The Sacred Harp

This song, or Psalm, is both the only one in this collection with a recognizable narrative, if a brief one, and a cast of characters. It also the only one I see that directly refers to the idea of, or the creation of, the Psalms the collection itself is named for. 

Aptly enough, the song is introduced with the words "a change of mood."

Only, within the song, this refers to a change in the weather. This sudden downpour is inconveniencing to those riding a truck through it, but much more so to the hitchhikers they pick up-- a mother and a son.

Reluctantly, the truck driver and his significant other offer them a ride "as a highway courtesy." They admit they are not going that much further today, but will arrive at a place their passengers can find a room out of the rain.

The mother replies, her accent in "a blend of regional perfumes" (when Simon is on, he is on). Rather than saying where they are headed, she says: "We have no destination/ The moon and the stars/ Provide us with our homes."

As so we meet more of Simon's aimless wanderers. We have encountered them in "Me and Julio" ("Well, I'm on my way/ Don't know where I'm going") and "America" ("Walked off to look for America") and "Duncan" and "Cloudy" ("Hitchhike a hundred miles/ I'm a ragamuffin child") and "The Coast" and "Homeward Bound" and "The Boxer"...and that's just off the top of my head. I bet I could find a dozen more if I went song-by-song through his entire catalog, from "Somewhere They Can't Find Me" to "That's Where I Belong."

You could probably get at least a Master's Thesis out of an examination of the trope of the "wanderer" in Simon's songs, but they probably all trace back to the life of a musician constantly on tour. Although in Simon's case, he sometimes is busy chasing a sound from South Africa to Brazil, happy to follow where it leads. 

Back to the song at hand. The woman says they are not going toward anyplace as much as away from one. She calls she and her son "refugees" from her hometown, explaining: "They don't like different there," to the degree that she feared for their lives. By "different," she means her son, who has stopped speaking-- except "to the voices in his head." The son nods in agreement.

Then there is another "change of mood." For the next verse and a half, the speaker speaks of King David's "sacred harp" (finally paying off the title), saying, "We long to hear those strings... the ringing strings/ The thought that God turns music into bliss." 

Yes, the simple reading is "Ah! The very thought-- God turns music into bliss!" But I prefer to read it: "The thought that God [uses to] turn music into bliss." 

Because now it makes sense, at least to me, to bring up the whole David-and-Psalms business suddenly, in this story about picking up hitchhikers. I feel that Simon is saying that the voices in this boy's head are like the ones that inspired David to pick up his harp and write the Psalms.

The latter Psalms are hymns, written by David to be performed as worship in the Holy Temple (which God told him he would no longer build after his sin with Bathsheba. David instead used his remaining days to prepare the materials-- both solid and intangible-- his son Solomon would need to build and operate the Temple). 

But the early Psalms? Many were desperate pleas by young David for God to save him from the wrath of King Saul, who had been told by the prophet Samuel that David-- not Saul's own son Jonathan-- would succeed him as king. Saul's response was to bring the full force of the royal army down on the head of this shepherd boy, the very one who sang him out of his own melancholies. 

These early Psalms were the songs of, well, a refugee. And, like all songs, they were the manifestations of an internal voice the writer heard.

And now, here, in our speaker's own truck, was such another soul. Also hounded from his home for the crime of being "different." If only people would listen to the thoughts this boy had, instead of using them against him...

The last two lines of the song are even more enigmatic. Evidently, their truck is now... home? "We left the pick-up in the driveway." The only places that have driveways you can leave a vehicle in are private houses (a hotel or condo would have a parking lot or garage). They are either back home, or at the house they were headed toward. So what's the problem? They went to a house. 

But a house would be in a residential area like a neighborhood or suburb, not a place where homeless hitchhikers would likely find "a place to stay" as promised. So did they drop them off at a shelter...?

In any case, they had guessed that by the time they dropped them off, the rain would have dissipated into mere mist. At that, they guessed right. Because now the riders disembark from the truck to regard the moon "in the mist." 

The other of the last two lines is: "The moon appeared as amber." Amber, of all the gemstones, is the one that has organic origins. It is the fossilized sap of dinosaur-era trees. Its source was something alive, and we can hold it now, millions of years later. 

