My Professional Opinion

Did you ever realize that our opinions are only worth half as much as we think they are? After all, when I offer you my opinion, I say, "Well, here're my two cents."

But when someone asks for my opinion, they say, "Penny for your thoughts."

You think your opinion is worth two cents. They would only pay, however, one cent. Half as much.

In interviews about the Seven Psalms album, Simon explains that he was routinely awakened by dreams, very early in the morning, with inspirations for these songs. 

So when he writes, here, "Looks like you haven't slept all night," he may be talking to himself, or at least about himself. There has got to be a mixed feeling for an artist, on the one hand being grateful for inspirations... and on the other wishing they waited until he'd had his morning coffee instead of rousing him when only crickets, owls, and bats are awake. 

Which could be the source of his name "Mr. Indignation."

In any case, he is in his 80s and does not work a job where he has to punch a clock, so for him to "go back to bed" as the song suggests, after jotting his "vampire hour" inspirations is just fine.

If the speaker feels that the person he is addressing is "Mr. Indignation," he admits "I'm no more satisfied than you are." He also admits that he does not have a solution that would resolve the given indignities, as he is not a "doctor" or a "preacher" and doesn't even have a "guiding star"-- say, a Scripture or philosophy-- that might suggest a solution.

On the other hand... what is there to be indignant about? "Indignation" comes from the same root as "dignity," and no one has any dignity to begin with, really: "Everyone's naked, there's nothing to hide." (This echoes Simon's observation in the song "Old" from You're the One: "Take your clothes off-- Adam and Eve.")

The next verse also has a reference to religion. In an echo of the spiritual "Down by the Riverside,"-- "Gonna lay down my sword and shield/ Down by the riverside"-- he writes, "Gonna carry my grievances down to the shore/ Wash them away in the tumbling tide."

There you go-- no more indignities! The idea that immersion in water provides rebirth is held by many of the world's faiths. Physical cleansing can become spiritually cleansing. 

So far, the title line, "in my professional opinion" is said twice. Once, it's to say, "You're exhausted because you are exhausting yourself." The second, it's to say, "You have troubles? So does everyone." 

Now, we the opinion offered that all cows must bear the blame for one specific cow insulting another. This seems... sarcastic. I suppose the point may be that even cows must suffer indignation.

But also, what is this guy's profession, that these are his "professional opinions"? It seems that the profession is, itself, the offering of opinions. If one spends any time on the Internet, one realizes that this may be the most popular profession today.

In the next verse, Simon synopsizes the situation: "So all rise to the occasion/ Or all sink into despair." Better than "all" would be "each," as each of us must rise and address our own indignities-- either by confronting them or "washing [them] away." But "each" doesn't sing as well as "all." The other option is to "sink into despair," dragged down by our indignities.

Here, his opinion is simply: "Don't go there." Why raise an issue only to dismiss it? This professional does not seem very good at... whatever their job is. 

The song ends with admission that, yes, our professional opinions are worth about one cent, even if we are professionals at offering them. Because ultimately, only God's opinion matters.

But it would take another whole blogpost to unpack the last verse. It says that God did three things to us with "His opinions": "He became us/ Anointed us and gamed us."

How did God "become" us? In the sense that God became human in the form of Jesus? In the sense that He made us "in God's image"? Wouldn't that be us becoming Him?

Kings, priests, prophets, and the messiah are, in the Bible, anointed. So which does Simon mean we are, when God anointed us? Or are some of us kings, some prophets, and so on? 

Most unnerving is the idea that God "gamed" us, conned us. How? And why would He want to do that? What would be the fun for an omniscient being to trick a mere human-- who after tens of thousands of years of getting rained on can only say, "There is a 40% chance of rain tomorrow"?

Lastly, what is the whole concept of God having opinions? Isn't God all-powerful, too? Doesn't God's thinking something make it, you know, not opinion but fact?

In my professional opinion, whatever the specifics of Simon's meaning, his general thread is the same as in his earlier song "The Lord": "Man plans, and God laughs." Only here, it's more "Humans opine, and God sighs." 

Next Song: Your Forgiveness

Insomniac's Lullaby

The song is about a lullaby, but we have to get to that in a minute. Because the song, while about a lullaby, is itself a prayer.

