Wait

This one, sadly, is not too hard to understand.

Simon is in his 80s. Many of those who began in music when he did are gone, and very many far before an age the average life expectancy statistics would have predicted. 

Further, many his age-- and some even younger-- have had to stop performing or recording because of some illness. 

Simon himself, in interviews for the Seven Psalms album, said that he lost the hearing in his left ear over the course of recording it, and can no longer perform onstage, at least not with a band. 

Nevertheless, he can still write, compose, and record; as he says in this song: "My hand's steady/ My mind is still clear." 

And, like Beethoven, he can still hear music in his mind, and synthesize new music from it. "I hear the ghost songs I own," he sings. Does he mean songs he owns the copyrights to, because he wrote them? Or the songs he owns recordings of? Likely the latter, given what he says next.

What is "ghostly" about them? They are probably not about ghosts, like "ghost stories" told around campfires. Are they by people who are gone? Are they songs that are simply unheard these days? Are they songs that people have heard of, but would not really be able to sing if you asked them to? 

He also says these songs are "jumpin', jivin', and moanin'," which makes me think of jazz. So it's possible that the songs are ghosts because the memory of them has faded. 

Then he seems to turn away from whomever (or Whomever) he is asking to wait, and-- for the chorus-- to turn toward his listener, to offer some advice and observations. First, he compares life to a "meteor," falling fast and burning brightly, a brief flash.  

He urges us to "let [our] eyes roam," and explore as a wanderer would. This could have gone the other way-- life being short, one might just as easily be advised to focus on a single goal and not get distracted. But Simon advises, "Go on, get distracted. There's a lot to see." 

Then comes one of his most poignant lines: "Heaven is beautiful/ It's almost like home." The key word here is "almost." Even Heaven itself cannot match the pleasures of home. Nevertheless. he urges-- now adopting a gospel verbiage-- "Children! Get ready!/ It's time to come home." 

A line ago, Heaven was not quite home. Now, it is "home." Well, it's going to be, so we might as well start calling it that now.

Last, Simon lays out two requests for how he wants to "transition" to... whatever is next. His first is that he wishes for a "dreamless transition." Most want to pass away while sleeping, but Simon is afraid of his dreams and what lurks in his subconscious mind. So he asks for a dreamless sleep, so he won't have to, in his final moments, be troubled by his "dark intuition."

This whole album, he has struggled with the idea of God and Heaven. He wants to believe because he craves the comfort he expects that will give him. But he also is a cynic and has a hard time believing. What if, at the last second, he has... doubt?

So for his second request, he asks for help. For someone to help him take that step across the final threshold. Now, he turns away from us and from God-- to his wife, Edie, to whom he has been married for 30 years now: "I need you here by my side/ My beautiful mystery guide." (It could also mean an angel, or that he is calling her one.)

The chorus repeats but this time, and we expect to hear, again (the word is repeated 4 times so far), "Wait."

Instead, we hear-- and this is the last word on the album-- "Amen." Of course. 

These were not songs, they were Psalms all along. They were prayers. And what do you say when a prayer is finished? "Amen."

The word's derivation is Hebrew, from a root meaning "faith." After a hearing a prayer, the listener replies, basically: "Faith." We have faith that the prayer just offered will be heard and received and accepted. 

Poet Dylan Thomas told us to "rage against the dying of a light." Simon is not raging, here. He is not begging or even bargaining. 

But he is asking. With calm dignity, he is praying for death to wait.

He is not ready to go-- and we are not ready for him to go, either.

May his prayer be granted. Amen.

Next Song: Billy Boy

Love & Blessings

The first thing we have to deal with is the official title of this track. The album's notes and cover use an '&,' but the website uses "And" (yes, with a capital 'A'). The Lyrics book, meanwhile, uses "and," with the grammatically correct lowercase 'a.' As there is no agreement, I am going with the &; because the album is the original document, and the one most listeners will encounter.

"Love & Blessings" is the last in the triptych of "Love" songs on this album (the others being "Love and Hard Times" and "Love is Eternal Sacred Light.").

