "Cecilia," "Baby Driver," and this track-- not to mention the Everly cover "Bye Bye Love"-- and this is as close to a party album as S&G ever made.

"Keep the Customer Satisfied" is also as close to a country song as the duo ever recorded. It has the rangy guitars, the loping bass, and even a reference to the "deputy sheriff" typical of that genre... plus the super-folksy, Andy Griffith-worthy opening line. (As for the horns, many country songs have them, such as Johny Cash's "Ring of Fire.")

The song is also a near sequel to "Homeward Bound." That song's chorus famously sighed, "I wish I was homeward bound." This one starts, "Gee, but it's great to be back home."

Similarly, the train "stop [that] is neatly planned/ for a poet and a one-man band" is also a likely place to find the "shoe shine" boy he is but one societal rung, or "step," better than. "I've been on the road so long" is surely a reference to touring, something the duo had done in support of five albums over a decade.

Taken as a whole, the song is likely a response by Simon to critics, both the Rolling Stone magazine kind and the "Get outta town, ya hippie" kind. "Everywhere I go, I get slandered, libeled," might be a response to misinterpretations of his songs, public statements, or politics, something Simon would later face again when fighting apartheid through art during his Graceland years.

A generation earlier, the man who wrote "America" and "American Tune" might well have run afoul of the Un-American Activities Committee. As it was, Simon likely faced at least some of the same reaction-- at least in the parts of the country where "deputy sheriffs' and "county lines" matter-- as the subject of "He Was My Brother." Of course, in these situations, the outside interloper is guilty of upsetting the local "peace," even if that means not so much peace as quiet, i.e. silencing local minorities and minority opinions.

But what is Simon trying to do, after all? Run for president? Stage a civil-rights protest? Please the critics?

Not at all. He is simply, he pleads, attempting to keep an audience entertained: "I'm just trying to keep the customer satisfied." He cares not for his detractors, but solely for those who buy his records and tickets to his shows, those who turn up the volume a bit when his songs come on the radio and select them on the diner jukebox, those who purchase the sheet music and learn to play his songs for others at summer camps and on campus.

Simon closes the song much the way Robert Frost closes his famed poem "stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening": "I have promises to keep/ and miles to go before I sleep." Simon's version reads: "I'm so tired/ I'm oh, so tired/ But I'm trying to keep the customer satisfied." The theme of exhaustion pervades Simon's lyrics, from the line in "American Tune"-- "I'm just weary to my bones"-- to the whole of "Long Long Day" from the One Trick Pony soundtrack.

"I only have so much energy," Simon seemingly protests, "and I choose to focus it on the audience." It take a great deal of mental and emotional energy to write such lyrics as Simon's, and more to perform it, and more still to traipse around the country to do that. And here he also has to put up with critics both small-time and New York Times, and flee from those too close-minded to truly hear his message.

Aside from the other things the song is, it is funny. The upbeat songs mentioned above-- like "Groovey Thing," "Somewhere They Can't Find Me," "Philippic," "Punky," and "Pleasure Machine"-- show that Simon is not only a serious songwriter, but a seriously humorous one.

Take the line "I hear words I never heard in the Bible," which is a great euphemism for being cursed at. But deeper, who is doing the cursing? Ah, it is those who hold the Bible to be sacred above all else. Well, then, if that's the case, where in Heaven's name did they learn all those foul words they attack him with? Not in the chaste Bible! So, really, how pure are these Puritans? What do they want instead, a country song? Well then, here.

But the ultimate struggle is not between a man and his attackers, but between the world-weary traveler who longs to be "home"... and the troubadour who trudges about trying to please audiences nationwide. Both happen to be the same man, and he'd just like to do his work and come home and rest, and not have to deal with all of this other claptrap, thank you very much.


Next Song: So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright

Cecilia

Musically, this ebullient number falls in the "world-music" column. Lyrically, it's in the "love gone wrong" category.

But look at how different the reaction is this time. Gone is the wounded poet of "I Am a Rock," who responds to heartbreak by withdrawing from the world altogether.

Here, the speaker first re-woos his wayward lover. Although he lacks "confidence" in her, he asks her back: "I'm beggin' you please to come home."

