"Man plans and God laughs" is a classic Yiddish saying. Here, Simon paraphrases that: "Mankind theorizes, and God laughs." (This is the second of three songs on this album whose titles start with the word "love.")
This uptempo song starts with the chorus, defining the opposites of "love" and "hate." The former is a "light," the latter a "darkness." The former is "eternal," but the latter is a destructive "demon that feeds on the mind."
The first set of verses summarize the theory of the universe's beginnings: "Started with a bang... stars and planets... fire... colors... Moonlight... earth." While scientifically accurate, Simon's version is poetic as well, with verbs like "sang," "flew," and "warmed."
The next verse summarizes all of human history. "Earth became a farm/ Farmer takes a wife" (this last phrase is from the children's song-game "Farmer in the Dell"). So we have agriculture, society, even religion and poetry: "Wife becomes a river and the giver of life."
The next line takes us up through the Industrial Revolution-- "Man becomes a machine"-- and then terrorism: "a bomb in the marketplace." This takes up some of the themes and images of Graceland, especially the "Boy in the Bubble."
Well, now it's God rebuttal. Creation? "Big Bang/ That's a joke I made up." How do we know it's God? He says he has "eons to kill." Sadly, we haven't figured out when He's "joking/ someday they will."
God's summary of human existence is different as well. "'Love me'/ That's the main request I receive." Does He answer such prayers? "I love all My children/ Tears me up when I leave."
[Note: in the song, Simon lowers his voice to indicate that God speaks these two verses. He then raises it to its usual pitch for the next verses, which indicate that it is no longer Him. However, in the lyrics, the first-person is not changed at this point, so from the point of view of the song as a poem-- without the clues of the performance-- it continues to be God speaking.]
The idea of God leaving is reiterated from the previous track, "Love and Hard Times." The same way that this off-hand God jokes, He also is, in the words of the Allman Brothers, a ramblin' man: "Sometimes you gotta fly down that highway... [in] a new pre-owned '96 Ford."
Of His ability to take such vacations, God mockingly quotes some human cliches: "Free as a bird, knock on wood, thank the Lord." He's not thanking himself, just pointing out that such pagan concepts as knocking on wood sit comfortably in human minds alongside religion, despite our protests to the contrary.
According to Simon, God is not a fan recent human culture, either: "...pop music station/ That don't sound like music to me." Turning the dial allows Him to comment on another human innovation: "Politics is ugly." God, it seems, is not impressed with millennia of human endeavor.
Except... "At the end of the dial there's the gospel show." While Simon is no secret fan of such music, it is interesting that he thinks God might be, too. Yes, it is beautiful and powerful and harmonious, but it also praises God endlessly. Seems that while God gripes about how all the humans want is for God to "love" them, He's not above soaking up some admiration and adulation Himself.
At this, God pulls off the highway. Why? "There's a blizzard rolling down off the banks of Lake Michigan." Wait, can't God stop the storm? Or divert it only away from Himself?
Sure... but why? God, being omnipotent and beyond time, is in no rush. He also has no real reasons to interfere with the weather patterns He set in motion. Lastly, he seems glad for the excuse to "rest."
Throughout the song, the chorus repeats. Love is light, hate is "sight without sight." As Simon said long ago in in "Sound of Silence," "talking without speaking" and "hearing without listening" lead to despair and idolatry. So "sight without sight," or "looking withing seeing" is a result of hate-- you see the person's skin or clothes, not the person.
Regardless of which is true-- the Big Bang or The Good Book (or even the Big Bang being the "how" of Creation, and the Bible being the "why")-- love is eternal, and eternally good. And hate is evil and destructive, the opposite of creative.
This is the second song on the album so far to deal directly with the idea of Heavenly love, and here that seems the focus, love as a concept, not a romantic relationship. We shall return to the triptych a few songs hence.
Musical note:
The musical referents on this song show that, while Simon has explored the world's music, he is still an aficionado of American roots music.
The background vocals are done by Doyle Lawson and Quicksilver, a bluegrass act we met in the earlier song "Dazzling Blue."
The harmonica solo is performed by blind harpist Sonny Terry, a folk-blues legend. He played Carnegie Hall back in 1938, made recordings for The Library of Congress, and accompanied Leadbelly and Woody Guthrie. He even had a two-year run on Broadway as part of the musical Finian's Rainbow. In the 1950s, he turned to R&B, then back to folk when that wave swept through the '60s. His recordings with guitarist Brownie McGhee are acoustic classics, prized by fans of both folk and blues music. He passed away in 1986, at age 74.
There is also a sample of a 1929 song called "Train Whistle Blues," a Jimmie Rodgers... track. Known as "The Singing Brakeman," Rodgers was a country singer specializing in train-related songs. This particular song is a standard-style blues number about a penniless man hopping a passing train. It is used in the background when the radio in the song reaches the gospel station.
Next song: Questions for the Angels
Showing posts with label history. Show all posts
Showing posts with label history. Show all posts
Monday, May 13, 2013
Monday, December 24, 2012
Love
"You've got the cool water/ When the fever runs high," Simon wrote in the song "Something So Right." He returns to that imagery many years later, in this languid song, which begins "Cool me/ Cool my fever high."
Here, the speaker continues "Hold me when I cry," indicating that love can be passionate, but also compassionate.
"I need it so much/ Makes you want to get down and crawl like a beggar/ For its touch," Again, the desire is so intense, that, like an illness, it makes one lose one's inhibitions and dignity.
The irony, of course, is that this wonderful, fever-reducing, anxiety-erasing "drug" is "free as air!" It costs nothing-- nothing material, anyway-- to love someone. "Like plants, the medicine is everywhere," refers to the idea that many of our most common healing agents, from aloe to aspirin, come from plants (aspirin comes from willow bark). In this sense, love as as available as something that grows naturally from the earth.
