Is it necessary to analyze this song? It's one of the most straightforward of all of Simon's songs, telling the story of a marriage, from its prelude through to its epilogue. The "moral of the story" is even spelled out in the final chorus.
Now, there is a mistake in the lyrics at Simon's website. It says "He was old/she was young." This is wrong. In the song itself, Simon seems to sing: "He was old/ he was young." This, while it seems self-contradictory, is corroborated by two sources. One is the liner notes of the album.
The other is the new book Lyrics: 1964-2011, which I purchased at Paul Simon's concert here in the Chicago area last night. (Now that the book is out, someone at the website should really spend a couple of days doing line-by-line proofreading.)
The difference is enormous. The incorrect version seems a simple statement of fact as to their relative ages. The correct version provides one of the only enigmatic lines of the whole song. "He was old," in years, perhaps-- but in every other way, he was "young." Romantic, impulsive, ambitious...
The story starts with a older man attracted to a younger, married woman (her husband is immaterial to all concerned, dismissed as a mere "someone"). Our hero would "tip his heart" instead of his hand (the term comes from playing cards), meaning that he made his amorous intentions known. But even though she initially "withdrew," she hears the sound of the distant train as much as he does ("everybody" hears, it, after all).
The next steps seem automatic and inevitable: "Eventually" they marry, "sure enough" they have a boy. But even while she was pregnant, "disagreements had begun."
It is not clear when the child is born, relative to their divorce. But divorce they do, although they "they remain in contact." The line "Let us say it’s for the child," implies that this is not the true reason, but one that seems reasonable and acceptable to both and to the families and community involved (is the real reason that they are still somewhat attracted to each other?).
The word "disagreements" comes up again, this time with regard to the "marriage contract," but again more is going on. Certainly lawyers can (although expensively) debate that, professionally and coolly. Their "conversations," meanwhile are "hard and wild" and obviously about things more personal and intimate than just legalities.
Was there something,,, there? Well, "from time to time, he just makes her laugh/ She cooks a meal or two." Here, we have a disagreement, to borrow a word, about lyrics again. The website and album notes say "he makes her laugh," while the song itself and the Lyrics book have it "he just makes her laugh." This is not as crucial an issue as the disputed pronoun above, but it does go to a central theme of the song.
Which is that it had to happen this way, going back to when he "doggedly" hounded and wooed her. This goes through the "eventual" and "sure enough" phases discussed above to how they "just fell apart." And now, he "just makes her laugh." He doesn't seem to mean to, but something he says "just" strikes her as terribly amusing.
The narrative breaks, during the divorce chapter, for the speaker to insert an observation about the characters: "Two disappointed believers/ Two people playing the game." They do believe in love, but are disappointed by marriage. Instead of loving each other and working toward compromises for the advancement of the union, they are "playing" against each other, each trying to win and advance his or her own interests.
The phrase "negotiations and love songs" would become the title of one of Simon's compilations of hits, but here it means that love songs, through which one hopes to win the heart of the other, are often little more then sales pitches, in which the singer hopes to win, period. But while dogs chase cars, what would a dog do with a car if it caught one? What good is winning if, now that you have sealed the deal and gotten married, the game is over? Then the power struggle moves into the marriage itself, with everyone losing.
Why? Why does all of this have to happen, with the forgone nature of one "train" car following the next down a predetermined track?
It is not outside fate exactly, Simon theorizes, but how our brains are wired (or "woven") for ambition and improvement of our situations: "The thought that life could be better/ Is woven indelibly/ Into our hearts/ And our brains."
It's not the song that needs to be explained, after all. It's the people in the story, a tale so lacking in detail that the characters never even get names. We have all heard of some couple that this story, in some form, has happened to. So it is important to ask why such a story is so sadly common.
Still, there is some growth. "The boy and the girl get married," but after they divorce, "the man and the woman remain in contact." They haven't simply grown older, they have grown up.
And, if either one does marry again, it might actually go "better." For her, she left her first marriage for this man. But this time, she leaves her second husband for herself. Certainly, she will have to be mature enough to think of the impact this would have for her child. But if she does marry again, it should be for the right reasons.
Meanwhile, he was old when he started this adventure, and now he is a father. Still, he is "dogged" and "young" in a way, so maybe he will have another shot as well.
Did ambition and competition destroy this marriage, even before it had begun? Yes. Will the same thing happen in the next go-round? Well, as Samuel Johnson explained, "Second marriage is the triumph of hope over experience."
