American Tune

Not meaning to be rude in the face such a lovely piece, but aside from the title, in what sense is this tune "American?" The melody is borrowed from Bach. And nothing American-- a grand old flag, amber waves of grain, or even a baseball-- appears until the end of the chorus.

Let us now, in the words of Simon's previous "America," "walk off to look for America" in this song.

The first two verses are almost identical to each other in content, although the first speaks of the self and the second of the other. Rather than repeat the first four lines of the first two verses, let us again quote the earlier song: "I'm lost/ I'm empty and I'm aching." The sentiment seems remarkably similar.

Then, the speaker's response was the knowledge that all those with him on the highway were fellow seekers, all equally trusting what was at the end of "The New Jersey Turnpike," i.e.: America itself.

Yet, our song seems to begin where the last left off. Now, he reports, he is "weary" from travel and not yet at his destination. "Still," he accepts his fate as expected, and even throws in a French phrase to show how "far away from home" he still feels. Verdict? "I'm all right."

But when the song shifts to the "shattered dreams" of others, he is not as accepting: "I wonder what went wrong." Things were going well and they seemed to be chugging right along... but then, why so much misery?

Perhaps the answer lies not in this world, he muses. He dreamed that, in an out-of-body experience, his soul "reassured" him. And then an entirely new dream began and he himself flew.

The Turnpike must end where the land ends. The Statue of Liberty is on an island. From his perspective of height, he realizes that the goal remains ever elusive, as the island drifts out "to sea."

Which, not to put a point on it, would be eastward. In the next line, what comes westward but an early wave of immigrants, much too early to even be welcomed by Lady Liberty's torch: "We come on a ship they call the Mayflower."

And... more! We don't need dreams to fly, we can fly into outer space on "a ship that sailed the Moon."

When you come to "look for America," you might try to find it in New York. Then, maybe at the place others came to find it-- the legendary Plymouth Rock. Then, the spot millions journeyed to: Ellis Island. Yet, even an island can drift.

You will never find America in a place, concludes the speaker. It might as well be on that lunar plot where the grand old flag stands. America is the answering of a question with a question.

At "the age's most uncertain hour"-- insert your historic milestone here-- we ask, "Well, now what can we do?" Run out of land? Build a boat. Run out of Earth? Fly to the Moon. We're there. Now what? Cyberspace. Next? String Theory.

This is the answer to the "broken" and "shattered" dreams and souls mentioned earlier. America was the answer to monarchy and communism... and everything in between and after. It can be the answer for a person, too. "You can't be forever blessed," by a Deity, but you can rely on yourself and be reassured by your soul.

America is not about finding. It's about seeking. As tautological as it seems, America is about "looking for America."

"Resting" along the journey, yes, as our speaker begs to do in the last line. But only because "tomorrow is another working day." Tomorrow, the quest begins anew.


IMPACT: The song reached #35 in the US. The Brits, evidently, did not find it resonant... perhaps this is more proof of it being an American tune.

After the actual Statue of Liberty itself underwent restoration for its 100th anniversary, there was an unveiling. Two songs were played at it: "The Star Spangled Banner" and "American Tune."

Many covers have been done from across the musical and political spectrum. One of the most lovely is that done by The Indigo Girls, who are somewhat heirs to S&G altogether. It was also covered by their contemporary singer-songwriter, Shawn Colvin, and by rocker AnnWilson (of Heart).

It is one of Simon's signature songs, even today, and has become part of the fabric of American culture. It would be interesting to see if it is included, today, in songbooks of American-themed choral works alongside "America the Beautiful" and "God Bless America." Interesting... but not surprising. (Surprising would be if Simon's naturalistic "America" made it.)

NOTE: The melody is... borrowed. As Wikipedia explains:
The tune is based on the melody of the hymn "O Sacred Head, Now Wounded" (German: "O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden," text by Paul Gerhardt). The common name for this hymn tune is "Passion Chorale."
The well-known hymn is itself a reworking of an earlier secular song, "Mein G'müt ist mir verwirret," composed by Hans Leo Hassler.

Next Song: Was a Sunny Day

One Man's Ceiling is Another Man's Floor

"I don't want to get involved." Not an uncommon reaction, seeing as how the cliche that seems to follow those who do get involved is, "No good deed goes unpunished."