She does come back in body, but is still a wandering spirit. Their reunion intercourse is interrupted briefly, but that is already enough time for the inconstant Cecilia to stray again, without even leaving the bed!

But this time, she begs forgiveness and asks him to be taken back. Well, several-times bitten is finally shy, and he responds with laughter.

The last verse repeats itself. Perhaps one time, the speaker laughs at Cecilia's tissue-thin declaration of love... and the second, at himself for embodying the idea that you can't do the same thing and expect different results (the so-called "definition of insanity").

In just a few short verses, our speaker goes from one form of prostration to another. First, he is down on pleading knee. But after realizing the folly of his ways, he is literally ROFL ("Rolling on the Floor Laughing," much more of a reaction that simply LOL), as the kids say today.

This song is joyous, for it marks a realization in the speaker that it's not him... it really is her. Maybe he needed to have it rubbed, so to speak, in his freshly washed face, but he has finally had his "a-ha moment." Even greater, he does not cry over his foolish waste of time, effort, and emotion, vowing to never love again.

No, he laughs. He laughs at Cecilia's immature estimation of love, and at the joyful future his new insight offers him. His cry of "Jubilation!" is entirely sarcastic. She loves him again, after having cheated on him in the time it took to wash his face? Oh, really? 'Tis to laugh.

Incidentally, the word "jubilation" comes from the word "jubilee," itself a Biblical term for the freeing of indentured servants (the Hebrew word is "yovel," said "YOH-vell). In fact, it is also from this passage from Leviticus that the quote etched on the Liberty Bell originates. So "jubilation" is not just a synonym for "joy," but an expression of joy at liberation.

And our hero has experienced that free joy at, of all things, a declaration of love, something that should joyfully bind. This is because he now realizes that, in the light of her fresh infidelity, Cecilia's "love" is as thin as the washcloth he just used on his face, and so he is free from his affection for her. "Jubilation," indeed.

Musical Note: The song was sampled by the band Faith No More for its song "Midlife Crisis." 

Next Song: Keep the Customer Satisfied

El Condor Pasa

[Note to readers: I know I missed last week's post, but I have a good excuse. His name is Joe, he was born in July 15, and he is sleeping in my left arm.]

Simon has already drawn from native folk sources for his material, as he did with "Scarborough Fair." This time, he presages his Rhythm of the Saints work by decades with a Peruvian folk tune, replete with authentic wood flutes from the Andes.

The song's title means "The Condor Passes," the condor being a large vulture-like bird native to the Andes and Rockies. It soars, huge wings outspread, barely flapping, riding on air currents.

Gravity, as much as it gives to us, is considered the enemy of humanity. For as long as we have seen birds, we have tried to fly like them. Babies love being tossed in the air, children ride swings as high as they can, and we adults do everything from high diving and BASE jumping to parasailing, skydiving, and hang-gilding... all in the attempt to fly. Even our greatest superhero's most super superpower is to make people point skyward at his soaring form, crying: "It's a bird! It's a plane!"

Simon gives that yearning-- to be a bird-- a voice, here. He'd "rather be a sparrow." He'd rather "sail away, like a swan/ That's here and gone."

The song is about longing to fly like a bird, a "sparrow" (perhaps not as destitute a one as in "Sparrow") or a "swan." The lyrics are a series of comparisons, with the flying birds winning out over those creatures bound by gravity, like snails... or humans. Similarly, natural settings like "forests" win out over urban ones like a "street."

It interesting that he chose a "sparrow," since his song about that very bird showed how vulnerable and ignored it was. Perhaps this strengthens his point-- anyone could wish to be an eagle (or a condor) rather than stay a human. But they might prefer to stay human and earthbound if the other option was to be a mere sparrow. Not him. He wants to fly so much, he'll even be this fragile bird.

After all, "a man" might as well be a "snail." He's so "tied up to the ground" that he "gives the world its saddest sound."

Than comes the last line, which is a half a comparison: "I'd rather feel the earth beneath my feet." Rather than what? Does this continue the thought of the previous line, so that "earth" underfoot is better than the asphalt of a "street"?