The encounter with the woman and her withdrawn child have had an impact on them, so they can't sleep even after their long journey. Instead, they look up at the Moon, knowing that, like amber, it was there in the time of David. 

Maybe someday, this boy will be able to write down what he hears in his mind, and instead of being feared as a pariah, he will be revered as a poet. 

People yearn to hear a sacred harp, so why do they never know one when they do hear one?

(Note: This is a very different use of the Biblical David than what Leonard Cohen had in his song "Hallelujah.")

Next Song: Wait

Proof of Love

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

Wartime Prayers

This is one of Simon's best, strongest songs. It ranks-- in terms of its sheer poetic quality, its moving melody, and its profound insights-- with his finest work overall.

Does Simon believe in God? Well, that depends on what you mean by "believe in." In the sense of "Do you believe in angels?" it seems so. In the sense that a coach means when he says, "I believe in you," to a nervous little-leaguer, perhaps not. Even in his first song with Garfunkel, "Bleecker Street," he believed that there was a "fog" that "hides the Shepherd from His sheep."

Yet, here, it seems Simon does believe in, does put stock in, prayer! It may seem disingenuous to say that prayer works if God is unresponsive. But again, it depends on what you mean by "works." Does God answer all prayers the way we wish? Well, no. Does praying help us feel better? It can.

The speaker, probably Simon himself, starts here by delineating the difference between peacetime and wartime prayers. Peacetime prayers, he says, focus on "appeals for love"-- maybe romantic, or familial, or even Divine-- or "love's release," a less clear idea. Is this a release from love? Does it mean that we pray to stop loving someone, or that they stop loving us? Or is this "release" in the sense of salvation-- yes, we have love, but we wanted it to save us, and it has not! (And perhaps it is a release of a more, ahem, physical nature.) In any case, peacetime prayers are "silent" and "private" and seem to take safety for granted, now upping the request for fulfillment.

Simon, unlike Springsteen, did not write an immediate response to the attacks of September 11, 2001. But the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were still raging when he wrote and published this song, with what seems a clear reference to those attacks-- "the fires"--  which targeted his beloved New York.

In an post-9/11 world, "people hungry for the voice of God"-- one of commanding reassurance-- "hear lunatics and liars." These unspecified miscreants must include politicians, pundits, and clergy of all faiths, all in full-throated condemnation of each other, accepting no blame unto themselves.

So these days, we have "wartime prayers," given "in every language"-- including ours and those of our enemies! And not for love, anymore, but "For every family scattered and broken." All sides in a war send soldiers away... and either do not receive them back at all... or the same. Such families no longer take basic safety for granted. No longer is the prayer "please let him/her love me," but "please let him/her not get blown up."

Having defined his terms, Simon dismisses the notion that he has any answers to the situation, even cynical, public relations-style ones: "I don't pretend that I'm a mastermind with a genius marketing plan."

He does, however, lay out his personal plan of action. He acknowledges that prayers are not accepted from a less than pure heart: "You cannot walk with the holy if you're just a halfway decent man."

First, let us pause to find the source of this expression, "walk with the holy." In the early part of The Book of Genesis, we meet Noah, who it says is "a man of righteousness, perfect in his generation." The next line? "With God walked Noah." Noah was a man who also lived at a time of great destruction, yet was able to rise above it, both figuratively and literally.

Back to our speaker. What is the plan for achieving a higher state of decency, and thereby, holiness? To seek a source of "wisdom," to "rid [his] heart of envy," and "cleanse [his] soul of rage." So it is a matter of adding some more knowledge and insight, making room for these by ridding himself of some distasteful traits (that happen to be two of the Seven Deadly Sins, "rage" and "wrath" being synonyms).

"Wisdom" is more than just "intelligence," the ability to think. And it is more than "knowledge," the accumulation of facts. Wisdom is the result of the application of intelligence to knowledge-- what you think about what you know. This is such a laborious process that the speaker is willing to settle for "a little drop" of wisdom! (John Gorka's song "Wisdom" is very good discussion on this matter.)

"Envy" is the wanting of what someone else has. Not just ambition, wanting what you don't have, but wanting you to have it... and them not to. And "rage" is such a high level of indignation that one becomes undignified altogether. So both are self-consuming passions, devouring much while producing nothing.