After all, it starts: "Oh Lord," and anything that starts that way is a prayer. And what is the insomniac's prayer? "Oh Lord, don't keep me up all night."

It'd be a lonesome vigil. The only other one up would be the Moon, what that only has "desolate eyes." And to journey all those "miles [to] the sunrise" with only such "sockets" as "travelling companions" [OK, so that's from "Graceland," but still] would be too much to bear.

But the darkness "invites" a tune. Simon has been personifying Darkness since he called it his "old friend" all those decades ago, and maybe now we finally know why they are so long acquainted. After all, Darkness would be an insomniac's friend, or at least a familiar face. Anyway, the tune the darkness invites seems to be this very tune.

While he is awake, he hears a "siren" sound "in the distance," but instead of being upset by it-- after all, it means someone is in trouble-- he calls it a "song." To let us know he is being facetious, he complains that the sound "rattles the old window frame."

And then, something unexpected happens: "Gradually, angels reveal their existence." So, they were there the whole time, only now they are letting themselves be seen. The fact that he does not elaborate about these divine visitors, as the listener might expect, leads us to believe that the thin wisps of light that must seep into his dark room resemble angels. "There's nothing and no one to blame," he says, worried that we might accuse him of abusing alcohol (etc.), or having a tumor, what with him seeing angels and all. Maybe he could see what was really causing these angelic apparitions if he put on his glasses..? Lack of sleep can cause hallucinations, after all.

Even if this is a prayer, these visions are not angels. If they were, the speaker would not be talking so much about being alone, as he does before when he says the "desolate" Moon is his only companion, and later when he... well, let's get to that part right now.

Now comes the prayer again. This time, the thing he fears is not the daunting distance until dawn but coldness of some sort also lasting a too-long time: "winter that lasts until June." This may be the lack of human companionship... at least the sort that is awake. So again, he's alone, with no angelic company. (Also, Simon just rhymed "Moon" with "tune" and "June" so slyly we didn't notice.)

Now, two choruses and a verse into the song, we finally learn what the Insomniac's Lullaby is. It's a song that turns out to be one word long:

"Sleep."

Well, of course. What else do you need?

The next verse seems to be about death. "They say all roads lead to a river." While I have never heard "they" say any such thing (all roads lead to Rome, I thought) it is true that every major city is built around a river-- every city more than 100 years old, at least. A river was necessary as a source of water, but also transportation of people and goods.

But, "they" supposedly continue, "one day/ The river comes up to your door." Well, there are plenty of places that don't flood, so this must mean something else. What comes to every door? Only, as Franklin said, "death and taxes."

Hearing this axiom, the speaker asks, "How will the builder of bridges deliver us all/ To the faraway shore?" This is less sincere doubt than simple amazement. When watching a magic trick or feat of athletic prowess, we mutter, "How does he do it?" but only rhetorically.

This is a much nicer metaphor for death than some hooded skeleton reaping our souls with a huge blade, isn't it? A walk across a bridge, is all death is. (Or, if you're Jacob or Robert Plant, you may prefer a ladder or stairway.)

In the next iteration of the chorus, the speaker again asks for sleep, but now so that he can avoid having to face "questions [he doesn't] understand" and "wrestle [his] fears." This is completely understandable. Who wants to do that, all night?

"The sound in my ears/ Is the music that's sweeping the land/ The Insomniac's Lullaby." Maybe the "lullaby" is the agglomeration of sounds coming from everyone insomniac's radio and stereo. Or maybe it's his own radio, and he's listening to contemporary pop (on his headset, so as not to wake his wife) for inspiration. After all, a musician likes to stay current.

Finally, he arrives at dawn, the "light from the East." It is "soft as a rose," and that color, too. "As if all is forgiven," meaning that the questions and fears of the night are resolved, or at least feel that way.

"Wolves become sheep" at this time. The nocturnal animals, like wolves and burglars, are replaced by pleasanter ones, like sheep and ice-cream truck drivers. Also, the menacing gray clouds of night are supplanted by white, woolly ones.

It might be a reference to his song "Pigs Sheep and Wolves," but more likely it's a circling-back to the "Werewolf" of the opening track.

Alternately, one famous sleep aid is "counting sheep"; the idea of imagining sheep jumping a fence, and counting them doing so, is said to help one drift off. This connection of sheep and sleep is possible because of how the song ends: "We are who we are/ or we're not" but either way, "At least we'll eventually all fall asleep."

