Bad Dream

This song could just as easily have been called "Bad Dream Blues," given the melody.

There are several sorts of bad dreams discussed in the song. After each, a question is asked, prefaced by the words "I'm wondering." 

One sort of bad dream is a nightmare-- you fall asleep, and instead of imagining riding a horse in a field of tulips, you imagine being attacked by a bear in a cave. The speaker imagines all dreams being produced in a "factory," in which the executive decision is made-- will tonight's dream be sweet, or scary?

The first bad dream we encounter is of this type. In the dream, a "giant shadow" is imagined by a child to be enveloping and smothering him to the point of suffocation. Since it was a form of darkness that was the problem, the solution was "the morning sun." 

The dream happened while he was "asleep, but still awake," which could refer to REM sleep. It could also, I guess, refer to "lucid" dreaming; generally, one in this state can direct the course of the dream's narrative, which doesn't happen here, but then this dreamer is a child who may be unaware of that option.

Since the person relating this nightmare is an adult remembering it from his childhood, the question is: "Where is the doorway to yesterday's secrets?" Frustratingly, the adult remembers the dream but not the experience that triggered it. If only he could access those memories, he could finally understand the dream.

Simon co-wrote (and co-sang) this song with Edie Brickell, his wife. She takes a turn, offering, she says, "a woman's perspective." What she says is brief, but powerful, and also remembered from childhood:

Ever since I was a little girl
They all said, "Don't go out alone at night

It's a hungry, dangerous world"

For vulnerable minorities, the world is a "bad dream" even when they are awake. Their nights are filled with waking nightmares of constantly incessant pursuit by the appetites of society. Since this hunger is inescapable and insatiable, the only solution (admittedly not much of one) is to avoid danger as much as possible. 

Her question is: "Where is the shelter for runaway angels?" Pure innocence is, sadly, one of the most attractive targets, but where can true safety be found? It is as elusive as an inaccessible memory.

The final scenario is also brief. A "backwoods" man crashes a rodeo, carrying many bibles, then wailing. This is a "dream," also, but whose? Notably, while the other scenarios were followed by the words "a bad dream," this one is followed by just "It's a dream." Meaning that, for some, this could be a good dream-- someone messianic bringing order (religion) to chaos (a "rodeo"), not someone unwelcome imposing restrictions on revelry. 

Is this a "bad dream"? Depends who you ask. 

This time, the question is "Where is the country I promised my children?" Clearly, Simon is of the camp that sees this "backwoods" character as a wet-blanket killjoy. Simon is, famously, one of the voices of the Civil Rights movement (see "A Church is Burning," "He Was My Brother," "The Sound of Silence," etc.) and this song was written when the US was dealing with the MAGA movement. 

There is a structure here that may seem familiar to Simon's fans; we saw it years ago in the song "Slip Sliding Away." The first verse, there, was about a man, the second about a woman, and the third about a father. (Interestingly, Springsteen's "Glory Days" is the also same, structurally: verses about a man, then a woman, then-- in a "missing" verse-- the speaker's father. The final, familiar, verse is about he speaker himself.)

In this song, we have a man remembering his childhood nightmare, a woman remembering the fear instilled in her as a girl... and then a verse about society at large dealing with a figure who is a harbinger of doom to some, but a herald of salvation to others. 

The three kinds of "bad dreams" delineated are the sleeping kind, the waking kind... and the kind that people will tell you wasn't a nightmare at all. Having your own perceptions questioned, and even suspected, sounds pretty nightmarish, too.

Wait

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May his prayer be granted. Amen.

Next Song: Billy Boy

My Professional Opinion

Did you ever realize that our opinions are only worth half as much as we think they are? After all, when I offer you my opinion, I say, "Well, here're my two cents."

But when someone asks for my opinion, they say, "Penny for your thoughts."

You think your opinion is worth two cents. They would only pay, however, one cent. Half as much.

In interviews about the Seven Psalms album, Simon explains that he was routinely awakened by dreams, very early in the morning, with inspirations for these songs. 

So when he writes, here, "Looks like you haven't slept all night," he may be talking to himself, or at least about himself. There has got to be a mixed feeling for an artist, on the one hand being grateful for inspirations... and on the other wishing they waited until he'd had his morning coffee instead of rousing him when only crickets, owls, and bats are awake. 

