Love Is Like a Braid

The problem with a famous person quoting a less famous person is that, when you look up the source of the quote, you can only find the famous person having said it... not the person they quoted.

So when Simon writes: "Love is like a braid, some say," I cannot find, now, who that "some" is. Every reference to the expression I see online is a reference to this selfsame song. 

And I can see how relationships are like braids, in that they are interwoven-- the same person may be a parent, a child, a spouse, a friend... their one life interwoven with many others. Even the connection between computers is called the Internet or the World-Wide Web. 

But even one love, one relationship, has many layers of want, need, interdependency, trust, vulnerability, and so on, all interwoven. So in that sense, love can be plaited and braid-like.

This braid is then ornamented, he suggests, like hair can be-- with cowrie shells (those small shells that are also used to make a gourd rattle called a "shekere") and jade combs. That one is typically African and the other Asian is the point; our culture, whatever it is, "decorates" our relationships, beyond its own characteristics.

The song takes a turn here to focus on the story of one life. "I lived a life of pleasant sorrows," sounds like an oxymoron, but it is just a set-up. These sorrows may be pleasant in that they are the downsides of a generally positive thing, like the mixed feelings of pride, hope, fear, and loss experienced when a child leaves for college or gets married.

They are a set-up, though, for "the real deal," which "broke him like a twig." Biographically, I do not know what sorrow this refers to, but it was significant, even life-defining; depending on its outcome, either "all is lost, or all is well."

It involved a period of uncertainty: "A jury sat deliberating." This could be a real courtroom jury or any group of a decision-making people, such as a cadre of doctors discussing a patient's treatment options. 

This period was marked by both "prayer" and "reason," and that resonates. In times like these, we try to face facts, but we also hope to bend fate in our own favor.

The next verse holds some clues as to the event in question. The "real deal" may very well have been an illness or death of a parent. Coming "home," he is "shocked" to find: "I'm a child again, entwined in your love." You think you are an adult. You even have your own children. And then, when you lose a parent, you remember being their child, and for a while you are one again.

Simon's father and mother passed away in 1995 and 2007, respectively. But in approaching his own death, he undoubtedly thought back to theirs. 

And... there is our metaphor again. We began with the image of a "braid." We seemed to have dropped it for two verses. But no, that was just to get us to here, where we find it again, in the word "entwined." 

The word "doorstep" may be significant; the only other songs I know of to use the word are ones of hope. One is is "Three Little Birds" by Bob Marley. In it, three birds come to his doorstep to sing "Don't worry about a thing/ Every little thing/ Is going to be all right." Such assurance might be welcome in a sad hour like this.

The other is "The Sunny Side of the Street," which urges: "leave your worries on your doorstep/ Just direct your feet/ To the sunny side of the street." 

The speaker now presents another dichotomy. We have had "pleasant sorrows," "prayer [active] and waiting [passive]," "doubt and reason," "all is lost [or] well."

But in each of those pairs, one is good and one is bad. Remembering the parent? All was good. Either he was in the parent's "light" or their "cool summer shade." In this case, the opposite of "light" is not an ominous "shadow," or a hopeless "darkness," but their protective "shade."

I once interviewed a rising singer whose father was a very famous singer himself. I asked if she felt she was performing in his shadow. "No," she replied, "in his light."

The song ends with yet another good/bad dichotomy: "The garden keeps the rose and thorn." Life has both good and bad in it, he decides, but there are choices. And, even if you chose wrong and picked a thorn,  "what's left is/ Mending what was torn."

Life has both pleasantness and sorrow, both roses and thorns. So does love. 

And maybe those are what is braided; maybe that is how love is like a braid. It contains both the good and bad in ourselves, in those we have relationships with, and of the relationships themselves. 

You may love someone without loving everything about them. Maybe they snore, or lack punctuality, or have a morbid sense of humor. But you're not perfect, either... and they love you anyway, also. 

You may love someone, but not love the idea of losing them. But you love them anyway. 

The thing about braids, though? They are much, much stronger than individual strings. Which is kind of what you would want, and hope, from something like love. 

Next Song: My Professional Opinion

Proof of Love

This is a deeply spiritual song, even a religious one.

Even though "love" is in the title, this is not romantic love that is being spoken of, asked for "proof" of, but... love itself, as a concept.

"Does love exist?" the speaker asks of God. "Well, then... prove it!"

The first part of a song describes a journey. The speaker has no "guide," but sets out anyway. Oh, and it is late in the day-- or perhaps late in life-- so he wants to set out "before the bells of twilight peal" (those would be the "vespers," for those unfamiliar with Catholic timekeeping; the ones in the morning are "matins," as explained in the nursery rhyme "Frere Jacques.").

We're going to guess the "twilight" reference means speaker is older, as the first line is "Begin again-- no easy trick." So he has begun before, and now has to start all over.

At least the road is easy, a "spiral" downhill path (this could be a reference to "Spiral Highway," an obscure Simon song from his One-Trick Pony film that did not end up on the soundtrack).

But is the road easy? It reminds him of a coiled "serpent." Not only does he not have a "walking stick," he doesn't have any food! Just a "teaspoon of desire for [his] meal." Also, "the road is steep/ The air is thin." It seems less like he's on a hill than a mountain.

So, this is not an easy downhill path. This is more of a "it's all downhill from here" path. In fact the whole "town" is downhill, which implies that others face this same fate.

At this point, our speaker needs a shot of faith. So he prays, crying: "I trade my tears to ask The Lord for proof of love." He's not even sure he believes in God, or if there are only "stars" above him (a far cry from the prayer offered at the end of the song "Duncan"-- which also mentions "stars" and "The Lord," which Simon has begun playing again in concert; in fact, a new recording of it is included on the deluxe version of this very album).

To his own prayer, he says, "Amen." Or it may be others in the town who testify to his prayer.

Then... he seems to receive an answer to his prayer! Only, it does not come from Heaven above but from "inside [his] skin." It is a response of consolation. "Your days won't end with night," it reassures, "Let your body heal its pain."

Another clue. This "road" is the road to recovery, perhaps from an illness or injury. That explains "begin again." In physical therapy, a person may have to re-learn skills mastered as a child, like speaking or walking.