Or is it a refutation of all the soaring imagery that came before? Would the speaker rather "feel the earth beneath [his] feet" than not? Would he walk forever rather than fly?

The idea of preferring the woods to the city fits somewhat with the idea of preferring flying to walking. The benefit of flying is, aside from the convenience, freedom to wander, explore, and simply-- as the Mamas and Papas encourage-- "Go where you wanna go." Wandering in the un-peopled woods is about as close to that isolation and roadless-ness as most of us will be able to get.

The answer may come from the repeated refrain: "If I could, I surely would." But he can't. Since all of these bird scenarios are impossible, wouldn't it just be better to accept one's situation, and not continue to pine away and make "the saddest sound" over what can never be? Maybe some predictability is, ultimately, better than complete, bird-like freedom.

The condor glides overhead, inspiring awe in the earthbound viewer below. It swoops... circles... and soars. But then it passes.

The speaker next lets us know that he'd rather even be a tyrant than a victim-- a "hammer," rather than a "nail." Compare this to the imagery of hammers used to symbolize fascism in Pink Floyd's movie The Wall (even though the word "fascism," which derives from the symbol of the "fasces," should be symbolized by another tool, the ax; look up "fasces" and you'll see why.).

But a true drifter wants no attachments at all, which would include power over-- and responsibility for-- others, as much as it includes being beholden to no one. He wants to be neither hammer nor nail. He doesn't want to be a tool in anyone's toolbox! We must conclude that the line is only really there to rhyme with "snail."

So why didn't Simon go back and change the opposite of "sparrow" to something other than "snail"? Perhaps he wanted to keep the alliteration with "sparrow," but dismissed other one-syllable, small, land-bound forest animals as being even worse in their imagery or rhyme-possibilities: "snake," "squirrel," "sloth." Maybe what's here is fine. We could have had: "I'd rather be a sparrow than a skunk."

Overall, the song is a lovely and haunting rumination on the limitations of the human form. Here we are, with the best brain-- and the knowledge that we would truly appreciate flight if we could have it-- and we can't even fly up into a tree like a simple sparrow. Let alone a soaring condor.


MUSICAL NOTE:
While Simon is largely credited with bringing "world music" into the mainstream of American pop culture with Graceland, this song reminds us that musicians have long been doing so. Peter Paul and Mary, Joan Baez, Pete Seeger, and Harry Belafonte were just some of the folk musicians of the 1960s who worked non-American, non-English songs into their sets. Desi Arnaz was bringing Cuban music into suburban living rooms on the Lucy show as early as the 1950s, and Latin dances were part of Xavier Cugat's swing music even before that.

The story of this song is long, but here is a short version: The melody began as a traditional Andean folk tune in Peru. It was adapted and included in a longer, theatrical piece (called a "zarzuella") along with other such melodies by one Daniel Alomia Robles.

When Simon heard the Peruvian wood-flute ensemble Los Incas playing the melody in Paris (with the arrangement of their leader, Jorge Milchberg) he asked to write words for it; Simon toured with Los Incas, who perform the backup on the Bridge version of the track. He even produced their first US album. Milchberg's later band, Urubamba, accompanies Simon for this track on Live Rhymin'. They also provide backup on his solo song, "Duncan."

And anyone who thinks Simon was only interested in "world music" during his Graceland period need only listen to this and the next track to know that he has been exploring this music for much, much longer.

IMPACT:
The song reached #18 on the US charts. But it went to #1 all over Europe-- Spain,  Belgium, the Netherlands, West Germany, Austria,and Switzerland-- as well as Australia. It was covered by, of all people, crooner Perry Como.


Next song: Cecilia

Bridge Over Troubled Water

Part of the reason this song is so resonant, even today, is its message of unwavering friendship. It never mentions the word "love," even if it is to a "silvergirl," so it is not necessarily a "love song" in the usual sense.

And while there are mountains of love songs, there are very few songs about friendships: "Thank You for Being a Friend" (written by Andrew Gold decades before it became the Golden Girls theme song)... "Friendship" from the musical Anything Goes... and the now-obscure "You're a Friend of Mine," a duet between Jackson Browne and Clarence Clemmons (yes, Springsteen's late saxophonist).

