Street Angel

There has always been the impulse to-- ironic as it seems-- glamorize the poor, from the holy hermits of yore to movies like With Honors in which a self-proclaimed "bum" out-debates a Harvard law professor. Likewise, there has been an long-held impulse to sanctify the mentally ill.

It's true that some indigent or lower-class people are undiscovered geniuses--like "Good" Will Hunting-- and some-- like John Nash in A Beautiful Mind-- struggle with mental illness while still contributing genius-level work to society. But, in fact, the poor and/or mentally ill are just as mixed a bag as the rest of society, goodness-wise and intelligence-wise.

In this song, we get another sacred genius who has not been able to make his way in society and so has wound up homeless. The speaker calls him a "Street Angel," but doesn't give us his name.

He begins by saying that he sympathizes with those good, decent people who are, nevertheless mentally ill and/or homeless: "My heart goes out to the street angels." He "saves his change" for them, too, and is especially impressed with the ones "working their way back home" either geographically or psychologically.

He doesn't just give them his money, either-- he gives them something more rare: his attention. He talks to one Street Angel who confesses: "Nobody talks to me much." The speaker says he can relate: "Nobody talks to me much." [The italics are not in the lyrics but implied in the delivery and inflection when sung.]

The Street Angel also has something else in common with the speaker (assuming it's Simon himself); they are both writers. But the Angel does it for free. The Street Angel says he makes his verse "for the universe" and asks nothing in return-- he does it for the "hoot" of it. This is an old expression-- "Wasn't that a hoot?" once meant "Wasn't that so very funny?"

"The tree is bare," says the Angel, "but the root of it/ Goes deeper than logical reasoning." Maybe nothing he does bears any fruit, in other words, but there is a reason to do it beyond the expectation of return, or rather not a reason but an emotional compulsion.

Then the Angel switches topics to religion: "God goes fishing/ And we are the fishes." So religion is a trap, complete with a lure: "He baits his [sic] lines/ With prayers and wishes." Does it work? Yes: "We're hungry for the love, and so we bite." God uses our loneliness against us, he argues.

So he is not changing topics as such, but returning to the original one, about how nobody talks to him. He's in a bind-- he's lonely, but on the one hand, human-type people ignore him... and on the other, God while does seek his company, it's only for selfish reasons.

His response is two-fold: To retreat from the world ("We hide our hearts like holy hostages") and to assume all communication is a one-way street-- to/at the world, but not back from it ("I tell my tale for the toot of it.")

What becomes of the Street Angel? Even though he was "working his way back home," he is removed from the street by the same society that dumped him there: "They took him away in the ambulance... He waved goodbye from the ambulance." One last gesture of communication with the one person who ever acknowledged him.

There is one note of possible hope. Remember how he was "working his way back home"? Well, now, he "made a way with the ambulance." So even though it's only "a" way and not "his" way-- and even though that way is not "back home"-- at least he is not on the street anymore.

And he still gets to be an angel.

The song concludes with the line: "My heart goes out to the street angel." Does it matter if a homeless or mentally ill person is angelic in some intellectual or spiritual way? Can't you still feel bad for them, even if they are ordinary, just because they live on the street?


Next Song: Stranger to Stranger

The Vampires/ Shopliftin' Clothes

These two songs (the first of which is Track 5 on the Capeman soundtrack) illustrate young Sal's initiation into the Vampire gang and then his first-- today we would say "gateway"-- crime. (As the song is about the Hispanic gang, the music has a decidedly Latin flavor.)

"The Vampires" starts differently in the Lyrics book than on the album. In the book, Hernandez (a.k.a. The Umbrella Man) sees that Sal has been given a beating by a gang called the Red Wings as a warning to stay out of their neighborhood. Hernandez sees his pain and humiliation, and uses the opportunity to goad Sal. Sal tells him to leave him alone, and Hernandez replies, "Oh, now you're ready to rumble?/ I'm gonna run to your stepfather's church and start praying."

In the soundtrack, Hernandez is shaking him down, "Well, did you bring me my money... my cab fare?... I got expenses, you know/ Where's my weekly dues?"

From this point forward, the two versions are the same. Through the song, we get a lesson in gang psychology. Hernandez calls Sal a "Jibaro," a bumpkin or yokel.  Hernandez then humiliatingly tells the gang that Sal still lives with his "mami." Then he praises him: "You know it takes a strong man to survive/ It ain't no accident you're still alive." This break-down/build-up tactic is typical of many initiation rites.

The gang starts to explain his situation and how it relates to them: "We stand for the neighborhood." This is implies that if you don't stand with them, you stand against the neighborhood, and therefore are a threat that they are authorized to address. 