What does the voice recommend as treatment? An injection of Nature, first: "Feel the sun/ Drink the rain." Next, a large dose of faith: "bathe beneath a waterfall of light."

This time, he tearfully prays for proof of love to know "what my dreams are made of" (The original line for Shakespeare's The Tempest is "we are such stuff as dreams are made on.") He wants to know that his dreams are made of something substantial and good, not flimsy and false. If there is love, he can dare to hope.

He has kept walking downward, meantime, and now he can see "the valley below." It is, he sees, "an ocean of debris." Not the answer he was banking on.

OK, time for another prayer. No tears this time. At long last-- does love exist? "Love is all I seek!" he says, and says again. Now, he is out of tears, and out of "words." So he turns to "music" to express himself.

He is exhausted with walking and worry. Spent, he lays down by a "white oak tree." He has had it. He asked for proof of love, and got a treacherous road that led him to a valley full of rubble. He was supposed to find nourishing sunshine and rain, and only has hunger and "pain" and not even enough "air"!

He as much as dares death to come-- "No deadly nightshade, belladonna, dare lay a leaf on me." Nightshade is a poisonous plant; its Latin name is "atropa belladonna."

But the night is "silent." It is "still as prayer." And it's not "dark," either. In fact, "Darkness fills with light/ Love on Earth is everywhere." Beautiful.

But let's unpack it anyway. If he wanted to get underway before "twilight," and that implies that he was old or, as we learn later, near death, if due to not age but ailment... what does "darkness" mean? It means, well, death.

One prayer was answered by a sense of calm, the promise that his days would not end with night, and that he would bathe in a waterfall of light. If this is his death, then that promise comes true. His days don't end with "night" but with "light," and if the light fills the world, it is certainly enough to bathe in.

There is an alternate interpretation I would like to offer, though. It is foreshadowed by the reference to "bells of twilight." It's possible that this song is not just religious-- it's possible to read it so that it is about religion itself.

Some clues: A man is coming down a mountain. He doesn't have his usual "stick" with him. He is talking to God on the way. There is a reference to a "serpent." When he gets to the bottom, the valley, he finds disaster.

Might this be about... Moses? Walking down the mountainside of Sinai? And then coming to the bottom to find a pit of idolatry. (Moses turns his stick, or staff, into a serpent more than once.)

The next clue: "Silent night." Or should we say, "Silent Night." Simon already recorded that carol, so he knows it well, and it's about the birth of Jesus. A "tree" is a common metaphor for the Cross, too. So Moses asks for proof of love, and gets it, in Jesus.

I'm not saying this is what Simon means to say. But it is possible to read this interpretation into the song.

More likely, the song is about someone dying peacefully after suffering from cancer or a stroke or something, after there had been some initial hope of recovery.

We get some information as to the symptoms. Likely there was some blindness involved, requiring a "guide" or "stick" to help him find his way; now, he is supposed to be able to walk without that. He can see again, but has been spending much time in bed, gazing upward at what he hoped was more than just "stars." Also, he has trouble breathing ("the air is thin"), and at the end had trouble speaking ("words desert me").

He decides to try natural remedies ("drink the rain"), like a sunlamp ("a waterfall of light") and to "let [his] body heal" itself. He doesn't want toxic chemotherapy, or some poison that will kill him quicker ("no deadly nightshade"). But all he gets is sicker ("an ocean of debris"). Then he dies, and in death finds peace, and light, and love.

What is our the proof, then, of love? Of all things, it may be death. Dying is terrible-- painful, frightening. It takes you apart, piece by piece. But then you get to die.

And rest. In peace.

(NOTE: It would be interesting to contrast this song with Simon's similarly named "Proof," which contained the repeated lines: "Faith is an island in the setting sun/ Proof is the bottom line for everyone.")


Next Song: The Riverbank

Stranger to Stranger

The title track to this album is a love song, and a lovely one, at that. Simon married singer-songwriter Edie Brickell in 1992, so this song comes nearly 25 years into their marriage.

He asks if they would fall in love again if they met now: "If we met for the first time/ Could you imagine us falling in love again?" The language echoes his song "Old Friends": "Can you imagine us, years from today/ Sharing a park bench?"

(Side note: in that song, he muses, "How terribly strange to be 70." The year this album was released, Simon was 74.)

This song continues: "Words and melody... fall from the summer trees," he says, "So the old story goes." I have never heard the story of songs falling from trees... if any of my readers have, I hope they share that story with me.

Why is this here? Perhaps he means to say that he and his wife pair as well as words and melody, and as naturally as leaves falling from trees.

In any case, how wonderful and amazing that, after two decades and more, he still awaits her very "walk[ing] across his doorway." He is "jittery" with "joy," even. She is like a drug to him: "I cannot be held accountable for the things I do or say," when she is near.

He finds their relationship an "easy harmony," and it must be something when two such great singers actually do harmonize. And when there is a problem, the "old-time remedies" still work.

And oh, problems do happen. Some can be compared to repetitive-stress injuries: "Most of the time/ It's just hard working/ The same piece of clay / Day after day." The "clay" represents the banality of life... or, seeing as how Adam was made of clay, the banality of people.

Other problems lie not within the relationship, but its individual members: "Certain melodies tear your heart apart/ Reconstruction is a lonesome art." Some losses, like the death of a parent or a career downturn, affect one of them more than the other.

What else? "All the carnage." Again, this could refer to death or illness, but also fighting and saying hurtful things, separations and silences-- psychological damage. But these things are discreet and definable.

Others are more effusive and evasive: "All the useless detours." A couple could spend five years in a house neither likes, because each thinks the other one likes it. A couple could take years to decide to get married, or divorced, and just be living in a limbo of inertia.

But despite all these thing, he still believes: "Love endures." The song ends with Simon repeating "I love you" over and over in waltz time, then: "Words and melody/ Easy harmony." When they are in tune, what a beautiful song.

"I love to watch you walk across my doorway," he tells her-- still crazy about her, after all these years.


Musical Note:
This is one of the four songs Simon spiced with flamenco on this album; the others are "The Riverbank," "The Werewolf" and "Wristband." In this, some of the rhythms are actually recordings of the dancer's steps.

Some of the guitar was done by Cameroons native Vincent Nguini, who has been with Simon since Rhythm of the Saints.