Here, the speaker lives in an apartment building where there have been "some strange goings-on." Notably, some violence. The first evidence is an actual bloody nose, the result of which is some "clothes" stained with the same "purple" blood.

But what is the real problem, here-- how is the speaker affected? Is he concerned for the fate of the injured party? Does he want to see justice done to the assailant? Not really-- he just wants the "rules" to be adhered to... and someone to mop the blood that is "messing up the lobby floor."

He realizes that there are humans, and human emotion, involved-- "There's been some hard feelings here/ About some words that were said." But, ultimately, he just wants the fight stopped so that there is quiet, as he can hear through the "ceiling" and "floor."

As he said, this was not an isolated incident, but part of a pattern. The elevator operator either quit or was fired. Then there was more noise, a "racket," perhaps caused by an argument. And then a "fall," which possibly hurt someone. Again, he does not want to get involved, at least past the point of asking-- again-- for a little quiet, please.

"It's just apartment house sense/ It's like apartment rents." In what way? Consideration for one's neighbors comes with the territory, just like paying rent. Everyone must pay what they owe to the landlord. Likewise what they owe to their fellow tenants, which is some tranquility.

So much for what goes on inside the building. What happens outside is just as troubling: "There's an alley in the back of my building/ Where some people congregate in shame." Over what? Possibly some sort of gambling, like numbers or craps, which would keep people "congregating" there. A user would buy drugs and then leave, and a dealer would likely not want a crowd around. Prostitutes might congregate, but not in "shame"-- they tend to flaunt more than hide-- and their clients would pick them up and, again, leave.

The song then ends on a chilling note. Our speaker, who has assiduously kept himself apart from his building-mates, thinks he hears someone "call [his] name." He is known, even unto his identity.

He is involved. Simply by living there and trying to enforce the minimal standards of propriety. Now, someone wants to talk with him. Perhaps to borrow money, perhaps to teach him a lesson about meddling, which he has done to such a minimal degree. Even if he runs now, he has to go home at some point.

As distant as he tried to make himself from the "mess" of his fellow tenants' lives, he is involved. He is a member of the community, whether he likes it or not.

Compare this with another loner of Simon's who also lives in a communal dwelling-- the "Most Peculiar Man." He is completely uninvolved: "He lived all alone... within a house/ within himself." Yet, once he died, he was revealed to be part of a community despite his efforts at solitude. His neighbors had an opinion or two of him, and he had a brother, and now there is an obituary in the public newspaper.

Other of Simon's songs along this theme are "Richard Cory," about the ironic solitude of fame, and "I Am a Rock," about withdrawal from social contact after a harsh breakup. Even "Sound of Silence" is about a lost society of loners who ignore each other, and the most vulnerable among them, at their own peril.

Simon has been pegged "Mr. Alienation" for even addressing the issue of isolation, for even saying, "I am an island." This is unfair, because the conclusion he keeps reaching is that, as Donne wrote, "No man is an island."

Simon agrees that the other side of your floor is someone else's ceiling. There is no point to pretending you are not invloved, he insists. If you are human, you simply are.

Musical Note:
The descending, and low, piano notes that open the song were sampled by a British rap duo performing as Biss N Eso. Their track is called "Up Jumped the Boogie."

Simon included this track with a 1940's-esque jazz remix on his In the Blue Light album; it's the only song therein to which no changes were made to the lyrics, just the arrangement.



Next Song: American Tune

Something So Right

This is a love song of the "I can't believe how lucky I am that an angel like you is with a mess like me" variety.

In the first verse, the speaker explains he is a mess because he is frantic with a "fever"-ish panic, and she douses that with "cool water." In case that isn't clear, he repeats that he was "in a crazy motion" and that she "calmed [him] down."

In the second verse, the speaker is a mess because he is emotionally closed off. While the speaker of "I Am a Rock" says: "I build walls deep and mighty/ That none may penetrate," that seems small next to the wall this speaker builds, which is "a thousand miles long" (the Great Wall of China is about 4,000 miles long, incidentally). Yet, she was able overcome these formidable defenses and "to get next to" him.

