In this song, Simon revisits the down-and-out character type portrayed in "The Boxer" and sets his story to the Andean wood-flute music of "El Condor Pasa." The same ensemble, in fact.
However, this song is about, well, sex. It starts with the singer apologizing for the "couple in the next room" who have been "going at it" for a while. Now, he has given up waiting for them to finish and will proceed with his story, and the listener is just going to have to put up with the background noise.
He has an unusual name. Both his given name, "Lincoln," and his surname "Duncan," are those of famous assassination victims. Lincoln, of course, was assassinated by the fanatic John Wilkes Booth... and King Duncan by the treacherous Macbeth. Our speaker's name, therefore, is steeped in tragic death.
He is from Canada, he explains, from the Atlantic coastal region called the Maritimes. His father was a fisherman... and his mother, a "fisherman's friend." It is unclear what this means. A "fisherman's friend" is a flower, although I was unable determine why a land-based plant would help a fisherman. (It is also, incidentally, the brand name of a throat lozenge, presumably one that fishermen prefer. Perhaps the lozenge contains an extract of the flower..?)
Taken in the context of the song, however, it seems to either mean that his mother was very supportive of his father's sea-going, often-absent lifestyle... or that she kept other fishermen company while he was at sea. Possibly, she played at one while acting out the other.
None of this seems to have affected our speaker, however, who left home for New England fleeing simple "boredom." His destination is vague, but hopeful, if only in that he seeks a place whose name has "New" in it.
Like his compatriot the Boxer, who went "looking for a job but [got] no offers," Duncan is broke. We get an entire verse about this "destitution" and its affect on his sense of self. There are "holes" in both his jeans and his "confidence."
And then he sees her. We do not learn the name of the "young girl," but that seems beside the point. She is less a person than a symbol. She is "young," parallel to the "New" in his chosen place. She is a "girl," and fertile. This is key; it might just as well have been an older person, or a man, preaching.
He hears her songs and stories and is enchanted. After her sermon, he approaches her and tells her he is "lost." So she speaks-- this time, not to a "crowd" but directly to him-- of the Pentecost. This is the revelation of the Holy Spirit to Jesus' core disciples after the Resurrection (50 days after, to be precise, thus the "pent-" prefix, as in "pentagon").
The Pentecost was taken as proof of Jesus' approval of the Apostles' mission; it is sometimes referred to as "the birthday of the Church." A startling contrast for a young man named for two historical figures who were, like Jesus, assassinated.
The result? "I seen that girl as the road to my survival." This last word Simon sings with several extra syllables, to emphasize the feeling of relief and ecstasy Duncan feels, or maybe a song sung at the prayer service.
This is followed by a curious lyric: "I know," repeated several times. It is as if Duncan is reacting to the reader's skepticism and concern. "I know what you are thinking," Duncan seems to say, "but please, let me finish."
Spellbound, he finds her tent in the dark, with is flashlight. He must see her again.
But what happens when he arrives at the tent of this pure, holy maiden who "just" earlier that day was so religious? What does she do? Read another passage of Scripture? Sing a hymn? Well, no. She takes him to the "woods," a primal place.
There, as Duncan puts it, "My long years of innocence ended." Why "long" years? At his age, his losing his virginity even in his late teens (he can drive; he speaks of himself as having "reached [his] prime," so we presume he was 17 or 18) must have felt like he had waited an eternity.
Duncan remembers that the girl took charge, once he approached her. She takes him to the woods, she is the one who speaks during the encounter. For his part, he was decidedly subservient and simply grateful: "Just like a dog, I was befriended."
Still, Duncan recalls the event as an entirely positive one and remarks, "What a garden of delight," perhaps referring to the Garden of Eden.
In the afterglow, he offers a prayer of his own: "I was playing my guitar... thanking the Lord for my fingers." His prayer relates to a physical part of himself, but also to what music his body can achieve, both with his guitar and... otherwise.