Next Song: In a Parade

Dori Anne

"The Leader of The Pack" and "Dead Man's Curve" are two of the more well-known "dead teenager" songs (also called "teenage tragedy songs" or even the morbid "splatter platter").


These are songs that drum up pathos by creating an angst-y teen character, often one in a societally disapproved relationship, and usually a "bad boy" or "bad girl" archetype... and then killing them off.

This Simon-as-Landis song, performed by David Winters. In this case, the doomed teen is another archetype, the pure-as-driven-snow one, who of course did not deserve to die.

While most dead teenager songs seem meant as cautionary tales by adults, and James-Dean tragedies to teens, this one is just plain sad. The song starts with a contradiction: “I'm all by myself, but I'm not alone.” How so? “Dori Anne, you’re always with me.” How tender. Is she out of town, perhaps after a move, or attending a distant school?

“I walk along the shore and sit beneath our tree,” the speaker continues, yearningly. “You were 16, my most precious queen.”

“Were”? Oh, no. Well, break-ups happen. Best not to keep revisiting your old hangouts and move on.

“Then came that fateful day.” Suddenly, the song takes a darker turn… The speaker (actually speaking this time, as in “You’ve Lost that Lovin’ Feelin’”) tells of the tragic death: “A blinding headlight, a crash in the night/ Took my Dori Anne away.” Truly awful.

“The rest of my life, my love will be true/ Dori Anne, I’ll always love you.” True, there is little getting over a trauma like that when one is in the throes of adolescence. (A better line however, would have been “I am always with you,” to invert the earlier “You are always with me.”

Also, there will be difficult times ahead for whomever falls for this boy, as they will have to compete with the memory of a dead teenage—and thereby perfect— romance. No less than James Joyce, in his short story “The Dead,” explores the impossibility of a fulfilling life for the person who marries one who, in turn, pines for a tragically lost teenage love.

So very many teens die each year. Today, it could be gunfire or an overdose or a bully-provoked suicide, but once parents mostly worried about illnesses and accidents, causes of teen death also still prevalent. While it is easy to dismiss or even mock songs like this for preying on teens’ hyperbolic emotional states, teen death does, sadly, occur. And when it does, teen survivors and mourners can turn to such songs to help them cope. Simply knowing that others have endured such pain can be healing, as is music in general— it is part of funeral services in most cultures, after all.

A co-worker of mine is actually attending an annual memorial service for a teen he knew who passed away. The young man was in a band and loved music; every year, attendees are asked to bring a song lyric to read at the memorial.

We’ll never forget him, the Leader of the Pack. 

Musical Note: David Winters began acting on TV as a kid, then moved to Broadway, playing Baby John in the original Broadway version of West Side Story, switching to the role of A-rab for the movie version. He then became a dance teacher and choreographer (Viva Las Vegas), then a director and producer, both on stage and onscreen. Through it all, he never stopped acting.

Next song:  Please Don’t Tell Her

One Way Love

[Chalk up another post under "better safe than sorry," as once again the song is recorded by Simon-as-Landis but the authorship is "unknown."]

"I love you/ Why don't you love me too?" Is this not a heading under which we can safely place a third or more of all songs, altogether? This answer-less question, so often asked, is the basis for much of poetry as well, and trying to come up with yet another poetic way to ask it begs the question-- what's wrong with just coming out and asking it?

The expression "one-way" brings to mind the traffic sign, and our speaker does not disappoint:
"We have hearts that never meet/ Mine goes down a one-way street/ Aching with the lonely beat/
Of one way love."

The subject, in case it is at all unclear, is unrequited love: "For your kisses, how I yearn/ But you never will return/ My one-way love."

The speaker has standards-- "Love should be a dream for two," Faced with his predicament, he has several options. One is to seek revenge. One is to pine forever. And there are dozens more.

But this time, a surprisingly mature tack is taken: "You don't care, so I decided/ I must break away from you."

Since she doesn't care, who is he telling? Himself. He is asserting himself, to himself, to reinforce himself.

He has had what some psychologists call "an attack of dignity." He has come to the conclusion that he is deserving of affection and, since this person won't provide it, he has the right-- the duty-- to seek it elsewhere. "There must be/ A true love meant for me," he declares, adding confidently, "I can find her if I try."

How will he know he has succeeded? Simple-- it will be a two-way street: "She will care as much as I."

And then? "Then my heart can say good-bye/ To one way love."

For a teenager, this is a remarkably mature work, on a psychological level. Faced with an unreturned affection, many teens would not have the presence of mind or self-worth to simply mourn and move on? How many songs do we have about "one-way love" that turn into a dead-end street? Isn't the Heartbreak Hotel  itself "down at the end of Lonely Street?"

Love should not be "one-sided," the speaker says. So, he leaves his one-way street and heads down another road. And if this one also leads nowhere... there are always still more roads.


Next Song: Dori Anne

Let's Make Pictures

This dreamy, breathy melody is prescient of "Cherish" by the Association, or perhaps that was a throw-back to this earlier sound. (Again, the author is "unknown," but the song is on a CD of Jerry Landis reissues.)

The song opens with a chorus of women singing what sounds like an ad for a vacation: "Sunlight shining on snow-capped mountains/ Lovers strolling by sparkling fountains."

But the speaker then reveals that this is a vacation he takes in his mind... when he is in the embrace of his beloved. "Close your eyes, I'll close mine/ Kiss me/ Let's make pictures, pretty pictures tonight."

With his eyes thus closed, he anticipates the serene scenes he will imagine: "One by one, soon they'll come/ I see pictures when you're holding me tight."

So intense are these images that he prefers them to both visual reality and any sort of auditory input: "Don't wanna hear bells ring, bird sing/ Like some other lovers do."

Lest the person kissing and holding him feel left out, thinking perhaps his flights of fancy are solo excursions, he clarifies: "I just wanna see those pictures of my future with you."

The other notable feature of this song is that Simon/Landis speaks some of the lyrics, as in the Righteous Brothers' "You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'." This was not a precursor to rap, as the lyrics are not read rhythmically, but simply read, the way an actor might read his lines.

The song portends to sophistication, but is clearly the work of a teenager trying to sound mature. But that's the case-- he can't afford to take his girlfriend to Tahoe to see sunlight glinting off snowy peaks, let alone to the famous fountains of Tivoli near Rome.