In the bridge, he talks about how "some people" can't bring themselves to say "I love you," let "long" to "be told" exactly that. Hmmm, who might one of those hypothetical "people" be? This is yet another way he is a mess.

The chorus adds a fourth: "When something goes wrong/ I'm the first to admit it." This certainly means he is willing to admit that something is awry or amiss. But while it doesn't say he also accepts responsibility for the problem, it sort of implies that he does.

Meanwhile, "When something goes right," he is so pessimistic that he he can't believe or accept that it did happen: "It's apt to confuse me/It's such an unusual sight."

He is so used to things going wrong, he "can't get used to something so right." He is so accustomed to disappointment that he can't acknowledge that something good has happened to him, and he can't trust that it will last.

So here we have an anxious, introverted, undemonstrative person with a tendency toward doubt... and self-doubt. No one can say this person is not self-aware-- even a bit self-critical.

Yet, this amazing woman felt he was still worth it, and stuck with him until he was able to trust and appreciate her. With this song, he thanks her and expresses his astonishment that she is with him at all, let alone still with him.

This song is the inverse of a song like "My Funny Valentine," in which the woman says what's wrong with the man, yet she still loves him. This might be his response, in which he says, "Me? You want me? My mouth is a little weak and my figure is less than Greek! You... sure? Wow! That's great!"

Musical note: A previous incarnation of this song is called "Let Me Live in Your City." The verses are the same, but the choruses, which have the same melody of the final version, have these lyrics:

"Let me live in your city
The river’s so pretty, the air is so fine
Let me room where I can lay over
I’m just a traveler eating up travelin’ time
I’m just a traveler eating up
My travelin’ time."

IMPACT: The song went to #7 on the UK charts. It is very popular among female singers. British songstress Annie Lennox covered it on her Medusa album. It was also covered by songbirds Barbra Streisand, Simon collaborator Phoebe Snow, and country singer Trisha Yearwood. Someone tell Adele.

Next Song: One Man's Ceiling is Another Man's Floor

Take Me to the Mardi Gras

This song is so light and slight it is barely there. It recalls, even more than "Feelin' Groovy," its close cousin "Cloudy."

Later, on Graceland, Simon will do a more sterotypically New Orleans zydeco number, "That Was Your Mother."

But, until its closing jam by the Onward Brass Band-- which itself sounds more like New Orleans funeral-procession music than the Caribbean sounds associated with Mardi Gras-- this song is barely the kind of music one associates with New Orleans altogether.

It is not the tumbling piano of Professor Longhair, nor the zydeco shuffle of Clifton Chenier, nor the gospel-inflected harmonies of the Neville Brothers. And it certainly doesn't have the sparkle and throb of a Mardi Gras Carnival parade.

Instead, it is a gossamer breeze, a tall glass of cool iced tea, and a hammock on a beach. It is about escaping to a place of music (the whole first verse) and warmth, both physical-- "You can wear your summer clothes"-- and emotional-- "You can mingle in the street." It almost seems to be more about Aruba or Provence than raucous, randy New Orleans.

The lyrics are very simple, aside from the word "elite"... and the line "legalize your lows." Elsewhere, it seems, one's mad and sad moods are almost illegal, and people are obliged to put up a false front of cheerful professionalism/romance constantly. Here, however, one's "lows" can be hung out to dry openly, having been "washed" by the "music" and bleached clean by the sunshine.

Another interesting turn of phrase is "in the New Orleans," as if it were more a situation than a place, like "in the water" or "in the meantime."

Mardi Gras is a party, but it has religious origins. It is a last hurrah before the self-denial of Lent, which in some traditions includes fasting and confession.

At this point in the song, a gospel-like chorus is sung by the Reverend Claude Jeter, a member of the famous Swan Silvertones gospel ensemble-- and also of the Dixie Hummingbirds, who appear twice on this album ("Loves Me Like a Rock" and the "Tenderness").

"I will lay my burden down," he sings. This refers to one's sins and regrets. Once one's sins are confessed, the belief has it, and repented for-- once one's "lows" are "legalized" for open discussion-- the burden is forever dropped.

Many speak of confession as "getting something off my chest"; and after confession, they describe having "a weight off my shoulders." There is a sense of relief, of "resting [one's] head."