Like any good bedtime story, the song-- and the album-- end with a yawn and a "nighty-night."

Is the song about death? Is "we'll all fall asleep" about... the Big Sleep, as it is in Hamlet? I don't think so. There are no insomniacs when it comes to death, no "in-necr-iacs." Some people complain, "I just can't sleep," but no one complains, "I just can't die." So this is about sleep, and to the degree it is about the lack thereof, it is about the resolution of that issue.

It's also a very pretty song.

Simon has recently stated that he is retiring from music. If he is, he has earned it. But I can't imagine he is. Music has been his entire life. Now, he is 75. He just finished working on an album and touring the world in support of it. He's tired, is all, and he's talking like a tired person. Once he has a vacation, I bet we'll get another album-- or two-- out of him yet.

I just think that if he stops making music, he'll die. And he isn't ready to do that yet.


MUSICAL NOTE: Bobby McFerrin does the background vocals. In pop circles, he is considered a one-hit wonder because of the dippy-- but perfectly so-- song "Don't Worry, Be Happy." In jazz circles, he is considered a living legend and one of the greatest vocalists ever to live, able to create whole arrangements with just his voice and body slaps. In classical circles, he is that fun conductor who sings the notes along with the instruments and harmonizes with them. Just go on YouTube, type in his name, and enjoy.

Some of the instruments were invented by a man named Harry Partch, who could hear 43 tones to an octave; most mortals can hear only 12. So had to invent instruments to make those sounds. They have names like: cloud chamber bowls, sonic canons, kithara and the chromelodeon. The original instruments are at Montclair State University, in New Jersey, where the song was recorded. (More in the entry on the Seven Psalms album).

Next Song: Like to Get to Know You

Cool Papa Bell

[Warning: This song's lyrics include "swear words."]

This is the second song from Stranger to Stranger that Simon has released to the public prior to "dropping" the album in June of 2016.

The Cool Papa Bell in question was a baseball player. His first name was James, and he was an outfielder in the Negro Leagues for nearly 30 years, starting in 1922. He's in the Hall of Fame, and as the song indicates, his feats of speed became legendary.

However, this song is as much about him as "Mrs. Robinson" was about Joltin' Joe DiMaggio...

The speaker of this song is someone whose job-- if he has one-- is quite enviable: "It's not my job to worry or to think," he explains.

Instead, he says, he is simply "grateful" for being alive. He realizes that this may come across as "New-Agey," but he says he is sincere about it. His proof? A tattoo! He has literally labeled himself "Mr. Wall-to-Wall Fun."

When he encounters a group, he asks, "Does everyone know everyone (else here)?" And then he introduces himself as: Mr. Wall-to-Wall Fun.

At this point, he points out that there was once this baseball player who had several such nicknames! He was "The Fastest Man on Earth," for example, and also, he was known as "Cool Papa." So he was known for being calm, even in situations where one might not be. And he was known for being in charge, like his fellow ballplayer David "Big Papi" Ortiz... or musicians like "Big Daddy" Kane or Puff Daddy.

So that's three nicknames for one James Bell: Fastest Man, Cool, and Papa. (Kool Moe Dee is just cool, Earl "Fatha" Hines is just a father, but Cool Papa Bell is both.)

Now, the speaker talks about what might be the most common, um, nickname, and it's an "ugly" one: "Motherfucker." He says this is "often heard as a substitute for someone's Christian name." Which is an old fashioned expression for "first name."

He brings up the example of animals. Conservationists have long bemoaned the fact that "charismatic mega-fauna" get all the attention. This is their term for large animals that anti-extinction efforts focus on-- te tigers, giraffes, elephants, and the like. No one struggles, in other words, to save a slug, toad or warthog species, even if they may even be nearing extinction... and just as key a part of the ecosystem.

How the speaker puts this idea is: "Not every rodent gets a birthday cake/ Now, if you're a chipmunk, how cute is that? But you, motherfucker, are a filthy rat."