This is not the last time Simon links religious ecstasy with the more physical kind. In the Graceland song "That Was Your Mother," we meet another "young girl" who is "pretty as a prayerbook." His reaction? "If that's my prayerbook-- 'Lord, let us pray!'"
Here, Simon's point is somewhat more serious. Duncan has learned a lesson about sex and its power of transcendence. Now we can understand today's more mature Duncan, the one who tells us his "first time" story, and his withering assessment of the "couple in the next room." They seem to be after some earthly "prize" and are confusing quantity with quality.
As for his mother, well, he seems to have made his peace with her activities. She was just keeping company with "friends," after a fashion, lonely for his absentee father.
Duncan himself seems to see spiritual and physical transcendence as two sides of the same coin. The same person who taught him the ways of Heaven also taught him the ways of the world. She didn't have a problem with being overtly rapturous about both the Bible and the bed, so why should he? Why is one sort of revelation worth more than the other?
When he saw her as "the road to [his] survival," he had no idea how right he would prove to be.
Still, he concludes with another round of "I know, I know, I know." He knows that this is all, to a point, theory, and not always viable in practice. He knows that this girl is one in a million, perhaps rarer. He knows that she might well have been delusional herself... or even predatory. And he knows that he might well be fooling himself, and that his listener probably thinks that he is.
"I know I shouldn't believe," he seems to say, "but it is so nice to... and really, what's the harm?
Musical Note: The flutes here are played by an ensemble called Urubamba, after a river near Machu Picchu; Simon produced an album for them. Under their early name, Los Incas, they performed the flutes heard in "El Condor Pasa."
Next song: Everything Put Together Falls Apart
Monday, November 15, 2010
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Mother and Child Reunion
In 1989, Lita Ford and Ozzy Osbourne caught a lot of flak for their duet "Close My Eyes Forever," which many claimed encouraged suicide, especially in impressionable teens.
Meanwhile, Paul Simon started his post-breakup solo career (or at least the first song on the first album) with a song on the same topic, with nary a murmur from the sensationalist media or distraught parents. It was his-- at least-- fourth song on the subject, the first three being "Save the Life of My Child," "A Most Peculiar Man," and "Richard Cory."
In the case of "Mother and Child Reunion," the issue is a bit more disguised than in those earlier tracks. Part of the reason the message of the song went largely unnoticed is the ebullient music, lit up with African-reggae guitars, organs, drums, and descants.
The title comes from a Chinese menu, the dish including both chicken and eggs-- thus, the mother hen reuniting with her offspring in a rather sad way, for them at least. (Interestingly, another Chinese restaurant meal is mentioned later on the album, in the song "Paranoia Blues.")
As for the substance of the song, I need to thank my commenters for apprising me of the source for the impetus for this song; Simon was moved, he said in interviews, to write about death (this time) due to the death of his dog.
But how is the song about suicide?
The speaker refers to the listener as "Little darling of mine," so we must presume some familiarity between the two parties. Also, the listener seems to be at least a generation younger, given that form of address.
The speaker addresses the listener, first saying they would not offer "false hope," which implies he or she does intend to propose a real sense of hope... by means of a practical solution to the despair at hand.
The speaker begins by laying out the problem: "I can't for the life of me/ remember a sadder day." What could be sadder than the loss of one's mother (well, the loss of one's child, perhaps. But one does not truly compare on such occasions)? The conversation seems to be taking place at the funeral, or perhaps during the mourning after.
The song then alludes to the Beatles' song "Let It Be," released two years prior: "I know they say 'let it be.'" In that song, The Virgin Mary, referred to repeatedly as "mother," returns from Heaven to offer solace [Again, commenters have noted that "Mary" was McCartney's late mother's name]. Simon, or at least his speaker, disagrees: "...but it just don't work out that way." Mothers don't come back from Heaven...
...You have to go up to them. Which is not that difficult of a trip, it seems: "the mother and child reunion is only a motion away." Remember the recipe for that dish? The two are reunited... in death. With one swift swipe of a knife, or the twitch of a finger on a trigger, or a short jump off a bridge, the reunion can be completed. It's not much effort-- "only a motion"-- or much time-- "only a moment."