All he can do is visualize being able to take her to these resplendent romantic vistas. Luckily, he has a vibrant imagination and the poetic gifts to express it. Also, a girlfriend appreciative that he wants to take her to such pretty places, and might have the ambition to pull it off.

Every success begins with a dream, and she inspires him to lavish dreams. Maybe they will only make it as far as Coney Island or Niagara Falls. But wouldn't you rather be there with someone who thinks that it's just grand... than someone who grouses their way through Paris, muttering about prices and waiters and traffic?

Maybe this couple grew up into the one in Simon's song, "America," imagining their way down the highway from Michigan to New York on a Greyhound: "Laughing on the bus/ Playing games with the faces."

Even now, while they are just making out on the couch, he is able to transport them to the Riviera. So, it's only in their minds-- where, after all, is their love?


Next Song: One Way Love

I Can Feel It Happening to Me

[Note: According to the liner notes I have, the author of this work is "unknown," but I am including it just in case.]

This is a very mature song, and an old-fashioned one, more along the lines of "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered" or "Embraceable You" instead of an Elvis or Everly song.

The song is set in the same circumstances as "Some Enchanted Evening," another song of that ilk. Our speaker sees a stranger from across a crowded room... OK, so he doesn't say it was "crowded," per se, but still, "I saw you clear across the room."

"I can feel it happening to me," he begins, ending with, naturally, "Let me see/ That you can feel it happening to you." This, then, is the theme-- did lightning strike her, too?

At first, he assumes, yes: "...when your eyes met mine/ Then the fire was there/ Desire was there." It's a bossa nova-ish number, but the emotion is as physically taut as a tango: "I'm aware of something very strange/ Deep inside, I know there's been a change...  Then the chills began/ Thrills began/ I held my breath/ Half-scared to death/ My knees grew weak/ I couldn't speak."

Then, he has doubts. What are the chances of lighting striking twice? "It started suddenly... can it be that love begins so fast?" Probably not... And did he ruin everything by his behavior due to his assumption/ hope that it had? "I'm afraid that I'll frighten it away/ If I... stare too much."

The song uses repetition in a very sly, sophisticated way to indicate that, regardless of whether she requites his ardor (yet)... he still has to say 'Hello' first! "Here I am/ Wondering how to let you know/ That here I am/ Wanting you with all my heart/ But when to start?"

To recap-- He sees her, has a love-at-first-sight experience, thinks she caught the spark too, and almost faints. Then he recovers and thinks, "Oh, great. I really came across as desperate. I imagined a whole relationship in my head and I don't even know her name yet. All right, let me take a breath. I'll wait for an opening-- stop ogling her! Come on, get a grip!-- and try to introduce myself without proposing if I can."

In the hands of a teenager such as Simon/Landis at this point in his career, the whole thing comes across, unfortunately, as a bit too sophisticated. This song belongs, instead, in the repertoire of a Mel Torme or Wayne Newton.


Next Song: Let's Make Pictures

The Growing Up Years

This is a special song if only for the fact that its arrangement consists of just Simon (sorry, Landis) and his semi-acoustic guitar. It's also a thoughtful rumination on adolescence.

George Carlin said that he resented being told to "Have a nice day." It put pressure on him, he fumed: "Now I've got to go out and somehow manage to have a good time!"

Our speaker feels the same sort of pressure to go find a party or something. "People all say, 'Laugh and be gay!/ Youth is the time for fun and pleasure.'" The adults around him wish to live vicariously through his winsome exploits, no doubt. But his mind is on more serious (ahem) matters.

Then another adult, one in more immediate authority, tells him to only focus other serious matters. "Dad tells me we can't go steady." His father tells him to limit his attention to schoolwork... and not to get too involved too young: "Don't try your wings before you're ready."

Faced with this intractable fate, our speaker does resigns himself, and breaks up with his girlfriend. "Now you and I must say goodbye/ There's nothing else we can do."

However, there is still a longing-- "How can I ever live without you?"-- and with it comes a resistance to his father's ironclad rule.

After all, time is on his side. While "long are the growing-up years," on the one hand, they will eventually result in his... actually growing up. And "strong is the ache in my heart." This convinces him to play the long game, and consider the break-up a temporary status, one to be reconciled once he reaches adulthood. "...when we're grown, you'll be my own," he vows, "Never, no never to part."

Now, we adults know that this is unlikely. Yes, there are cases in which high-school sweethearts wed. But in general, once college keeps two young adults in separate time zones for four years, such passions cool. Since they can't be with the one they love, as the CSN song goes, they love the one they're with.

"Youth is wasted on the young," sighed Shaw, sounding like one of the adults in the song urging teens to sow their wild oats. But this teen doesn't even have time for that. He's making some very grown-up commitments that he can't even keep because of his schooling.

It's a shame that his father can't see that his goal-- preparing his son for adult life-- is being done in a limited way. Yes, part of being an adult is getting a degree, finding a job, and making a living.

But another major part is making a life! The relationship he's being deprived of would mature him in other, equally important ways.

Chances are good that his serious young man will seriously pursue the young woman he is so serious about, once he gets the freedom to do so. This might be one of the times high-school sweethearts weather the storms of college and do end up together.

For now, maybe he should have his dad talk to his mom. She'd set the old man straight.


Next Song: I Can Feel It Happening to Me

Let Me Steal Your Heart Away

Simon, then going as Landis, became the lead singer of the Mystics in 1960. A fairly standard harmony group, their entire catalog seems to consist of 15 tracks, mostly covers. With Simon as a member, they sang their big hit, the Welsh lullaby "All Through the Night," "I Begin to Think of You," and this track.

I hesitate to discuss the track at all, however, as I can only find that the Mystics sang it, not who wrote it. If Simon would want to disown this song, I would not be surprised, as it is simply a series of cliches strung together.

Update: A Rolling Stone article says that Simon wrote it in 1961. 

In their entirety, the lyrics are:
"Let me, let me steal your heart away
I'm in love with you, so in love with you
Take me, take me, don't forsake me
Oh, I want your love, yes I need your love

There have been others before you
This, I cannot deny
But now at last I've found you
I know I'll love you till the day I die."