At the level of "Bridge" are Carole King's "You've Got a Friend," Ben E. King's "Stand By Me," Bill Withers' "Lean on Me," and Peter Gabriel's "Don't Give Up." A song that should be as well known is Shawn Colvin's "Climb On (a Back That's Strong), and then there is Randy Newman's "You Got a Friend in Me." Still, compared to the endless supply of love songs, that's barely an album's worth of material.

One thing that many of these songs share is a religious, even Gospel, feeling. "Bridge," which Simon often performs with Gospel groups doing harmony, is definitely influenced by Gospel music, as is the turn of phrase "lay me down." "Stand" and "Lean" are pretty much Gospel songs as they are. And Carole King explained that her song was what she hoped God would sing to her. There is something holy about friendships that "Bridge" really gets.

Simon was listening to a great deal of Gospel music around this time. A line sung by Rev. Claude Jeter (later heard on "Take Me to the Mardi Gras") struck Simon. The song was "Mary, Don't You Weep," and Jeter sang, "I'll be your bridge over deep water if you trust in My Name." So that's where the "bridge over... water" comes from.

Another thing the songs have in common is straight-forward language. A bridge spanning turbulent waters is a powerful image, but Simon presents it in very simple words. This is not "a still-life watercolor of a hour-late afternoon." It's a bridge, as elegant as one in a Monet, yet as magnificent as the Golden Gate. And the water is "troubled," a very emotional idea.

The lyrics here are almost too simple. Simon uncharacteristically uses cliched expressions like "down and out," "on the street," "I'm on your side," and "when times get rough." It's a shame, because right next to these, Simon presents turns of phrase that are just as basic in their word choice, yet more innovative-- "feeling small" (a size, not an emotion), "when evening falls so hard (a pun, yet a poignant one)-- that have just as much emotional impact. More, in fact, for being new.

For some reason, these friendship songs tend to be about supporting friends in bad times, not celebrating good ones together. "Bridge" is very much a song of support--what else is a "bridge" but something that supports you until you reach the other side of an obstacle?

The third verse-- when the other instruments join the piano-- is about that other side. It is time for the beleaguered friend "to shine," like "silver"... and so will her "dreams." Since she will be shining in the spotlight, he won't be standing beside her and sharing it, but positioned "behind," still in support mode.

One irony of the song is that it is almost entirely performed by Garfunkel, and it is (aside from "Emily") his most beautiful performance. For one member of a duo to sing a song by the other is as image of support as powerful as the central one in this piece; imagine a song about friendship called "I Will Always Sing Your Song." Yet Simon and Garfunkel have one of the most infamously contentious friendships in all of celebrity-dom.

Among his best, most-acclaimed songs, "Sounds of Silence," "Mrs. Robinson," and "Call Me Al," show a sophisiciated, cynical side of Simon, and even "Scarborough Fair" has a hidden sarcasm, as we have seen. "The Boxer," which we are yet to discuss, is about dealing with adversity, and "Homeward Bound" and "Graceland" are about a longing that may prove unfulfilled. Of all the songs vying for the position of Simon's magnum opus, only "Bridge" has a message of pure hope.

Once, on Saturday Night Live, Simon jokingly discussed his image of being "Mr. Alienation." But how could anyone think of him in those terms while remembering that he wrote this, the greatest ode to friendship?


IMPACT:
"Bridge" remains one of the most important songs in all of popular music, perhaps in all of music history. It is one of the few songs receiving many millions of airplays. It is one of the most covered songs in music history, with versions by everyone from Elvis to Aretha.

The song and its album won six Grammys. The album as a whole won Album of the Year and Grammys for its arrangements--shared by S&G and others-- and engineering. The song won Record of the Year (to Simon and Garfunkel, for their performing and producing it), and both "Contemporary Pop Song" and just plain Song of the Year (to Simon, for writing it). The song is also in the Grammy Hall of Fame.

Moreover, the song is now a cultural landmark. Simon has performed "Bridge" at times of healing from national crisis. Recently, for example, it was performed to raise money for relief from the Haiti earthquake.