So he "asks" Cool Papa Bell (who died in 1991): "Is it true... That the beauties go to Heaven/ And the ugly go to Hell?" Bell might be equipped to answer. He was a great player (and, by his photo, a handsome gent) but because of his skin color, he was never able to pit his famous speed against all his fellow ballplayers. He could be fast, he could be Hall-of-Fame talented. He could even get a fantastic nickname. But, fast as he was, he could not outrun his blackness, or the bigotry that denied him true success. Do the ugly go to hell? Well, first, who gets to say who is "ugly"?

Our speaker is not done, though. Having brought up Heaven, he announces that this place is "finally found." Before you get in line for a ticket, however, you should know that "it's six trillion light-years away." But that's OK, because "We're all gonna get there someday."

All? Well, "not you."

Wait, what? Why not? What did I do?

"You stay and explain the suffering and the pain you caused," he orders. "The thrill you feel when evil dreams come true."

Oh. So that's what ugly is! It's ugly behavior. Ugly schadenfreude-- the joy at others' pain.

So here's an irony for you... What's "ugly"? It's standing around, pointing out who you think is ugly! It's bullying, name-calling. It's judgmentalism. That's what's ugly.

It's deciding that this Cool Papa Bell-- this handsome, talented man-- doesn't meet your aesthetic standards, and so can't play ball against his true peers, because they are white. Now, that's an ugly thought.

But now our speaker brings up his tattoo again, as if to say-- maybe the antidote to the poison of bigotry, of ugly nicknames, is to come up with nicknames for ourselves!

"You can't call me 'motherfucker'," implies the speaker, "because I already have a nickname! I'm 'Mr. Wall-to-Wall Fun.' Pleased to meet you. And you are?

"Cool Papa Bell, you say. I bet everyone thinks you're awesome, since they gave you that name..."

Well, maybe Bell never played outside the Negro Leagues. But he's considered one of the 100 best ballplayers in the sport's history, he's in the Hall of Fame... and now he's the only ballplayer to also be the title of a Paul Simon song.

Sounds like he made it to Heaven, after all.

Next Song: The Werewolf

Pigs, Sheep and Wolves

The animal fable is at least as old as Aesop. And Simon himself used animals as human stand-ins in the song "At the Zoo."

But the most famous modern example is probably Orwell's Animal Farm. Here, Simon uses a similar set of creatures to represent various aspects of humanity.

First, we meet a pig. He's a "barnyard thug" who usually gets his way: "...nobody's gonna argue with him/ He's a half a ton of pig meat."

(This verse notes that the pig sleeps on straw but calls it a "rug," This line or two always seemed forced to me, existing only to rhyme with "thug." Simon must have agreed, because the entire concept is ditched in the In the Blue Light version and is now just "makes his bed in a puddle of mud." This, in turn, is somewhat pedantic and unnecessary-- we all know pigs sleep in mud-- but at least it isn't forced and distracting.)

Next, the wolves. While wild, they pose no threat to anyone in the farmyard: "Never did no harm/ Sleep all day/ Hunt till four/ Maybe catch a couple of rodents /You know, carnivore."

Last are the sheep, passive and pacific. And then, one day, like the sheep that wandered away from Moses' biblical flock: "One of the sheep wanders.../ Separated from the flock/ Where'd he go?"

Sure enough, he gets picked off. A crime scene is declared. Is there any evidence that might point to a potential suspect? "Got a gash as big as a wolf's head." Well, there you go. Case closed.

Except... what's the pig doing? "Wallowing in lanolin/ He's rubbing it into his pigskin." Lanolin is "wool grease, especially when refined for use in ointments and cosmetics." (m-w.com) Yes, lanolin comes from sheep.

But no one is looking for the pig! "Police going crazy/ Say, let’s get him/ Let's get that wolf." Of course, the wolf has his day in court, but sadly the "court-appointed lawyer wasn't very bright/ Maybe it was just a late night/ And he files some feeble appeal."

The wolf has one chance left-- the governor can stay his execution. But would why he, and be tagged as soft on crime... in an election year at that? "The governor says, “Forget it/ It's a done deal/ It’s election, I don't care, election!/ Let's give that wolf a lethal injection." (The In the Blue Light version is cleverer. Instead of repeating the word "election," the line is now "Objection? I don't care-- election!")

"Here comes the media"-- well, likely they have been there all along-- "Asking everyone's opinion/ About pigs, sheep and wolves." At least they suspect that the pig was involved. But it seems that they are shouted down.