Simon then seems to allude to a song on his own. Here, he says, "I've never been laid so low." On the immediate previous album, he uses the same word, "lay," but in the active voice, to indicate that he will do anything to provide comfort for his listener: "Like a bridge over troubled water/ I will lay me down."
Why the difference? In "Bridge," the message to the sufferer is, "I know you are weak, but I am strong, and you can depend on me for support." Here, the speaker is just as affected and miserable as the person he is trying to console: "I can't... remember a sadder day... I've never been laid so low." So of course his advice is going to be different.
While "Let It Be" is quite religious, our song only obliquely refers to religion, in the line: "In such a mysterious way." That phrasing sounds familiar because it borrows from the expression "The Lord moves in mysterious ways." While the Beatles profess a benevolent deity who "comes to me, speaking words of wisdom," Simon quotes a hymn, to cast a sideways glance at an inscrutable God whose intentions are unknowable.
There also seems to be a reference to reincarnation. (Note that "resurrection" is coming back from the dead as oneself, while "reincarnation" implies that one returns in another guise.) "The course of a lifetime runs/over and over again" may mean that, since we come back anyway, what's the difference if this particular life ends?
Yet, he must believe in an afterlife of some sort, if he is espousing the idea that, once the child kills himself, he will have his "reunion" with his mother. Well, maybe there is a Heaven, but since we can't rely on God-- especially not a God Who goes about killing mothers-- we must take matters into our own hands.
Finally, who is the speaker? If a mother has died, we cannot imagine that a father would tell his son: "Listen, seriously, if you miss your mother that much, why not join her? Here's some pills." First of all-- from a sheer biological standpoint-- if the child dies, too, his genes will die out entirely. More humanely, what father would wish death on his own child? He's all he has left of the mother, and why would he (the father) want to be be entirely alone?
So whoever is saying "Little darling of mine" is not, in all likelihood, a relative. Rather, it seems an elderly acquaintance, perhaps someone who has been to one too many funerals, who can't bear to see the child suffer and miss his mother so.
Still, if this person is going to offer advice like this, one has to question the father's judgement in inviting such a one to the funeral! If he doesn't believe in religious faith being able to offer true comfort, why doesn't this "well-meaning" person tell the grieving child that he, himself, will be the bridge over his troubled water?
That seems a much more decent option than shrugging: "If you're that miserable, why not just kill yourself?"
IMPACT:
The song went to #5 in the UK and #4 in the US.
By beginning his solo career with such a song, Simon seems to be declaring his desire to explore the world's music much more enthusiastically and regularly going forward. The album has several musical textures, many borrowed from other cultures, as we shall see.
The song was covered by Randy California... and a band with one of my favorite names: Me First and the Gimme Gimmes.
Next song: Duncan
Meanwhile, Paul Simon started his post-breakup solo career (or at least the first song on the first album) with a song on the same topic, with nary a murmur from the sensationalist media or distraught parents. It was his-- at least-- fourth song on the subject, the first three being "Save the Life of My Child," "A Most Peculiar Man," and "Richard Cory."
In the case of "Mother and Child Reunion," the issue is a bit more disguised than in those earlier tracks. Part of the reason the message of the song went largely unnoticed is the ebullient music, lit up with African-reggae guitars, organs, drums, and descants.
The title comes from a Chinese menu, the dish including both chicken and eggs-- thus, the mother hen reuniting with her offspring in a rather sad way, for them at least. (Interestingly, another Chinese restaurant meal is mentioned later on the album, in the song "Paranoia Blues.")
As for the substance of the song, I need to thank my commenters for apprising me of the source for the impetus for this song; Simon was moved, he said in interviews, to write about death (this time) due to the death of his dog.
But how is the song about suicide?
The speaker refers to the listener as "Little darling of mine," so we must presume some familiarity between the two parties. Also, the listener seems to be at least a generation younger, given that form of address.