Next Song: Rene And George Magritte with Their Dog After The War
Showing posts with label fatalism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fatalism. Show all posts
Monday, November 14, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
Slip Slidin' Away
[Note to Readers: These next several posts, before we head on into the Hearts and Bones album, will be dedicated to some of Simon's material which was written before this point, but did not appear on any of the regular albums up to this point. So expect to discover some lost treasures .]
In keeping with the chronological idea of this blog, this song should have been discussed before One-Trick Pony. It was intended for Still Crazy and now appears (albeit in demo form) on the CD reissue of that disc.
It was first released on Greatest Hits, Etc., and was the lead-off track on that compilation, which was issued in 1977, two years after Still Crazy and three years before Pony.
So, if this blog ever turns into a book, the order will be: "Silent Eyes" (the last track of Still Crazy), then "Slip Slidin' Away" and "Stranded in a Limosine"... and then "Late in the Evening" (the first track of Pony).
That bit of housekeeping taken care of, on with the show...
This song is an expansion of John Lennon's dictum, "Life is what happens when we're making other plans," or the expression "Man plans and God laughs" (which is found in Yiddish, but I can't believe exclusively.)
It has a nihilistic theme that presages the Kansas song "Dust in the Wind"... and an episodic structure that prefigures Springsteen's "Glory Days" (further, both songs first present a man, then a woman, then a father [in a lesser-known concert version of the Springsteen song], then a philosophical conclusion).
The song begins, in fact, with this famous chorus: "Slip slidin’ away/ You know the nearer your destination/ The more you’re slip slidin’ away." Often, Simon is not so declarative of the message of his song.
First, we meet a man who is a martyr when it comes to love. The first clue to this Christ imagery is the word "passion," which at first we think just means "lustful affection." But then comes the image of the "crown of thorns" Jesus was forced to wear during the Crucifixion, which causes us to reinterpret the idea of "passion" to also mean something more like a "Passion Play."
In his protestation, he explains that his love for her is so intense, he is in danger of losing his sense of self: "My love for you’s so overpowering/ I’m afraid that I will disappear." So, the "nearer" he gets to her, the more his self "slips away." Imagine an ice cube in love with a lit candle-- the closer it gets, the smaller it becomes, until it is no longer ice at all, let alone a cube.
The second verse is about a woman who lives in regret. She has already lost herself. She's not a woman who "got married," she "became a wife." As if that meant she was no longer a "woman" unto herself, but now defined by her relationship to a man. A good day, to her, is not even one that is "sunny," but simply one that "ain’t got no rain,” which is a pretty low standard for nice weather. Meanwhile, when it does rain and she is stuck in the house (because she can't buy a raincoat or umbrella?), she simply wallows in regret: "I lie in bed/ And think of things that might have been.”
In her case, she is not in process of "slidin' away"; it may be fair to say she has already slid. She is not beyond hope, however, as she is aware of her situation, and may someday grow tired of it and reassert her own identity.
Now, the man and woman in the first two verses speak. The third verse presents a father who intends to, but does not: "He came a long way/ Just to explain/ He kissed his boy as he lay sleeping/ Then he turned around and headed home again."
His silence is immense. The child does not even know that his father was there. We can only imagine that the "boy" in question is relatively young to receive that appellation, and is not married in any case. Is he a child or teen, still living with his post-divorce mother? Probably. The other possibility is that the son lives alone, in which case, he is in college or is working and living in an apartment. But how did he fall asleep and leave the apartment door unlocked for his father to enter? Did his roommate let his dad in?
The first scenario seems more likely-- a wayward father (maybe like the one in Springsteen's "Hungry Heart") returns, wants to explain himself, then considers the possibility that the son has gotten over him and that his return will only prove disruptive. Who is he doing this unburdening for, anyway? If it's for himself, maybe he should leave well enough alone. Certainly, waking a child up with, "Hi, remember me, your dad? Anyway, here's why I left. OK, then... back to sleep, now," is not something any therapist would recommend.
He has reached his "destination," only to realize that the distance between himself and his son is not measured in miles (or kilometers); he is right there, yet as far away as ever.
The last verse is the "...and God laughs" part. The key word here is "gliding." Not "driving"; we are at least self-aware enough to know we are not in control. But we do believe we are savvy enough to ride the road like an albatross does the air currents or a surfer does the waves-- able to change with the curves and even use them to increase our forward momentum... to "glide."