From his wallow, the pig laughs. “This is hilarious/ What a great time/ I'm the pig who committed/ The perfect crime.”

But there is hope. "All around the world/ France and Scandinavia/ Candlelight vigils/ Protesting this behavior./ It’s animal behavior/ It’s pigs, sheep and wolves." (Let's pause to give Simon a nod for his "Scandinavia/behavior" rhyme! In the In the Blue Light version, France becomes "Japan," making the popular reaction less Euro-centric and better paying off the "all around the world" notion.)

The allegory works in many directions. The pigs seem to be the ones in power, whether governmental, financial, military, religious, or some combination thereof. The wolves aren't even in the barnyard-- they are the outcasts of society, minorities, useful as (to mix our metaphors) scapegoats... because we all know about those people and what they are like. And the sheep are the good citizens who try to go about their business and stay out of trouble... who get screwed over no matter what they do. 

Yes, sometimes the "wolves" do commit crimes. But a mugger can only rob one person at a time, and then only of whatever cash they have on hand. An embezzler can steal millions, from millions, and no one notices for decades. Yet, anyone who dares suggest that a business be a responsible citizen-- and not lie, cheat, steal, pollute, or impoverish people--  is declared "anti-business" and even "anti-American." 

A great book that is not a fable despite its title, Cows, Pigs, Wars and Witches by Marvin Harris (which predates Freakonomics by 20 years), argues that-- to use Simon's metaphor-- pigs stay in power, remaining "big and fat," by keeping sheep afraid of wolves. I doubt Simon has read Harris' book, but I imagine he would agree.

Next Song: Hurricane Eye

Spirit Voices

One of Simon's most purely lovely songs. Listening to it feels like watching a leaf float down a sparkling river. I would not be surprised to find it in compilations of music meant for meditation.

Simon's songs expand both our musical and lexical vocabularies. The terms we learn this time are "banyan"-- a type of fig tree that takes root, not in the ground, but in other trees-- and "brujo," a warlock (male witch), but of a healing magic; a more accurate translation would probably be "shaman." The word is Spanish.

The song begins by taking the listener up a "wide" river (the Amazon?) through a tropical jungle. After the ride, there is a nap on soft leaves. Falling asleep, the narrator hears night sounds and attributes them to the voices of spirits. Evidently, to pass the time on the voyage, the sailors told, or sang, ancient stories of mystery and magic, and these were of some suggestive influence.

The travelers were resting up for another leg of the journey, by moonlight, and this time by foot. The path is made of "river stones," so we assume that the path is near the river. 

The destination is the cabin of the brujo, the mystical healer. Not surprisingly, at least to those of us with children, nursing mothers are found there awake, feeding their babies. The other patients include victims of "fevers" and "broken bones," common sights in any emergency room in the world.

It seems unlikely that a tourist or visiting researcher would visit so late. We can only assume, at this point, that the speaker is in need of healing himself.

Our speaker begins to wait his turn, and he watches the healing rites as he does. First, it is so still that he can perceive the flicker of the candle that illuminates the proceedings, and hear the distant cry of a falcon, and notice a small lizard flick by. 

And these sounds, now that he is attuned to them, seem to sing. They, not the voice of the brujo, seem to be the ones singing about the unity of the world's waters: "rainwater, seawater/ River water, holy water." Not that this is water especially blessed to become holy-- but that all this water already is holy. 

"Wrap this child in mercy" seems a universal enough prayer of healing. As does "heal her," the fact that Moses prays this for its leprosy-stricken sister Miriam in Exodus notwithstanding ("Please, God, please-- heal her, please.") But then comes a decidedly Western line: "Heaven’s only daughter." This seems incongruous, given the setting, but it may be the speaker, moved by the plight of the sick child and the brujo's caring ministrations, injecting his own prayer, taken from his own understanding of the spiritual.

Whatever symptoms the speaker had that brought him to the "brujo's door" were mild enough to allow the trip. Now that he is there and he is relaxed enough for his adrenaline to subside, they manifest: "My hands were numb/ My feet were lead."

The brujo now waits on our speaker. He gives him a dose of "herbal brew." There is now a noticeable "sweetness in the air"-- possibly some sort of aromatherapy incense lit by the brujo. This "combine[s] with the lightness in my head"-- the potion is taking effect! 

