This is a deeply spiritual song, even a religious one.
Even though "love" is in the title, this is not romantic love that is being spoken of, asked for "proof" of, but... love itself, as a concept.
"Does love exist?" the speaker asks of God. "Well, then... prove it!"
The first part of a song describes a journey. The speaker has no "guide," but sets out anyway. Oh, and it is late in the day-- or perhaps late in life-- so he wants to set out "before the bells of twilight peal" (those would be the "vespers," for those unfamiliar with Catholic timekeeping; the ones in the morning are "matins," as explained in the nursery rhyme "Frere Jacques.").
We're going to guess the "twilight" reference means speaker is older, as the first line is "Begin again-- no easy trick." So he has begun before, and now has to start all over.
At least the road is easy, a "spiral" downhill path (this could be a reference to "Spiral Highway," an obscure Simon song from his One-Trick Pony film that did not end up on the soundtrack).
But is the road easy? It reminds him of a coiled "serpent." Not only does he not have a "walking stick," he doesn't have any food! Just a "teaspoon of desire for [his] meal." Also, "the road is steep/ The air is thin." It seems less like he's on a hill than a mountain.
So, this is not an easy downhill path. This is more of a "it's all downhill from here" path. In fact the whole "town" is downhill, which implies that others face this same fate.
At this point, our speaker needs a shot of faith. So he prays, crying: "I trade my tears to ask The Lord for proof of love." He's not even sure he believes in God, or if there are only "stars" above him (a far cry from the prayer offered at the end of the song "Duncan"-- which also mentions "stars" and "The Lord," which Simon has begun playing again in concert; in fact, a new recording of it is included on the deluxe version of this very album).
To his own prayer, he says, "Amen." Or it may be others in the town who testify to his prayer.
Then... he seems to receive an answer to his prayer! Only, it does not come from Heaven above but from "inside [his] skin." It is a response of consolation. "Your days won't end with night," it reassures, "Let your body heal its pain."
Another clue. This "road" is the road to recovery, perhaps from an illness or injury. That explains "begin again." In physical therapy, a person may have to re-learn skills mastered as a child, like speaking or walking.
What does the voice recommend as treatment? An injection of Nature, first: "Feel the sun/ Drink the rain." Next, a large dose of faith: "bathe beneath a waterfall of light."
This time, he tearfully prays for proof of love to know "what my dreams are made of" (The original line for Shakespeare's The Tempest is "we are such stuff as dreams are made on.") He wants to know that his dreams are made of something substantial and good, not flimsy and false. If there is love, he can dare to hope.
He has kept walking downward, meantime, and now he can see "the valley below." It is, he sees, "an ocean of debris." Not the answer he was banking on.
OK, time for another prayer. No tears this time. At long last-- does love exist? "Love is all I seek!" he says, and says again. Now, he is out of tears, and out of "words." So he turns to "music" to express himself.
He is exhausted with walking and worry. Spent, he lays down by a "white oak tree." He has had it. He asked for proof of love, and got a treacherous road that led him to a valley full of rubble. He was supposed to find nourishing sunshine and rain, and only has hunger and "pain" and not even enough "air"!
He as much as dares death to come-- "No deadly nightshade, belladonna, dare lay a leaf on me." Nightshade is a poisonous plant; its Latin name is "atropa belladonna."
But the night is "silent." It is "still as prayer." And it's not "dark," either. In fact, "Darkness fills with light/ Love on Earth is everywhere." Beautiful.
But let's unpack it anyway. If he wanted to get underway before "twilight," and that implies that he was old or, as we learn later, near death, if due to not age but ailment... what does "darkness" mean? It means, well, death.
One prayer was answered by a sense of calm, the promise that his days would not end with night, and that he would bathe in a waterfall of light. If this is his death, then that promise comes true. His days don't end with "night" but with "light," and if the light fills the world, it is certainly enough to bathe in.
There is an alternate interpretation I would like to offer, though. It is foreshadowed by the reference to "bells of twilight." It's possible that this song is not just religious-- it's possible to read it so that it is about religion itself.
Some clues: A man is coming down a mountain. He doesn't have his usual "stick" with him. He is talking to God on the way. There is a reference to a "serpent." When he gets to the bottom, the valley, he finds disaster.
Might this be about... Moses? Walking down the mountainside of Sinai? And then coming to the bottom to find a pit of idolatry. (Moses turns his stick, or staff, into a serpent more than once.)
The next clue: "Silent night." Or should we say, "Silent Night." Simon already recorded that carol, so he knows it well, and it's about the birth of Jesus. A "tree" is a common metaphor for the Cross, too. So Moses asks for proof of love, and gets it, in Jesus.
I'm not saying this is what Simon means to say. But it is possible to read this interpretation into the song.
More likely, the song is about someone dying peacefully after suffering from cancer or a stroke or something, after there had been some initial hope of recovery.
We get some information as to the symptoms. Likely there was some blindness involved, requiring a "guide" or "stick" to help him find his way; now, he is supposed to be able to walk without that. He can see again, but has been spending much time in bed, gazing upward at what he hoped was more than just "stars." Also, he has trouble breathing ("the air is thin"), and at the end had trouble speaking ("words desert me").
He decides to try natural remedies ("drink the rain"), like a sunlamp ("a waterfall of light") and to "let [his] body heal" itself. He doesn't want toxic chemotherapy, or some poison that will kill him quicker ("no deadly nightshade"). But all he gets is sicker ("an ocean of debris"). Then he dies, and in death finds peace, and light, and love.
What is our the proof, then, of love? Of all things, it may be death. Dying is terrible-- painful, frightening. It takes you apart, piece by piece. But then you get to die.
And rest. In peace.
(NOTE: It would be interesting to contrast this song with Simon's similarly named "Proof," which contained the repeated lines: "Faith is an island in the setting sun/ Proof is the bottom line for everyone.")
Next Song: The Riverbank
Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts
Sunday, June 26, 2016
Sunday, June 19, 2016
In a Parade
What is going on and what we think is going on may be two different things. If the difference is vast enough, we consider that a mental illness.
The song is set in the emergency room, or "ER," of a hospital. Some nights, it is quiet. The speaker compares this almost-silence to a piece of medical equipment that makes some noise, but not much-- the EKG. This stands for "electrocardiogram" (why there is a K in the abbreviation but none in the word being abbreviated is another story). It's the heart-rate monitor that goes "beep" every time your heart beats, and "beeeeeeep" when your heart stops.
Anyway, tonight is not one of those quieter nights. Tonight, the place is flooded with "broken bones" and "wounded souls" (compare this to the imagery in the folk-doctor's room in "Spirit Voices" or even the first part of "American Tune"). The injured are doing paperwork or calling someone. The place is busy, even bustling, but not at all chaotic.
Into this scene comes someone, however, who does not see this commotion for what it is. To him, it's a "parade"... and he is smack in the middle of it. He can't even "talk to you now," because after all, a parade is no occasion for a conversation.
Clearly, this person cannot fill out his own paperwork. So someone else does, and we get to read it. He is diagnosed as "schizophrenic"; his outlook is judged as "guarded," meaning there is a smidgen of hope, but not a wide smidgen, as smidgens go. He is given an anti-psychotic medication meant to re-balance his brain's chemistry.
We don't see the lines on the form regarding name, age, address or the other usual information, possibly because these are blank, in turn because they are unknown and unknowable. The only person who could answer is otherwise... occupied. But that line on the form, his occupation, they are able to determine.
He's a "street angel."
Yes, the same one we met a couple of songs back. He was brought into the ER by someone who didn't know where else to bring him.
The clinicians do try to have a conversation with him, but it's not all that informative. He tells them that he drank some orange, then grape, soda. And he may have... perhaps along with some medicines that may have been added to these in order to make dosing him easier.
But this seems to focus him on sugary imagery, because next, he explains: "My head's a lollipop and everyone wants to lick it." That may seem odd, but he's not necessarily being inaccurate, just metaphoric. Examining a true schizophrenic is fascinating to medical science. He may have been in another institution or institute in which everyone around him wanted to use him as a guinea pig for their experiments or analysis. We often forget that such probing is noticed by its subject... even if we think they are, mentally, on another planet. As for the lollipop image, we use the expression "Everyone wants a piece of me" when we feel overwhelmed with requests.
He explains why he wears a hooded sweatshirt, twice. The first time, he says he wants to "cover his mistake," and the second time "so I won't get a ticket." Well, is someone were trying to get in your head, wouldn't your instinct be to cover it? Maybe his mistake, to him, was letting someone analyze him in the first place. And "getting a ticket" is sure to mean being punished, possibly for resisting treatment.