Returning to current events, yes, there are wars, repression, and recession, "But everyone knows/ all about hard times." So what's your plan to cope? "Well, you cry and you try to muscle through/ And try to rearrange your stuff." Realizing your powerlessness over global events, you focus on yourself and your immediate world. (This passage echos the Serenity Prayer, which speaks of the "serenity to accept what I cannot change" and the "courage to change what I can.")

But then comes the breaking point. When that is reached: "We wrap ourselves in prayer." And so Simon comes back to his theme.

The image of "wrapping" oneself "in prayer" may come from the religion Simon was born into-- Judaism. The Jewish prayer shawl is called a "talit" (tah-LEET) in Hebrew, from a word meaning "to cover." To don the shawl, one wraps oneself in it, pulling it across one's shoulders all the way around one's bowed head. Once so cocooned, one utters the blessing regarding the commandment "to wrap" ourselves in this garment.

Nevertheless, the metaphor of being wrapped in prayer is so easily understood that the Jessy Dixon Singers are able to sing the line in soaring gospel harmony without, one assumes, guessing that it may have a specific ritual origin, let alone a Jewish one.

The song closes with none of the global geopolitics or moral philosophizing of the above verses. Rather, we see a "mother" allowing her babies to share her bed; she is falling asleep and "draws [them] closer." She nuzzles and "kisses" them. Then, "To drive away despair/ She says a wartime prayer."

Where is her husband? If this is the prayer she whispers, hers must be one of those "families scattered and broken." So he is at war.

Perhaps the babies are in the bed for their sake; they might be having nightmares with him gone. Or maybe they are there for her. Maybe she needs them close because of her own loneliness and fear; she is also at the point of "all that she can bear."

Does prayer work? It must, on some level. Otherwise, we would not keep doing it after thousands of years. As long as there are love and war, it seems, there will be prayer. Whether Anyone is listening or not.

MUSICAL NOTES
Jessy Dixon, along with his backup singers, performed with Simon in many contexts, including on his television special, on Saturday Night Live, and his Still Crazy and Live Rhymin' albums. Dixon died in 2011 of cancer, but not before writing for female superstars like Diana Ross, Cher, and Natalie Cole.

On piano is Herbie Hancock, a jazz legend. While he played with the challenging Miles Davis, he was remarkably accessible in his own work, integrating electronics and funk into jazz. He had a hit video with his instrumental "Rockit," and in 2008 won the Album of the Year Grammy for a Joni Mitchell tribute album.

Next song: Beautiful

Look at That

This song, like "Train in the Distance," tells the story of a relationship, of a life, but in much more abstract terms. So abstract, in some lines there are not even words.

The song begins with the symbolic line "Drop a stone in the abyss." In a basic sense, all of our actions are only meaningful to us, in the scope of the infinite universe and its eternal timeline, naught but a stone dropped in the abyss. (Compare to the Kansas lyric, "All we are is dust in the wind.")

But in a metaphoric sense, this can refer to a conception, if one imagines the "stone" and "abyss" are a seed in a hole... or a sperm in a womb. From that beginning, "anything can happen."

Then comes a "hug and a kiss." This could be between lovers, or a parent and child. The latter seems more likely, as the next thing that happens is going "off to school." In the larger sense, it might mean something my neighbor-- who never went to a university but still built a successful business-- once said: "Every day is college, if you pay attention." As Simon puts it: "You might learn something/ You never know,"

Well, after all that school, or at least schooling, comes what? Marriage. "Lovers merge and make a wish/ They close their eyes, and now their dreams are legal." 

Then comes an image of an "eagle," which admittedly might just be there to rhyme with "legal," or it might symbolize America, nature, or other larger forces at work, against the background of which the marriage will take place. 

These images also appear in the same section of the Bible. God says he will carry the Jews out of Egyptian bondage "on the wings of eagles," and is said to have guarded the Jewish camp in the wilderness with a "pillar of cloud" by day and a "pillar of fire" by night. Here, Simon's eagle flies "over the mountain" (Mt. Sinai?) through "clouds of fire" [emphasis mine]. So there might be a sense of God protecting this love-journey the way the passage in the wilderness-- envisioned by some sages as the marriage between God and the people-- was.