The result is a sort of auditory hallucination: "I heard the jungle breathing in the bamboo." The voice of this breath is performed by Brazillian musician Milton Nascimento (more on him below), in a falsetto that recalls that of Rev. Claude Jeter from "Take Me to the Mardi Gras." 

The Portuguese is available at Simon's site, but it's short, so here it is:

"Greetings! Excuse me, one moment. 

I remind you that, tomorrow, it will be all or it will be nothing. It depends, Heart. 

It will be brief or it will be great. It depends on the passion. 

It will be dirty, it will be a dream. Be careful, Heart. 

It will be useful, it will be late. Do your best, Heart,

And have trust in the power of tomorrow."

Ordinarily, I would say that the "Heart" is one's beloved. But this is a medical situation! I think that the brujo is speaking to his patient's actual heart, which he believes can hear and understand him, after a fashion. In Western terms, this is a role play of sorts, or a visualization. A Western therapist might say to a patient: "Imagine your heart healing" or "Talk to your heart and tell it you want it to heal." Studies show that this can help!

In any case, the herbal medicine and talk therapy are powerful. There is a strong reaction in the patient. He imagines himself in an earthquake, he is shaking so much! Then he realizes that only his bed is "trembling," and no others. This realization seems to indicate that consciousness has been regained... and a corner turned in his illness. 

This is symbolized by a spider, evidently disturbed by his spasm to the point at which is was simply hanging on to the bedstead and trying not to be shaken loose, now feeling confident enough to "resume" spinning the web it began earlier. The use of the word "rhythm" can also indicate his own heart, now pumping evenly. 

The worst over, the speaker drifts off to sleep, lulled by the night sounds-- the spirit voices-- of the jungle.

MUSICAL NOTE: 

Singer-songwriter Milton Nascimento had national acclaim in his native Brazil before he broke internationally on a 1974 album by Wayne Shorter. He has worked with everyone from other jazz cats like Quincy Jones and George Duke to folkies like Simon and Cat Stevens. 

In 1993, Nascimento worked with Duran Duran. On his own 1994 release, everyone from jazz's Pat Metheny and Herbie Hancock to folk-pop's James Taylor and Peter Gabriel sat in. 

Next Song: The Rhythm of the Saints

One-Trick Pony

First, let us define the term "one-trick pony." It refers to a creature with one, and only one, talent. Superman has multiple powers, from flying to X-ray vision, while The Flash can only run fast. A vegetable steamer can steam various vegetables, while a rice cooker can only cook rice. You get the idea.

In this case, the "pony" in question is a performer. Simon likens a musician to a circus animal, performing the same trick over and over in various cities.

Yet, the focus on this one action has led to a remarkable result. Rather than die of boredom or burn out, the performer has reached a state of divine perfection and grace: "He moves like God's immaculate machine."

The first verse makes this clear. While "he does one trick only," when he does it, "You can feel the heat of his heart" (and let's pause to acknowledge that small marvel of assonance and alliteration). All of his concentration is focused on this one task, and he is truly enjoying the performance of it.

The second verse repeats this idea: "He’s just a one-trick pony, that’s all he is/ But he turns that trick with pride."

One would assume that there are two sides to this hyper-focused perfectionism-- that someone that good at one thing would be bad at everything else. How many concert pianists, for instance, are also famed for their investment portfolios? How many football players are asked for advice on home repair?

And yet that is not the case. Our speaker, the audience of the performance, is amazed that he himself is not as good at navigating the life he has, the life he has had every day to practice and perfect, as this performer is at his art: "He makes me think about/ All of these extra moves I make."

This creature does "one trick" and does it well... and then has all of its other needs attended to, so he doesn't have to be good at anything else! Meanwhile, our speaker needs a whole "bag of tricks" to get through an average day. So the situation is not fair on the other end, either.

This performer has been given the luxury to hone his craft to the point of nearly holy perfection, then being able to "relax in the weeds." 

Ironically, "in the weeds" is an idiom with two similar meanings-- hopelessly behind at work, or bogged down in minutiae (likely from a golfer searching for an errant ball while the game progresses without them)-- neither of which imply "relaxation." So the meaning for this song might stem from the idea of a pony in a pasture, working in a field or arena, then relaxing in the weeds where no one mows. Of course, this being about a rock performer, it might also refer to the kind of, ahem, "weed" that promotes relaxation.