Even a short listing of the cover versions of this song would be impressive, in terms of who did the covering. What's striking is the range of styles the song has been performed in. It has become a sort of Mt. Everest for those with powerful vocals, regardless of genre, to try and climb: 

Aretha Franklin, Elvis Presley, Tom Jones, Josh Groban, Aaron Neville, Idina Menzel, Roy Orbison, Johnny Mathis, Bobby Womack, Barry Manilow, Shirley Bassey, Bebe and CeCe Winans.. even those vocalists for whom English is not a first language, like Andrea Bocelli and Nana Mouskouri.

Those with more subdued vocal styles have assayed the song as well: Andy Williams, Roberta Flack, Perry Como, Peggy Lee, Anita Baker, Anne Murray, even The Supremes and The Jackson 5. 

It has even proven irresistible for the country set, having been covered by Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson,  Waylon Jennings, Glen Campbell, Buck Owens, Chet Atkins, and LeAnn Rimes.

Next Song: El Condor Pasa (If I Could)

At the Zoo

So here's my theory. In The Graduate, there is a scene in which Benjamin is stalking Elaine, even following her onto a bus. He asks where she is going; she says to meet someone. He asks where. She says, "At the zoo." Incredulous at her having a date at a place usually associated with families with kids, he asks, somewhat condescendingly, "At the zoo?" "At the zoo," Elaine replies, as if this were totally normal.

And here we have a song called "At the Zoo," on the same album as "Mrs. Robinson," with the line "you can take a crosstown bus." So my theory is that the song was written for, but not used in, the movie.

Most songs about zoos-- from Tom Paxton's "Going to the Zoo" to Peter Himmelman's "Picnic at the Zoo"-- are, in fact, children's songs. Only a few songs that mention, or are set at, zoos, are for adults: "Zombie Zoo" (Tom Petty), "Knockin' 'Round the Zoo (James Taylor), "Gorilla You're a Desperado" (Warren Zevon). And these use the zoo, or the image of one, merely as a jumping-off point.

This one, however, is entirely for adults: The changes in tempo and tone, the match-striking sound, and especially the vocabulary. Aside from terms like "reactionary" and "turn on," we have the assertion that elephants are "dumb." A children's song would never make fun of, or demean, an animal. (We don't talk like that in this house, mister... say you're sorry.) Also, we have the bored zookeeper taking a nip on his frequent breaks.

We certainly have never heard of these animals being characterized these ways before. What is "honest" about a monkey, or "insincere" about a giraffe? If anything, monkeys are one of the few animals intelligent enough to make things up, while giraffes are barely audible and seem rather straightforward.

Most likely, this is simply Simon having fun in the same way as on the bus trip with Kathy in "America." The benign-looking man with the bow tie was just too benign; he was probably a spy. So, too, the placid-seeming antelopes are really interesting in selling you their religion, and the pigeons are not congregating to eat fallen popcorn but conspiring to rebel. Every once in a while, they let the secret slip; we think they say "coo," but they are really crying "coup!"

Simon clearly had fun with this song; and we can even hear him laugh during the recording. After the biting humor of "Blessed," "Pleasure Machine," "Desultory Philippic," and even "Mrs. Robinson," it's nice to hear the duo just enjoying playing with words and music. The mood starts light, as with "Cloudy" or "Feelin' Groovy," and the song ends with a jaunty, upbeat bounce of "Groovey Thing."

It's songs like this that remind us of the other side of S&G. While they are known for their sadder, more introspective and more challenging works, they never forgot that they were still-- in some part-- Tom and Jerry.


IMPACT:
Simon has a charity, The Children's Health Fund, that involves sending trucks full of medical equipment-- basically clinic-mobiles-- out to poor parts of New York. They even drove their trucks down to New Orleans to help with Hurricane Katrina relief.

Jimmy Buffett turned his song "Jolly Mon" into a children's book, then Carly Simon followed with "Fisherman's Song." Paul Simon turned this song, "At the Zoo," into a children's book, too... with the proceeds going to The Children's Health Fund.