With repetition and instrumental fills, they stretch this to more than two minutes. There is really no need for interpretation or analysis, regardless of who wrote it. It is, as they say, what it is.

In the interest of completeness, I am posting this song in case Simon did write it. I would not be surprised if he did not. I would also not be surprised if he did... and didn't care for anyone to know.

Next Song: Hiding in the Chapel

Funny Little Girl

This is somewhat a gender-flipped version of "My Funny Valentine," about a man whose looks are "laughable/ unphotographable." Yet, she loves him anyway: "You're my favorite work of art."

Here, the speaker says about his girlfriend that "you wouldn't call her smile a work of art." She also has "freckles," which some consider unattractive (personally, I could never see why), and has a "funny way she wears her clothes." All in all, she's "a cute and funny little girl."

Yet, it's not despite these quirks, but because of them, that our speaker is drawn to her. Her personality is winning-- she's "such a honey"-- and as to her un-artistic smile? He finds it "funny how it breaks [his] heart."

This is an unfortunate use of the term, which almost always has negative connotations. Here, he means that he finds her heart-wrenchingly lovely.

Yes, he does not just find her merely adorable, but arousing! "Every time we meet on the street/ Well, I just have to catch my breath... a little glance from her can set me all a-whirl."

Then, we are surprised by a clever way of describing the "heart in one's throat" feeling of intense emotion: "An elevator ride starts inside/ And it scares me half to death!" This is a very innovative and clever way of describing this feeling, at once startling and refreshing, yet instantly recognizable and familiar. Colloquial, but undeniably poetic.

In case we thought that his heart was breaking because he loved her from afar, and that their street-meetings were accidental, we have this affirmation: "I thank the Moon above and all the stars that shine/ That this funny little girl is mine."

A slight song, but what a relief it must be to the "plain Janes" of the world that they can find a nice man who will over the moon about them, even if they don't look like the starlets described in all the other songs.

Also, the song stresses the importance of a sense of humor. How many comediennes became huge stars based on their quick wits, despite having less-than-model-perfect features? And how long do such superficial things last, in any case?

The speaker is smart enough to know that "she has a great personality" is not necessarily damning by faint praise, but some of the strongest praise there is.

Next Song: Tell Tale Heart

Only One You

Sometimes, the formula works.

This is another "list" song. The speaker lists things that there are many of, then contrasts that with the fact that there is "only one" of his beloved.

The imagery is entirely taken from nature. The first verse lists water-related things-- "waves" and "shells." The second verse moves to the forest and mentions "birds," "leaves," and "hills." The third names objects given as tokens of affection-- "pearls" and "roses." The chorus gives us "mile after mile of prairie/ Drop after drop of rain."

Each verse ends with "But only one you." This message is emphasized by the last lines in the chorus: "But if I searched for another you/ I'd go searching in vain" (which is what rhymes with "rain").

Musically, the song is another Everly-esque melody, but given a flamenco-lite strumming accompaniment.

For all the formulaic elements, however, the song is quite effective. Given the other songs that were popular at the time, there is no real reason this should not have been a hit.

Perhaps because of its predictable structure and natural imagery, the song has a timeless feel. If it had been covered by, say, Peter Paul & Mary or by Joan Baez, the listener would have to be entirely forgiven for thinking the author had been some Robin Hood-era bard from York, and not a modern teenager from New York.

And wouldn't it be a great hoodwink for some Renaissance-Faire performer to play this piece on a lute... and then tell everyone it was written by Paul Simon in the late 1950s.

This song presages works like "Sparrow" and "Scarborough Fair," which made up a decent percentage of Simon & Garfunkel's recordings. Perhaps Simon thought this number too simplistic for his duo work.

But with a slower tempo and a vocal by Garfunkel, this could have been a hit... or at least a concert favorite at the level of "April Come She Will," or "El Condor Pasa."

I'd be curious to hear a report from a coffee-house singer who presented this song as a traditional folk number as to the audience's reaction, both before and after the revelation of its actual source.

It's discoveries like this and "Forever and After" that make exploring Simon's early work so rewarding.

Next Song: Haven't You Hurt Me Enough?

The Greatest Story Ever Told

The title of this song is an appellation usually reserved for the story of Jesus. Although the movie of that title, about that story, did not come out until 1965.

As you might guess, Simon a.k.a. Landis does not tell that story here. Instead he tells a more personal one. And a much more frequently told one, especially in the realms of pop music and movies.

Yes, our story here is about a young man who was not just "so blue," but "lonely, too." Why? He "had a broken heart." So sad. How sad? "All day I sat and cried/ Teardrops I couldn't hide." Poor thing!

But wait! "That was just the start/ Of the greatest story ever told." Oh, we are so relieved! Go on...

"I saw her there/ A thrill beyond compare," he continues, "She was my dream come true." Well, this is wonderful. Sometimes, the whole song goes by and no love object is found. But we don't know the rest-- does she return this affection? Because in some songs, we know, she does not.

"When I asked her for/ Her love forevermore..." How brave, and sudden! After all, he just saw her a moment ago, and hasn't even introduced himself. And...? "She added, 'I love you'/ To the greatest story ever told."

My word. This story does, in fact, keep getting better. Yet, there is cause for concern. She loves him now, but will it last?

Before we find out, the speaker interrupts and-- without singing-- intones: "Every day, we hear stories/ Some new, some old/ But the story of love/ Is the greatest story ever told." Too true. How could we ever have thought otherwise?

At this point, our suspense is broken. "And now, we're happy now," (yes, "now" twice). Why? "We made that sacred vow." A wedding! Now, there's a capper to a ripping tale.

"For now we're more than friends." Well, we would certainly hope so, by this point. What about going forward? Any worries?

We thought not. "Our love will grow and grow/ 'Cause with each kiss I know/ There'll never be an end/ To the greatest story ever told."

If the tone of this review is somewhat withering, is it only because this is one of the sappiest things Simon has ever written. It's almost as if he knew it was going to be cloying, opening the song with the words "Tell me a story," like a child.

If the point was that there are quite a few love songs that are almost perfect replicas of this one, that point did not have to be made by writing yet another version of this most by-the-numbers narrative. For example, take McCartney's "Silly Love Songs."