Well, that's what happens when you don't have love. What about when you do? "Makes you want to laugh out loud when you receive it/ And gobble it like candy." It's so easy to find, and hard to get, that if we do, we tend to overindulge and make ourselves sick on it!
"We think it’s easy/ Sometimes it’s easy/ But it’s not easy." This three-stage realization is key. When we are not in relationships, it seems like everyone else is. What we forget is that, when we are in relationships, life is not necessarily any less complex. And when you have love, the question is how to keep it. "You’re going to break down and cry," it seems, either way.
Those who give love, knowing how much the other '"craves" it, can use it to control the other, telling them that they are "not important" and that they "should be grateful." This puts the beloved in a seat of power. When I have what you want, you will do what I want to get what I have.
In the In the Blue Light version of the lyrics, Simon softens the idea of unimportance a bit. Instead of being unimportant in the eyes of others, subjectively, we are all objectively unimportant-- transient and mortal: "We're only here for a season of sunlight."
In the In the Blue Light version of the lyrics, Simon softens the idea of unimportance a bit. Instead of being unimportant in the eyes of others, subjectively, we are all objectively unimportant-- transient and mortal: "We're only here for a season of sunlight."
So far, Simon does not paint a very happy picture of love. It is almost a drug, creating self-destructive, but coercive, desires. Unlike most love songs, it does not celebrate the emotion as much as lament it.
But until this point, his focus is on interpersonal relationships. Then he shifts to geopolitics and history. Oh. he sighs, how high is "The price that we pay/ When evil walks the planet/ And love is crushed like clay."
The last lines use the imagery of the Nazis, who called themselves the "master race" and the Jews, the "chosen people," they committed virulent genocide against. But by speaking of these elements in plural, Simon broadens the concept of genocide to all throughout history who have declared themselves master races and lashed out against others in their imagined superiority.
"The burning temples," are those of the Jews destroyed during Kristallnacht, the city-wide pogrom that initiated the Holocaust. But they are also all those from the Holy Temples in Jerusalem sacked by the Babylonians and Romans to the synagogues, churches, mosques, and ashrams that have been set fire to over all of human history. Very early in his folk career, Simon even wrote a song called "A Church is Burning," about a spate of arson attacks of black churches in the American south in the 1960s. Even today, houses of worship are regularly targeted by hateful violence.
The last words, "the weeping cathedrals," might refer to the response, over the years, by those who were not targeted (this time), but who said only that "this is a terrible tragedy" and that "something must be done."
However, in the In the Blue Light version, Simon eschews this whole historical retrospective, and replaces it with a self-help-ish affirmation: "When daybreak's hopes have come and gone/ Just love yourself, and pass it on." Pain comes from expecting love from others and being disappointed when it does not materialize, he seems to day. Instead, rely on yourself and be a giver instead of waiting to receive.
However, in the In the Blue Light version, Simon eschews this whole historical retrospective, and replaces it with a self-help-ish affirmation: "When daybreak's hopes have come and gone/ Just love yourself, and pass it on." Pain comes from expecting love from others and being disappointed when it does not materialize, he seems to day. Instead, rely on yourself and be a giver instead of waiting to receive.
This song, despite its title, seems not to be about "love" but about its absence. On a personal level, a lack of love can drive a person to despair and desperation. On the global level, a lack of love leads to an inhumane, and inhuman, attack on one's fellow humans. Such killers see the other as less than human, while they themselves are the ones who have abandoned their claims to humanity.
Next song: Pigs, Sheep and Wolves
Monday, November 19, 2012
Old
"Summer leaves and my birthday's here/ And all my friends stand up and cheer/ And say, 'Man, you're old!'" Now, Simon's birthday is in October, and when he released this album, he was 59 (he was born in 1941, and the You're the One came out in 2000.)
Musical Note:
Steve Gadd, Simon's longtime musical collaborator, is the drummer on this album.
Next Song: You're the One
Since this accusation has been leveled "down the decades, every year," Simon finally decides to "stand up" in response. He's not "old," he says... relatively speaking..!
He begins his argument with the assertion that you can trace his age though comparison to some of the landmarks in rock'n'roll. "The first time I heard "Peggy Sue" I was 12 years old," he says, and "First time I heard "Satisfaction," I was young and unemployed."
But he may have overstated his case. Simon turned 12 in 1953; "Peggy Sue" was not released until 1957, when he was 16. At least he is less specific about the Stones' hit, which came out in 1965, when Simon would have been 24. Simon and Garfunkel has released their first album the year before, but it was not successful; Simon recorded his solo Songbook in 1965, so this is more accurate. It would be one year more before "Sound of Silence" and he would never have to worry about employment again.
What about his other historical milestone, "Russians up in rocket ships" during the Cold War (when "the war was cold")? Yuri Gagarin became the first human in space in 1961. So Simon was 20 by then, not "12." But Sputnik, the Russian (and first) satellite, was launched in the same year as "Peggy Sue"-- 1957.
OK, enough fact-checking. Four or even 14 years here or there is nothing to whine about. He's 59, give him a break. The point is, he's not "old." You want old? He'll give you old!
How about Jesus' birthday, Christmas? That's 2,000 years ago... now you're talking old! And... Buddha! That's 6,000 years ago! Even Mohammed's time was 1,500 years ago.
Notably absent from this list of religious figures is Moses. Which is surprising, given the fact that Simon himself is Jewish. He readily acknowledges this fact in songs like "Hearts and Bones." Then, here, he does mention "The Bible" and "The Koran" has being "old." And maybe you could argue that "The Bible" covers both Judaism and Christianity, but still. Of the three "Western" religions, Judaism is oldest-- twice as old as Christianity. So his point about relative ages would have been strengthened by mentioning Abraham, say.
(Simon then adds his advice to the question of fights and wars that have dogged the Christian-Jewish, Muslim-Jewish, and Christian-Muslim relationships for millennia: "Disagreements?/ Work 'em out." Oh! Of course! Why didn't anyone think of that?!)