(That was a long aside, which did take this post into the weeds...)

Meanwhile, those in the audience, who must do everything, don't get to be good at anything. And so they just wander around, "herky-jerky," doing everything partway and calling it good enough.

Additionally, once the trick is perfected, "that's all a pony needs." How many performers never replicate an early hit's success, yet are lionized and made financially comfortable forever after because of it? And yet the average person changes relationships and careers and homes constantly.

There is a mixture of reverence and resentment here. An appreciation for the wonder that is being seen, yet a jealousy at not having been given the time to achieve it oneself.

There is also some recognition that, no matter how long one would have practiced, one lacks the talent to do what one is witnessing. This acceptance is manifested by the religious imagery: "God," "immaculate," "testimony." Watching a God-given talent can be a somewhat religious experience. And there is a realization that there is a reason beyond rehearsals that allows this creature, and not others, to have some time "in the spotlight."

IMPACT: Simon's performance of the song was nominated for a Grammy. The song went to #40 on the US charts. In his biography, Paul Simon: A Life, Marc Eliot confuses this track's chart position with that of Late in the Evening, which did go to #6, not this track. Anyone can make a mistake, but someone should have realized that Late was not mentioned even though it was the standout hit from the soundtrack.

Next Song: How the Heart Approaches What It Yearns

You're Kind

I think this song might be unique in Simon's catalog in that the speaker is not a human, but an animal. The word choices seem-- to me-- to come from the mind of a dog or cat.

My theory is that someone told Simon (or maybe it happened to Simon himself) of an animal, adopted from a shelter, which escaped back on to the street. It would be an interesting topic for a song, the idea that even an animal might choose freedom over comfort... if comfort also meant constraint.

While this assertion may seem fanciful, a close reading of the lines, I feel, supports this hypothesis:

"You rescued me"-- This phrase is used frequently with regard to animals in shelters, which are often called, once they are adopted, "rescues." A person would more likely be "saved"; think of all the movies in which someone is saved from drowning or a fire. They say "Thank you for saving me!" or "(Gasp, hack, cough) You saved my life!"

"When I was blind"-- "when" means "I once was, but no longer am." And many small animals are born with their eyes shut, only to open them soon after.

"You put me on your pillow"-- Only an animal, and a small or baby one at that, would fit on a "pillow," or be invited to sleep on one. A person would not, and even a human baby is not set on a pillow, but in a crib or on a blanket.

"When I was on the wall"-- This is the phrase that clues me in to this reading of the song to begin with. I have been in animal shelters and that is how the animals are often kept, in cages that are stacked against a wall like bookshelves. A person is "against the wall," or "has his back to the wall." The only one "on" a wall was Humpty Dumpty; people are "on" a fence, maybe.

"You introduced me to your neighborhood"-- A person would be introduced to one's friends and family, not people who happened to live nearby. A dog, meanwhile, would be taken for a walk, during which it would likely be noticed and petted by shopkeepers and neighbors.

"Like the other humans do"-- Not "like other people do," as a person would say.

"...and you keep the window closed"-- A person would not leave over such an issue; they would politely ask for the window to be kept open. If the answer were 'no,' such a minor quibble would not amount, for most people, to be a "deal-breaker" and warrant leaving.

New pet owners, knowing that a lot of trouble had been gone through to get the dog off the street, and knowing that there were very good reasons for having done so, would naturally try to prevent their escape by keeping windows and door closed.

But an animal might, ironically, want the window open so that there was always the potential of freedom. The idea that freedom is not an option might induce a sense of being trapped and spark the urge to escape. If the window were open, the animal would feel that it was staying of its own accord; now that it cannot leave, it paradoxically must.

I understand that I may be alone in this interpretation of the song. It is possible that I have identified the underlying animal metaphor, and that the song is in fact about a person escaping a relationship that at first felt like a relief and now feels like a restraint; the lyrics certainly work on that level, too.

But I prefer to see the song as the thoughts of a dog or cat that was taken off the street by a shelter, then adopted, only to escape to the more familiar, free-ranging lifestyle it had grown accustomed to. It's certainly a new twist on the theme of songs like "Ramblin' Man" and "Free Bird," of the restless, dreamy drifter who just can't be tied down.


Next Song: Silent Eyes

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

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