And that's also true if the point was "events, told in sequence, are a story-- and sometimes true stories are better than fictional ones." There was certainly a more interesting way to say that, as well, if it even needed to be said.

"Aeroplane of Silver Steel" is overwrought and "Back Seat Driver" mean-spirited, but at least those songs were a stretch in some direction. But even a snooze-inducing bedtime story like this shouldn't have to sound like it was written by someone who was already asleep.


Next Song: Only One You

Dreams Can Come True

This lilting little number follows a familiar pattern.  In the first verse, the speaker hearkens back to childhood. In the second verse, he is teen, awakening to the idea of love. And then the third verse finds him discovering this love (the listener/subject of the song, of course, a.k.a. "you.")

Simon's take on this trope has the child as a dreamer-- "I would dream of castles and kings"-- and budding songwriter: "Every song I sung [sic]/ Told a tale of wonderful things."

He grew up believing that... well, see the title.

Once he gets the idea of falling in love, he is content to be passive about it and trust to fate: "I dreamed that someday I/ Would awake and find you, my love." If dreams can come true, they will have to do so on their own. To be fair, he found her passively, as he predicted: "You came into my life."

Then, he says that he had done with dreaming: "I knew that my dreams were through." At first ,we imagine that he means that he no longer had the need to dream of love, once he had it in actuality.

This is true, but there is another side to his no-longer-dreaming, namely, the realities of life and love in the real world: "...we faced sorrow and strife." A rude awakening, for this dreamer.

Further, he did find the wrong person first, and it is implied that she was unfaithful: "I could feel that this love was true." There is an emphasis on "this," implying not only that there were others, but that those relationships were... problematic.

"Dreams can come true," the speaker repeats again (for that line, twice, is the chorus), concluding, "And you are my dream come true." Awww!

The melody is, well, dreamy. The backing vocal, however, is unusual to the point of being distracting. Instead of the usual "ooh-wah-ooh" or "sha-la-lah," we get this: "Run-tsu-dee-run-do-run-tsee-run." And, on top of that, some "ch-ch" vocalizations.

Perhaps this is meant to further the idea of the lullaby feeling of the song. If so, it's no "too-rah-loo-rah-loo-rah."

There is nothing wrong with the idea of trying to create a new "wop-bop-a-loo-bop." But maybe not in a love song...?


Next Song: Shy

Wow Cha-Cha-Cha

In case anyone was wondering, this song is a cha-cha. Once again, the singer is neither Paul nor Art, but someone professional, playful... and a tad generic.

This song is a dismiss-able bit of pop fluff, but it's really nice to hear Simon-- excuse me, "Landis"-- just enjoying himself. There is no anxiety here (save for the repeated line "don't you ever leave") or loneliness, or anything but good, clean fun.

Speaking of generic, the lyrics are almost too cliche to bother with: "When I cha-cha-cha with you, wow!/ Like a shock from out the blue/ Feel that message comin' through/ It's love, cha-cha-cha."

Yes, our singer sings "cha-cha-cha." About 10 times. But to be fair, anyone assaying this dance is muttering "one-two... cha-cha-cha" to himself as he does so.

The rest of the lyrics are about as obvious as they come: "Don't you dance too far away/ Here is what I have to say/ Love has finally come my way/ It's heaven" and "How I tingle through and through/ You have made my dreams come true."

Oh, and the bridge? "Kiss me/ Hold Me/ Thrill me" each followed by, you guessed it, "cha-cha-cha."

Did it take a Paul Simon to write this? No. But it did give him the chance to try yet another "world music" rhythm... and pen something airy and sprightly about dancing and flirting with the one you love.

Only a true curmudgeon would scowl at something like that.

Next Song: Loneliness

Aeroplane of Silver Steel

There is nothing wrong with experimentation, with trying something new. Edison is said to have told a reporter that, no, he did not fail more than 5,000 times when trying to find the best light-bulb filament. In fact, he did not fail even once! Rather, he said, he successfully proved that those 5,000 filaments did not work.

This song, "Aeroplane of Silver Steel," does not work. If it were an "aeroplane," it would not fly. It is at once too childish and too over-reaching in its attempts to be mature, like a toddler shuffling about in his father's loafers. Even the spelling "aeroplane" hints at the European, archaic ambitions-- no mere "airplane," this!

The structure is pop-operatic, like "Memory" from Cats. The guitar work is hyper-dramatic and Latinate, a flamenco or tango. So the whole effect is that this was a song left out of Man of La Mancha.

"Aeroplane of silver steel high in the night/ Someday, I shall soar with you in your flight," the speaker begins. "Never has another flown as high as you and I." This is high-flown poetry, indeed.

"I shall fly my own plane high above." Now, what will that rhyme with? "The earth which holds me while I'm dreaming of/ Roaring through the clouds, and speeding fast, to my love."

Now, the song makes a sudden break from its soaring rhetoric and strummings, and finds a cha-cha rhythm. All of that... stuff was introduction. Now we are onto the subject itself. Which is-- what happens when the plane lands? Well, our dashing Red Baron is not coming empty handed!

"To bring her chocolates/ To bring her candies." Well, that's thoughtfully, if predictably, romantic. Anything else in the cargo bay? "To bring her herbs and tasty spices that she can cook." Ah. Well, all the early explorers sought the Spice Islands. But... cook for whom, exactly? Some hungry pilot, hmm?

"To bring her ribbons/ To bring her laces." Our Flying Ace have been to both the Spice Islands and the Silk Road, it seems. This is one domestic little lady he has. I mean, I'm not seeing any diamonds or furs on the manifest. "To bring her tingling silver to fill her pocketbook." Close. But why "tingling?" Did he mean "jingling?" Or is this money that is begging to be spent?

This list is repeated. Then, not leaving the faster rhythm, the first verse about the aeroplane is repeated. And the song ends.

In general, three kinds of people fly their own planes. One flies for business, whether spraying crops with chemicals or entertaining festival crowds with stunts. One is the rich playboy who flies for both business and vacations; the plane is fun, but mostly just a convenient, luxurious method of getting where the fun really is.

The third is the weekend pilot for whom his plane fills the same function as another man's speedboat, motorcycle, or off-roader-- simple thrills.