The song seems to be about a revivification of an entire country or area. "Love and blessings/ Simple kindness/ Fell like rain on a thirsty land." This image seems to follow that of the second verse of "Boy in the Bubble": "the dry wind" "desert" "dead sand/ Falling." Here, "Fields and gardens.../ Came to life in dust and sand."

Relationships were revived as well: "as if old love was new." And business boomed, too-- along with, not in exploitation of-- this phenomenon: "Banker's pockets overflowing with gold and money."

Then the song shifts to a series of call-and-response phrases. A gospel choir sings "bop-bop-a-whoa," and the speaker replies "Ain't no song like and old song, Charlie," in reference to the fact that this is a sample of a song from 1938, at least (see the Musical Note below).

Who is Charlie? Is it Fat Charlie the Archangel from "Crazy Love, Vol II"? No, Simon uses this name to set up the next line: "Ain't no time like a good time, Charlie." A "good-time Charlie" is a "life-of-the-party" sort of fellow, so this line is a pun.

This, in turn, shifts to "Ain't no times like the good times, Charlie." The good times being, it seems, those filled with "love and blessings," "simple kindness," romance, and full granaries and coffers, all as described above.

Back to "bop-bop-a-whoa," a phrase that proves the link between gospel and doo-wop, two of Simon's favorite genres and ones referred to many times on this album in particular. But here, it seems a shorthand for... something. "Everybody [is] working for" it and one "Can't get enough of" it. But what is it? Money? Sex? Maybe it is different things for different people, the thing that makes them excited.

Tonally, we now shift back to the start of the song, with its imagery of nature and its effects on people. "If the summer kept a secret/ It was heaven's lack of rain." This is ambiguous at best. If it said, "If the summer kept a secret/ it was heaven's rain," then we would assume that the rain was held back, like a secret unspoken, and there was a drought. But "secret... lack of" is double negative of sorts. So... there was little rain, but the heavens didn't tell us about it? I think we would know how much or little rain there was, in any case! We would be the ones who were wet or dry.

From the next lines, it seems that rain was gone... but not missed, at least not by him: "Golden days and amber sunsets/ Let the scientists complain." However, the scientists soon have company in their worried grousing. The autumn leaves were "drained of color." How bad in the drought? "Ghosts in the water beg for more" (and what an evocative image!). Yet, is this true... or is it just that our "memory" was clearer?

The song ends with the speaker being "woken from [his] sleep" by "something." It seems to be the realization that "Love and blessings... [are] ours to hold but not to keep." This echoes Robert Frost's assertion that "nothing gold can stay."

Simon seems to be expressing two related themes, here. One is that the nature of abundance (and scarcity) is cyclical. The other is that people and society change in accordance with these cycles. Abundance brings warmth, which then turns cold when drought sets in. Once we become aware of this, however, we can adjust our behavior, and stay warm toward each other even when times are less kind.

Musical Note:
The "bop-bop-a-whoa" heard in the song is, appropriately for the "bridge" of the song, sampled from The Golden Gate Jubilee Quartet, specifically, their 1938 song "Golden Gate Gospel Train." (I am unsure whether the group named the song, vice versa, or if both were named for the bridge). It was BB King who pointed Simon to the group, when they met backstage at Madison Square Garden for the 25th Anniversary of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

The song itself was covered by, of all people, Vegas belter Tom Jones.

Next Song: So Beautiful or So What

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

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

Loves Me Like a Rock

There is an album of Bob Dylan songs called Saved, and it is a series of his religious songs, done gospel style. Why there is no equivalent Paul Simon compilation is a mystery.

Certainly, he has enough material. "Bridge Over Troubled Water" has been performed by many gospel groups, and was so recently on TV's Glee. "Gone At Last," "A Church is Burning," "He Was My Brother," "Mother and Child Reunion," "Mrs. Robinson," "One Man's Ceiling," "Slip Slidin'," all are either gospel or could easily be arranged in that style...even his brand-new "Getting Ready for Christmas Day" is based on an African-American sermon.