Then Simon backs up for a minute to the moment of the marriage proposal: "Ask somebody to love you/ Takes a lot of nerve." No one who has every made or received a marriage proposal needs to have this explained.

As the children's rhyme goes: "First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in the baby carriage." The baby, of course, has to learn to talk. And we hear it do so: "ma ma ma," and "da da da." Then it learns to sing: "la la la/ Oom bop a doom." Now, this is Simon's imagined kid-- so when it learns to sing, it learns to sing doo-wop!

And, this is Simon's relationship song, so the relationship has to have... issues. "This is near enough to bliss." (Oh, gee, thanks... I love you too!) "Then over the top we go and down to the bottom." (Well, what did you expect, with that attitude?) "If you were looking for worries/ You got 'em." It's "Darling Lorraine" all over again.

Then there is a series of other nonsense sounds that are less recognizable: "tih," "guh," and "lih." This may represent being at a loss for words, being in a situation that's inexplicable. It may represent finding oneself, as the speaker in "Call Me Al" does, "in a strange world," in which the very words being spoken are unintelligible to him. 

Personally, I think these are supposed to represent the sounds of musical instruments. "Tih" sounds like a light, high tapping, maybe of a "high-hat" cymbal. "Guh" could be a bass or drum. And "lih" is perhaps the strumming of a guitar or other string instrument. Rhythm, bass, and treble are the basic building blocks of music worldwide, so this series of sounds may represent the learning of musical skill and composition.

Every once in a while, you also get an epiphany in life: "Come awake, come alive." And what is it, in this case? "Common sense, we survive." Evidently, there is a calming down, an acceptance, and "we"-- either this couple or the human race in general-- continues. 

And then? Why, life goes on, of course. "Down the road we go/ You might learn something, you never know. But anyway, you got to go." This last line might mean that life proceeds whether we like it to or not. Or it could mean we must "go" in the final sense: die. If so, it would be the logical end to a song about a lifespan.

The repeated title line: "Look at that!" means "Well, would you look at that!" in the astonished sense. But coupled with "look at this" every time, it implies: "Look far, look near-- and you will find the same patterns." Yes, marvel in wonderment at "that"... and now recognize it in "this," your own life...

"Just like that," in an unexpected instance. "Just like this," right now.

Next Song: Senorita with a Necklace of Tears

The Teacher

In "Old," Simon drops the names of  Jesus, Mohammed, and Buddha, but seems to give his own religious heritage, that of Judaism, short shrift, not even explicitly mentioning it. Perhaps Simon was saving that discussion for another song-- namely, this one. Here, the imagery seems to come largely from The Five Books of Moses.

Or, at least, from his Tablets, on which the words of The Ten Commandments were inscribed by God. This Teacher's "words are like tablets of stone," as well.

The fact that he is a "teacher" as opposed to other religious titles (reverend, minister, priest, etc.) is indicative as well. Several major figures in Judaism are known by honorific appellations, such as Adam the First, David the King, Elijah the Prophet, Samson the Strong, Abraham our Father... and Moses our Teacher.

Even the lines "I was only a child of the city/ My parents were of immigrant stock" could refer to the situation of one of the Jewish slaves to Pharaoh in the city of Cairo, whose parents were descendants of Jacob's sons, themselves residents of The Promised Land and not Egyptian natives.

And like Moses, The Teacher leads his flock on an exodus: "Gather your goods and follow me," he intones, meaning to literally travel after him as well as to follow his teachings. The Teacher's warning is also Biblical in tone; "...or you shall surely die" is a line often repeated in the Old Testament (In the In the Blue Light version, the line is different, shifting to the death of the Egyptian slave-drivers: "As all around you perish.")

But this is not Moses, merely a Moses-like figure. How do we know? This teacher leads his followers to a mountain, but not to Mt. Sinai. First, the Children of Israel never ascended the mountain themselves, as those in this song do. Second, while it may snow every once in a great while in the Sinai Desert, Moses encountered no "napkin of snow" there, while it was not "cold" enough to prevent people from "catch[ing] their breath" at The Revelation (this line is absent from the In the Blue Light version). Further, Moses' followers ate manna from Heaven, and these forage for "berries." Lastly, Moses dies. This Teacher enigmatically "divided in two."