Then there is the speaker. His airplane-- excuse me, "aeroplane"-- is just a long-range shopping cart. He seems to enjoy the sensation of soaring, but mostly the vehicle is his method for procuring expensive items with wish to lavish his (rather domestic) lady love. No, the internet has not been invented when this song was written. But mail-order catalogs had been.

Perhaps he wishes to travel, like George Bailey of It's a Wonderful Life. And he wishes his wife had more adventurous tastes in goods and travel, but is too much of a homebody to actually spirit off to Gay Paree or The Mysterious Orient or the sultry bazaars of The Levant.

So this is his compromise. He will fly to Far-Off Lands... and bring their bounty back to her! But nothing too exotic. He hasn't brought back any furs, but also no tiger-skin rugs. No diamonds, but no anklets or nose-rings, either. No artifacts or handicrafts. Just "chocolates" and "spices." (It could also be that the speaker was not a reader or movie-goer, and had no real knowledge of the huge variety of exotic items Far-Off Lands offered, even to 1950s tourist.)

In any case, even if she still isn't inspired to follow him, at least he isn't tied down to Levittown.

So why doesn't this aeroplane reach the clouds? Our speaker has an imagination big enough to imagine limitless possibilities of travel... but not enough imagination to know what to do with so much opportunity. He's a would-be swashbuckler, but as a New Yorker cartoon of a middle-aged pirate had it, he's "too much buckle and not enough swash."

And so the song's lofty ambitions are also unfulfilled. With a soaring melody and a fantastical metaphor, all it can come up with is... dinner and dessert. And a sewing project for the weekend.

Next Song: I'd Like to Be

I Wish I Weren't in Love

This one recalls 1959's "A Teenager in Love," both in style and sentiment, with a touch of Everly Brothers country-pop thrown in... plus a dash of flamenco in the bridge. It really presages the kind of within-one-song genre-switching that became Simon's trademark.

The opening lines could not be more straightforward: "I've got a problem/ The girl I love doesn't love me at all." Yes, another unrequited-love song.

The speaker, like another song says, got it bad, and that ain't good: "I can't do my homework/ I write her name on my notebook all night." It should be noted that these are very long lines, metrically, for a pop song.

"I'm so unhappy/ Guess I am the loneliest boy in this world," he continues, and who hasn't been there? "I wish I weren't in love," he concludes.

Now, is she stringing him along? Hardly. His love object is crystal clear in her lack of interest: "In fact, she won't even answer my call." Perhaps she finds a teenager who starts sentences with "in fact" somewhat... un-hip?

Rather than simply forget her, our hero paints himself as the victim: "The way she treats me, it just isn't right... How can I make her stop hurting me?" When, in fact, she is not hurting him at all. She is not doing anything to him! Yes, this is a problem for him... but it's not, objectively speaking, her fault.

Again, if she were being ambiguous, his complaint would have merit. But she is not. She is as plain in her disregard for him as a stone wall. Perhaps he feels that his ardor is so great it at least deserves her saying outright that he should, ahem, bug off, or stop calling, at least. She refuses to even acknowledge his existence with a verbal rejection.

The relationship, to the degree that it exists at all, is only in his mind. What this young man needs is for his friends to point out that his efforts and affections are wasted here-- and that he should, until they find a more receptive recipient, maybe do his homework.

If he gets good enough grades, he might get into college... where he might, in fact, meet a co-ed who will answer the phone for a guy who starts sentences with "in fact."

Next Song: Motorcycle

(Pretty Baby) Don't Say Goodbye

This song is usually titled simply "Don't Say Goodbye," but in rare cases "(Pretty Baby) Don't Say Goodbye."

This is a rollicking number that, with different instrumentation, could work well as a country tune.

The speaker is either doggedly optimistic or massively deluded. He makes many protestations of love to his beloved-- and all we learn about her is that he finds her "pretty"-- but it seems she does not return his affections.

He begs her not to leave, pleading, "You'll make me cry if you say goodbye/ Don't leave me, honey, 'til the day I die/ Pretty baby, don't say goodbye," and "Don't let your love pass us by."

He assures her that his affections are deep: "I'm in love with you" and even "I'm so in love with you." In fact, he would even marry her, if she would only return his ardor: "Please, pretty baby, won't you love me true?/ I'm gonna hold you tight till you say 'I do'."

However, it seems his affections are doomed to lie unrequited. It's not just that she's interested in someone else, but more that she's interested in anyone else: "I love to call you on the telephone/ But when I call, I see you're not alone."

I recently watched the classic Italian film The Bicycle Thief. In it, a "wise woman" counsels a man in a similar predicament: "Go plow another field."  Our speaker would be well to follow this timeless advice.

Next Song: True or False

Dancin' Wild

There are some dance songs which introduce a new dance, from "The Twist" to... um, "The Harlem Shake," if you can call such convulsions a "dance."

Then there are some dance tracks that simply encourage dancing in general, like the Drifter's "Dance With Me" or David Bowie's "Let's Dance." This is one of the latter kind.

"Dancin' Wild" may have fewer ideas in one 2-minute-20-second span than any other song Simon wrote. This is not a judgement-- many of the best songs are mindless. It is simply a fact. Simon would sometimes revisit this free-wheeling, bop-'til-you-drop style of songwriting, mostly notably in "We've Got a Groovy Thing Goin'."

The first verse, I kid you not, goes:
"Oo-la-la, you my baby
Well, oo-la-la, don't mean maybe
Oo-la-la, drive me crazy
When you're dancin' wild with me-ee."

This is repeated several times, and then the verse's melody is la-la-la'd at least twice to boot, plus there's a guitar solo. Yet, there is still room for some lyrics in the verses: "Dancin' wild, we'll do the apple jack/ Drop your shoes on the floor till we get back."

Before it was a kid's cereal, and after it was a form of hard cider, the term "apple jack" referred to a dance. It is a line dance, not unlike the electric slide. It involves a series of shuffling, cross-over, and hopping steps done facing one direction, then a 90-degree turn, then the same steps again, until the song ends (there is an instructional video on YouTube).

The next verse is: "At night, we crash the party down the block/ We learned this crazy step the kids all rock." The verb tenses make it hard to know if the apple jack is the "step" in question, since they seem to have known it since the previous verse. Probably, it's a different dance. The apple jack isn't much "crazier" than the average country two-step.