But the one that is the most gospel-inflected is this one right here. On the original album, Simon is backed by The Dixie Hummingbirds. In other performances, he is backed by The Jesse Dixon Singers. Both groups have performed it at their own concerts, without Simon. There is also a great, semi-a capella version by members of the O'Jays that was part of the movie The Fighting Temptations; the clip is on YouTube. As is the clip of Stevie Wonder performing it at a Simon tribute.

It is fair to say that this song is one of the few written in the latter half of the 20th Century that has been accepted into the gospel repertoire... of those songs not written with that intent.

The song itself is very straight-forward. The verses take us through the speaker's life, and even imagine the unlikely event of his ascending to the US presidency. In each case, he is tempted by the Devil (or his stand-in, Congress). In each case, he is able to rebuff the Devil's temptations by knowing he is secure in his mother's love.

In the first verse, he is the picture of childhood innocence and reverence. He is "consecrated" and sings in Church.

Even in adulthood, he is happily married-- sex is not a sin but a "consummation." The line "I can snatch a little purity" might mean that even when he is, um, consummating with his wife, he remembers that this is a sacred act and not just physical pleasure. (If the word "snatch" had the same 'entendre' meaning in the '70s as it does today, this is a very sneaky, ribald pun by Simon.)

The last scene imagines the president at the "podium" before Congress, which generally happens only during the State of the Union Address. Even in this case, the speaker would still say "Who do you think you're fooling?" if he were tempted to do the wrong thing by this powerful group.

All because of his mother's love... which he says is an eternal and immutable as God's, since God is called "The Rock of Ages." (The original Hebrew word "olamim" translates variously as "eternities," "infinities," "worlds" or "universes"-- That God is "tzur olamim" means that God is the constant, steadfast "rock" on all the eternal, infinite planes of existence.)

This is a finite song, but one that has brought infinite joy to millions. And it's certainly the most exuberant Mother's Day card ever written.

IMPACT:
The song went to #2 in the US, and stayed in the Top 40 for three and a half months. It charted in many other English-speaking countries: the UK, Canada, and Australia. And also in The Netherlands!

The Hummingbirds' own version made the R&B chart and snatched them a little... Grammy. Jazz favorite Ramsey Lewis and pops composer Peter Nero covered it, too.


Next Song: Still Crazy After All These Years

Take Me to the Mardi Gras

This song is so light and slight it is barely there. It recalls, even more than "Feelin' Groovy," its close cousin "Cloudy."

Later, on Graceland, Simon will do a more sterotypically New Orleans zydeco number, "That Was Your Mother."

But, until its closing jam by the Onward Brass Band-- which itself sounds more like New Orleans funeral-procession music than the Caribbean sounds associated with Mardi Gras-- this song is barely the kind of music one associates with New Orleans altogether.

It is not the tumbling piano of Professor Longhair, nor the zydeco shuffle of Clifton Chenier, nor the gospel-inflected harmonies of the Neville Brothers. And it certainly doesn't have the sparkle and throb of a Mardi Gras Carnival parade.

Instead, it is a gossamer breeze, a tall glass of cool iced tea, and a hammock on a beach. It is about escaping to a place of music (the whole first verse) and warmth, both physical-- "You can wear your summer clothes"-- and emotional-- "You can mingle in the street." It almost seems to be more about Aruba or Provence than raucous, randy New Orleans.

The lyrics are very simple, aside from the word "elite"... and the line "legalize your lows." Elsewhere, it seems, one's mad and sad moods are almost illegal, and people are obliged to put up a false front of cheerful professionalism/romance constantly. Here, however, one's "lows" can be hung out to dry openly, having been "washed" by the "music" and bleached clean by the sunshine.

Another interesting turn of phrase is "in the New Orleans," as if it were more a situation than a place, like "in the water" or "in the meantime."

Mardi Gras is a party, but it has religious origins. It is a last hurrah before the self-denial of Lent, which in some traditions includes fasting and confession.