Even this level of control, Simon explains, is an illusion: "God makes his plan/ The information’s unavailable/ To the mortal man" (think of God's response to Job: "Were you there when I made the universe?"). We think we are headed toward our "destination," say, in our career or financial plan. But no, even as we reach our retirement or monetary goals, overcoming the curves in the road, we are missing the point.
We spend our time planning when we have no control over God's plan for us. We have no control over natural disasters or elections or wars or Wall Street or diseases or accidents or most other things. We can be "gliding down the highway" in entirely the wrong direction, but it matters not, as we will ended up where we were Intended to be regardless.
This song is about providence and predetermination. It is about fortune and fate... even fatalism. It's beautiful, yet a very sad and resigned shrug about mortality and the futility of human action. Everyone in the song tries for a goal and not only misses it but loses him- or herself in the process of aiming for it altogether. People lose themselves in the pursuit of love, stability, or money; even the father who went off to find himself now only sees what he lost in doing so.
This post began with a suggestion of which songs this one influenced, but writers as early as King Solomon concluded: "...all is vanity, and striving after wind."
IMPACT:
Amazingly, for such a somber number-- and one without a proper album to support it at that-- the song went to #5 in the US. It remains a radio mainstay, even if it is still only available on compilations (and, of course, online).
Along with "Fifty ways to leave your lover," "Mrs. Robinson," "Bridge over troubled water," and "Still crazy after all these years," the phrase "Slip slidin' away" has become part of the American linguistic landscape.
Next Song: Slow Man
In keeping with the chronological idea of this blog, this song should have been discussed before One-Trick Pony. It was intended for Still Crazy and now appears (albeit in demo form) on the CD reissue of that disc.
It was first released on Greatest Hits, Etc., and was the lead-off track on that compilation, which was issued in 1977, two years after Still Crazy and three years before Pony.
So, if this blog ever turns into a book, the order will be: "Silent Eyes" (the last track of Still Crazy), then "Slip Slidin' Away" and "Stranded in a Limosine"... and then "Late in the Evening" (the first track of Pony).
That bit of housekeeping taken care of, on with the show...
This song is an expansion of John Lennon's dictum, "Life is what happens when we're making other plans," or the expression "Man plans and God laughs" (which is found in Yiddish, but I can't believe exclusively.)
It has a nihilistic theme that presages the Kansas song "Dust in the Wind"... and an episodic structure that prefigures Springsteen's "Glory Days" (further, both songs first present a man, then a woman, then a father [in a lesser-known concert version of the Springsteen song], then a philosophical conclusion).
The song begins, in fact, with this famous chorus: "Slip slidin’ away/ You know the nearer your destination/ The more you’re slip slidin’ away." Often, Simon is not so declarative of the message of his song.
First, we meet a man who is a martyr when it comes to love. The first clue to this Christ imagery is the word "passion," which at first we think just means "lustful affection." But then comes the image of the "crown of thorns" Jesus was forced to wear during the Crucifixion, which causes us to reinterpret the idea of "passion" to also mean something more like a "Passion Play."
In his protestation, he explains that his love for her is so intense, he is in danger of losing his sense of self: "My love for you’s so overpowering/ I’m afraid that I will disappear." So, the "nearer" he gets to her, the more his self "slips away." Imagine an ice cube in love with a lit candle-- the closer it gets, the smaller it becomes, until it is no longer ice at all, let alone a cube.
The second verse is about a woman who lives in regret. She has already lost herself. She's not a woman who "got married," she "became a wife." As if that meant she was no longer a "woman" unto herself, but now defined by her relationship to a man. A good day, to her, is not even one that is "sunny," but simply one that "ain’t got no rain,” which is a pretty low standard for nice weather. Meanwhile, when it does rain and she is stuck in the house (because she can't buy a raincoat or umbrella?), she simply wallows in regret: "I lie in bed/ And think of things that might have been.”
In her case, she is not in process of "slidin' away"; it may be fair to say she has already slid. She is not beyond hope, however, as she is aware of her situation, and may someday grow tired of it and reassert her own identity.
Now, the man and woman in the first two verses speak. The third verse presents a father who intends to, but does not: "He came a long way/ Just to explain/ He kissed his boy as he lay sleeping/ Then he turned around and headed home again."
His silence is immense. The child does not even know that his father was there. We can only imagine that the "boy" in question is relatively young to receive that appellation, and is not married in any case. Is he a child or teen, still living with his post-divorce mother? Probably. The other possibility is that the son lives alone, in which case, he is in college or is working and living in an apartment. But how did he fall asleep and leave the apartment door unlocked for his father to enter? Did his roommate let his dad in?