But Simon is not here to broker peace treaties. He is too busy racing backward through history... Humanity "has walked the earth for 2.7 million (years)," he says. I am not sure what standard of "humans" he is using, but fine. Then he goes back to the Big Bang, "13-14 billion" years ago.
OK, now the closer: "Consider that The Lord was there before Creation." So, what does "old" mean to Simon? "We're not old/ God is old."
As for himself? Well, the whole human race has not changed noticeably since it showed up in the first place. "Take your clothes off," he says, and you'll see "Adam and Eve." Everything human from "war" and "genocide" to "Buddy Holly" continues as well.
Simon's Bookends album came out in 1968, when he was 27; on that album, he recorded the song "Old Friends," in which he set the bar for what he considered "old": "How terribly strange to be 70." If you know Simon, don't remind him. In 2012, he turned 71.
(Paul McCartney, meanwhile, has long since passed the mark of "When I'm 64"; that song came out in 1967. And McCartney is only a year younger than Simon.)
(Paul McCartney, meanwhile, has long since passed the mark of "When I'm 64"; that song came out in 1967. And McCartney is only a year younger than Simon.)
Musical Note:
Steve Gadd, Simon's longtime musical collaborator, is the drummer on this album.
Next Song: You're the One
Monday, December 5, 2011
The Late Great Johnny Ace
This is a song with three chapters, each involving the sudden death, by gun, of a famous person named John. Each death happens in a different decade.
While it is not often safe (and sometimes completely wrong) to assume so, this time the speaker is Simon himself.
News first death is described in the greatest detail. The John this time is Johnny Ace. We learn what Simon was doing when he heard of Ace's death, and how he heard it, his emotional reaction to it. As Simon himself admits, "I really wasn't such a Johnny Ace fan," so it is not important to know Ace's biography or repertoire. From the evidence in the song and the "photograph" in the LP's liner notes, Ace was an R&B artist who died young. I had to look him up to realize the gun-death connection:
Bill Dahl, writing for allmusic.com, explains (pardon my edits, Mr. Dahl, for brevity): "The death of young pianist Johnny Ace in a round of Russian roulette backstage at Houston's City Auditorium on Christmas Day of 1954 (note: this is disputed by some) tends to overshadow his relatively brief but illustrious recording career on Duke Records. Ace's gentle, plaintive vocal balladry deserves reverence on its own merit... John Marshall Alexander [his birth name] was a member of the Beale Streeters, a crew of Memphis youngbloods that variously included B.B. King, Bobby Bland, and Earl Forest. Signing with the local Duke logo in 1952, the re-christened Ace hit the top of the R&B charts his very first time out with the mellow ballad "My Song." Ace racked up hits: "Cross My Heart," "The Clock," "Saving My Love for You," "Please Forgive Me," and "Never Let Me Go" all dented the uppermost reaches of the charts. Ace scored his biggest hit of all posthumously; his haunting "Pledging My Love" remained atop Billboard's R&B lists for ten weeks in early 1955.")
But what was the impact of Ace's death on Simon? On the surface, not that much. And yet... he "sent away" for Ace's photo: "And they signed it on the bottom/“From the Late Great Johnny Ace”."
Then the music shifts, as with a "wipe" in a movie, we are at another time and place. London, 1964: "the year of The Beatles/ the year of the Stones." Simon says he was living there "with the girl from the summer before." This is mostly likely the Kathy of "Kathy's Song" and "America," but her name is not given.
The bands are mentioned again for emphasis, and then: "A year after JFK." The second John, this time American president John Kennedy, but again killed before his time by a gun. While everyone claims to know where they were when they got that shocking news, Simon does not reveal here where he was or how he heard, as he did with Ace's death.
The reaction of the youth to such nihilism was apathy: "We were staying up all night/ And giving the days away."
For one moment, the music here becomes somewhat psychedelic, as are the lyrics: "And the music was flowing/ Amazing/ And blowing/my way." "Blowing" could be a reference to marijuana smoke, to Dylan's song "Blowin' in the Wind," or to the basic "something in the air" of the 1960s.
In any case, the music was blowing Simon's way, and in 1964, Simon and Garfunkel's first album hit the stands. It didn't sell well, but an unasked-for remix of one of the songs-- "Sound of Silence"-- blew the duo on their way.
Then the music shifts back to the first melody, and we hear of the death of the third John: John Lennon. A "stranger," perhaps recognizing Simon, calls to him as both are hurrying through the December air past the Christmas decorations, and tells him the sad news.
The songs ends: "And the two of us/ Went to this bar/ And we stayed to close the place/ And every song we played/ Was for the Late Great Johnny Ace." It does not mention the year, 1980.
Some of the other details are missing, here, too. What does it mean-- "every song we played." Did the stranger also know how to play music, or were these songs "played" on a jukebox? Assuming they played live, did Simon have his guitar with him (not unlikely), or was there one at the bar... and did the stranger have his with him, too? Did the stranger know who Johnny Ace was? Whose songs did they play? After such an intense encounter, why do we not learn who the stranger was?
But the most important question is... Johnny Ace? Why not songs for Lennon? Surely the news of Lennon's death was met with a spontaneous outburst-- worldwide-- of people singing Beatles songs, or perhaps songs they new Lennon had liked (The Beatles were frequent cover artists). Surely in all the world that night, Simon and his new friend were the only ones musically recalling an R&B singer with a handful of hits who had died several decades before, even if also at Christmastime.
Simon was born in 1941, and Ace accidentally shot himself in 1954. So Simon was only 13. Not Kennedy, not Lennon, but Ace had been the first such death he had encountered. The sudden death of a recognized, and very young, name must have had a tremendous impact on young man just embarking in the music business. And while JFK was far removed from his life, Simon grew up not just hearing The Beatles, but knowing them as friends and fellow musicians.