Which could be the source of his name "Mr. Indignation."

In any case, he is in his 80s and does not work a job where he has to punch a clock, so for him to "go back to bed" as the song suggests, after jotting his "vampire hour" inspirations is just fine.

If the speaker feels that the person he is addressing is "Mr. Indignation," he admits "I'm no more satisfied than you are." He also admits that he does not have a solution that would resolve the given indignities, as he is not a "doctor" or a "preacher" and doesn't even have a "guiding star"-- say, a Scripture or philosophy-- that might suggest a solution.

On the other hand... what is there to be indignant about? "Indignation" comes from the same root as "dignity," and no one has any dignity to begin with, really: "Everyone's naked, there's nothing to hide." (This echoes Simon's observation in the song "Old" from You're the One: "Take your clothes off-- Adam and Eve.")

The next verse also has a reference to religion. In an echo of the spiritual "Down by the Riverside,"-- "Gonna lay down my sword and shield/ Down by the riverside"-- he writes, "Gonna carry my grievances down to the shore/ Wash them away in the tumbling tide."

There you go-- no more indignities! The idea that immersion in water provides rebirth is held by many of the world's faiths. Physical cleansing can become spiritually cleansing. 

So far, the title line, "in my professional opinion" is said twice. Once, it's to say, "You're exhausted because you are exhausting yourself." The second, it's to say, "You have troubles? So does everyone." 

Now, we the opinion offered that all cows must bear the blame for one specific cow insulting another. This seems... sarcastic. I suppose the point may be that even cows must suffer indignation.

But also, what is this guy's profession, that these are his "professional opinions"? It seems that the profession is, itself, the offering of opinions. If one spends any time on the Internet, one realizes that this may be the most popular profession today.

In the next verse, Simon synopsizes the situation: "So all rise to the occasion/ Or all sink into despair." Better than "all" would be "each," as each of us must rise and address our own indignities-- either by confronting them or "washing [them] away." But "each" doesn't sing as well as "all." The other option is to "sink into despair," dragged down by our indignities.

Here, his opinion is simply: "Don't go there." Why raise an issue only to dismiss it? This professional does not seem very good at... whatever their job is. 

The song ends with admission that, yes, our professional opinions are worth about one cent, even if we are professionals at offering them. Because ultimately, only God's opinion matters.

But it would take another whole blogpost to unpack the last verse. It says that God did three things to us with "His opinions": "He became us/ Anointed us and gamed us."

How did God "become" us? In the sense that God became human in the form of Jesus? In the sense that He made us "in God's image"? Wouldn't that be us becoming Him?

Kings, priests, prophets, and the messiah are, in the Bible, anointed. So which does Simon mean we are, when God anointed us? Or are some of us kings, some prophets, and so on? 

Most unnerving is the idea that God "gamed" us, conned us. How? And why would He want to do that? What would be the fun for an omniscient being to trick a mere human-- who after tens of thousands of years of getting rained on can only say, "There is a 40% chance of rain tomorrow"?

Lastly, what is the whole concept of God having opinions? Isn't God all-powerful, too? Doesn't God's thinking something make it, you know, not opinion but fact?

In my professional opinion, whatever the specifics of Simon's meaning, his general thread is the same as in his earlier song "The Lord": "Man plans, and God laughs." Only here, it's more "Humans opine, and God sighs." 

Next Song: Your Forgiveness

Insomniac's Lullaby

The song is about a lullaby, but we have to get to that in a minute. Because the song, while about a lullaby, is itself a prayer.

After all, it starts: "Oh Lord," and anything that starts that way is a prayer. And what is the insomniac's prayer? "Oh Lord, don't keep me up all night."

It'd be a lonesome vigil. The only other one up would be the Moon, what that only has "desolate eyes." And to journey all those "miles [to] the sunrise" with only such "sockets" as "travelling companions" [OK, so that's from "Graceland," but still] would be too much to bear.

But the darkness "invites" a tune. Simon has been personifying Darkness since he called it his "old friend" all those decades ago, and maybe now we finally know why they are so long acquainted. After all, Darkness would be an insomniac's friend, or at least a familiar face. Anyway, the tune the darkness invites seems to be this very tune.

While he is awake, he hears a "siren" sound "in the distance," but instead of being upset by it-- after all, it means someone is in trouble-- he calls it a "song." To let us know he is being facetious, he complains that the sound "rattles the old window frame."