The first scenario seems more likely-- a wayward father (maybe like the one in Springsteen's "Hungry Heart") returns, wants to explain himself, then considers the possibility that the son has gotten over him and that his return will only prove disruptive. Who is he doing this unburdening for, anyway? If it's for himself, maybe he should leave well enough alone. Certainly, waking a child up with, "Hi, remember me, your dad? Anyway, here's why I left. OK, then... back to sleep, now," is not something any therapist would recommend.
He has reached his "destination," only to realize that the distance between himself and his son is not measured in miles (or kilometers); he is right there, yet as far away as ever.
The last verse is the "...and God laughs" part. The key word here is "gliding." Not "driving"; we are at least self-aware enough to know we are not in control. But we do believe we are savvy enough to ride the road like an albatross does the air currents or a surfer does the waves-- able to change with the curves and even use them to increase our forward momentum... to "glide."
Even this level of control, Simon explains, is an illusion: "God makes his plan/ The information’s unavailable/ To the mortal man" (think of God's response to Job: "Were you there when I made the universe?"). We think we are headed toward our "destination," say, in our career or financial plan. But no, even as we reach our retirement or monetary goals, overcoming the curves in the road, we are missing the point.
We spend our time planning when we have no control over God's plan for us. We have no control over natural disasters or elections or wars or Wall Street or diseases or accidents or most other things. We can be "gliding down the highway" in entirely the wrong direction, but it matters not, as we will ended up where we were Intended to be regardless.
This song is about providence and predetermination. It is about fortune and fate... even fatalism. It's beautiful, yet a very sad and resigned shrug about mortality and the futility of human action. Everyone in the song tries for a goal and not only misses it but loses him- or herself in the process of aiming for it altogether. People lose themselves in the pursuit of love, stability, or money; even the father who went off to find himself now only sees what he lost in doing so.
This post began with a suggestion of which songs this one influenced, but writers as early as King Solomon concluded: "...all is vanity, and striving after wind."
IMPACT:
Amazingly, for such a somber number-- and one without a proper album to support it at that-- the song went to #5 in the US. It remains a radio mainstay, even if it is still only available on compilations (and, of course, online).
Along with "Fifty ways to leave your lover," "Mrs. Robinson," "Bridge over troubled water," and "Still crazy after all these years," the phrase "Slip slidin' away" has become part of the American linguistic landscape.
Next Song: Slow Man
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Patterns
The root of the word "fatalism" is not so much "fatal" as it is "fate." While it is true that the same fatal fate awaits us all, fatalism is the belief that all events are predetermined by God, Providence, (The) Fate(s), etc. and that free will is nonexistent.
What is unclear, however, is why fatalism always seems to focus on fatality and not simply on fate. Isn't fate sometimes... good? Even within the framework of fatalism, if two teams compete, doesn't one win? Or is even that victory hollow, because it was going to happen no matter what, and those players were not so much "winners" as simply the ones it was necessary to win for the next series of events to take place? Further, if there is a God determining winners from losers, why do we assume that the losers will inevitably be us?
"Patterns" is a determinedly fatalistic song. And like the emo and Goth songs that followed, it focuses on the facts that some things "can scarcely be controlled," and that this is a bad thing. Fate has it in for us, and that's that. The overall imagery is that of darkness: "night," "shadows," "evening gloom," "dimly," "in darkness I must dwell."
Even the one mention of "light" is uncertain and menacing. This light "paints a pattern...like a[n] uneven scrawl." The light comes from one of Simon's most reliable images: a street lamp. In "Sounds of Silence," one had a halo. Later, in "Feelin' Groovy," the "lamppost" is friendly and has "flowers growin'." Here, the same light source is harsh and shows stark contrasts.
Two other sets of images come forth. One is that of an riddle, a "puzzle,", and a "maze." There is a path to be figured out, but the path is set, and there is but one way to change it: "The pattern never alters/ Until the rat dies."
Then there are images are of violence and constraint: "narrow," "impaled," "must," and "fell."
So we have a life of sightlessness, enigmas, and coercion. The system is entirely unfair, as the game is laid out for us, but we are not allowed to know the rules. We run the set maze blindly, only to be forced into a preset conclusion.