Very well, then, while this teacher in some ways recalls and evokes Moses, he is not meant to invoke, to be, Moses. So who is he? He is some sort of charismatic leader who can persuade people to leave a nice, warm "city" and subsist on "berries and roots" in the frozen wilderness.

And what is his very alluring message? "It's easier to learn than unlearn." You certainly can't unlearn things where you are; you have to move outside of your comfort zone, away from the things and people that would re-enforce your spiritual status quo. Abraham was told by God to leave his land and home-- and Jacob, Joseph, Moses and David all had to as well-- when they underwent spiritual growth.

In the In the Blue Light version of this song, however, we have two different lines here following "it's easier." Now we find, "it's easier to navigate the sea of sadness than shield the fragile mind from madness." The sea could be the Re(e)d Sea, split by Moses, but the line also means it's easier to just go ahead and mourn and grieve than to enter a state of denial, try to pretend everything's fine... and then try to prevent the resulting cognitive dissonance from driving that mind insane. In other words, hard as it is, let's leave Egypt than remain slaves, just to enforce the ultimately untenable status quo.

After The Teacher ages to a certain degree, he undergoes a division usually reserved for one-celled organisms-- he splits in half (perhaps this is an allusion to a schism among his followers, either among Jews or between Jews and Christians). One half eats, and the other drinks. The eating half consumes "the forests and  fields"; the other drinks-- not the rivers or seas as we might expect (perhaps there are no unfrozen bodies of water at the tops of freezing mountains?)-- but the "moisture from the clouds."

This is surprising, considering that he could not have been hungry to begin with. After all, it was partially "abundance" that slowed his "step." And, in fact, the followers are "amazed at the power of his appetite." (To consume all that-- and on a full stomach, too!) In the In the Blue Light version however, it is implied they somehow should have known of his appetite, and they were "fools" to be amazed by it.

The Teacher, who so far has seems powerful but still human, reveals himself to be some sort of unearthly force, if we are to take this imagery literally. If not, he seems to abandon his beliefs of frugality once he experiences "abundance" and becomes a megalomaniac, commandeering every resource and leaving his followers with nothing.

"Sometimes we don't know who we are," the follower laments. Of course, he means himself, but his "we" could include The Teacher, who seems to have forgotten himself. "Sometimes force overpowers us and we cry," the follower continues. Again, this could be the "force" imposed by The Teacher's charisma, or the "force" that now drives The Teacher. First, The Teacher's persuasion led them on a quest into the wilderness, only to abandon them to their privations, but again, The Teacher himself might have been overpowered by a greater force: greed.

Lastly, he calls out to The Teacher to "carry [him] home." Yes, he wants to go back to somewhere warm already-- enough with this endless wandering in the wilderness!-- but he might also be calling The Teacher to return to his own senses and mission: the care of his flock. Maybe by remembering his goals, he will come back to himself. It is unlikely that he will, though; even before leaving, The Teacher asserted that they were "past the point of no return."

The follower calls out to his leader, recalcitrant though he may be. The follower does not, however, call out to God! Why not? Well, when the followers were subsisting on berries and roots, The Teacher helped provide those. But "The Dreamer of Love" was not helpful even to that meager degree. "Deeper and deeper," He was asleep "on a quilt of stars." Again, when The Teacher began to ravage the land and sky with his insatiability, The Dreamer only slept deeper still.

This is a tale of double abandonment. The Teacher led his followers into a place of danger, and rather than protecting them or taking them to a new home, simply begins to satisfy himself. And God is only interested in dreaming of perfect love, not in the messiness of life and the problems of humans.

This profoundly sad song ends with an unanswered plea: "Carry me home!" Perhaps, it is time to stop being followers, to stop asking to be carried. Perhaps it is time to lead themselves out of the wilderness. To walk.

The version on In the Blue Light, however, ends entirely differently. The whole plea to "carry me home," which at least held a faint hope, is gone. The replacement verse is an epilogue that echoes less the Israelite wilderness-wandering but a much more recent episode of Jewish history: the Holocaust.

Whatever did become of his "followers' fate?" Sadly, "all that remains... are the remnants of charred photographs." The photographic technology mentioned signals that we are in the modern era, and the fact that the photos are "charred" relates to the literal meaning of the word "holocaust": "wholly burned." (The idea of photos being "all that's left" of someone? Simon used it before, in the song "Old Friends.")