Hernandez says, "You want to fight for your people, don't you Sal?" Sal responds, "If I got to." And Hernandez affirms, "Oh, you got to." So there is the false dichotomy of with us/against us, plus the cloaked threat... which also the removes self-determination.

There is the offering of membership: "So, you gonna be a Vampire!" He is shown the gang's hideout: "This is the cave of the Vampires/ Dracula's castle." Then he is given a knife, a sign of trust. Oh, and he mentions that Carlos collects the "dues." 

The initiation makes membership very attractive... and turning it down much less so. In addition to the implied thrashing should he refuse, there will be major questions as to his loyalty to the neighborhood, and his manliness altogether: "If you got the balls, then come on, mete mano," those last two words being Spanish for, roughly, "put your hand in." If Sal joins, he is "in," and thus enjoys the gang's protection in exchange for (tangible) gratitude. If he doesn't, well... who knows what might happen to a disloyal, cowardly weakling in such a terrible place?

To drive the point home that they need to band together, Hernandez tells him the story of gang member Frenchy. When this upstanding young man only meant to sell some marijuana in an Irish neighborhood, someone there insulted his Puerto Rican heritage (using expletives, yet!) and assaulted him violently, breaking his collarbone! The injustice of the incident, Hernandez sighs, has caused him to question the basic morality of America itself. Obviously, they must fend for, defend, and advance themselves... themselves.

The next song is called "Shopliftin' Clothes," but the lyrics don't relate that. They show Sal and his new "friends" going into a store. They are waited on by a saleswoman, then also a salesman. They are shown pants, shirts, a sharkskin suit, and hats. Then Sal's eye falls on a cape, which he is told is just a floor model to tout the shipment coming in soon. They are waited on so closely, it is hard to see how they could steal anything. Also, how does one steal a suit or hat-- how would one hide that in a pocket? And, if Sal did steal the cape, it would be obvious which store it was from. At most, they could make off with a pair of socks or a handkerchief. Perhaps the thievery is shown through onstage action.

The song might be a pastiche on the song "Shoppin' for Clothes" by The Coasters.

Next Songs: Dance to a Dream/ Quality

Gumboots

This track, sent to Simon as an instrumental by a friend, was what sparked his whole Graceland odyssey.

First, the title. The "gum" in question is not chewing gum, but rubber. In some parts of the world, "rubber bands" are called "gum bands." "Gumboots," then, are rubber-soled boots, as opposed to leather-soled ones. The title came with the instrumental, and so bears little if any relationship to the song itself; if anything, it might reflect the bouncy rhythm of the tune.

The chorus of the song is the meaning: "You don’t feel you could love me/ But I feel you could." Each verse discusses a potential relationship that one party feels is possible and the other one... not so much (That second person could be right, though!).

The third verse's couple is easiest to parse. The man is "walking down the street" when he is greeted by someone who seems, shall we say, surprised by the obvious; by her observation, we see that she does not appear to be the brightest bulb in the lamp, even if she is gregarious and charming. But his response reveals a rich vocabulary, with words like "astute" and "institute." He is possibly multilingual, as he addresses her as "senorita." A relationship between two such mismatched intellects is a non-starter, right?

Not necessarily. While we might assume that the swifter one might dismiss the slower one, it is he whom we find reassuring her: "You don't feel you could love me, but..."

In the first verse, we have two friends talking in a cab. At first, it seems like the friend with the breakdown is not necessarily in the car, but then the word "you" makes it clear that he (or she) is, and is also the one he is "having this discussion" with.

As he is "rearranging" his position on his friend's nervous breakdown, which implies he had made a decision about it, but is now reassessing that "position." His question reflects this ambivalence. "Breakdowns come and... go" implies "OK, so it's over now, whatever," while "what are you going to do about it?" means "How are you going to make sure this doesn't happen again-- therapy, medication, yoga, what?" and indicates ongoing concern. He is so unsure about what to make of his friend's panic attack that he is at once dismissive and almost pushy-- "...That's what I'd like to know!" As if the other person's breakdown unresolved response was now his problem!

Usually, if someone has a nervous breakdown, people are hesitant to enter into (or ramp up) relationships with them right after. And yet the very next line is: "You don't feel you could love me, but I feel you could." This might be a nervous response on the part of the speaker, perhaps rushing in to fill the void in his friend's life. In this case, reassurance is taken a step too far, and "You know I'm here for you" might have been a less provocative, more appropriate response to the breakdown.

The second verse is the most abstract. How does one "fall into a phone call"? Perhaps the person who answered was not the person for whom the call was intended, but a conversation is struck up anyway; this often happens to me when my wife's friends call-- I end up chatting for a moment before passing the phone on. In any case, "falling" indicates surprise, as in "falling in love" or "falling for a trick."