The result is a sense of powerlessness. The very leaves on the trees tremble with the fear of not-knowing. The speaker is unable to escape his room, left with nothing to do but desperately try to piece out "the puzzle that is [him]"... without even good light to work the puzzle by.
The speaker's Poe-like torment was triggered by a fractured shadow cast by the street lamp on his wall. But by the end of the song, the wall is the place not where the "light" struck, but "where darkness fell."
Musically, the song is interesting for two "world-music" elements. One is the sitar-like strings that open the song and form the bridge. The other is the galloping hand-drums of its rhythm.
The first imitates the "shivering," "uneven" elements in the song, the human uncertainty of how to proceed given the lack of information and the inevitability of the outcome.
The drums form the pattern itself-- driving, insistent, relentless (how different from the cheerful hand-drums of the later "Cecilia"!). In fact, the songs concludes with the strings strumming rhythmically, as if helplessly succumbing to the force of the drums' pattern, the way the "light" on the wall in the first verse becomes the "darkness" there in the last.
"Patterns" is fatalistic, but not necessarily nihilistic. There is one thread of hope, in the penultimate word: "scarcely." The speaker might well have said, in the same meter, "never." That which is "scarce" does still exist. The speaker still holds out the slim hope that some "control" over one's fate is possible.
("Patterns" can be thought of as forming a diptych with the song that follows, "Cloudy." They may seem polar opposites, but a closer look reveals that they are still opposite ends of the same pole.)
Next song: "Cloudy"
What is unclear, however, is why fatalism always seems to focus on fatality and not simply on fate. Isn't fate sometimes... good? Even within the framework of fatalism, if two teams compete, doesn't one win? Or is even that victory hollow, because it was going to happen no matter what, and those players were not so much "winners" as simply the ones it was necessary to win for the next series of events to take place? Further, if there is a God determining winners from losers, why do we assume that the losers will inevitably be us?
"Patterns" is a determinedly fatalistic song. And like the emo and Goth songs that followed, it focuses on the facts that some things "can scarcely be controlled," and that this is a bad thing. Fate has it in for us, and that's that. The overall imagery is that of darkness: "night," "shadows," "evening gloom," "dimly," "in darkness I must dwell."
Even the one mention of "light" is uncertain and menacing. This light "paints a pattern...like a[n] uneven scrawl." The light comes from one of Simon's most reliable images: a street lamp. In "Sounds of Silence," one had a halo. Later, in "Feelin' Groovy," the "lamppost" is friendly and has "flowers growin'." Here, the same light source is harsh and shows stark contrasts.
Two other sets of images come forth. One is that of an riddle, a "puzzle,", and a "maze." There is a path to be figured out, but the path is set, and there is but one way to change it: "The pattern never alters/ Until the rat dies."
Then there are images are of violence and constraint: "narrow," "impaled," "must," and "fell."
So we have a life of sightlessness, enigmas, and coercion. The system is entirely unfair, as the game is laid out for us, but we are not allowed to know the rules. We run the set maze blindly, only to be forced into a preset conclusion.
The result is a sense of powerlessness. The very leaves on the trees tremble with the fear of not-knowing. The speaker is unable to escape his room, left with nothing to do but desperately try to piece out "the puzzle that is [him]"... without even good light to work the puzzle by.
The speaker's Poe-like torment was triggered by a fractured shadow cast by the street lamp on his wall. But by the end of the song, the wall is the place not where the "light" struck, but "where darkness fell."
Musically, the song is interesting for two "world-music" elements. One is the sitar-like strings that open the song and form the bridge. The other is the galloping hand-drums of its rhythm.
The first imitates the "shivering," "uneven" elements in the song, the human uncertainty of how to proceed given the lack of information and the inevitability of the outcome.
The drums form the pattern itself-- driving, insistent, relentless (how different from the cheerful hand-drums of the later "Cecilia"!). In fact, the songs concludes with the strings strumming rhythmically, as if helplessly succumbing to the force of the drums' pattern, the way the "light" on the wall in the first verse becomes the "darkness" there in the last.
"Patterns" is fatalistic, but not necessarily nihilistic. There is one thread of hope, in the penultimate word: "scarcely." The speaker might well have said, in the same meter, "never." That which is "scarce" does still exist. The speaker still holds out the slim hope that some "control" over one's fate is possible.
("Patterns" can be thought of as forming a diptych with the song that follows, "Cloudy." They may seem polar opposites, but a closer look reveals that they are still opposite ends of the same pole.)
Next song: "Cloudy"
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