Lastly, he says, "I write my verse for the universe," which echoes what he'd said in the original song. "That's who I am," he concludes. He is a poet, and he generously shares that poetry, with everyone, for free.
Not insisting you get paid for your work? Now, that's just plain crazy.
The Street Angel is-- fundamentally and mentally-- a poet, and so he speaks in poetry. He needs a psychiatrist who was a minor in literature to interpret what he says. This is how he interfaces, to the degree that he does at all, with the world. So he needs a poetry-to-mundanity translator to communicate.
Now, where are angels? In some other-where called "Heaven." Yet, they interact with us, on our plane of existence. What must they think of us humans-- how must they perceive us, through that veil between the physical and meta-physical? And if they tried to explain that to us in ways they could manage, in ways they think we could perceive... would we think they were poets? Or mentally ill?
In any case, our Street Angel is off the street. Let's hope the doctors let him keep some of the angel part, too.
Musical Note:
Some of the drum tracks here were recycled from the song "Cool Papa Bell," also off of this album.
But the more interesting sample is slowed-down, played-backward tracks of gospel songs from the 1930s. These sounds sounded, to Simon, like the words "street angel" and some of the other lyrics.
Next Song: Proof of Love
The song is set in the emergency room, or "ER," of a hospital. Some nights, it is quiet. The speaker compares this almost-silence to a piece of medical equipment that makes some noise, but not much-- the EKG. This stands for "electrocardiogram" (why there is a K in the abbreviation but none in the word being abbreviated is another story). It's the heart-rate monitor that goes "beep" every time your heart beats, and "beeeeeeep" when your heart stops.
Anyway, tonight is not one of those quieter nights. Tonight, the place is flooded with "broken bones" and "wounded souls" (compare this to the imagery in the folk-doctor's room in "Spirit Voices" or even the first part of "American Tune"). The injured are doing paperwork or calling someone. The place is busy, even bustling, but not at all chaotic.
Into this scene comes someone, however, who does not see this commotion for what it is. To him, it's a "parade"... and he is smack in the middle of it. He can't even "talk to you now," because after all, a parade is no occasion for a conversation.
Clearly, this person cannot fill out his own paperwork. So someone else does, and we get to read it. He is diagnosed as "schizophrenic"; his outlook is judged as "guarded," meaning there is a smidgen of hope, but not a wide smidgen, as smidgens go. He is given an anti-psychotic medication meant to re-balance his brain's chemistry.
We don't see the lines on the form regarding name, age, address or the other usual information, possibly because these are blank, in turn because they are unknown and unknowable. The only person who could answer is otherwise... occupied. But that line on the form, his occupation, they are able to determine.
He's a "street angel."
Yes, the same one we met a couple of songs back. He was brought into the ER by someone who didn't know where else to bring him.
The clinicians do try to have a conversation with him, but it's not all that informative. He tells them that he drank some orange, then grape, soda. And he may have... perhaps along with some medicines that may have been added to these in order to make dosing him easier.
But this seems to focus him on sugary imagery, because next, he explains: "My head's a lollipop and everyone wants to lick it." That may seem odd, but he's not necessarily being inaccurate, just metaphoric. Examining a true schizophrenic is fascinating to medical science. He may have been in another institution or institute in which everyone around him wanted to use him as a guinea pig for their experiments or analysis. We often forget that such probing is noticed by its subject... even if we think they are, mentally, on another planet. As for the lollipop image, we use the expression "Everyone wants a piece of me" when we feel overwhelmed with requests.
He explains why he wears a hooded sweatshirt, twice. The first time, he says he wants to "cover his mistake," and the second time "so I won't get a ticket." Well, is someone were trying to get in your head, wouldn't your instinct be to cover it? Maybe his mistake, to him, was letting someone analyze him in the first place. And "getting a ticket" is sure to mean being punished, possibly for resisting treatment.
Lastly, he says, "I write my verse for the universe," which echoes what he'd said in the original song. "That's who I am," he concludes. He is a poet, and he generously shares that poetry, with everyone, for free.
Not insisting you get paid for your work? Now, that's just plain crazy.
The Street Angel is-- fundamentally and mentally-- a poet, and so he speaks in poetry. He needs a psychiatrist who was a minor in literature to interpret what he says. This is how he interfaces, to the degree that he does at all, with the world. So he needs a poetry-to-mundanity translator to communicate.
Now, where are angels? In some other-where called "Heaven." Yet, they interact with us, on our plane of existence. What must they think of us humans-- how must they perceive us, through that veil between the physical and meta-physical? And if they tried to explain that to us in ways they could manage, in ways they think we could perceive... would we think they were poets? Or mentally ill?
In any case, our Street Angel is off the street. Let's hope the doctors let him keep some of the angel part, too.
Musical Note:
Some of the drum tracks here were recycled from the song "Cool Papa Bell," also off of this album.
But the more interesting sample is slowed-down, played-backward tracks of gospel songs from the 1930s. These sounds sounded, to Simon, like the words "street angel" and some of the other lyrics.
Next Song: Proof of Love
Monday, February 25, 2013
Beautiful
While there may be some question as to whom the speaker is on various songs on this album, I am fairly certain Simon has not adopted-- as the speaker here has-- three babies from overseas.
The song uses the activities of a growing family to mark the time. It begins with the image of a melting "snowman," so we can assume the time is either during the January thaw or in, say, March, assuming the speaker lives in the northern U.S.
The family depicted, two adults and one baby, must have built the snowman together. Now, this image of outdoor playfulness is falling victim to having "a little bit too much fun," and its snow head has evaporated. This symbol might serve as a reminder to the parents of the, well, head-erasing "fun" they used to have before the demands of childcare. Now, they "don't have time to waste."
Still, they must feel a fondness for parenthood, because the next thing you know, they (quite alliteratively!) "brought a brand-new baby back from Bangladesh." They name her "Emily" (not, say "Brenda" or "Bessie") and-- if they say so themselves-- agree she is "beautiful."
Yes, the snowman is headless, but he somehow retains a corpulent "belly" despite the lack of a mouth, which the speaker finds amusing. The adults are still doing laundry, stepping over their now "two [children] on the kitchen floor." This seems to imply that both babies are less than a year old, and are not yet walking.
But still, neither is "brand-new" anymore! So, they add one who is, adopting this time from China. This baby, another girl, "sailed across the China Sea," which seems like an unnecessarily long ocean voyage for a newborn. It is possible that the word "sailed" is used metaphorically, and she was flown. Be that as it may, it she traveled across the Pacific, that would seem to imply that our family lives in the western half of the US.
And now it is "summertime." (Simon throws in a Beatles reference, saying that you don't need a "ticket to ride" the children's go-kart.) No laundry this time-- just a "water-slide," "danicin' in the grass" and a trip to "the candy stand." And we have a "kid" in the grass, not a "baby."
While the earlier reference to danger only affected the snowman, now we have a more strident (repeated) warning: "You better keep an eye of them children... in the pool." Sadly, children have been known to drown even in the shallowest of pools, so this is sage advice: Try not to have "too much fun," kids.
It also opens up the realization that, as their mobility increases, the dangers children face increase and change as well.
Now, we see the couple adopt again, this time from the Balkan region of Kosovo. Only... this was not a new adoption. This was "seven years ago"! The implication seems to be that this was their first child, the one who was in the "nursery" in the first verse.
Then, this, about him: "He cried all night, could not sleep." Children are subject to danger even before they are old enough to build snowmen or go down water-slides. They are subject to war, poverty, disease, and any number of other threats. Why could this baby not sleep? Some trauma, either violence or being orphaned? Illness or colic?
Yet, as difficult as those sleepless nights were, the couple went on to adopt (at least! the song is only so long!) two more children, each from a dangerous part of the world. They brought them back to raise them in relative safety, calm and comfort.
Why? They cannot seem to be able to answer that themselves. Adoption is an expensive process, in terms of money, but also hassle and potential anguish. Perhaps they were infertile; perhaps they felt it was wrong to have their own children when so many already needed good homes.
Perhaps reasons are not at play, but emotions. Even though their Kosovar baby was sleepless (and made them so), they found his eyes "bright, dark, and deep." The found him-- and their other babies-- to be, in a word, "beautiful."
Yes, they will not bear children. Yes, adoption is a grueling struggle. As is baby-raising itself. When it is not tiresome, it's potentially terrifying ("Keep your eye on them children by the pool.").
And yet the answer to danger and drama is not to shut down or shut off. Yes, the snowman was doomed the minute he was patted together and adorned with button eyes-- but he did have some fun while he was around.
And yes, raising children is difficult, even dangerous. But the answer to fear is beauty. Even if life is fragile, it is still worth it. Even if the pool is hazardous, you still jump in-- you just make sure there is a lifeguard.