"Believing I had supernatural powers/ I slammed into a brick wall." Everyone has overestimated his or her abilities at some point; a quick glance at the videos on failblog.org reveals this malady is especially common in teenage males. Somehow, in the course of this unexpected phone call, the speaker tried to solve a problem and be a hero, but ran into an unexpectedly immovable obstacle (much like the earlier scene in which he tries to solve a friend's breakdown with a come-on.) Say my wife's friend called to vent about a personal matter and I, instead of commiserating briefly and passing her on, dared to offer my own opinion. I would definitely hit a brick wall (or have one dropped on me).

OK, first the phone call itself was thrust upon the speaker, then his attempts to help were rebuffed, and now he's just upset: "I said, Hey, is this my problem? Is this my fault?" Well, it wasn't... but now he has inserted himself into the situation and, characteristically, is blaming everyone else for not appreciating his compassionate genius-- "If that’s the way it’s gonna be/ I’m going to call the whole thing to a halt!” Imagine instead of just apologizing, "Sorry, I was out of line," I said to my wife's friend, "Well, that's the last time I try to help you!"-- as if anyone has asked for my help to begin with.

Just as quickly, our speaker sees the error of his hubris and protest that, in fact, he is really a decent guy: "You don’t feel you could love me/ But I feel you could." This time, the sentence comes across as pure arrogance: "Come on, I was only trying to help!"

And so we come back to the third verse. The speaker-- having failed to be helpful with a friend's psychological trauma and then having failed by helping when his help was not requested-- now meets a simple-minded, friendly woman. Maybe they will end up together, maybe not. But at least this time, when he acts out of hand, she might be too slow to catch it, and he might be able to correct himself before she notices he should. And maybe he will learn that, despite his intellectual superiority to her, she is able to take care of herself now just as she was before she met him.

Maybe.

Next Song: "Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes."

Think Too Much (b)

This second half of a diptypch is presented first. Both halves discuss the two halves of the brain, repeating the idea that "the left side... dominates the right." The left side being the logical, rational, objective half, while the right is creative, emotional, and subjective. (Similar to the idea of, respectively, Yang and Yin.)

By the language, this one seems to be the logical half, at least at first. It begins with the image of "the smartest people in the word" being "gathered" to-- and here is the key word-- "analyze" a broken love affair.

The team is as thorough as one from the forensic shows now overwhelming our televisions. The analysts didn't just look at the couple's evidence, they scrutinized it; "They sat among our photographs/ Examined every one," which took until sunrise. The result? "In the end, we compromised," a traditionally logical conclusion.

But then comes the chorus, which is only the line "Maybe I think too much," repeated. Maybe, even after all of this analytic work, analysis is not the way to approach a broken relationship, or a broken heart. Maybe overanalysis was the issue that caused some of the problem to begin with.

In "Slip-Slidin' Away," a father comes "a long way" to explain himself to his son, only to leave the son to sleep. This time, the father is more demonstrative: "In the night, my father came to me/ And held me to his chest./ He said, 'There's not much more that you can do/ Go and get some rest.'"

Getting some rest after a night of rehashing a broken love might be the logical thing to do, but only because it recognizes that hearts (and bones) have their limits. The father does more for this man than did all of "the smartest people in the world," because he does not try to analyze a problem. He simply tries to care for his son.

The son responds "Yeah, maybe I think too much." Maybe, the speaker realizes, the right response is not to overthink how overthinking his relationship led to his spending the night overthinking how it collapsed. Maybe he should just go to bed.

The song is brief, but it contains a powerful message. This time, Simon (if he is the speaker) is not "weary to his bones" after a "long, long day" of working songwriting or touring or running his office or even "weary from waiting down in Washington DC."

He is emotionally exhausted from dealing with the pain of his failed relationship. He wants to exhibit some emotion, which cannot be avoided after poring over one photo album after another, filled with images and memories. Yet all night was spent "examining" the pictures, using the wrong side of his brain. His brain, furthermore, and not his heart.

Maybe one can think "too much." Maybe sometimes the right thing to do-- the logical thing to do-- is to feel. Now it is time to "get some rest" and let the right side, the side of emotion, "labor through the long and speechless night," spinning out dreams.

This at first seems a negative thing to the speaker. In both the (b) and (a) halves of this song, the right side is said to have to "work hard" or "labor" all night, as if this were a punishment for allowing itself to be dominated.

But in both songs it's remarked that "they say" one side dominates. In these songs-- and we will have to conclude this discussion when (a) shows up two songs from now-- this conventional wisdom seems to be challenged.

So which side does Simon come down on? We'll have to see. In the meantime, don't think too much about it.

Next Song: Song About the Moon