Lennon's death must have shocked Simon on a level that JFK's did not (JFK's came around the same time as the assassinations of others of that level of importance in politics and civil rights). It might have shocked him all the way back to when he was 13 and first tried to get his mind around such an event.
In telling us that he thought of Ace when Lennon died, Simon also says that he thinks of Lennon as just as young and innocent, with as much of a future ahead of him.
There is a musical epilogue, a mournful instrumental by modern composer Philip Glass. (Simon would later contribute a song to a Glass album.) The coda features a worried cello, pacing back and forth, then lulled by a simple flute line.
Musical Note: The first time Simon sang the song publicly was at his Central Park performance with Garfunkel, during which he was interrupted toward the end by an audience member who ran onstage; the song does not appear on the released version of the album's recording or the DVD, but the clip is on YouTube.
Next Song: The Shelter of Your Arms
While it is not often safe (and sometimes completely wrong) to assume so, this time the speaker is Simon himself.
News first death is described in the greatest detail. The John this time is Johnny Ace. We learn what Simon was doing when he heard of Ace's death, and how he heard it, his emotional reaction to it. As Simon himself admits, "I really wasn't such a Johnny Ace fan," so it is not important to know Ace's biography or repertoire. From the evidence in the song and the "photograph" in the LP's liner notes, Ace was an R&B artist who died young. I had to look him up to realize the gun-death connection:
Bill Dahl, writing for allmusic.com, explains (pardon my edits, Mr. Dahl, for brevity): "The death of young pianist Johnny Ace in a round of Russian roulette backstage at Houston's City Auditorium on Christmas Day of 1954 (note: this is disputed by some) tends to overshadow his relatively brief but illustrious recording career on Duke Records. Ace's gentle, plaintive vocal balladry deserves reverence on its own merit... John Marshall Alexander [his birth name] was a member of the Beale Streeters, a crew of Memphis youngbloods that variously included B.B. King, Bobby Bland, and Earl Forest. Signing with the local Duke logo in 1952, the re-christened Ace hit the top of the R&B charts his very first time out with the mellow ballad "My Song." Ace racked up hits: "Cross My Heart," "The Clock," "Saving My Love for You," "Please Forgive Me," and "Never Let Me Go" all dented the uppermost reaches of the charts. Ace scored his biggest hit of all posthumously; his haunting "Pledging My Love" remained atop Billboard's R&B lists for ten weeks in early 1955.")
But what was the impact of Ace's death on Simon? On the surface, not that much. And yet... he "sent away" for Ace's photo: "And they signed it on the bottom/“From the Late Great Johnny Ace”."
Then the music shifts, as with a "wipe" in a movie, we are at another time and place. London, 1964: "the year of The Beatles/ the year of the Stones." Simon says he was living there "with the girl from the summer before." This is mostly likely the Kathy of "Kathy's Song" and "America," but her name is not given.
The bands are mentioned again for emphasis, and then: "A year after JFK." The second John, this time American president John Kennedy, but again killed before his time by a gun. While everyone claims to know where they were when they got that shocking news, Simon does not reveal here where he was or how he heard, as he did with Ace's death.
The reaction of the youth to such nihilism was apathy: "We were staying up all night/ And giving the days away."
For one moment, the music here becomes somewhat psychedelic, as are the lyrics: "And the music was flowing/ Amazing/ And blowing/my way." "Blowing" could be a reference to marijuana smoke, to Dylan's song "Blowin' in the Wind," or to the basic "something in the air" of the 1960s.
In any case, the music was blowing Simon's way, and in 1964, Simon and Garfunkel's first album hit the stands. It didn't sell well, but an unasked-for remix of one of the songs-- "Sound of Silence"-- blew the duo on their way.
Then the music shifts back to the first melody, and we hear of the death of the third John: John Lennon. A "stranger," perhaps recognizing Simon, calls to him as both are hurrying through the December air past the Christmas decorations, and tells him the sad news.
The songs ends: "And the two of us/ Went to this bar/ And we stayed to close the place/ And every song we played/ Was for the Late Great Johnny Ace." It does not mention the year, 1980.
Some of the other details are missing, here, too. What does it mean-- "every song we played." Did the stranger also know how to play music, or were these songs "played" on a jukebox? Assuming they played live, did Simon have his guitar with him (not unlikely), or was there one at the bar... and did the stranger have his with him, too? Did the stranger know who Johnny Ace was? Whose songs did they play? After such an intense encounter, why do we not learn who the stranger was?
But the most important question is... Johnny Ace? Why not songs for Lennon? Surely the news of Lennon's death was met with a spontaneous outburst-- worldwide-- of people singing Beatles songs, or perhaps songs they new Lennon had liked (The Beatles were frequent cover artists). Surely in all the world that night, Simon and his new friend were the only ones musically recalling an R&B singer with a handful of hits who had died several decades before, even if also at Christmastime.
Simon was born in 1941, and Ace accidentally shot himself in 1954. So Simon was only 13. Not Kennedy, not Lennon, but Ace had been the first such death he had encountered. The sudden death of a recognized, and very young, name must have had a tremendous impact on young man just embarking in the music business. And while JFK was far removed from his life, Simon grew up not just hearing The Beatles, but knowing them as friends and fellow musicians.
Lennon's death must have shocked Simon on a level that JFK's did not (JFK's came around the same time as the assassinations of others of that level of importance in politics and civil rights). It might have shocked him all the way back to when he was 13 and first tried to get his mind around such an event.
In telling us that he thought of Ace when Lennon died, Simon also says that he thinks of Lennon as just as young and innocent, with as much of a future ahead of him.
There is a musical epilogue, a mournful instrumental by modern composer Philip Glass. (Simon would later contribute a song to a Glass album.) The coda features a worried cello, pacing back and forth, then lulled by a simple flute line.