Is there war? Poverty? Death? Well, the answer to death is life, and more life. The answer to families being rent apart is families being sewn together. The answer to poverty and oppression and war is babies and beauty.
The answer to a melted snowman is to get some more snowman-builders, so you can build a bigger one the next time it snows, and he'll last longer. Or maybe you could build a whole snow-family, so even when they melt, they can all melt together and none has to face losing face (and head!) alone.
Oh, and my two-and-a-half year old already helps with the laundry. So there's that, too.
Next Song: I Don't Believe
The song uses the activities of a growing family to mark the time. It begins with the image of a melting "snowman," so we can assume the time is either during the January thaw or in, say, March, assuming the speaker lives in the northern U.S.
The family depicted, two adults and one baby, must have built the snowman together. Now, this image of outdoor playfulness is falling victim to having "a little bit too much fun," and its snow head has evaporated. This symbol might serve as a reminder to the parents of the, well, head-erasing "fun" they used to have before the demands of childcare. Now, they "don't have time to waste."
Still, they must feel a fondness for parenthood, because the next thing you know, they (quite alliteratively!) "brought a brand-new baby back from Bangladesh." They name her "Emily" (not, say "Brenda" or "Bessie") and-- if they say so themselves-- agree she is "beautiful."
Yes, the snowman is headless, but he somehow retains a corpulent "belly" despite the lack of a mouth, which the speaker finds amusing. The adults are still doing laundry, stepping over their now "two [children] on the kitchen floor." This seems to imply that both babies are less than a year old, and are not yet walking.
But still, neither is "brand-new" anymore! So, they add one who is, adopting this time from China. This baby, another girl, "sailed across the China Sea," which seems like an unnecessarily long ocean voyage for a newborn. It is possible that the word "sailed" is used metaphorically, and she was flown. Be that as it may, it she traveled across the Pacific, that would seem to imply that our family lives in the western half of the US.
And now it is "summertime." (Simon throws in a Beatles reference, saying that you don't need a "ticket to ride" the children's go-kart.) No laundry this time-- just a "water-slide," "danicin' in the grass" and a trip to "the candy stand." And we have a "kid" in the grass, not a "baby."
While the earlier reference to danger only affected the snowman, now we have a more strident (repeated) warning: "You better keep an eye of them children... in the pool." Sadly, children have been known to drown even in the shallowest of pools, so this is sage advice: Try not to have "too much fun," kids.
It also opens up the realization that, as their mobility increases, the dangers children face increase and change as well.
Now, we see the couple adopt again, this time from the Balkan region of Kosovo. Only... this was not a new adoption. This was "seven years ago"! The implication seems to be that this was their first child, the one who was in the "nursery" in the first verse.
Then, this, about him: "He cried all night, could not sleep." Children are subject to danger even before they are old enough to build snowmen or go down water-slides. They are subject to war, poverty, disease, and any number of other threats. Why could this baby not sleep? Some trauma, either violence or being orphaned? Illness or colic?
Yet, as difficult as those sleepless nights were, the couple went on to adopt (at least! the song is only so long!) two more children, each from a dangerous part of the world. They brought them back to raise them in relative safety, calm and comfort.
Why? They cannot seem to be able to answer that themselves. Adoption is an expensive process, in terms of money, but also hassle and potential anguish. Perhaps they were infertile; perhaps they felt it was wrong to have their own children when so many already needed good homes.
Perhaps reasons are not at play, but emotions. Even though their Kosovar baby was sleepless (and made them so), they found his eyes "bright, dark, and deep." The found him-- and their other babies-- to be, in a word, "beautiful."
Yes, they will not bear children. Yes, adoption is a grueling struggle. As is baby-raising itself. When it is not tiresome, it's potentially terrifying ("Keep your eye on them children by the pool.").
And yet the answer to danger and drama is not to shut down or shut off. Yes, the snowman was doomed the minute he was patted together and adorned with button eyes-- but he did have some fun while he was around.
And yes, raising children is difficult, even dangerous. But the answer to fear is beauty. Even if life is fragile, it is still worth it. Even if the pool is hazardous, you still jump in-- you just make sure there is a lifeguard.
Is there war? Poverty? Death? Well, the answer to death is life, and more life. The answer to families being rent apart is families being sewn together. The answer to poverty and oppression and war is babies and beauty.
The answer to a melted snowman is to get some more snowman-builders, so you can build a bigger one the next time it snows, and he'll last longer. Or maybe you could build a whole snow-family, so even when they melt, they can all melt together and none has to face losing face (and head!) alone.
Oh, and my two-and-a-half year old already helps with the laundry. So there's that, too.
Next Song: I Don't Believe
Monday, July 23, 2012
Dance to a Dream/ Quality
Has Hernandez, The Umbrella Man, become the only influence in Sal's life? What about Bernadette, and his role models for a solid relationship, Carlos and Yolanda? As this song shows, they are both still couples.
The song mostly belongs to Carlos and Yolanda, as they dream of a life together, away from the barrio. We have heard this type of song before in musicals, from Annie's "Easy Street" to Little Shop of Horrors' "Somewhere That's Green."
Here, the "desire" is material, too, at least in part, Yolanda sings: "I have always imagined a better life/ Far from the barrio's gutters/ We could manage a club as a husband and wife... A restaurant, white tablecloths/ And maybe some live Spanish music."
She has also envisioned their home. Together, they could "build a house, paint the shutters... There are lawns and flowers on a Westchester street/ Maples that sound like a river." She clings to this desire like a lifeline: "It's my dream, and I don't want to lose it."
Carlos' "desire" is, originally, less material, and more immediate: "Come on, Yolanda, I just wanna see..." But of course he wants to provide a good life for her: "A place for our children that's restful and sweet/ I promise you some day, we'll live there."
Young Sal has less mature ways to impress Bernadette: "What you wanna bet/ I can fly like the guys in the comic books?/ You know how magic this cape is." (Ah, so he did acquire the cape... somehow! Later, he mentions a salary, but...). Bernadette is incredulous of the cape's powers, but sure of her feelings for Sal: "I'll bandage your wounds with my kisses."
Both women and Carlos join for the chorus: "You can dance to the dream of a summer's night/ As you drift to the edge of desire/ Guided by love's mysterious light/ Set the stars in heaven on fire." Since before Shakespeare, something about a midsummer night has set lovers to dream.
The song mostly belongs to Carlos and Yolanda, as they dream of a life together, away from the barrio. We have heard this type of song before in musicals, from Annie's "Easy Street" to Little Shop of Horrors' "Somewhere That's Green."
Here, the "desire" is material, too, at least in part, Yolanda sings: "I have always imagined a better life/ Far from the barrio's gutters/ We could manage a club as a husband and wife... A restaurant, white tablecloths/ And maybe some live Spanish music."
She has also envisioned their home. Together, they could "build a house, paint the shutters... There are lawns and flowers on a Westchester street/ Maples that sound like a river." She clings to this desire like a lifeline: "It's my dream, and I don't want to lose it."
Carlos' "desire" is, originally, less material, and more immediate: "Come on, Yolanda, I just wanna see..." But of course he wants to provide a good life for her: "A place for our children that's restful and sweet/ I promise you some day, we'll live there."
Young Sal has less mature ways to impress Bernadette: "What you wanna bet/ I can fly like the guys in the comic books?/ You know how magic this cape is." (Ah, so he did acquire the cape... somehow! Later, he mentions a salary, but...). Bernadette is incredulous of the cape's powers, but sure of her feelings for Sal: "I'll bandage your wounds with my kisses."
Both women and Carlos join for the chorus: "You can dance to the dream of a summer's night/ As you drift to the edge of desire/ Guided by love's mysterious light/ Set the stars in heaven on fire." Since before Shakespeare, something about a midsummer night has set lovers to dream.
"Quality" is the sixth track on the soundtrack album. It's a simple 1950's-style pop tune, and it also marks the differences between what the women hope for and what the men (or boys) do.
The women sing: "Are you my beautiful young boy/ Or just another love/ Passing through my life... And maybe one day soon/ Will I be your wife?"
Carlos is not part of this number, but Sal sings lyrics typical of the age... and his own age: "Come on, Baby, let's go downtown/ You sure look good to me... Don't be shy/ Step in the light so I can see... Let's rock some more/ I want to spend my salary... The way you move/ It's got quality." He's so pleased with life, he even sings this about himself, that others see that he has quality.
Adult Salvador steps in at this point, sighing: "Who can stop the setting sun/ Who can raise the dead?/ I feel the shame of what was done/ See how the stain has spread." With one act, which we will soon see, all of Sal's and Bernadette's dreams and desires are rendered meaningless, as are those of his mother and stepfather.