Although intended for adults, the song is Simon's most child-friendly (aside from the lullabies "St. Judy's Comet" and "Father and Daughter"). The line about hamsters "turning on" is finessed in the illustrations by having them wear miner's helmets with head lamps; the "zookeeper" is now fond not of rum but of a beaver named "Rum."


Next Song: Bridge Over Troubled Water

A Hazy Shade of Winter

This song seems to be a struggle to determine what how much productive time the speaker has left. The music itself lurches between the fast lines that take up most of the song and slower interludes that seem to want to take a look around and enjoy the "scenery," only to succumb to the song's driving urgency.

The main question is: What state of development has the speaker reached-- is it "the springtime of [his] life"... or is "winter" hard by? The song as a whole seems to argue for the latter conclusion. It starts by worrying about time, repeating the word "time" like it is ticking away. "What's become of me," uses the past tense; the words sound like a TV special on "Whatever happened to" some child stars.

It continues, still in past tense, "I looked around... I was so hard to please." Also, he spent so much time choosing, he lost the time to actuate his choices. Is he wrong to feel that he has lost valuable time, not much of which is left? After all, the very weather agrees-- the leaves on the trees are dead, the sky is overcast. autumn is well underway, and the sky predicts "winter" soon.

(The imagery here recalls that of one of Simon's earliest songs: "The leaves that are green turn to brown..." That song, too, is out the inevitability of the passage of time and the nature is life as a series of partings: "Hello... goodbye/ That's all there is.")

Then another thought comes in: "What about what else is going on in the world? There's a band playing to raise money for the poor helped by the Salvation Army. I should go, and bring my cup to help collect donations from passers-by." After all, time is passing-- the leaves are still brown, the sky is still wintry.

Then the song seems to be quoting some helpful adviser, offering encouragement straight off of the "Hang in there!" poster with a cat dangling from a branch. The speaker admits such advice is only useful... if one buys into it, and "pretends" that there is enough time to rebuild hope.

But next comes a truer note of hope. Again, the imagery is taken not from platitudes, but from nature: "Look around, the grass is high/ The fields are ripe, it's the springtime of my life." What am I worried about? I'm young and have plenty of time!

Then this odd bit o "chicken-and-egg" philosophizing: "Seasons change with the scenery." Isn't it more true to say that "scenery changes with the seasons"? After all, it's either nice or bleak out because of what season it is, not the other way around.

But then, what is a "season"? Who determines what "spring" or "winter" is-- aren't these not just human, semantic labels for a natural events with no set start or end? It's the scenery that changes, with or without us, and we have to adjust our outlook.

Just when the speaker seems to have snapped himself out of his funk with this realization, there is a break. The next few lines seem to belong to another song. "Weaving time in a tapestry," seems to continue the poetic nature of the previous thought...

...Then the song snaps into a discussion about a relationship and turns sarcastic: "Won't you stop and remember me/ At any convenient time?"

It's disingenuous. Here is he saying that he must make use of the precious few moments he has left, what with "winter" coming... but this other person should stop whatever it is he or she is doing and make time for him! "Yeah, friend, I'm here, when you get around to me, I'm just sayin'..."

But then, right away, he is apologizing-- or rationalizing-- for himself having forgotten something or someone. After all, he was busy "looking over manuscripts/ Of unpublished rhyme" while having a drink.

Perhaps this is all to say that we make ourselves busier than we actually are, that, as John Lennon so nicely put it: "Life is what happens when you are making other plans." The speaker admits that he is just as guilty for ignoring relationships as he would blame his friend for being.

He wasn't busy as much as self-absorbed. He did not hear the Salvation Army band, and now instead of being with-- and helping-- other people, he is poring over things he himself has written but has not even shared.

Sadly, there is no time to learn this lesson. In the time it took to even think of all this, the weather has gotten even colder and time has gotten even shorter.

Before, there were dead leaves and a hazy sky. And now-- oh just look-- "there's a patch of snow on the ground." Winter isn't on its way-- it's arrived! Time's a-wastin'... better get back to work.


IMPACT: The song, one of S&G's fastest and hardest-driving, was covered successfully by the all-female New Wave band The Bangles.


Next song: At the Zoo