What of the "starry crown"? This is a halo-- the opposite of Jesus' "crown of thorns." The wording is taken from the gospel song "Golden Slippers" about what one will wear in Heaven. It may also be a reference to the shiny, sparkly headdresses worn by Mardi Gras parade participants. If so, it connects the fancy-free feeling of a reveler with the burden-free relief of one who has confessed. Not just compares-- connects. The revelers can achieve a state of bliss the penitent also seeks.

What happens when he is so coronated? "I won't be wanting anymore." This is an interesting idea to find in this context, as it seems more Buddhist than Christian, as the Buddhist ideal is to be free from desire and "want," which induce suffering.

It seems that having "burdens" paradoxically means having "wants." This is counter-intuitive. Maybe burdens are a bad thing, but they are not nothing. If one has possessions, how can one have wants? Ah, but that is the point. It is burdensome to desire. Once one wants nothings and one needs nothing, one is free of the burden of desire itself.

The song concludes wthe the advice that the listeners, too, "take [their] burdens to the Mardi Gras" and let the experience "wash [their] soul[s]." This is the second allusion in the song to water, the first being "the shore," where one rests one's head, presumably after a baptism.

The last line refers to Jelly Roll Morton, a New-Orleans born musician who claims-- with some validity, it seems-- to have "invented jazz." At the very least, he was the first to publish a jazz composition.

The madness of Mardi Gras, which has turned into a combination of Spring Break the size of a downtown and a Las Vegas showstopper on wheels, masks its origins as a last "blowing off steam" season before the somber sobriety of Lent.

Simon recaptures its original meaning as a way to relieve oneself of emotional "burdens," through the cleaning power of song: "Let the music wash your soul." This is why the song is so relaxed and relaxing. It's about finally being able to relax.

Lastly, what does "toomba" mean? Is it just a nonsense, sung syllable, like "tra-la-la" or "sh'boom, sh'boom"? Possibly. But to a Jewish listener, it could call to mind the folksong "Tum Balalaika." A "balalaika" is a Russian lute with a triangular body." The chorus to this waltz-time song goes:

"Tum bala-, tum bala-, tum balalaika
Tum bala-, tum bala-, tum balalaika
Tum balalaika/ Shpiel balalaika
Tum balalaika/ Freilach zol zein"

Which means: "Strum the blalaika, play the balalaika, be festive" (a balalaika is a large lute with a triangular body). The verses form a riddle song, along the lines of "I Gave My Love a Cherry." (I personally think the song also influenced "Chim-Chimeny" from Mary Poppins.) In any case, the chorus does capture the same relaxed ethos "Take Me to the Mardi Gras."

One last note-- this song was recorded at the famous Muscle Shoals studio in Alabama. I urge you to look it up and read a bit about it. It deserves equal recognition with better-known studios like Sun and Motown. There is now a documentary about the studio.

The song has been covered by several acts.


Next Song: Something So Right

Tenderness

"Response songs" are songs that respond to others' hits. Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Sweet Home Alabama" is a response, for example, to Neil Young's "Southern Man" (read the lyrics to both-- Young's first-- and see). The response, interestingly, was a much bigger hit.

Liz Phair's CD Exile in Guyville is a song-by-song response to The Rolling Stones' album Exile on Main Street. There are even band who give themselves response names, like The Celibate Rifles... a response to The Sex Pistols.

So my theory is that Billy Joel's "Honesty" is a response to Paul Simon's "Tenderness." Consider:

Simon writes, in a song released in 1975:
"You say you care for me
But there's no tenderness
Beneath your honesty"

Billy Joel, in a 1978 song, seems to respond:
"If you search for tenderness [emphasis mine]
it isn't hard to find...
Honesty [emphasis mine] is hardly ever heard.
And mostly what I need from you."

Even if Joel did not have Simon's song in mind, it is very interesting to compare the two. Simon wants honesty, yes, but doesn't want it bluntly. Joel, meanwhile, asks his listener to spare the "tenderness" and just give it to him straight.

Interestingly, Simon wrote about a Boxer-- while, before his musical career-- Joel was a boxer. I'm not a psychologist, but I think if you can take a shot to the face, you're the kind of person who prefers directness.