But first, young Sal gets in one more verse of "Quality," just to show, exactly, what he will lose: his youth, his hope, his exuberance, his freedom... maybe not his life, but everything good in it.
Next Song: Manhunt/ Can I Forgive Him?
The women sing: "Are you my beautiful young boy/ Or just another love/ Passing through my life... And maybe one day soon/ Will I be your wife?"
Carlos is not part of this number, but Sal sings lyrics typical of the age... and his own age: "Come on, Baby, let's go downtown/ You sure look good to me... Don't be shy/ Step in the light so I can see... Let's rock some more/ I want to spend my salary... The way you move/ It's got quality." He's so pleased with life, he even sings this about himself, that others see that he has quality.
Adult Salvador steps in at this point, sighing: "Who can stop the setting sun/ Who can raise the dead?/ I feel the shame of what was done/ See how the stain has spread." With one act, which we will soon see, all of Sal's and Bernadette's dreams and desires are rendered meaningless, as are those of his mother and stepfather.
But first, young Sal gets in one more verse of "Quality," just to show, exactly, what he will lose: his youth, his hope, his exuberance, his freedom... maybe not his life, but everything good in it.
Next Song: Manhunt/ Can I Forgive Him?
Monday, June 11, 2012
Rockabilly Music
With the possible exception of Elvis Costello, it is hard to think of anyone who has co-written songs with a wider variety of artists that Paul Simon. He has collaborated on songs with everyone from Peter Yarrow to Philip Glass, and co-authored songs with writers South Africa, South America... and, here, "The South" of the United States of America.
The co-author this time is under-appreciated rock'n'roll Founding Father Carl Perkins. The occasion is Perkins' album Go Cat Go!, itself a reference to his song "Blue Suede Shoes" (Yes, it is his song; he wrote it and performed it. Elvis Presley just covered it). I will list the other guests on the album below.
The song is episodic in nature. The opening line is the intriguing: "It was murder, but we got there." "There" turns out to be a bar that a band arrives at, "minutes after midnight." In the second verse, the drummer seems "nervous," but the speaker urges him to solve that by doing his job: "Just get that rhythm goin’, boy/ Gotta get them people on the floor.”
The next verses are about seeing "a shadow [that] crossed my bedpost/ Early in the morning." The speaker's reaction is shock: "It took me like a prisoner/ Fighting in the war." His next reaction is to both seek reassurance from, then reassure, his wife, whose name is Val: “My angel/ Heaven’s in your arms, girl,/ We’re in the hands of The Lord.”
The chorus, as the title indicates, is about the type of music that is being played: "Rockabilly music/ Ain’t nothin’ to it/ It’s just a hopped-up country song." This is somewhat true; as the word itself indicates, the genre is a hybrid of "rock" and "hillbilly" music, or bluegrass. This is illustrated with the image of "Casey Jones rollin’ into Jackson, Tennesee/ Where I call home." Perkins is from Tiptonville, TN; its closest major city is Jackson.
Casey Jones was a real person; he was a train engineer who died trying, but failing, to prevent a crash in Jackson. He has emerged as a hero, enshrined in folk, country and rock songs, including one by the Grateful Dead (my understanding, however, is that he was not "high on cocaine" at the time of the accident, otherwise he surely would not have been the only fatality of the wreck). That said, his legend does neatly tie those forms of music together as well as Perkins' guitar does.
MUSICAL NOTE:
The co-author this time is under-appreciated rock'n'roll Founding Father Carl Perkins. The occasion is Perkins' album Go Cat Go!, itself a reference to his song "Blue Suede Shoes" (Yes, it is his song; he wrote it and performed it. Elvis Presley just covered it). I will list the other guests on the album below.
The song is episodic in nature. The opening line is the intriguing: "It was murder, but we got there." "There" turns out to be a bar that a band arrives at, "minutes after midnight." In the second verse, the drummer seems "nervous," but the speaker urges him to solve that by doing his job: "Just get that rhythm goin’, boy/ Gotta get them people on the floor.”
The next verses are about seeing "a shadow [that] crossed my bedpost/ Early in the morning." The speaker's reaction is shock: "It took me like a prisoner/ Fighting in the war." His next reaction is to both seek reassurance from, then reassure, his wife, whose name is Val: “My angel/ Heaven’s in your arms, girl,/ We’re in the hands of The Lord.”
The chorus, as the title indicates, is about the type of music that is being played: "Rockabilly music/ Ain’t nothin’ to it/ It’s just a hopped-up country song." This is somewhat true; as the word itself indicates, the genre is a hybrid of "rock" and "hillbilly" music, or bluegrass. This is illustrated with the image of "Casey Jones rollin’ into Jackson, Tennesee/ Where I call home." Perkins is from Tiptonville, TN; its closest major city is Jackson.
Casey Jones was a real person; he was a train engineer who died trying, but failing, to prevent a crash in Jackson. He has emerged as a hero, enshrined in folk, country and rock songs, including one by the Grateful Dead (my understanding, however, is that he was not "high on cocaine" at the time of the accident, otherwise he surely would not have been the only fatality of the wreck). That said, his legend does neatly tie those forms of music together as well as Perkins' guitar does.
The chorus relates well to the first verses; it is about music, and they are about a band. The
relationship to the second set of verses is more thematic. Rockabilly music may seem all about good times and partying, but there is a "shadowy" edge to it, as well as romance and religion.
Speaking of which, the next verse starts with a religious observation: "A rich man’s a pauper/ In The First Bank of Heaven." Is the speaker a rich man? Hardly: "I knock on wood for five years/ Under the sword."
This might be The Sword of Damocles, which Greek myth has hanging by a thread over poor Damocles while he tries and fails to enjoy a feast; the lesson teaches him that kings are not as happy with luxury as he thought, given the constant threat of assassination that comes with the crown. Here, the image indicates that the life of a musician is not as glamorous as it looks, given the constant threat of bankruptcy. Still, if this is one's calling, one persists: "But you keep on pickin’/ Rockin’ for a livin’." "Pickin'" as in picking a guitar, of course.
Then again, this thought, but with a modification: "Heaven’s in your arms/ I’m in the hands of The Lord." Whose arms, this time? The audience's, perhaps. But even with their embrace of adulation, he is still reliant of Providence for his livelihood.
This idea is quite biographical of Perkins, actually. He was one one the artists on the seminal Sun label, along with Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, and later Roy Orbison. Perkins wrote "Blue Suede Shoes," and it was carrying him up the charts. Then he had a crash (shades of Casey Jones?) which laid him up for a while. Long enough, anyway, for his other Sun label-mate, one young Elvis Presley, to pick up the song and run off to superstardom with it (To be fair, Elvis was very nice looking, and could sing and dance, too.). Whether this was malicious or merely Sun's attempt to keep the song in the spotlight until Perkins recovered, I do not know. Nevertheless, when the recovered Perkins began to play his own song again, he was accused of copying Elvis! History records who became The King of Rock and Roll, and who did not.
relationship to the second set of verses is more thematic. Rockabilly music may seem all about good times and partying, but there is a "shadowy" edge to it, as well as romance and religion.
Speaking of which, the next verse starts with a religious observation: "A rich man’s a pauper/ In The First Bank of Heaven." Is the speaker a rich man? Hardly: "I knock on wood for five years/ Under the sword."
This might be The Sword of Damocles, which Greek myth has hanging by a thread over poor Damocles while he tries and fails to enjoy a feast; the lesson teaches him that kings are not as happy with luxury as he thought, given the constant threat of assassination that comes with the crown. Here, the image indicates that the life of a musician is not as glamorous as it looks, given the constant threat of bankruptcy. Still, if this is one's calling, one persists: "But you keep on pickin’/ Rockin’ for a livin’." "Pickin'" as in picking a guitar, of course.
Then again, this thought, but with a modification: "Heaven’s in your arms/ I’m in the hands of The Lord." Whose arms, this time? The audience's, perhaps. But even with their embrace of adulation, he is still reliant of Providence for his livelihood.
This idea is quite biographical of Perkins, actually. He was one one the artists on the seminal Sun label, along with Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, and later Roy Orbison. Perkins wrote "Blue Suede Shoes," and it was carrying him up the charts. Then he had a crash (shades of Casey Jones?) which laid him up for a while. Long enough, anyway, for his other Sun label-mate, one young Elvis Presley, to pick up the song and run off to superstardom with it (To be fair, Elvis was very nice looking, and could sing and dance, too.). Whether this was malicious or merely Sun's attempt to keep the song in the spotlight until Perkins recovered, I do not know. Nevertheless, when the recovered Perkins began to play his own song again, he was accused of copying Elvis! History records who became The King of Rock and Roll, and who did not.