Musical Note: The first time Simon sang the song publicly was at his Central Park performance with Garfunkel, during which he was interrupted toward the end by an audience member who ran onstage; the song does not appear on the released version of the album's recording or the DVD, but the clip is on YouTube.
Next Song: The Shelter of Your Arms
Friday, May 27, 2011
Silent Eyes
Paul Simon, most people know, is Jewish. In the song "Hearts and Bones," he states this outright calling himself and is recent ex-wife Carrie Fisher "one and one-half wandering Jews."
While he discusses religion in general at various points through his songs, his earliest religious recordings are Christian in nature (he and Garfunkel were singing on a Christian radio show in England around the time of their first official album), and there are references to Christianity, and other faiths, throughout his repertoire, from "Old" to his recent "Getting Ready for Christmas Day."
And while these other faiths do include Judaism, this is one of his most openly and outwardly Jewish songs. It is about Jerusalem, Judaism's most sacred city and the capital-- ancient, modern, eternal-- of Israel.
The last line in the song, "what was done," does not seem to refer to any particular event, or news item, regarding Jerusalem, at the time of the song's release (1975). In fact, the most recent major news about Jerusalem was (from a Jewish and Israeli perspective) the best news the city had received in centuries-- that its most sacred section, The Old City, with The Western Wall-- was once again in Jewish hands (as of the 1967 Six Day War). The reunification itself was such a historic milestone that it is celebrated annually in Israel with its own holiday.
So the profoundly mournful tone of the piece must refer to Jerusalem's millennia of suffering. According to the Jewish periodical Moment Magazine, "During its long history, Jerusalem has been destroyed twice, besieged 23 times, attacked 52 times, and captured and recaptured 44 times."
The line "bed of stone" refers to a particular material called Jerusalem stone, a local grade of limestone used to build everything from The Western Wall to modern office buildings and homes. It has a reflective quality, and in many lighting conditions, the city does seem to glow yellow, as referenced in an Israeli songwriter's beloved song "Jerusalem of Gold."
It is an ongoing source of worry, in the Jewish community, that Israelis themselves see Jerusalem as a proud, thriving, and even glowing city while American Jews see it much as Simon does-- a city shrouded in mourning. American Jews are raised with stories of Jerusalem's fall at the hands of the Babylonians and Romans, and we see media coverage of various wars and terror attacks today, and assume that the city is a battle zone and always has been. Slightly fewer than half of American Jews have been to Israel-- the last number I saw was 41%-- so the kind of personal familiarity with the city that would belie this image is lacking as well.
Turning back to the song itself, the speaker of the song seems helpless and helplessly detached. He "watches" in "silence." In other words, not only can he not help Jerusalem, but he can't put himself in a position to do so. In fact-- no one can: "No one will comfort her/ Jerusalem weeps alone."
Nevertheless, he feels that he should feel an attachment: "She calls my name." The city "burns like a flame"; it is not actually afire (as it has been during various battles); it burns "like" a flame, not "with" one. Instead, it is undergoing an intense emotion, as in the Sting song "I Burn for You." This "burning" is linked to the "calling," they are connected by the word "and."
So here is the city, yearning and begging for his attachment. The choir surges, then subsides. Has the connection been made? Maybe not... he still watches with "silent eyes."
Only now, his eyes are "burning" like the city. He has caught the fire. He feels the desire for connection welling within him, and he even starts to move toward the city.
But as he pushes on through the "desert," he only gets "halfway to Jerusalem." He can see the city, but he can't get all the way there, which would mean to speak for her. The "desert"--the empty space between himself and the city, is too intense (the word "burning" might also apply here), and he cannot complete his journey. He can see the city's "sorrow," he can even share that sorrow... but he still cannot speak words of comfort or defense to mitigate that sorrow.
We have instead, for most of the song, silence: "Silent eyes," "watching," "no one will comfort." Then the city "weeps" and "calls." And only gets silence in response. Movement, yes-- but not a completed one, only a "halfway" one.
This state cannot last, he concludes. God will judge him for not completing the journey. In the end, God will force him to speak-- to defend himself as if in court ("called as witnesses") --and explain why he did not speak to console or uphold Jerusalem.
The song phrases that idea differently. He-- and in fact "we... all"-- will have to "speak what was done." This is more profound, in that "we" what will have to say... is nothing. Because nothing was done. Nothing was even said. We stood there and watched Jerusalem "weep."
You know that thing parents say when children cry over, say, not getting ice cream: "I'll give you something to cry about"? Well, this is a similar situation. God's point? "You want to say nothing? I'll give you the chance to say nothing. I'm going to ask you what you did when Jerusalem wept. Then-- then!-- you will really be saying nothing."
On a larger scale, the speaker implies, we must all answer for what we did not do to stop suffering in general, in Jerusalem or during the Holocaust or at any time or place. We see the devastation wreaked by war and nature, we hear the "weeping," but we only watch with "silent eyes."
And if we say nothing, then when we are asked to speak for ourselves, we will have nothing to say.
The theme of "silence" has been part of Simon's lyrics since "Sound of Silence." The inability to connect on an interpersonal level runs through songs like "Dangling Conversation," "Most Peculiar Man," "Sparrow," "Bleeker Street," and many others. Here, Simon explores what happens when that detachment is writ large, on the stage of world events and history. Or rather, what doesn't happen.
IMPACT: The song appears in the soundtrack of the Warren Beatty movie Shampoo. "Have a Good Time" was also supposed to appear in that movie, but did not. "Feelin' Groovy" also makes a very brief, but recognizable, appearance.
The song was sampled by Access Immortal for a track titled "Authentic Made."
Next Song: Late in the Evening
While he discusses religion in general at various points through his songs, his earliest religious recordings are Christian in nature (he and Garfunkel were singing on a Christian radio show in England around the time of their first official album), and there are references to Christianity, and other faiths, throughout his repertoire, from "Old" to his recent "Getting Ready for Christmas Day."