At this point in the song, a gospel-like chorus is sung by the Reverend Claude Jeter, a member of the famous Swan Silvertones gospel ensemble-- and also of the Dixie Hummingbirds, who appear twice on this album ("Loves Me Like a Rock" and the "Tenderness").

"I will lay my burden down," he sings. This refers to one's sins and regrets. Once one's sins are confessed, the belief has it, and repented for-- once one's "lows" are "legalized" for open discussion-- the burden is forever dropped.

Many speak of confession as "getting something off my chest"; and after confession, they describe having "a weight off my shoulders." There is a sense of relief, of "resting [one's] head."

What of the "starry crown"? This is a halo-- the opposite of Jesus' "crown of thorns." The wording is taken from the gospel song "Golden Slippers" about what one will wear in Heaven. It may also be a reference to the shiny, sparkly headdresses worn by Mardi Gras parade participants. If so, it connects the fancy-free feeling of a reveler with the burden-free relief of one who has confessed. Not just compares-- connects. The revelers can achieve a state of bliss the penitent also seeks.

What happens when he is so coronated? "I won't be wanting anymore." This is an interesting idea to find in this context, as it seems more Buddhist than Christian, as the Buddhist ideal is to be free from desire and "want," which induce suffering.

It seems that having "burdens" paradoxically means having "wants." This is counter-intuitive. Maybe burdens are a bad thing, but they are not nothing. If one has possessions, how can one have wants? Ah, but that is the point. It is burdensome to desire. Once one wants nothings and one needs nothing, one is free of the burden of desire itself.

The song concludes wthe the advice that the listeners, too, "take [their] burdens to the Mardi Gras" and let the experience "wash [their] soul[s]." This is the second allusion in the song to water, the first being "the shore," where one rests one's head, presumably after a baptism.

The last line refers to Jelly Roll Morton, a New-Orleans born musician who claims-- with some validity, it seems-- to have "invented jazz." At the very least, he was the first to publish a jazz composition.

The madness of Mardi Gras, which has turned into a combination of Spring Break the size of a downtown and a Las Vegas showstopper on wheels, masks its origins as a last "blowing off steam" season before the somber sobriety of Lent.

Simon recaptures its original meaning as a way to relieve oneself of emotional "burdens," through the cleaning power of song: "Let the music wash your soul." This is why the song is so relaxed and relaxing. It's about finally being able to relax.

Lastly, what does "toomba" mean? Is it just a nonsense, sung syllable, like "tra-la-la" or "sh'boom, sh'boom"? Possibly. But to a Jewish listener, it could call to mind the folksong "Tum Balalaika." A "balalaika" is a Russian lute with a triangular body." The chorus to this waltz-time song goes:

"Tum bala-, tum bala-, tum balalaika
Tum bala-, tum bala-, tum balalaika
Tum balalaika/ Shpiel balalaika
Tum balalaika/ Freilach zol zein"

Which means: "Strum the blalaika, play the balalaika, be festive" (a balalaika is a large lute with a triangular body). The verses form a riddle song, along the lines of "I Gave My Love a Cherry." (I personally think the song also influenced "Chim-Chimeny" from Mary Poppins.) In any case, the chorus does capture the same relaxed ethos "Take Me to the Mardi Gras."

One last note-- this song was recorded at the famous Muscle Shoals studio in Alabama. I urge you to look it up and read a bit about it. It deserves equal recognition with better-known studios like Sun and Motown. There is now a documentary about the studio.

The song has been covered by several acts.


Next Song: Something So Right

Bridge Over Troubled Water

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next Song: El Condor Pasa (If I Could)

The Covers of Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M.

It might be a fair guess to say that there are more covers on this album than on the other four S&G albums combined. But of the 12 songs on the album, 7 are covers... more than half the tracks. They break down into two categories... plus one that does not fit either.