The next chorus begins the same, but this time shifts the location: "Rhythm from the Delta/ Of the muddy Mississippi/ In my bones." While the Delta is part of the history of blues (as in "The Delta Blues," an acoustic form), jazz (as in "Dixieland jazz," with the clarinets and straw hats), and of course zydeco, I don't know of any specific connection to rockabilly. In fact, the "hillbillies" live in the Appalachian Mountains (the "hill" part of their nickname) and ultimately originate in Ireland... while the Delta folk are of French descent and live in the marshes called "the bayou." Then again, Simon himself references "The Mississippi Delta" in "Graceland," drawing a line from there to Elvis.
The last verse has the singer finding both financial success and spiritual peace. Instead of having a "sword" over his head, he has shiny shoes on his feet: "I got a new pair of wingtips/ Cost me $200." Also, he has sharpened his axe, investing in the tool of his trade: "A fresh set of strings on/ My Fender guitar."
And his outlook could not be more hopeful: "I’m lookin’ at a sunrise/ In a cloudless sky." Nature is even harmonizing with his art: "A songbird’s singing/ Searching for the Morning Star."
This last line, which is repeated, can be read two ways. One is that, now that he is financially set, he can afford the luxury of really seeking true inner peace. The other is that, while he is financially set, he is still the restless, ambitious road warrior he has always been; the "sunrise" is not enough, now that he has it, and he next seeks a "star."
And his outlook could not be more hopeful: "I’m lookin’ at a sunrise/ In a cloudless sky." Nature is even harmonizing with his art: "A songbird’s singing/ Searching for the Morning Star."
This last line, which is repeated, can be read two ways. One is that, now that he is financially set, he can afford the luxury of really seeking true inner peace. The other is that, while he is financially set, he is still the restless, ambitious road warrior he has always been; the "sunrise" is not enough, now that he has it, and he next seeks a "star."
MUSICAL NOTE:
Perkins, if he was pre-emptively dethroned as King of Rock and Roll, will have to "settle" for being King of Rockabilly. This album is a tribute to him comprised of both his classic material (some in earlier covers) and new material written for the project. Also appearing on the album are (deep breath): John Fogerty, Tom Petty, Bono, Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Joe Walsh, Jimi Hendrix, Rick Danko, Levon Helm, Dr. John, Clarence Clemons, "David" (not "Dave") Grissom, Charlie Daniels, Nils Lofgren, Eric Clapton, Billy Preston... and solo appearances by every Beatle. (Note: some of these performers only play on their tracks, and do not sing).
On "Rockabilly Music," Simon is joined by his son, Harper, and by Baghiti Kumalo, who has backed him since Graceland. Musically, "Rockabilly Music" has as much in common with Rhythm of the Saints as it does Perkins' work. Paul also plays percussion on the track "Don't Stop the Music" and he and Harper back Perkins on guitar on "A Mile Out of Memphis," neither of which credits Simon as a lyricist.
On "Rockabilly Music," Simon is joined by his son, Harper, and by Baghiti Kumalo, who has backed him since Graceland. Musically, "Rockabilly Music" has as much in common with Rhythm of the Saints as it does Perkins' work. Paul also plays percussion on the track "Don't Stop the Music" and he and Harper back Perkins on guitar on "A Mile Out of Memphis," neither of which credits Simon as a lyricist.
Next Song: El Coquito/Born in Puerto Rico
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Proof
The song starts with a lover-- he calls the woman he is addressing "my darling" and "my baby"-- promising his beloved wealth, or at least security, and a plan for heading out for the big city. He ends with what might be a proposal, if they are not already engaged.
The three songs that leap to mind (mine, anyway) are "Fast Car," by Tracy Chapman, which includes such wishes and hopes, "Atlantic City" by Springsteen, in which a man is willing to even commit crimes if it would mean some upward mobility for himself and his girl... and "Bicycle Built for Two," which is not a promise of "stick with me baby, 'cause I'm goin' places" but quite the opposite: "It won't be a stylish marriage/ I can't afford a carriage/ But you'll look sweet upon the seat/ of a bicycle built for two!" (spoiler alert: Daisy declines this proposal).
That verse of "Proof" sounded like a young man talking to his intended. The next fast-forwards to the senior years, and a more realistic outlook. The "tools of love" (i.e., the specifically male and female anatomical features) cease to function as reliably (and, as drug companies have discovered, "that is worth some money"). The mind loses its acuity, the eyes need "reading glasses," and even one's "smile" has lost some of its vibrancy.
The speaker responds to this discrepancy between the wild promises of the young and the resignations of the old by demanding "proof." Other examples of those from whom whom should require some collateral include those who "call you up/ Tell you something that you already know," which recalls the complaint about consultants who "borrow your watch to tell you the time," and people who back out of deals at the last second with no reprecussions to them.
Meanwhile, "faith" is no longer something accepted by most people-- it's an unconnected "island"; it belongs to the past, and the sun is setting on its relevancy.
In the next verse, the speaker elaborates on which demographic elements still "matter," with regard to the proof of someone's merit. While "race" used to be very significant, he posits, it no longer is. Now, gender is still significant, as is wealth-- although those two have opened (or shut) "doors" for all time.
The last verse seems to be an argument against all that, however. The lover from the first verse picks back up-- again addressing his "darling... baby"-- but trades his puffed-out-chest promises of materialistic success (talk of "silver") for a more poetic (and alliterative), nature-oriented philosophy:
Even though it is "hiding," at least half of the Moon is visible, he tells her. The sky bodes omens of "hope"; these "flecks" might be stars, long considered symbols of potential ("reach for the stars," "hitch your wagon to a star," etc.) Even if you can't fly in the "rain," you can still raise your wings to protect yourself "against" it. And if your head is sprouting a "tangled" thicket of self-doubt and imagined pains, try "washing" that anxiety away by thinking like a "gambler" and just trying your luck-- you can't win if you don't play.
In other words, have faith, but in the right things. Should the woman listening to the speech in the first verse have married this man, who promises that "soon," everything will be "silver"? No, she should ask after his bank statement, his diploma, and his job prospects. You know, proof.
But the second speech doesn't promise perfection. In fact, it acknowledges that there are "clouds" and "rain"... that people can get "weary" and situations "tangled." But it also promises that they will weather the worst times and always hope and work for better ones, and that he will always approach life with this sense of possibility. This is a more attractive offer, one more like Springsteen's speaker in "Thunder Road," who says, "I know it's late/ But we can make it, if we run."
So "proof" is the bottom line. But what gets proven, sometimes, is that you should have some faith... sometimes.
IMPACT:
While not a huge hit, the song did have a popular video, as it featured both Chevy Chase (also prominent in the simple but silly "Call me Al" video) and Steve Martin. (The video mostly takes place on a parade float, but pauses to parody the video for "U Can't Touch This" by M.C. Hammer.)
Next song: Further to Fly
The three songs that leap to mind (mine, anyway) are "Fast Car," by Tracy Chapman, which includes such wishes and hopes, "Atlantic City" by Springsteen, in which a man is willing to even commit crimes if it would mean some upward mobility for himself and his girl... and "Bicycle Built for Two," which is not a promise of "stick with me baby, 'cause I'm goin' places" but quite the opposite: "It won't be a stylish marriage/ I can't afford a carriage/ But you'll look sweet upon the seat/ of a bicycle built for two!" (spoiler alert: Daisy declines this proposal).
That verse of "Proof" sounded like a young man talking to his intended. The next fast-forwards to the senior years, and a more realistic outlook. The "tools of love" (i.e., the specifically male and female anatomical features) cease to function as reliably (and, as drug companies have discovered, "that is worth some money"). The mind loses its acuity, the eyes need "reading glasses," and even one's "smile" has lost some of its vibrancy.
The speaker responds to this discrepancy between the wild promises of the young and the resignations of the old by demanding "proof." Other examples of those from whom whom should require some collateral include those who "call you up/ Tell you something that you already know," which recalls the complaint about consultants who "borrow your watch to tell you the time," and people who back out of deals at the last second with no reprecussions to them.
Meanwhile, "faith" is no longer something accepted by most people-- it's an unconnected "island"; it belongs to the past, and the sun is setting on its relevancy.
In the next verse, the speaker elaborates on which demographic elements still "matter," with regard to the proof of someone's merit. While "race" used to be very significant, he posits, it no longer is. Now, gender is still significant, as is wealth-- although those two have opened (or shut) "doors" for all time.
