Further to Fly

Before we analyze this song, it is important to note the many allusions in it to other Simon songs:

The image in "Can't Run But" of a couple dancing return thus:
"Effortless music from the Cameroons
The spinning darkness of her hair"

while the "pencil-point/love bite" stab in the "shoulder blade" from that song is here softened to:
"...a love/ Who falls against you gently as/ A pickpocket brushes your thigh"

The "Dangling Conversation" reappears here as:
"A conversation... going nowhere"

The opening line to "Call Me Al" is now rendered:
"Sometimes I’ll be walking down/ The street and I’ll be thinking/ Am I crazy"

And the man who, in "Boy in the Bubble," said "Don't cry, Baby, don't cry" now tells the listener to:
"Take it up with the great deceiver/ Who looks you in the eye/ Says, Baby, don’t cry."

Lastly, a plant that we just encountered in "The Coast" returns, namely "The Rose of Jericho."

That taken care of, we can now turn to the song itself and consider it on its own merits. The song seems to be about desire and the many ways and reasons it can go unfulfilled. There is always, it seems, "further to fly" in order to reach such goals. (Also, the breathy alliteration of this phrase sounds a bit like feathery wings.)

The first verse returns to one one Simon's major themes: weariness. One reason desires remain unfilled is simple exhaustion. Some dreams seem to take so long to become realized that the dreams themselves seem to beg for euthanasia-- "Give me up already!" they moan.

But maybe, you will find a love... only it will present itself so gently you will miss it. It will breeze by and be gone before you even realize you should have tried to catch it, and like a "pickpocket" victim, you won't understand until later what you have lost.

There will be sweet "music", yes, and the hypnotic "swirl" of her hair in the "crowded room,"-- perhaps a bar, dance floor, or reception hall. But the "conversation" will frustrate and "go nowhere." (The Cameroons, today simply called "Cameroon," is a West African nation).

"Desire," the speaker insists, is insatiable, like an "open palm" that holds nothing, but keeps needing to be filled. It "wants everything," because it is always empty.

The futility of endless wanting ends up feeling like either madness-- "I’ll be thinking: 'Am I crazy?'"-- or some sort of cosmic sarcasm-- "'Is this some morbid little lie?'"

Desire is not only for things yet to be gotten, but for things once had and now lost. The next lines seem like a description of dementia or Alzheimer's disease: "A recent loss of memory/ A shadow in the family." The "shadow" is both the genetic reality of the illness in the whole "family," and the almost literal sense of "absence"-- the person is absent because he or she does not even remember being part of the family. The specific memory itself is also in "shadow," as it can no longer be seen clearly.

"The baby waves bye-bye" can mean several things. (This is clearly "baby" in the age sense, not "Baby" in the romantic one; all sources agree the word is not capitalized.) One is that childhood is lost as one matures; the "baby" is one's own infancy. Another is that one's children grow up and leave; to us parents, they are still our babies. Sticking with the Alzheimer's idea, whole family members can leave the awareness of the victims and fade into forgotten-ness and "shadow," another sort of farewell. Or perhaps, the Alzheimer's patient is the baby, since he is as helpless as one.

As for the speaker, he pleads, "I’m trying." If there is "further to fly," well, he's "flying" as hard as he can, and has not given up.

Knowing that things lost are desired, the speaker bemoans the idea that he might lose the things he still has, from his relationships to his sensibility. The image is of "falling backward" into a soft-yet-smothering blackness, a "velvet night."

The "open palm" now wants contradictory things (well, "everything" would presumably include opposites). It wants "soil as soft as summer"-- an easy life, in which no effort is required to flourish. It also wants "the strength to push like spring." Few things push as strongly as excited new growth; roots and shoots break stone and cement, and "spring" itself pushes away the drifts and floes of seemingly intractable, implacable winter. So the "palm of desire" wants strength, but the luxury to grow without it. No wonder it is never satisfied!

"A broken laugh," is a rueful thing, but "a broken fever" usually is a hopeful one, as in "I hope her fever breaks soon." For it to be another disappointment, this would have to be the "fever" of the type Peggy Lee sings.

And this is when the speaker calls the "Boy in the Bubble" speaker on his reassurances. Only a "great deceiver" would say "Baby, don’t cry." There is always a reason to cry, and something lost or not attained worth crying over. (It seems this is the "Baby" of the other song, since it is capitalized, but it would be wrong not to explore the possibility of it being the baby mentioned earlier in this song.)