And then, something unexpected happens: "Gradually, angels reveal their existence." So, they were there the whole time, only now they are letting themselves be seen. The fact that he does not elaborate about these divine visitors, as the listener might expect, leads us to believe that the thin wisps of light that must seep into his dark room resemble angels. "There's nothing and no one to blame," he says, worried that we might accuse him of abusing alcohol (etc.), or having a tumor, what with him seeing angels and all. Maybe he could see what was really causing these angelic apparitions if he put on his glasses..? Lack of sleep can cause hallucinations, after all.

Even if this is a prayer, these visions are not angels. If they were, the speaker would not be talking so much about being alone, as he does before when he says the "desolate" Moon is his only companion, and later when he... well, let's get to that part right now.

Now comes the prayer again. This time, the thing he fears is not the daunting distance until dawn but coldness of some sort also lasting a too-long time: "winter that lasts until June." This may be the lack of human companionship... at least the sort that is awake. So again, he's alone, with no angelic company. (Also, Simon just rhymed "Moon" with "tune" and "June" so slyly we didn't notice.)

Now, two choruses and a verse into the song, we finally learn what the Insomniac's Lullaby is. It's a song that turns out to be one word long:

"Sleep."

Well, of course. What else do you need?

The next verse seems to be about death. "They say all roads lead to a river." While I have never heard "they" say any such thing (all roads lead to Rome, I thought) it is true that every major city is built around a river-- every city more than 100 years old, at least. A river was necessary as a source of water, but also transportation of people and goods.

But, "they" supposedly continue, "one day/ The river comes up to your door." Well, there are plenty of places that don't flood, so this must mean something else. What comes to every door? Only, as Franklin said, "death and taxes."

Hearing this axiom, the speaker asks, "How will the builder of bridges deliver us all/ To the faraway shore?" This is less sincere doubt than simple amazement. When watching a magic trick or feat of athletic prowess, we mutter, "How does he do it?" but only rhetorically.

This is a much nicer metaphor for death than some hooded skeleton reaping our souls with a huge blade, isn't it? A walk across a bridge, is all death is. (Or, if you're Jacob or Robert Plant, you may prefer a ladder or stairway.)

In the next iteration of the chorus, the speaker again asks for sleep, but now so that he can avoid having to face "questions [he doesn't] understand" and "wrestle [his] fears." This is completely understandable. Who wants to do that, all night?

"The sound in my ears/ Is the music that's sweeping the land/ The Insomniac's Lullaby." Maybe the "lullaby" is the agglomeration of sounds coming from everyone insomniac's radio and stereo. Or maybe it's his own radio, and he's listening to contemporary pop (on his headset, so as not to wake his wife) for inspiration. After all, a musician likes to stay current.

Finally, he arrives at dawn, the "light from the East." It is "soft as a rose," and that color, too. "As if all is forgiven," meaning that the questions and fears of the night are resolved, or at least feel that way.

"Wolves become sheep" at this time. The nocturnal animals, like wolves and burglars, are replaced by pleasanter ones, like sheep and ice-cream truck drivers. Also, the menacing gray clouds of night are supplanted by white, woolly ones.

It might be a reference to his song "Pigs Sheep and Wolves," but more likely it's a circling-back to the "Werewolf" of the opening track.

Alternately, one famous sleep aid is "counting sheep"; the idea of imagining sheep jumping a fence, and counting them doing so, is said to help one drift off. This connection of sheep and sleep is possible because of how the song ends: "We are who we are/ or we're not" but either way, "At least we'll eventually all fall asleep."

Like any good bedtime story, the song-- and the album-- end with a yawn and a "nighty-night."

Is the song about death? Is "we'll all fall asleep" about... the Big Sleep, as it is in Hamlet? I don't think so. There are no insomniacs when it comes to death, no "in-necr-iacs." Some people complain, "I just can't sleep," but no one complains, "I just can't die." So this is about sleep, and to the degree it is about the lack thereof, it is about the resolution of that issue.

It's also a very pretty song.

Simon has recently stated that he is retiring from music. If he is, he has earned it. But I can't imagine he is. Music has been his entire life. Now, he is 75. He just finished working on an album and touring the world in support of it. He's tired, is all, and he's talking like a tired person. Once he has a vacation, I bet we'll get another album-- or two-- out of him yet.