The last verse seems to be an argument against all that, however. The lover from the first verse picks back up-- again addressing his "darling... baby"-- but trades his puffed-out-chest promises of materialistic success (talk of "silver") for a more poetic (and alliterative), nature-oriented philosophy:
Even though it is "hiding," at least half of the Moon is visible, he tells her. The sky bodes omens of "hope"; these "flecks" might be stars, long considered symbols of potential ("reach for the stars," "hitch your wagon to a star," etc.) Even if you can't fly in the "rain," you can still raise your wings to protect yourself "against" it. And if your head is sprouting a "tangled" thicket of self-doubt and imagined pains, try "washing" that anxiety away by thinking like a "gambler" and just trying your luck-- you can't win if you don't play.
In other words, have faith, but in the right things. Should the woman listening to the speech in the first verse have married this man, who promises that "soon," everything will be "silver"? No, she should ask after his bank statement, his diploma, and his job prospects. You know, proof.
But the second speech doesn't promise perfection. In fact, it acknowledges that there are "clouds" and "rain"... that people can get "weary" and situations "tangled." But it also promises that they will weather the worst times and always hope and work for better ones, and that he will always approach life with this sense of possibility. This is a more attractive offer, one more like Springsteen's speaker in "Thunder Road," who says, "I know it's late/ But we can make it, if we run."
So "proof" is the bottom line. But what gets proven, sometimes, is that you should have some faith... sometimes.
IMPACT:
While not a huge hit, the song did have a popular video, as it featured both Chevy Chase (also prominent in the simple but silly "Call me Al" video) and Steve Martin. (The video mostly takes place on a parade float, but pauses to parody the video for "U Can't Touch This" by M.C. Hammer.)
Next song: Further to Fly
Monday, March 19, 2012
The Obvious Child
The speaker begins by trying to explain, perhaps to himself, where he is in life, now that he is getting on. He says he used to an easy life... or maybe he's just not assertive anymore and takes it easy. He doesn't want to be babied... but he doesn't expect an anxiety-free life, which he sees as the trade-off. He's got a lot to work though yet.
Now, the easier way to read the next passage would be to have it: "Some people say a lie’s a lie’s a lie/ But I say why/ Why deny the obvious, Child?" meaning, "Some people say all lies are equal, but I say, 'Come on, Dude, it's obvious that some are far worse than others.'"
But that's not what it says. The liner notes, Simon's website, and the Lyrics book all agree: The line is "Why deny the obvious child?"-- i.e., the child who is obvious.
So we have one side of the argument being: "All lies are equal," and the speaker taking up the contrary position, which is that we should not... deny the existence of a certain child. And just who is this "child" who is, or should be, seen by all? The Baby Jesus? I can't think of a more famous child...
Or perhaps it is not a "child" at all. Perhaps the word "child" is a metaphor for "result." If you think that all lies are equal, then the result of that logic means that, say, the lie of a president is morally equivalent to the lie "I've had a great time!" tossed backward while exiting a dull party.
Next, Simon has some fun with us: "And in remembering a road sign/ I am remembering a girl when I was young." Oh dear, what sign could that be? A disappointing one, like "STOP"? A welcome one, like "YIELD"? Perhaps an eyebrow-raising one, like "ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK" or even "DANGEROUS CURVES AHEAD." (Feel free to join in, in the comments!)
They did agree on the hopefulness and heightened emotion of youth: "We said, “These songs are true/ These days are ours/ These tears are free.” (Shades of Springsteen's line: "We learned more from a three-minute record/ Than we ever learned in school.")
The next enigmatic line was actually interpreted by Simon, in an interview. My mother guessed that it referred to a papal visit to a sports stadium. I thought it meant that the lines between first base and third, and then second base and home plate, resembled a cross in the ballpark.
But Simon said-- and he was clear that all listeners are entitled to their own interpretations-- that "the cross is in the ballpark" came from fusing two idioms; "The crosses that we bear, they're in the ballpark, they're doable." I have also heard this phrased: "God never gives us more than we can handle."
The speaker then explains why he brought up that "girl"-- he had a child with her: "We had a little son and we thought we’d call him Sonny." Then we hear Sonny's story, how he "gets married," "has a baby" and still feels as "sunny" as his parents did when they were young. Not like his father, the speaker (see the first verse).
The next chorus has the speaker talking about the actual Sun, and how he follows it across the entire day. "Some people say the sky is just the sky," he muses, "But...why deny the obvious child?" Again, the result of that thought is despair. The sky is more than just the atmosphere the sunlight passes through. It is a source of life-giving oxygen, the protective shield against the coldness of space, possibly the abode of angels.
Back to Sonny. Sonny is feeling uncharacteristically pensive and stifled, and is perhaps having a midlife crisis (his hair is "thinning"). So he finds his high school yearbook and sees how he is doing, compared to others his age.
Simon's site has a major error here; it has the line "roots are like cages." The book and liner notes, as well as the sound in the song, are clear. The line is "rooms" are like cages. This is key, as the word "room" appears three times in two stanzas "The light across my room"; "the room of my day"; and this line. While his father can feel connected to the whole "sky" from his "room," Sonny feels that his is a "cage." Then the site screws up again; the word is "idly," not "idle."
So... how are Sonny's classsmates doing? Not well. Some have "fled from themselves"-- Had breakdowns? Made compromises that denied their desires?-- and some have simply passed on. So Sonny "wanders beyond his interior walls"--either by simply going outside, or by realizing that his life now consists of others as well as himself (his wife, his baby) to whom he is connected.
The song closes with the first verse repeating, with alterations. The speaker, for all of the thoughts he has just worked through, seems unchanged. But then...
Simon folds two ideas into one. The lines "a lie's a lie's a lie" combined with "the sky is just the sky" to form "a lie is just a lie."
In other words, some people think that a a lie is just that, an isolated untruth. But no, it is more than that. A lie can be a roadblock, or a burden you carry your whole life. But that burden, that cross, is actually "in the ballpark."
How does he come to realize this? Well, "why deny the obvious child?"
OK, already, who is that? Why, his own child, Sonny. Obviously.
The child who was there all along. The child who still carried the joy of his father's youth, the joy he was raised with. The youthful joy that said "These songs are true... and hey, the cross is in the ballpark."
And Sonny realizes this in his own "baby," his own "obvious child."
So maybe Kafka was wrong when he said "The meaning of life is that it ends." Kafka, who did not have children, did not have an obvious child to show him-- the meaning of life is that it begins all over again.
Musical Note:
The percussion part is performed by a Brazillian drum ensemble called Olodum. They were founded in 1979 and have brought many youths into music, while pioneering a blend of samba, reggae, and African rhythms. Simon brought them to New York for his Concert in Central Park.
To record this track, the ensemble performed outside, as no studio was large enough to hold their 20-plus drummers. (I am not clear if their name, "Olodum," is connected to that of the Yoruba deity "Olodumare," mentioned in a song later on the album.) They later appeared on the Michael Jackson track "They Don't Care About Us."
Another Brazillian act, a vocalist named Briz, sang backup. And two noted American musicians appear as well-- Fabulous Thunderbirds vocalist Kim Wilson on harmonica, and Michael Brecker on his Electronic Wind Instrument (EWI).
IMPACT:
Simon brought several of his Graceland session musicians to Brazil with him for this album, his next major project.
The Rhythm of the Saints peaked at #4 on the US album chart, and while this track did chart, it did not crack the Top 40. The album did better in the UK, topping the charts; there, the song reached #15. Worldwide sales overall sent the album over the multi-platinum mark.
In 2014, a movie about "an unplanned pregnancy" titled Obvious Child was released; the song is on the soundtrack.
Next Song: Can't Run But
Now, the easier way to read the next passage would be to have it: "Some people say a lie’s a lie’s a lie/ But I say why/ Why deny the obvious, Child?" meaning, "Some people say all lies are equal, but I say, 'Come on, Dude, it's obvious that some are far worse than others.'"
But that's not what it says. The liner notes, Simon's website, and the Lyrics book all agree: The line is "Why deny the obvious child?"-- i.e., the child who is obvious.
So we have one side of the argument being: "All lies are equal," and the speaker taking up the contrary position, which is that we should not... deny the existence of a certain child. And just who is this "child" who is, or should be, seen by all? The Baby Jesus? I can't think of a more famous child...
Or perhaps it is not a "child" at all. Perhaps the word "child" is a metaphor for "result." If you think that all lies are equal, then the result of that logic means that, say, the lie of a president is morally equivalent to the lie "I've had a great time!" tossed backward while exiting a dull party.
Next, Simon has some fun with us: "And in remembering a road sign/ I am remembering a girl when I was young." Oh dear, what sign could that be? A disappointing one, like "STOP"? A welcome one, like "YIELD"? Perhaps an eyebrow-raising one, like "ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK" or even "DANGEROUS CURVES AHEAD." (Feel free to join in, in the comments!)