"The Rose of Jericho," again, is a plant that may seem dead, yet can be revived. This may symbolize the endlessly regenerating nature of desire.

The last line, however, seems to finally express what is truly desired-- the ability to fulfill the desires of others, even if that means one's own desire is thereby unfulfilled: "The strength to let you go." It would be weak indeed to give in to one's own selfishness at the expense of the needs of another soul.

The song, in short, starts with the second line of the Serenity Prayer-- "the courage to change the things I can" and ends with the first: "the serenity to accept the things I cannot change." Except this time, it's never going to be "serene" once his love is gone, which she eventually she will be, no matter what. And for that, he's going to need the "strength" to continue to "fly further" toward the ever-retreating horizon of contentment.

In a way, this song is a more mature version of "The Impossible Dream" from "Man of La Mancha," and a more jaded version of Keats' "Ode on a Grecian Urn":
"Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal – yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!"

For Keats, having "further to fly" means always having a reason to fly, and isn't flying fun? For Simon, flying is exhausting, never reaching the goal is frustrating, and knowing that he will lose his love in the end no matter what is devastating.

He is "tired," the conversation goes "nowhere," and the whole thing might be insanity or a "morbid lie" of Fate. Yet, he flies... and hopes for, at the end, the strength to stop.


Musical Notes:
The flugelhorn here is played by Hugh Masekela, one of Africa's greatest jazz players. He had an instrumental horn hit in the US-- right around the time of Herb Alpert and Chuck Mangione-- called "Grazin' in the Grass" (1968), which went to #1 and went multi-platinum. Masekela later played on some Byrds cuts. He had left Africa in 1960, following a massacre of unarmed protestors. Years later, Masekela joined Simon onstage at his Graceland concert in Africa.

The trumpeter is Randy Brecker, with a long list of sessions with greats from Springsteen to Mingus. He is Michael's brother, they have recorded as a duo.

The notes that sound like a wood flute are Michael Brecker's EWI.

(There is another error in the liner notes. The guitar is not played by "Ringo Star" and this is not a misprint of the Beatles' drummer's name. It's actually an understandable misprint of the name "Rigo Star.")

The song was covered by folk songbird Holly Near.

Next song: She Moves On

Slow Man

I admit that before researching this blog I had not heard of this song. It does not appear on any album, or in any concert, or in any compilation, or even in any sheet music that I have come across. Still, there it is on Simon's official website (albeit with "gate" when "gait" is meant), and so here it is in this post.

Simon has many songs about being tired and overworked ("Long Long Day"). He also has several songs about the effort wasted in clumsiness contrasted with the ease of grace ("One-Trick Pony"). Here, he has a song that contrasts moving slowly with rushing around.

The subject here is a "Slow man," who "is movin’ with a leisurely gait." What is the source of his relaxed attitude? He is nonchalant, in that he has no "chalance" at all ("chalant" is the French word for "hot"; somehow they intuited at that heat and speed were related prior to the thermodynamic theory of molecular motion which proved it). “It doesn’t matter to me/ It doesn’t matter at all,” says the Slow Man.

Then Simon turns a cliche around on itself. "I got a feelin’," he begins. "A feeling that what?" the listener naturally wonders, "That tonight's gonna be a good night?"

No, simpler that that. "I got a feelin'/ That’s all I need." Wait... what's all he needs? Why, the feeling! And whatever the emotion may be, it sustains him.

"Sittin’ in the sun/ Doesn’t worry ’bout the chance of rain/ Slow man/ With the suntan/ Got no reason to complain." This is in marked difference with, say, the equally motionless protagonist of "Stittn' on the Dock of the Bay," who sadly wishes he did have a purpose or future.

Next, the speaker reveals himself: "But I’m workin’ at a furious pace/ From the mornin’ ’til the end of the day/ Me, oh Lord, look at these lines upon my face/ I got to figure out a better way." Which is a state (assuming the song is autobiographical) that Simon often seems to find himself in.

The next line is befuddling, and we can only assume Simon was searching for a rhyme for "home": "Slow man/ Purchases a comb/ Though he doesn't have a wisp of hair." This seems out of character for the Slow Man. If he is short of cash, he still has to eat, so why waste even a penny on a comb he, in the words of the old joke, will never part with? If he is truly unconcerned about everything, how can he care about his appearance? He doesn't even seem to have the gumption to be ironic. It seems a throw-away idea.