I just think that if he stops making music, he'll die. And he isn't ready to do that yet.


MUSICAL NOTE: Bobby McFerrin does the background vocals. In pop circles, he is considered a one-hit wonder because of the dippy-- but perfectly so-- song "Don't Worry, Be Happy." In jazz circles, he is considered a living legend and one of the greatest vocalists ever to live, able to create whole arrangements with just his voice and body slaps. In classical circles, he is that fun conductor who sings the notes along with the instruments and harmonizes with them. Just go on YouTube, type in his name, and enjoy.

Some of the instruments were invented by a man named Harry Partch, who could hear 43 tones to an octave; most mortals can hear only 12. So had to invent instruments to make those sounds. They have names like: cloud chamber bowls, sonic canons, kithara and the chromelodeon. The original instruments are at Montclair State University, in New Jersey, where the song was recorded. (More in the entry on the Seven Psalms album).

Next Song: Like to Get to Know You

The Mission

(Well, I said if I found more Paul Simon songs, I would post them, and I did... so here they are. Two more. One more this week, and another next week.)

This song is from The Capeman. More pointedly, it is not from that musical, as it did not make it into the final version or into the Lyrics book. It was posted by a very good fansite, paul-simon.info, so thanks go to them for this find.

It is clearly intended for the musical, as it mentions Puerto Rico, but aside from that, not much is clear about it. It seems to take place during Salvador's parole-violating journey to see his pen-pal girlfriend in Arizona, since Tucson is mentioned.

Frustratingly, the site does not explain which character gets which bit of dialogue; it is unclear who is speaking (or singing) several of the lines. All we can know is that Sanchez introduces himself, and extrapolate from there. It may be that they simply take turns... or as in normal conversations, there may be a pause, after which the same speaker re-initiates the dialogue.

The song seems to have been left out due to the its introduction of a new character, who hesitantly calls himself Sanchez, who is not heard from otherwise, and the lack of their interaction advancing the plot at all or even revealing much about Salvador's character. Other than he is nervous, being on the lam and all. Which we knew.

The interaction, such as it is, takes place somewhere with a dirt floor. Perhaps in Arizona itself, on the way to his girlfriend's reservation (she's Native American). One of them does observe that "the desert gets cold at night."

The only other hint is the song's title, "The Mission," which seems to serve double duty. It means the mission  of love that Salvador is on... but also the building he finds himself in, one of the missions, like The Alamo, that dot the American southwest. An abandoned one may provide a roof and walls, but perhaps no more than a dirt floor for sleeping.

Sanchez, as we discover he calls himself, says he comes from "Canada" and works out of Tuscon. Salvador responds, falsely, that he is a "traveling salesman/ Pick-up and deliveries/ I'm waiting for someone/ He looks just like you." Which may be his explanation for being willing to converse.

Sanchez, picking up on Salvador's reluctance to talk, assures him: "No need to advertise ourselves to the local population." Sanchez does rightly guess that Salvador is from Puerto Rico, asking if he is headed there.

He also offers Salvador part of his food, possibly as a gesture of trust, since Salvador admits: "I've seen you watching me/ Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm paranoid/ But I've got my reasons/ My fears..."

The song closes with the following exchange as they say their good-nights and bed down:

A: The desert gets cold at night...

B: Still, Heaven is in your sight.

A: Isn't it strange that we came the same distance/ Just a coincidence?

B: Maybe so. Maybe it's fate that tied us together.

A: I ain't tied to anything.

B: I'll see you tomorrow.

A: Amen to that, my friend. Amen.

Speaker B is quite religious, speaking of "Heaven" and "fate." If it is Salvador, this is a bit out of character. Even if he is excited to be out of jail and to see his girlfriend, why is he using religious language to express that? He could simply speak of being happy and eager.

More likely, Salvador is the guarded, cynical Speaker A, who speaks of the desert being cold, coincidences, and not "being tied to anything." He may throw B the bone of an "Amen" at the end to make up for his aloofness and to signal that, while not religious himself, he does not dismiss the other's faith, thus ending the exchange on a warmer note.

Again, it is not hard to see why this was left out of the production. Aside from the sad rhyme of "snack" and "back," the whole piece is unnecessary. Sanchez is superfluous as a character, and we already know Salvador's place in the plot and his state of mind.

Next Song: Smile