They did agree on the hopefulness and heightened emotion of youth: "We said, “These songs are true/ These days are ours/ These tears are free.” (Shades of Springsteen's line: "We learned more from a three-minute record/ Than we ever learned in school.")
The next enigmatic line was actually interpreted by Simon, in an interview. My mother guessed that it referred to a papal visit to a sports stadium. I thought it meant that the lines between first base and third, and then second base and home plate, resembled a cross in the ballpark.
But Simon said-- and he was clear that all listeners are entitled to their own interpretations-- that "the cross is in the ballpark" came from fusing two idioms; "The crosses that we bear, they're in the ballpark, they're doable." I have also heard this phrased: "God never gives us more than we can handle."
The speaker then explains why he brought up that "girl"-- he had a child with her: "We had a little son and we thought we’d call him Sonny." Then we hear Sonny's story, how he "gets married," "has a baby" and still feels as "sunny" as his parents did when they were young. Not like his father, the speaker (see the first verse).
The next chorus has the speaker talking about the actual Sun, and how he follows it across the entire day. "Some people say the sky is just the sky," he muses, "But...why deny the obvious child?" Again, the result of that thought is despair. The sky is more than just the atmosphere the sunlight passes through. It is a source of life-giving oxygen, the protective shield against the coldness of space, possibly the abode of angels.
Back to Sonny. Sonny is feeling uncharacteristically pensive and stifled, and is perhaps having a midlife crisis (his hair is "thinning"). So he finds his high school yearbook and sees how he is doing, compared to others his age.
Simon's site has a major error here; it has the line "roots are like cages." The book and liner notes, as well as the sound in the song, are clear. The line is "rooms" are like cages. This is key, as the word "room" appears three times in two stanzas "The light across my room"; "the room of my day"; and this line. While his father can feel connected to the whole "sky" from his "room," Sonny feels that his is a "cage." Then the site screws up again; the word is "idly," not "idle."
So... how are Sonny's classsmates doing? Not well. Some have "fled from themselves"-- Had breakdowns? Made compromises that denied their desires?-- and some have simply passed on. So Sonny "wanders beyond his interior walls"--either by simply going outside, or by realizing that his life now consists of others as well as himself (his wife, his baby) to whom he is connected.
The song closes with the first verse repeating, with alterations. The speaker, for all of the thoughts he has just worked through, seems unchanged. But then...
Simon folds two ideas into one. The lines "a lie's a lie's a lie" combined with "the sky is just the sky" to form "a lie is just a lie."
In other words, some people think that a a lie is just that, an isolated untruth. But no, it is more than that. A lie can be a roadblock, or a burden you carry your whole life. But that burden, that cross, is actually "in the ballpark."
How does he come to realize this? Well, "why deny the obvious child?"
OK, already, who is that? Why, his own child, Sonny. Obviously.
The child who was there all along. The child who still carried the joy of his father's youth, the joy he was raised with. The youthful joy that said "These songs are true... and hey, the cross is in the ballpark."
And Sonny realizes this in his own "baby," his own "obvious child."
So maybe Kafka was wrong when he said "The meaning of life is that it ends." Kafka, who did not have children, did not have an obvious child to show him-- the meaning of life is that it begins all over again.
Musical Note:
The percussion part is performed by a Brazillian drum ensemble called Olodum. They were founded in 1979 and have brought many youths into music, while pioneering a blend of samba, reggae, and African rhythms. Simon brought them to New York for his Concert in Central Park.
To record this track, the ensemble performed outside, as no studio was large enough to hold their 20-plus drummers. (I am not clear if their name, "Olodum," is connected to that of the Yoruba deity "Olodumare," mentioned in a song later on the album.) They later appeared on the Michael Jackson track "They Don't Care About Us."
Another Brazillian act, a vocalist named Briz, sang backup. And two noted American musicians appear as well-- Fabulous Thunderbirds vocalist Kim Wilson on harmonica, and Michael Brecker on his Electronic Wind Instrument (EWI).
IMPACT:
Simon brought several of his Graceland session musicians to Brazil with him for this album, his next major project.
The Rhythm of the Saints peaked at #4 on the US album chart, and while this track did chart, it did not crack the Top 40. The album did better in the UK, topping the charts; there, the song reached #15. Worldwide sales overall sent the album over the multi-platinum mark.
In 2014, a movie about "an unplanned pregnancy" titled Obvious Child was released; the song is on the soundtrack.
Next Song: Can't Run But
Monday, May 2, 2011
Gone At Last [RIP, Phoebe Snow]
"My Little Town" was the first S&G collaboration in a while, "Still Crazy" was very relatable, and "50 Ways" had an irrepressible beat. So those being hits... well, sure. "Gone At Last" might have seemed too overtly gospel for pop radio (once again, the Jesse Dixon singers provide backup), but it grazed the Top 20.
The song itself is quite self-explanatory. It tells the story of an unlikely friendship. First, the man comes into a truck stop, presumably at the side of a highway. Is he a trucker? Maybe just a lone traveller. Regardless, he is cold and "weary" from driving down harrowingly icy roads. On top of that, he is wallowing in regret: "I was thinking about my past/ I've have a long streak of bad luck."
A woman sees him in his state of woe. She is possibly a waitress at the truck stop's restaurant, possibly a fellow solo traveller. She knows his despair is genuine and not some passive-aggressive plea for attention. The depth of his misery moves her, and she approaches him.
She offers something he needs more that a cup of coffee-- a sensitive ear. First, she asks what's troubling him so (shades of "Run That Body Down": "What's wrong, sweet boy?"), then adds that she can empathize. After all, she's also "had a long streak of bad luck."
He knows he has found a true fellow traveller-- not just down this one icy highway, but down the road of hard knocks. He enthuses that he has been "lift[ed] higher." In what way? He is less weighted down, as now his "burden [is] shared."
While she did not seem as "dejected" as he to begin with, she now admits that she had, in fact, been "sinking fast" as well under the weight of her own "burden." Her good cheer seems to have hidden some secret sorrow that, again, once shared, has been lessened.
Aside from the gospel setting of the song, the one-line chorus repeats the word "pray." While God does not reply directly to either pray-er, it seems that God has been instrumental in bringing these two lost souls together and used them to answer both of their prayers at once. They seem to agree that their meeting was "out of nowhere" and unexpected.
Can one person end another's "streak of bad luck" on a permanent basis? Perhaps not. But now that they each know that someone else shares their fates, and can relate to their stories, the streaks have been broken. Even if they do not end up together, each knows he or she is not truly alone.
Musical Note:
This is a hopeful, uplifting number, and it deserves a greater place in Simon's canon. It was wise of him to craft a number that allows him duets with women, say at festivals and tributes. But since it does require a female co-vocalist, it is not as often performed as it deserves to be, which may be why is is less well-known today.
It should be played on the radio more now, however, if only to make sure that his partner on the number, Phoebe Snow, is remembered-- she died on April 26, 2011 (a week ago tomorrow, as of this writing). Now that she is gone, there are surely many comprehensive obituaries online, which I will not attempt to duplicate here. But, as with any true performer, all you need to know about her you can find in her music.
Next Song: Some Folks Lives Roll Easy
The song itself is quite self-explanatory. It tells the story of an unlikely friendship. First, the man comes into a truck stop, presumably at the side of a highway. Is he a trucker? Maybe just a lone traveller. Regardless, he is cold and "weary" from driving down harrowingly icy roads. On top of that, he is wallowing in regret: "I was thinking about my past/ I've have a long streak of bad luck."
A woman sees him in his state of woe. She is possibly a waitress at the truck stop's restaurant, possibly a fellow solo traveller. She knows his despair is genuine and not some passive-aggressive plea for attention. The depth of his misery moves her, and she approaches him.
She offers something he needs more that a cup of coffee-- a sensitive ear. First, she asks what's troubling him so (shades of "Run That Body Down": "What's wrong, sweet boy?"), then adds that she can empathize. After all, she's also "had a long streak of bad luck."
He knows he has found a true fellow traveller-- not just down this one icy highway, but down the road of hard knocks. He enthuses that he has been "lift[ed] higher." In what way? He is less weighted down, as now his "burden [is] shared."
While she did not seem as "dejected" as he to begin with, she now admits that she had, in fact, been "sinking fast" as well under the weight of her own "burden." Her good cheer seems to have hidden some secret sorrow that, again, once shared, has been lessened.
Aside from the gospel setting of the song, the one-line chorus repeats the word "pray." While God does not reply directly to either pray-er, it seems that God has been instrumental in bringing these two lost souls together and used them to answer both of their prayers at once. They seem to agree that their meeting was "out of nowhere" and unexpected.