And while these other faiths do include Judaism, this is one of his most openly and outwardly Jewish songs. It is about Jerusalem, Judaism's most sacred city and the capital-- ancient, modern, eternal-- of Israel.
The last line in the song, "what was done," does not seem to refer to any particular event, or news item, regarding Jerusalem, at the time of the song's release (1975). In fact, the most recent major news about Jerusalem was (from a Jewish and Israeli perspective) the best news the city had received in centuries-- that its most sacred section, The Old City, with The Western Wall-- was once again in Jewish hands (as of the 1967 Six Day War). The reunification itself was such a historic milestone that it is celebrated annually in Israel with its own holiday.
So the profoundly mournful tone of the piece must refer to Jerusalem's millennia of suffering. According to the Jewish periodical Moment Magazine, "During its long history, Jerusalem has been destroyed twice, besieged 23 times, attacked 52 times, and captured and recaptured 44 times."
The line "bed of stone" refers to a particular material called Jerusalem stone, a local grade of limestone used to build everything from The Western Wall to modern office buildings and homes. It has a reflective quality, and in many lighting conditions, the city does seem to glow yellow, as referenced in an Israeli songwriter's beloved song "Jerusalem of Gold."
It is an ongoing source of worry, in the Jewish community, that Israelis themselves see Jerusalem as a proud, thriving, and even glowing city while American Jews see it much as Simon does-- a city shrouded in mourning. American Jews are raised with stories of Jerusalem's fall at the hands of the Babylonians and Romans, and we see media coverage of various wars and terror attacks today, and assume that the city is a battle zone and always has been. Slightly fewer than half of American Jews have been to Israel-- the last number I saw was 41%-- so the kind of personal familiarity with the city that would belie this image is lacking as well.
Turning back to the song itself, the speaker of the song seems helpless and helplessly detached. He "watches" in "silence." In other words, not only can he not help Jerusalem, but he can't put himself in a position to do so. In fact-- no one can: "No one will comfort her/ Jerusalem weeps alone."
Nevertheless, he feels that he should feel an attachment: "She calls my name." The city "burns like a flame"; it is not actually afire (as it has been during various battles); it burns "like" a flame, not "with" one. Instead, it is undergoing an intense emotion, as in the Sting song "I Burn for You." This "burning" is linked to the "calling," they are connected by the word "and."
So here is the city, yearning and begging for his attachment. The choir surges, then subsides. Has the connection been made? Maybe not... he still watches with "silent eyes."
Only now, his eyes are "burning" like the city. He has caught the fire. He feels the desire for connection welling within him, and he even starts to move toward the city.
But as he pushes on through the "desert," he only gets "halfway to Jerusalem." He can see the city, but he can't get all the way there, which would mean to speak for her. The "desert"--the empty space between himself and the city, is too intense (the word "burning" might also apply here), and he cannot complete his journey. He can see the city's "sorrow," he can even share that sorrow... but he still cannot speak words of comfort or defense to mitigate that sorrow.
We have instead, for most of the song, silence: "Silent eyes," "watching," "no one will comfort." Then the city "weeps" and "calls." And only gets silence in response. Movement, yes-- but not a completed one, only a "halfway" one.
This state cannot last, he concludes. God will judge him for not completing the journey. In the end, God will force him to speak-- to defend himself as if in court ("called as witnesses") --and explain why he did not speak to console or uphold Jerusalem.
The song phrases that idea differently. He-- and in fact "we... all"-- will have to "speak what was done." This is more profound, in that "we" what will have to say... is nothing. Because nothing was done. Nothing was even said. We stood there and watched Jerusalem "weep."
You know that thing parents say when children cry over, say, not getting ice cream: "I'll give you something to cry about"? Well, this is a similar situation. God's point? "You want to say nothing? I'll give you the chance to say nothing. I'm going to ask you what you did when Jerusalem wept. Then-- then!-- you will really be saying nothing."
On a larger scale, the speaker implies, we must all answer for what we did not do to stop suffering in general, in Jerusalem or during the Holocaust or at any time or place. We see the devastation wreaked by war and nature, we hear the "weeping," but we only watch with "silent eyes."
And if we say nothing, then when we are asked to speak for ourselves, we will have nothing to say.
The theme of "silence" has been part of Simon's lyrics since "Sound of Silence." The inability to connect on an interpersonal level runs through songs like "Dangling Conversation," "Most Peculiar Man," "Sparrow," "Bleeker Street," and many others. Here, Simon explores what happens when that detachment is writ large, on the stage of world events and history. Or rather, what doesn't happen.
IMPACT: The song appears in the soundtrack of the Warren Beatty movie Shampoo. "Have a Good Time" was also supposed to appear in that movie, but did not. "Feelin' Groovy" also makes a very brief, but recognizable, appearance.
The song was sampled by Access Immortal for a track titled "Authentic Made."
Next Song: Late in the Evening
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Learn How to Fall
Another advice-giving song, this time on the value of making mistakes.
A new book, Better by Mistake, references a still earlier one, Mistakes Were Made (But Not by Me). And then there is The Blessing of the Skinned Knee. All discuss the value and methods of learning from one's mistakes. But Simon's song is earlier than them all, by decades.
In the first verse, the speaker urges the listener to learn how to lose with grace, and to "fall" while minimizing injury.
In the second, he encourages serendipity. The only book of mine I wore out as a child was called Little Bunny Follows His Nose, in which the title rabbit did just that, wandering over a meadow, chasing various scents as they wafted by. The metaphor here, however, is sailing. The word "occupation" is used, almost ironically, as that word is generally used to mean a "job," usually a structured endeavor. Here, it simply means "an activity one is doing."
All along, the guitar is tripping along amiably. The breezy ease of the song once again recalls "Cloudy" and "Feelin' Groovy." Someone who says "you got to drift in the breeze" would also agree that "you got to make the morning last" and observe that "[the clouds] don't know where they're going, and... neither do I."