The last verse is perhaps the most 1950's element of the song, starting: "The clock says now it's time that you gotta go." When was the last time a dance song obeyed a curfew? Even Bill Haley could "rock" all the way "around the clock" a few years prior, in 1955, or at least "'Til broad daylight."

The song ends: "There's only one thing more that you must know/ I love you so." This confession of love is sung solo, without the music, in a very low register, and almost seems... shy. This is very endearing, since until now, the speaker was interested in "wild" dancing, party crashing, and being with a girl who drove him "crazy."

She's a lot of fun, but still a good girl who goes home when it's time to. After many a "wild" night, he realizes what a gem he has on his hands... and works up the guts to tell her she has won his heart. Good for him.


Musical Note: This was the B-side, when "Hey Schoolgirl" was released as a single.

Next Song: Don't Say Goodbye

That's My Story

In an interview, Simon once explained how he discovered metaphor. He rushed in to tell his father about a song he had just heard, "See, she's an angel... but she lives on Earth!" The song, of course, was 1954's "Earth Angel" by The Penguins.

This 1958 song is like that one, but only in cadence and mood. In other words, it is a slow dance number, such as was heard at proms.

The song's title is somewhat misleading. The song does not follow a narrative or tell a story. Rather, it might be the response to a query like: "Why ya so glum, kid? What's yer story, eh?"

The "story" is one of the oldest, summed up in the song's line, "I can't tell you I love you." It's one thing to have a love that's unrequited, but this one is simply unspoken.

It all started, you see, "a month ago," or an eon in teen-time. It was a classic case of love at first sight: "That's when I saw you/ Your eyes were aglow/ And then I could see/ That you were for me." The crush is so innocent, it would not have ruffled a feather in the days of troubadors with their lutes.

The speaker dreams of her all night long, but then awakens to heartbreak, because he can't speak of his affections except in fantasy. He never says what's holding him back-- perhaps simple fear of rejection. There is no mention of a rival, for instance.

Metrically, the line quoted above is bravely asymmetrical. The verse goes:
"I go to sleep at night
And dream of you
I wish I could hold you tight
The whole night through
But when I'm awake
My heart could just break..."

And then we expect a line with maybe two or three metrical feet. Instead we get the jarring, almost stumbling "I can't tell you I love you," which throws off the rhythm entirely.

This effect mirrors his problem. He's fine right up until he thinks of actually expressing his feelings, and then he gets tongue-tied and trips over his own words.

As in the previous song, the next participants in the story are his "friends." They notice that he has become morose, "always moody and blue." But he can't tell them about his crush either. He wishes he could tell them, so they would know that he is "not to blame." But once again, he can't just spit it out.

The 1966 Beach Boys song "God Only Knows" supposed to be the first pop song with the name of The Deity in it. But here, the next verse starts: "O Lord above please hear my prayer/ Show me where she is and take me there."

In a way, Simon's invocation of the Almighty is more brave. Brian Wilson and company use the word in the sense of the cliched expression "God only knows," which one might say if asked what happened to his missing bike; it is the equivalent of "Who knows?" "I have no idea," or "Search me." Here, Simon speaker is actually offering, he says, "a prayer."

Part of the problem in this case, it seems, is that there is always someone else around, especially (we assume) at school. What the speaker prays for is "one moment alone" with the object of his affection. Then, he says, without the distractions of others, "we'll know we're in love."

How many of us can appreciate the pain the speaker is in, seeing her so closely, yet being kept apart by his own fears and the potential whispers of the schoolyard.

The speaker concludes-- in the same drawn-out speech pattern we later hear in the spoken bridge of "You Lost That Lovin' Feelin'"-- "That's my story." You and a lot of other people, pal.

Funny as it is to hear a poet like Simon admit to being at a loss for words, we all know it's easier to say on paper, and in dreams, what we simply can't bring ourselves to say aloud.

Next Song: Teenage Fool

The Girl for Me

As promised, once all of Simon's current work has been discussed, this blog returns to the very beginning of Simon's songwriting career.

His very first work, "The Girl for Me" is consists of one unassuming verse, repeated once. In its entirety, the verse is:
"The girl for me
Is standing there.
That's the one
Flowers in her hair.
I always loved her
And I know she'll be true."

He copyrighted it under the name "Jerry Landis," as for a while he and Garfunkel went under the name of "Tom and Jerry." Garfunkel was "Tom Graph." The year: 1955.

From this simple, even simplistic song, one of the great songwriting voyages of all time set sail.

The song does not seem to require much explanation, but it is interesting to note what is not there. Missing is any indication of what it is that makes the girl the one for him-- there is no discussion of her beauty, her wiles, her laugh, or any other attribute.

Perhaps the "flowers in her hair" mark her as demure. Twelve years later, in 1967, the song "San Francisco" contained the lines "If you're going to San Francisco/ Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair." Why? To mark oneself as a member of the with-it counterculture, not as a demure wallflower.

No, this girl is passive, just "standing there." What she offers is fidelity, the assumption (not an expressly made promise-- she says nothing at all) that "she'll be true."

The girl is desirable for her passivity, it seems. The flowers, like all plants, cannot move of their own volition. And she would never be motivated to make the ultimate move, to transplant herself to pastures she felt greener.

Simon was 16 when he published this song, which is impressive on its own. Perhaps the song reflected his personal teenage insecurity about having a girlfriend capable of independent action. Or perhaps, he was mimicking the songs he heard on the radio and elsewhere in the Brill Building and felt that a song aimed at a "good girl" would find a likely audience.

It could be about both, in a way. Perhaps the "girl" can be seen as the music industry itself. He wanted to be part of it, as he "always loved" it (what teenager doesn't want to be a pop star?). But he wanted it to hold still while he approached it. He needed it to "be true" and not leave him for another songwriter, should he not be a hit right away.

Luckily (for us as well), Simon's talent (and ambition) were evident to the adult professionals in the office, and they let him stay.

As it turned out, Simon's relationship with his music would prove to be one of his most enduring. He "always loved" it, and it always loved him back.

(This song is on YouTube. Simon plays it for an interviewer, well into his adult career.)

Next Song: Our Song