The last thing we learn about the Slow Man is that he "Doesn’t own a home." While he might rent, this does not seem to be the implication. Nor does the Slow Man consider himself, in the socio-economic sense of the word, "homeless." Instead, he is a drifter-- someone who is a conscientious objector with regard to the idea of a domicile altogether. While is not a homeowner, the Slow Man feels "comfortable everywhere."

The song concludes with the Slow Man offering some wisdom to our harried speaker: “You got to get the slow in your life.” Years later, James Taylor would opine that "The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time," which seems a related idea. Another song with the same message is "Inchworm," which encouraged the inchworm so busy "measuring the marigolds" to instead "stop and see how beautiful they are."

There is a basic premise, in Western thought, that action must mean progress and industry, and that idleness by definition is a waste of time. Many non-European philosophies, however, disagree. They emphasize meditation and letting the mind wander.

The artist must embrace both concepts. Industriousness is necessary to create, and inspiration can certainly arise out of activity. But there must also be moments set aside for contemplation, relaxation, and as we say today, "recharging one's batteries" (itself a metaphor that likens people to machines). A writer must also read; a singer must also listen. "Inspiration" also means simply "breathing in."

While even the Slow Man does not suggest his lifestyle is fit for everyone, he does recommend that people take at least a small dose of his medicine and "get the slow in their lives." In other words, they should "slow down," as they "move too fast."

They should try being "Cloudy," so they can start "Feelin' Groovy."


Next Song: Groundhog

Long, Long Day

Simon has dealt with the subject of weariness before. The song "American Tune," for instance, ends: "I'm trying to get some rest." Here, however, is a whole song on the matter.

The speaker seems to be homeless, at least at present: "Ain’t got no place to stay/ But any old place will be okay." So to whom is he singing, "Good night/ Oh, my love?" Why can't he stay with her, if he is so desperate? Evidently, he is speaking to her across some distance, by phone or in his mind,

Knowing that the character in the film singing the song is a travelling musician helps. This information is related in the next verse: "I’ve sure been on this road... You don’t see my face in Rolling Stone." (Meaning the music magazine, of course.)

Again, though, if he is with a tour, surely some arrangements have been made for his accommodations. It could be that his sense of homelessness is more metaphorical.

Also, this cannot be the first "long, long day"; this fellow has spent in his 14 years on the road. However, this particular day seems to have been particularly taxing.

The next verse-- more a bridge, really-- is in paulsimon.com's version of the song, but not in the film itself. The film version goes:

"Slow motion/Half a dollar bill/Jukebox in the corner/Shooting to kill."

On the website and in the Lyrics book, however, we see these words interspersed with what seems to be a potential woman's vocal (which I have in italics; the rest is in the film version):

"When I see him standing there (Slow motion)
I said, “Hey, there’s a guy who needs a laugh”
That’s what I said to myself (Half a dollar bill)

What the hell, we’re both alone
And I’m just standing here
Jukebox in the corner
Shooting to kill"

This version implies that, even though the singer is in "love," he is so desperate for companionship that he is willing to cheat tonight.

As this material is not in the film, however, I am not sure what to make of it. Going back to the film's version, which is, again-- "Slow motion/ Half a dollar bill/ Jukebox in the corner/ Shooting to kill"-- the sense is much more abstract, and it seems the jukebox is what is shooting to kill. It might be that, to a musician who hasn't made it, seeing others' songs on a jukebox is just another painful reminder of his lack of success. Either that, or a specific song it is playing proves heart-wrenching.

The phrase "half a dollar bill" is interesting as well. The usual phrasing is "a half-dollar," meaning either 50 cents or a 50-cent piece. But "half a... bill" implies a bill ripped in half. This might be a play on the saying "Another day, another dollar," implying "Today was only worth half a dollar." Another meaning could be, "I feel about a worthless as half of a dollar bill."

The last verse reiterates the loneliness that is part of the weariness the speaker feels. At last, he is so spent, this songwriter admits that he is out of words and apologizes for it: "I hate to abuse an old cliché."

The day has been exhausting, both physically and emotionally, and the best that can be said about it is that it is over.


IMPACT:
Not the most well-known song in Simon's catalog, he nevertheless sang it on his appearance on The Muppet Show, alongside his better-known hits like "Scarborough Fair," "50 Ways," and "El Condor Pasa." (Both the film and Muppet Show performances are on YouTube.)

Next Song: Soft Parachutes

Some Folks' Lives Roll Easy

In his Oscar-winning turn in As Good As It Gets, Jack Nicholson's character has this memorable line: "Some [people] have great stories, pretty stories that take place at lakes with boats and friends and noodle salad. Just no one in this car."