Joel goes so far as to associate pulling one's verbal punches with dishonesty: "I don't want some pretty face to tell me pretty lies." But Simon pre-empts this argument-- that "tenderness" is somehow inherently dishonest-- with the line: "You don't have to lie to me/ Just give me some tenderness beneath your honesty."

Another point Simon makes is that arguing is not necessarily, well, necessary. "Right and wrong/ Never helped us get along," he states, explaining that you can "agree to disagree," as the sayings go, and even "disagree without being disagreeable." What if both are right?

There is an old Jewish joke: A rabbi is acting as marriage counselor and agrees to see a couple, but one at a time. The wife carries on about the husband, and the rabbi nods, over and over: "You're right! Of course, you're right." In his session, the rabbi tells the husband: "Yes, you're right. What can I say-- you're right!" After they leave, the rabbi's assistant, who heard it all, asks: "Not to be rude, Rabbi, but how can they both be right?" To which the rabbi responds: "You know what-- you're right!"

Simon adds, in his song: "You say you care for me/ But there's no tenderness." The listener is not very caring in the way she (or he) shows caring.

Simon also does something that Joel does not, which is hold forth an olive branch: "You and me could make amends/ I'm not worried." In this, one wonders if "Tenderness" is not, perhaps, itself a response to The Beatles' "We Can Work It Out," which doesn't get at the way the discussion happens, just asks that it might to begin with.

"Honesty/ It's such a waste of energy," concludes Simon. If he is supposed to change because of the criticism being leveled at him, well, a barrage is not going to do anything but make him buttress his defensive fortress. He is trying to help the other person help him; "If you say it nicely, I will be much more receptive and likely to alter the behavior of mine you find problematic."

Aesop's fables includes the one in which the Wind and Sun wager as to which could make a traveler remove his coat more quickly. The Wind's attempts to blow off the coat only result in the man pulling his coat tighter. The Sun's warming rays, however, soon coax the man to remove the coat himself.

In other words, you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. So try some honey, Honey.


Musical Note: This song features wordless, doo-wop backup vocals by the gospel group The Dixie Hummingbirds. If they sound familiar, it is because in the last track of this album, they show up again on "Love Me Like a Rock."

On his last line, Simon briefly leaves off the smooth vocal style that he has carried throughout the song to soar into a gospel mode, a nod to the group's preferred style.


Next Song: Take Me to the Mardi Gras

Kodachrome

This is a sardonic song about the dual nature of nostalgia.

We tend, as a species, to look at at the days of our youth through rose-colored glasses. We speak lovingly of "back in the day" as "the good ol' days," singing: "Those were the days." As other songwriters said, "It's the laughter we will remember/ whenever we remember/ the way we were."

Other songwriters... not Mr. Simon.

When our speaker remembers "high school," he remembers it as an empty experience. What he did learn was "crap," and the method of thinking that was encouraged was so poor that today, "It's a wonder [he] can think at all."

The lousy grammar of the next two lines proves his point. He says, "didn't hurt me none," which is not only a double negative but has an extra word. What he should have said was "My lack of education didn't hurt me." But adding the extra/wrong word to a sentence about how he was not hurt by his lack of education, Simon cracks a joke; obviously, he was hurt in that regard. It would be akin to saying: "I'm not as dumb as you think I are."

The next line is even more convoluted, its content being: Even though he wasn't hurt by his lack of education, he still can read. Come again? Of course, if his lack of education didn't hurt him, he can read. If his lack of education had hurt him, then he couldn't read. Well, like he said, "It's a wonder [he] can think at all."

And what can he read? "The writing on the wall." This could be a reference to "Sound of Silence," with its line: "The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls." Or to "Underground Wall," where we learned what that word of "four letters" was likely to be. However, I think we should just take the line at face value for its common, cliched meaning: "Even though I was poorly educated, I can tell what's going to happen." (The original "writing on the wall" was done in the biblical Book of Daniel.)

In the next verse, we see another snub of nostalgia. First, think of a song like the Willie Nelson/ Julio Iglesias duet "To All the Girls I've Loved Before." Now read our lyrics here.

All the girls this guy has loved before can "never match [his] sweet imagination." If he really got to see them again, now, he knows he would remember not the great times they shared... but the reasons they broke up.

So what is better than memory? Photographs. With their "nice, bright colors" they "make you think all the world's a sunny day."