Then comes the chorus, with its scolding horns. Seeming to shift voice, the speaker stridently and cynically excoriates all of humanity, for all its history. Why? They pursue "glory" and don't stop to see the long view, or their effect on the world.
This speaker seems to contradict the first. After all, if you "stop and scrutinize the plan"-- a studious and focused pursuit-- how can you also "drift in the breeze," and amble about, following your nose?
Perhaps the "scrutinizing" does not have to be done pondering books in a library or listening to a lecture. It can be done sitting on bus-stop bench, watching people... or lying on a beach or under a tree, thinking about all one has learned about history and psychology both from school and living life. Certainly, that is a form of "drifting" as much as going out on an actual sailboat. We even use the expression, "let your mind wander."
Overall, the song seems to be advice given to a child about to venture off to college, a sung version of "Don't be afraid to drop a class if you're failing it-- you don't have to be great at everything" and "Don't worry about declaring a major until your junior year" or even "If you want to backpack through Europe for a couple of months first, go ahead."
Lastly, a "tank town" is a very small town, whose only seeming use was as a stop for a train to refill its water tanks. Maybe tank towns "tell no lie" because they are too small to keep secrets. And maybe Simon heard the expression "...learn how to fall" in a town like that; it certainly seems like a rather homey, folksy piece of advice.
Oh... and if I have made any mistakes in this entry, I only hope I can learn from them.
Next Song: St. Judy's Comet
A new book, Better by Mistake, references a still earlier one, Mistakes Were Made (But Not by Me). And then there is The Blessing of the Skinned Knee. All discuss the value and methods of learning from one's mistakes. But Simon's song is earlier than them all, by decades.
In the first verse, the speaker urges the listener to learn how to lose with grace, and to "fall" while minimizing injury.
In the second, he encourages serendipity. The only book of mine I wore out as a child was called Little Bunny Follows His Nose, in which the title rabbit did just that, wandering over a meadow, chasing various scents as they wafted by. The metaphor here, however, is sailing. The word "occupation" is used, almost ironically, as that word is generally used to mean a "job," usually a structured endeavor. Here, it simply means "an activity one is doing."
All along, the guitar is tripping along amiably. The breezy ease of the song once again recalls "Cloudy" and "Feelin' Groovy." Someone who says "you got to drift in the breeze" would also agree that "you got to make the morning last" and observe that "[the clouds] don't know where they're going, and... neither do I."
Then comes the chorus, with its scolding horns. Seeming to shift voice, the speaker stridently and cynically excoriates all of humanity, for all its history. Why? They pursue "glory" and don't stop to see the long view, or their effect on the world.
This speaker seems to contradict the first. After all, if you "stop and scrutinize the plan"-- a studious and focused pursuit-- how can you also "drift in the breeze," and amble about, following your nose?
Perhaps the "scrutinizing" does not have to be done pondering books in a library or listening to a lecture. It can be done sitting on bus-stop bench, watching people... or lying on a beach or under a tree, thinking about all one has learned about history and psychology both from school and living life. Certainly, that is a form of "drifting" as much as going out on an actual sailboat. We even use the expression, "let your mind wander."
Overall, the song seems to be advice given to a child about to venture off to college, a sung version of "Don't be afraid to drop a class if you're failing it-- you don't have to be great at everything" and "Don't worry about declaring a major until your junior year" or even "If you want to backpack through Europe for a couple of months first, go ahead."
Lastly, a "tank town" is a very small town, whose only seeming use was as a stop for a train to refill its water tanks. Maybe tank towns "tell no lie" because they are too small to keep secrets. And maybe Simon heard the expression "...learn how to fall" in a town like that; it certainly seems like a rather homey, folksy piece of advice.
Oh... and if I have made any mistakes in this entry, I only hope I can learn from them.
Next Song: St. Judy's Comet
Monday, February 28, 2011
American Tune
Not meaning to be rude in the face such a lovely piece, but aside from the title, in what sense is this tune "American?" The melody is borrowed from Bach. And nothing American-- a grand old flag, amber waves of grain, or even a baseball-- appears until the end of the chorus.
Let us now, in the words of Simon's previous "America," "walk off to look for America" in this song.
The first two verses are almost identical to each other in content, although the first speaks of the self and the second of the other. Rather than repeat the first four lines of the first two verses, let us again quote the earlier song: "I'm lost/ I'm empty and I'm aching." The sentiment seems remarkably similar.
Then, the speaker's response was the knowledge that all those with him on the highway were fellow seekers, all equally trusting what was at the end of "The New Jersey Turnpike," i.e.: America itself.
Yet, our song seems to begin where the last left off. Now, he reports, he is "weary" from travel and not yet at his destination. "Still," he accepts his fate as expected, and even throws in a French phrase to show how "far away from home" he still feels. Verdict? "I'm all right."
But when the song shifts to the "shattered dreams" of others, he is not as accepting: "I wonder what went wrong." Things were going well and they seemed to be chugging right along... but then, why so much misery?
Perhaps the answer lies not in this world, he muses. He dreamed that, in an out-of-body experience, his soul "reassured" him. And then an entirely new dream began and he himself flew.
The Turnpike must end where the land ends. The Statue of Liberty is on an island. From his perspective of height, he realizes that the goal remains ever elusive, as the island drifts out "to sea."
Which, not to put a point on it, would be eastward. In the next line, what comes westward but an early wave of immigrants, much too early to even be welcomed by Lady Liberty's torch: "We come on a ship they call the Mayflower."
And... more! We don't need dreams to fly, we can fly into outer space on "a ship that sailed the Moon."
When you come to "look for America," you might try to find it in New York. Then, maybe at the place others came to find it-- the legendary Plymouth Rock. Then, the spot millions journeyed to: Ellis Island. Yet, even an island can drift.