Meanwhile, what became of The Teacher? He is "buried under the rubble of stone," whether those of the Holy Temple of Jerusalem-- twice demolished in ancient times (by the Babylonians and Romans)-- or those of the European synagogues incinerated during, and in the years after, Kristallnacht.

The first thing we learned about The Teacher, though, was that his words were like stone. Surely, even if he and his followers perished, at least his words survived? They might, but... "The wind reads his words, and laughs."

In fairness, perhaps those generations did succumb and fall. But the Jewish people is still very vibrant after 4,000 years of oppression and persecution. There are currently three Jews on the US Supreme Court, out of nine slots, for instance. A full quarter of all Nobel Prize winners have been Jews from all around the globe. And even the besieged State of Israel-- no matter what you think of it-- is very vital after 70 years, and continues to contribute to the world in everything from medicine to the arts to disaster and famine relief.

Does the wind laugh at The Teacher's words? Let it. The words are like tablets of stone, and they will last longer than any passing wind.

Next Song: Look at That

Born at the Right Time

What a lovely lullaby, especially the chorus.

The first verse, of course, is a reference to the Biblical story of the infant Moses being discovered in a basket on the banks of the Nile by Pharaoh's daughter, near the start of the Book of Exodus.

The chorus depicts the ideal, Utopian birth and upbringing. Which, to be fair, was not Moses'. He was raised perhaps by his birth-mother until he was weaned, but after that resided and matured in the house of the oppressor of his people, so deception must have been involved at some point. After he realized his heritage, he killed a taskmaster and so lived most of his life-- scholars say from age 20 to 80-- in fugitive exile. He lived among neither his native Hebrews nor adoptive Egyptians, but as a shepherd, when he had been an imperial prince. He spent the next while wresting his people from the hand of Pharaoh, and his last 40 years in the wilderness, desperately trying to hold a new nation together, often against its will.

And then there is the sound of the "church bells," which Simon referred to in "Bleecker Street" and "For Emily." It is incongruous to depict the leader of the Jewish people being born to that sound, to say the least.

So this may be a reference more to a Moses-esque figure, a savior of the people... a prophet with "centuries" in his "eyes." But then, how would a coddled figure like the one described possibly understand suffering well enough to connect with the people he was to save (and don't we voice the same concern, today, over potential leaders)?

Leaving all of these objections aside, the song is about an ideal, if imaginary, situation. A boy is discovered, in remarkable health for a foundling. He was born under the music of peace and glory, to the words of friendship, truth, safety, and the approbation of the whole of humanity. Surely one so blessed is capable of conferring blessing upon others.

Then, another speaker seems to interrupt. This is a worldly gent, who likes to travel, spend, and eat well. He sees "them"-- and by the fact that they are still nursing, we must assume "they" are infants-- and they see him right back. They regard him as an intruder, yet they regard him without fear: "They follow me with open eyes/ Their uninvited guest."

These babies, too, are coddled, being nursed "in the airport lounges," and not in a less comfortable or relaxed environment. And they, too, are "born at the right time," like the foundling in the opening verse.

It seems possible that the chorus refers to "me" (the speaker) and not "they" (the babies), which would give another layer of implication-- that this sophisticated gent is also "born at the right time."

In any case, the gent bemoans overpopulation and overdevelopment in the next, short verse: "too many people."

And then: "But." This small word serves two purposes. One, it shows that it has been the same speaker all along, merely continuing his thought-- sometimes poetically, sometimes more conversationally.

It also serves as the introduction to the counterargument to the fears of overpopulation. How? Well, here is a "baby girl." Also "found," and also "born at the right time."

Every baby is, potentially, born at the right time, the speaker realizes. Every baby has the opportunity, if the right people find and raise it, to be Moses... or Miriam. Carl Sandburg said it nicely: "A baby is God's opinion that the world should go on." If so, could not all babies be born at the right time?

And in a world without isolation, lies, fear, and want, definitely so.

IMPACT:
Simon evidently liked the song, as he titled the tour to promote this album "The Born at the Right Time Tour."

Next song: The Cool, Cool River