And no one in this song, either: "Some folks' lives roll easy... some folks' lives never roll at all." In the first verse and last, the speaker talks in general terms about people in general.

He uses the metaphor of motion. Easy lives are depicted with the effortless "roll," the relaxing "drifting," and the purposeful "heading."

Other lives "stumble" and "fall." Not necessarily in the sense of heartbreak, as in the Mamas and Papas' song "Trip, Stumble and Fall," but somehow.

"Most folks never catch their stars" changes the imagery a bit, and it is a vague line. You can "catch" something that is fleeing away from you, like a bus... or something that is thrown to you, like a ball. Stars are distant, so it could be the former, but they are also said to fall, like a pop fly in baseball. In the end, "most folks never catch" them either way, so it matters little whether they failed to fulfill an "impossible dream" or didn't open the door when opportunity knocked.

The chorus is repeated twice, and it is much more personal. It is a prayer, one of the few Simon recorded. It states the usual supplication of "I'm not worthy" found in many prayers: "I ain't got no business [being] here."

But then he uses that humility to his advantage. Rather than slink away in his unworthiness, he says, "Well, You said You would raise me when I was down... and now I am 'so low,' I'm 'busted' flat. I have 'stumbled', I have 'fallen,' and I can't get lower. So now, I that actually qualify for Your attention, I'd like some, please."

The song is about weariness, but it is not simply weary. It is world-weary. It is about being weary of being weary.

The rest of Nicholson's quote is: "But, a lot of people, that's their story. Good times, noodle salad. What makes it so hard is not that you had it bad, but that you're that pissed that so many others had it good."

This is less the sentiment in this song. There is no resentment for those whose lives do "roll easy." Since those who have empty star-catching mitts have them "through no fault of their own," the same might be said for the easy rollers-- they are not responsible for the ease of their lot, either.

There is a difference between envy and jealousy. I forget which is which, but one means "I wish I had a lake house with a boat and noodle-salad picnics, like you." And the other means "I wish I had your lake house and boats... and you had none."

Jack's character seems to feel the latter, our speaker the former. He does not begrudge others their lives of ease-- he does not even pray to share it, to roll easy. Right now, he'd settle for any kind of rolling at all, instead of the endless falling. While he notes the sadness of others, he is mainly concerned with his own.

This is proven through the general/specific switch noted earlier. After noting that some people are fortunate and some not, the speaker prays only for himself (in first person). He does not pray that of his friends-- the ones with "battered souls" and "shattered dreams" from "American Tune"-- all get boats.

His weariness has led him to become self-focused. Not out of ego-- quite the contrary-- out of humility born of humiliation. If he is going to get a prayer answered, he figures will likely be a small one, so it might as well be for himself.

Simon revisits the theme of weariness often, but this is one song entirely on the subject. Another is "Long Long Day" from the One Trick Pony soundtrack. Understandably, these are short songs-- who has the strength for a long one?

The version of this song on the In the Blue Light album has a much longer last verse. The original repeats the title, then contrasts that with, "Some folks' lives never roll at all/ They just fall/ Some folks' lives."

But in the remake/remix of the song, Simon adds quite a bit after repeating the title:
"Some folks' lives gaze out from a window to a wall
The sunlight written in a scrawl
The gift that God intended for us all
But some folks' lives"

This echoes one of Simon's very first published songs, "Bleeker Street," in which a fog prevents God from seeing the suffering of his flock. Here, the benighted person has the view only of a wall from his window, and sees not direct sunlight, but that which hits the wall. This reflected, refracted image of the "gift" makes God's "intended" message unintelligible. Their misfortune is compounded by the fact that the circumstances caused by misfortune itself makes their redemption impossible.

I just read an Angolan folktale about a slave who wanted to buy his freedom, only to have all of his side-job earnings confiscated by his master under the law that slaves-- being owned themselves-- can't legally own or earn anything. It is just this sort of Catch-22 Simon describes.

(In the folktale, the slave uses his master's greed against him, saying that he will split the side-job earnings with him. Eventually even half of his earnings are enough to buy his own freedom. Not that it relates to the song or its meaning-- I just wanted you to know the ending of the story.)

Musical Note:
One of the sax players on this track is David Sanborn, a highly regarded jazz musician who just (as of this writing) put out his 24th solo album. He also has racked up a long career backing popular musicians of nearly every stripe since the '60s.


Next Song: Have a Good Time