You will never find America in a place, concludes the speaker. It might as well be on that lunar plot where the grand old flag stands. America is the answering of a question with a question.
At "the age's most uncertain hour"-- insert your historic milestone here-- we ask, "Well, now what can we do?" Run out of land? Build a boat. Run out of Earth? Fly to the Moon. We're there. Now what? Cyberspace. Next? String Theory.
This is the answer to the "broken" and "shattered" dreams and souls mentioned earlier. America was the answer to monarchy and communism... and everything in between and after. It can be the answer for a person, too. "You can't be forever blessed," by a Deity, but you can rely on yourself and be reassured by your soul.
America is not about finding. It's about seeking. As tautological as it seems, America is about "looking for America."
"Resting" along the journey, yes, as our speaker begs to do in the last line. But only because "tomorrow is another working day." Tomorrow, the quest begins anew.
IMPACT: The song reached #35 in the US. The Brits, evidently, did not find it resonant... perhaps this is more proof of it being an American tune.
After the actual Statue of Liberty itself underwent restoration for its 100th anniversary, there was an unveiling. Two songs were played at it: "The Star Spangled Banner" and "American Tune."
Many covers have been done from across the musical and political spectrum. One of the most lovely is that done by The Indigo Girls, who are somewhat heirs to S&G altogether. It was also covered by their contemporary singer-songwriter, Shawn Colvin, and by rocker AnnWilson (of Heart).
It is one of Simon's signature songs, even today, and has become part of the fabric of American culture. It would be interesting to see if it is included, today, in songbooks of American-themed choral works alongside "America the Beautiful" and "God Bless America." Interesting... but not surprising. (Surprising would be if Simon's naturalistic "America" made it.)
NOTE: The melody is... borrowed. As Wikipedia explains:
The tune is based on the melody of the hymn "O Sacred Head, Now Wounded" (German: "O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden," text by Paul Gerhardt). The common name for this hymn tune is "Passion Chorale."
The well-known hymn is itself a reworking of an earlier secular song, "Mein G'müt ist mir verwirret," composed by Hans Leo Hassler.
Next Song: Was a Sunny Day
Let us now, in the words of Simon's previous "America," "walk off to look for America" in this song.
The first two verses are almost identical to each other in content, although the first speaks of the self and the second of the other. Rather than repeat the first four lines of the first two verses, let us again quote the earlier song: "I'm lost/ I'm empty and I'm aching." The sentiment seems remarkably similar.
Then, the speaker's response was the knowledge that all those with him on the highway were fellow seekers, all equally trusting what was at the end of "The New Jersey Turnpike," i.e.: America itself.
Yet, our song seems to begin where the last left off. Now, he reports, he is "weary" from travel and not yet at his destination. "Still," he accepts his fate as expected, and even throws in a French phrase to show how "far away from home" he still feels. Verdict? "I'm all right."
But when the song shifts to the "shattered dreams" of others, he is not as accepting: "I wonder what went wrong." Things were going well and they seemed to be chugging right along... but then, why so much misery?
Perhaps the answer lies not in this world, he muses. He dreamed that, in an out-of-body experience, his soul "reassured" him. And then an entirely new dream began and he himself flew.
The Turnpike must end where the land ends. The Statue of Liberty is on an island. From his perspective of height, he realizes that the goal remains ever elusive, as the island drifts out "to sea."
Which, not to put a point on it, would be eastward. In the next line, what comes westward but an early wave of immigrants, much too early to even be welcomed by Lady Liberty's torch: "We come on a ship they call the Mayflower."
And... more! We don't need dreams to fly, we can fly into outer space on "a ship that sailed the Moon."
When you come to "look for America," you might try to find it in New York. Then, maybe at the place others came to find it-- the legendary Plymouth Rock. Then, the spot millions journeyed to: Ellis Island. Yet, even an island can drift.
You will never find America in a place, concludes the speaker. It might as well be on that lunar plot where the grand old flag stands. America is the answering of a question with a question.
At "the age's most uncertain hour"-- insert your historic milestone here-- we ask, "Well, now what can we do?" Run out of land? Build a boat. Run out of Earth? Fly to the Moon. We're there. Now what? Cyberspace. Next? String Theory.
This is the answer to the "broken" and "shattered" dreams and souls mentioned earlier. America was the answer to monarchy and communism... and everything in between and after. It can be the answer for a person, too. "You can't be forever blessed," by a Deity, but you can rely on yourself and be reassured by your soul.
America is not about finding. It's about seeking. As tautological as it seems, America is about "looking for America."
"Resting" along the journey, yes, as our speaker begs to do in the last line. But only because "tomorrow is another working day." Tomorrow, the quest begins anew.
IMPACT: The song reached #35 in the US. The Brits, evidently, did not find it resonant... perhaps this is more proof of it being an American tune.
After the actual Statue of Liberty itself underwent restoration for its 100th anniversary, there was an unveiling. Two songs were played at it: "The Star Spangled Banner" and "American Tune."
Many covers have been done from across the musical and political spectrum. One of the most lovely is that done by The Indigo Girls, who are somewhat heirs to S&G altogether. It was also covered by their contemporary singer-songwriter, Shawn Colvin, and by rocker AnnWilson (of Heart).
It is one of Simon's signature songs, even today, and has become part of the fabric of American culture. It would be interesting to see if it is included, today, in songbooks of American-themed choral works alongside "America the Beautiful" and "God Bless America." Interesting... but not surprising. (Surprising would be if Simon's naturalistic "America" made it.)
NOTE: The melody is... borrowed. As Wikipedia explains:
The tune is based on the melody of the hymn "O Sacred Head, Now Wounded" (German: "O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden," text by Paul Gerhardt). The common name for this hymn tune is "Passion Chorale."
The well-known hymn is itself a reworking of an earlier secular song, "Mein G'müt ist mir verwirret," composed by Hans Leo Hassler.
Next Song: Was a Sunny Day
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