Can one person end another's "streak of bad luck" on a permanent basis? Perhaps not. But now that they each know that someone else shares their fates, and can relate to their stories, the streaks have been broken. Even if they do not end up together, each knows he or she is not truly alone.
Musical Note:
This is a hopeful, uplifting number, and it deserves a greater place in Simon's canon. It was wise of him to craft a number that allows him duets with women, say at festivals and tributes. But since it does require a female co-vocalist, it is not as often performed as it deserves to be, which may be why is is less well-known today.
It should be played on the radio more now, however, if only to make sure that his partner on the number, Phoebe Snow, is remembered-- she died on April 26, 2011 (a week ago tomorrow, as of this writing). Now that she is gone, there are surely many comprehensive obituaries online, which I will not attempt to duplicate here. But, as with any true performer, all you need to know about her you can find in her music.
Next Song: Some Folks Lives Roll Easy
Monday, February 28, 2011
American Tune
Not meaning to be rude in the face such a lovely piece, but aside from the title, in what sense is this tune "American?" The melody is borrowed from Bach. And nothing American-- a grand old flag, amber waves of grain, or even a baseball-- appears until the end of the chorus.
Let us now, in the words of Simon's previous "America," "walk off to look for America" in this song.
The first two verses are almost identical to each other in content, although the first speaks of the self and the second of the other. Rather than repeat the first four lines of the first two verses, let us again quote the earlier song: "I'm lost/ I'm empty and I'm aching." The sentiment seems remarkably similar.
Then, the speaker's response was the knowledge that all those with him on the highway were fellow seekers, all equally trusting what was at the end of "The New Jersey Turnpike," i.e.: America itself.
Yet, our song seems to begin where the last left off. Now, he reports, he is "weary" from travel and not yet at his destination. "Still," he accepts his fate as expected, and even throws in a French phrase to show how "far away from home" he still feels. Verdict? "I'm all right."
But when the song shifts to the "shattered dreams" of others, he is not as accepting: "I wonder what went wrong." Things were going well and they seemed to be chugging right along... but then, why so much misery?
Perhaps the answer lies not in this world, he muses. He dreamed that, in an out-of-body experience, his soul "reassured" him. And then an entirely new dream began and he himself flew.
The Turnpike must end where the land ends. The Statue of Liberty is on an island. From his perspective of height, he realizes that the goal remains ever elusive, as the island drifts out "to sea."
Which, not to put a point on it, would be eastward. In the next line, what comes westward but an early wave of immigrants, much too early to even be welcomed by Lady Liberty's torch: "We come on a ship they call the Mayflower."
And... more! We don't need dreams to fly, we can fly into outer space on "a ship that sailed the Moon."
When you come to "look for America," you might try to find it in New York. Then, maybe at the place others came to find it-- the legendary Plymouth Rock. Then, the spot millions journeyed to: Ellis Island. Yet, even an island can drift.
You will never find America in a place, concludes the speaker. It might as well be on that lunar plot where the grand old flag stands. America is the answering of a question with a question.
At "the age's most uncertain hour"-- insert your historic milestone here-- we ask, "Well, now what can we do?" Run out of land? Build a boat. Run out of Earth? Fly to the Moon. We're there. Now what? Cyberspace. Next? String Theory.
This is the answer to the "broken" and "shattered" dreams and souls mentioned earlier. America was the answer to monarchy and communism... and everything in between and after. It can be the answer for a person, too. "You can't be forever blessed," by a Deity, but you can rely on yourself and be reassured by your soul.
America is not about finding. It's about seeking. As tautological as it seems, America is about "looking for America."
"Resting" along the journey, yes, as our speaker begs to do in the last line. But only because "tomorrow is another working day." Tomorrow, the quest begins anew.
IMPACT: The song reached #35 in the US. The Brits, evidently, did not find it resonant... perhaps this is more proof of it being an American tune.
After the actual Statue of Liberty itself underwent restoration for its 100th anniversary, there was an unveiling. Two songs were played at it: "The Star Spangled Banner" and "American Tune."
Many covers have been done from across the musical and political spectrum. One of the most lovely is that done by The Indigo Girls, who are somewhat heirs to S&G altogether. It was also covered by their contemporary singer-songwriter, Shawn Colvin, and by rocker AnnWilson (of Heart).
It is one of Simon's signature songs, even today, and has become part of the fabric of American culture. It would be interesting to see if it is included, today, in songbooks of American-themed choral works alongside "America the Beautiful" and "God Bless America." Interesting... but not surprising. (Surprising would be if Simon's naturalistic "America" made it.)
NOTE: The melody is... borrowed. As Wikipedia explains:
The tune is based on the melody of the hymn "O Sacred Head, Now Wounded" (German: "O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden," text by Paul Gerhardt). The common name for this hymn tune is "Passion Chorale."
The well-known hymn is itself a reworking of an earlier secular song, "Mein G'müt ist mir verwirret," composed by Hans Leo Hassler.
Next Song: Was a Sunny Day
Let us now, in the words of Simon's previous "America," "walk off to look for America" in this song.
The first two verses are almost identical to each other in content, although the first speaks of the self and the second of the other. Rather than repeat the first four lines of the first two verses, let us again quote the earlier song: "I'm lost/ I'm empty and I'm aching." The sentiment seems remarkably similar.
Then, the speaker's response was the knowledge that all those with him on the highway were fellow seekers, all equally trusting what was at the end of "The New Jersey Turnpike," i.e.: America itself.
Yet, our song seems to begin where the last left off. Now, he reports, he is "weary" from travel and not yet at his destination. "Still," he accepts his fate as expected, and even throws in a French phrase to show how "far away from home" he still feels. Verdict? "I'm all right."
But when the song shifts to the "shattered dreams" of others, he is not as accepting: "I wonder what went wrong." Things were going well and they seemed to be chugging right along... but then, why so much misery?
Perhaps the answer lies not in this world, he muses. He dreamed that, in an out-of-body experience, his soul "reassured" him. And then an entirely new dream began and he himself flew.
The Turnpike must end where the land ends. The Statue of Liberty is on an island. From his perspective of height, he realizes that the goal remains ever elusive, as the island drifts out "to sea."
Which, not to put a point on it, would be eastward. In the next line, what comes westward but an early wave of immigrants, much too early to even be welcomed by Lady Liberty's torch: "We come on a ship they call the Mayflower."
And... more! We don't need dreams to fly, we can fly into outer space on "a ship that sailed the Moon."
When you come to "look for America," you might try to find it in New York. Then, maybe at the place others came to find it-- the legendary Plymouth Rock. Then, the spot millions journeyed to: Ellis Island. Yet, even an island can drift.
You will never find America in a place, concludes the speaker. It might as well be on that lunar plot where the grand old flag stands. America is the answering of a question with a question.
At "the age's most uncertain hour"-- insert your historic milestone here-- we ask, "Well, now what can we do?" Run out of land? Build a boat. Run out of Earth? Fly to the Moon. We're there. Now what? Cyberspace. Next? String Theory.
This is the answer to the "broken" and "shattered" dreams and souls mentioned earlier. America was the answer to monarchy and communism... and everything in between and after. It can be the answer for a person, too. "You can't be forever blessed," by a Deity, but you can rely on yourself and be reassured by your soul.
America is not about finding. It's about seeking. As tautological as it seems, America is about "looking for America."
"Resting" along the journey, yes, as our speaker begs to do in the last line. But only because "tomorrow is another working day." Tomorrow, the quest begins anew.
IMPACT: The song reached #35 in the US. The Brits, evidently, did not find it resonant... perhaps this is more proof of it being an American tune.
After the actual Statue of Liberty itself underwent restoration for its 100th anniversary, there was an unveiling. Two songs were played at it: "The Star Spangled Banner" and "American Tune."
Many covers have been done from across the musical and political spectrum. One of the most lovely is that done by The Indigo Girls, who are somewhat heirs to S&G altogether. It was also covered by their contemporary singer-songwriter, Shawn Colvin, and by rocker AnnWilson (of Heart).
It is one of Simon's signature songs, even today, and has become part of the fabric of American culture. It would be interesting to see if it is included, today, in songbooks of American-themed choral works alongside "America the Beautiful" and "God Bless America." Interesting... but not surprising. (Surprising would be if Simon's naturalistic "America" made it.)
NOTE: The melody is... borrowed. As Wikipedia explains:
The tune is based on the melody of the hymn "O Sacred Head, Now Wounded" (German: "O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden," text by Paul Gerhardt). The common name for this hymn tune is "Passion Chorale."
The well-known hymn is itself a reworking of an earlier secular song, "Mein G'müt ist mir verwirret," composed by Hans Leo Hassler.
Next Song: Was a Sunny Day
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