He knows that he is so realistic that if he relied only on his memories, he'd only have bad ones.

So there are two possible reasons why he "love[s] to take a photograph." One may be that the photographs help him remember that good things have also happened to him, and that his life was not all years wasted in high school and disappointing relationships.

The other is that, in the words of a current pop hit, he "loves the way [they] lie." He knows that the photos are only the best images of the best times, that they are selectively happy. No one takes a camera to school or work-- they take one to amusement parks and parties. But he wants-- and needs-- that lie.

He asks us not to "take [his] Kodachrome away" because without their comforting lies, the way they make all the world "bright" and "sunny," life is disappointing, dull, and gray. And "everything looks worse in black and white." (Interestingly, the concert version of the lyrics says they look "better" this way.)

There is a lot of literature about the necessity of a comforting lie, perhaps none as pointed as Ibsen's play The Wild Duck. In order to appease an elderly relative who, in his dementia, thinks he is on a perpetual duck hunt, the family hides a wooden decoy in their apartment every day so that he can find it. This is the obvious lie.

The man of the house, meanwhile, is working on some sort of invention that will never work. While this seems more respectable than looking for a toy duck every day, it is ultimately as futile a pursuit. Again, the family humors one of its members, as it makes him happy.

And then the man's friends secretly debate as to whether to reveal to the man that his doting daughter in not, in fact, his biological child. One friend says the truth has the highest value; the other says no-- his relationship with his daughter is. The truth would destroy his marriage as well.

When our speaker "think[s] back on high school, he knows it was "crap." When he thinks back on his past girlfriends, he knows now he could have done better.

But he "love[s] to take a photograph," so please, don't take his film away. He has to take pictures of what's going on now, so he can (mis)remember it later.

(It would be interesting to do a side-by-side comparison of this song to the short "Bookends Theme," also about the relationship between "photograph[s]" and "memories.")


NOTE:
Kodak has bowed to the digital-photography revolution and, in spring of 2009, announced it would no longer manufacture the Kodachrome line of film. The film stock itself is now... nostalgia.


IMPACT:
The song was a significant hit, going to #2 in the US and #1 in Canada.

But it was not released as a radio single in the UK due to the British broadcasters' unwillingness to air any song with a brand name in it.

It was covered by soul singer Percy Faith, best known for "When a Man Loves a Woman." And also by Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem... from The Muppet Show.

Next Song: Tenderness

Congratulations

Divorce rates in the US spiked in the early 1970s. Simon would divorce his first wife, Peggy Harper, in 1975, three years after this album came out.

But in 1972, when it was released, they were still married, so this song about divorce is not about Simon's own. It sounds like it is about a friend's-- and not this friend's first, either: "...seems like you've done it again."

So the initial "congratulations" on the divorce is for the friend's sake. As for the speaker, he "ain't had such misery" in a while. While he is happy for his friend, he is upset that "so many people" are getting divorced, "waiting in the lines/ In the courtroom today."

At first, he takes his serially divorced friend to task for not taking marriage seriously enough: "Love is not a game," he scolds, or a "toy."

Then suddenly, he softens, realizing, "Love's no romance." We are to be forgiven for thinking that love, perhaps, was a plaything. After all, aren't we told it's a romance from the time we listen to fairy tales to the time we can see rated-R romantic comedies and buy $6.00 Valentine's Day cards?

No, it's not like that at all: "Love will do you in... you won't stand a chance." In the space of a chorus, the speaker goes from yelling at his friend to sympathizing with him.

Then the music crescendos, and the speaker wails, gospel-style-- this is a prayer now, and an earnest one-- that he really wants to know the answer.

And the question: "Can a man and a woman/ Live together in peace?" If all of his friends' marriages-- sparked by either the stability of the 1950s or the idealism of the 1960s-- can fail, what chance do any marriages have?

Can two such divergent genders (whom we will later learn even hail from different planets, Mars and Venus) ever be able to communicate? Form lasting, meaningful relationships? Even "live together in peace" without going to war?

Simon himself will marry and divorce... and marry again, this last time in 1992.

Maybe he finally found the answer. Maybe the answer to "Can a man and a woman live together in peace?" is-- "Which ones?"


Next song: Kodachrome