The first category is folk versions of Christian, even Gospel-style, songs: "You Can Tell the World," "Go Tell it on the Mountain," and "Benedictus." It may seem strange to hear two "nice Jewish boys" singing such things, but when they were in England, post-college-- just as they were transitioning from being "Tom and Jerry" to "Simon and Garfunkel"-- one of their first breaks was providing music for a Christian radio show. The incongruity of Jews singing Christian music still raises eyebrows today; even in 2009, both Neil Diamond and Bob Dylan were offering new Christmas-song albums, and there were articles aplenty wondering at the sight.

That said, the two gospel numbers are sung boisterously and heartily, full of good cheer and "good news." Both are evangelical in nature, with the word "tell" right there in their titles-- one says to "Tell the world," and the other, "tell it... everywhere." Clearly, Simon is fine working with Christian imagery, and continues to be, as noted in the essay on "Bleecker Street." There are also such references in his more recent work, such as "the cross is in the ballpark," in "The Obvious Child" and "We celebrate the birth of Jesus" in "Old." For Simon, such ideas seem to be simply others he can access, alongside imagery of nature, modern life, etc.

Then there is "Benedictus," an arrangement of a Latin hymn done Gregorian-chant style. It is simply beautiful, and a better illustration of the duo's legendary ability to harmonize can scarcely be found.

Covers of "Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream" (E. McCurdy), "The Sun is Burning" (I. Campbell), and "The Times, They are A-Changin'" (Dylan) show Simon and Garfunkel doing what good folksingers have always done-- perform each others' songs. But these songs are more apocalyptic. The first paints a lovely dream of a UN-type council vowing to "never fight again." The second, however, is the nightmare version-- what will happen if the first, peaceful scenario is not fulfilled, with a nuclear Armageddon: "Now the Sun has come to Earth/ Shrouded in a mushroom cloud of death/ Death comes in a blinding flash/ of Hellish heat, and leaves a smear of ash."

The oft-covered Dylan number rounds out this trilogy with is warning to, as they used to say, get with the program: "you'd better start swimming /or you'll sink like a stone." Perhaps, taken together, these selection imply that there is a choice. Those who vow to "never fight again" will go "...dancing round and round/[with] guns and swords and uniforms/scattered on the ground," while those who make war will "go groping on their knees/ And cry in vain." As the third song explains: "he who gets hurt/ Will be he who has stalled."

Which leaves "Peggy-O," a traditional ballad. It is a story of helplessness and heartbreak. A travelling captain falls in love with a local lady and pledges her his adoration and fortune if she will leave with him: "You're the prettiest little girl I've ever seen/ In a carriage you will ride.../ As fair as any lady in the area."

Her friends, however, are having none of it: "What will you mother say/ when she finds you've gone away/ To places far and strange...?" No mention is made of her mother actually having a problem with this, so the soldier comes to the same conclusion as the listener and blames her friends for her refusal of him, telling Peggy: "If ever I return/ All your cities I will burn/ Destroying all the ladies in the area." This brave man, who can order a regiment of men into gunfire, cannot overcome the peer pressure of Peggy's jealous lady-friends. Throughout the song, Peggy herself is silent, the same as the Sparrow and other of Simon's characters here.

All of Simon's songs on the album are sad in some way or other. They tell stories of bleak streets, "restless dreams," a racist murder, and a fleeing criminal. Even a tired bird with a pretty song is abandoned when in need. What causes the sadness is a lack of connection, driven by fear. Simon tries to be a leader in "Sound of Silence": "Hear my words that I might teach you." But "Sound of Silence" is ultimately about people ignoring each other to worship a "neon god." So while there is a need to connect, people-- disappointed with each other-- reach to the concept of deity, only to again fail in their choice of one. The contemporary folksongs seem to be chosen to show the global implications of these personal decisions.

The overtly religious songs, the only happy ones here, come to provide a solution: "He brought joy, joy, joy into my heart" and "God sent salvation/ That holy Christmas morn." Humans, even the best intentioned ones, will ultimately let one down. Better to place your money on the Sure Bet.

In later albums, Simon will write other happy songs of his own. For now, his happiness is borrowed.

Next Song: Leaves That Are Green