The speaker addresses the listener, first saying they would not offer "false hope," which implies he or she does intend to propose a real sense of hope... by means of a practical solution to the despair at hand.
The speaker begins by laying out the problem: "I can't for the life of me/ remember a sadder day." What could be sadder than the loss of one's mother (well, the loss of one's child, perhaps. But one does not truly compare on such occasions)? The conversation seems to be taking place at the funeral, or perhaps during the mourning after.
The song then alludes to the Beatles' song "Let It Be," released two years prior: "I know they say 'let it be.'" In that song, The Virgin Mary, referred to repeatedly as "mother," returns from Heaven to offer solace [Again, commenters have noted that "Mary" was McCartney's late mother's name]. Simon, or at least his speaker, disagrees: "...but it just don't work out that way." Mothers don't come back from Heaven...
...You have to go up to them. Which is not that difficult of a trip, it seems: "the mother and child reunion is only a motion away." Remember the recipe for that dish? The two are reunited... in death. With one swift swipe of a knife, or the twitch of a finger on a trigger, or a short jump off a bridge, the reunion can be completed. It's not much effort-- "only a motion"-- or much time-- "only a moment."
Simon then seems to allude to a song on his own. Here, he says, "I've never been laid so low." On the immediate previous album, he uses the same word, "lay," but in the active voice, to indicate that he will do anything to provide comfort for his listener: "Like a bridge over troubled water/ I will lay me down."
Why the difference? In "Bridge," the message to the sufferer is, "I know you are weak, but I am strong, and you can depend on me for support." Here, the speaker is just as affected and miserable as the person he is trying to console: "I can't... remember a sadder day... I've never been laid so low." So of course his advice is going to be different.
While "Let It Be" is quite religious, our song only obliquely refers to religion, in the line: "In such a mysterious way." That phrasing sounds familiar because it borrows from the expression "The Lord moves in mysterious ways." While the Beatles profess a benevolent deity who "comes to me, speaking words of wisdom," Simon quotes a hymn, to cast a sideways glance at an inscrutable God whose intentions are unknowable.
There also seems to be a reference to reincarnation. (Note that "resurrection" is coming back from the dead as oneself, while "reincarnation" implies that one returns in another guise.) "The course of a lifetime runs/over and over again" may mean that, since we come back anyway, what's the difference if this particular life ends?
Yet, he must believe in an afterlife of some sort, if he is espousing the idea that, once the child kills himself, he will have his "reunion" with his mother. Well, maybe there is a Heaven, but since we can't rely on God-- especially not a God Who goes about killing mothers-- we must take matters into our own hands.
Finally, who is the speaker? If a mother has died, we cannot imagine that a father would tell his son: "Listen, seriously, if you miss your mother that much, why not join her? Here's some pills." First of all-- from a sheer biological standpoint-- if the child dies, too, his genes will die out entirely. More humanely, what father would wish death on his own child? He's all he has left of the mother, and why would he (the father) want to be be entirely alone?
So whoever is saying "Little darling of mine" is not, in all likelihood, a relative. Rather, it seems an elderly acquaintance, perhaps someone who has been to one too many funerals, who can't bear to see the child suffer and miss his mother so.
Still, if this person is going to offer advice like this, one has to question the father's judgement in inviting such a one to the funeral! If he doesn't believe in religious faith being able to offer true comfort, why doesn't this "well-meaning" person tell the grieving child that he, himself, will be the bridge over his troubled water?
That seems a much more decent option than shrugging: "If you're that miserable, why not just kill yourself?"
IMPACT:
The song went to #5 in the UK and #4 in the US.
By beginning his solo career with such a song, Simon seems to be declaring his desire to explore the world's music much more enthusiastically and regularly going forward. The album has several musical textures, many borrowed from other cultures, as we shall see.
The song was covered by Randy California... and a band with one of my favorite names: Me First and the Gimme Gimmes.
Next song: Duncan
Monday, November 1, 2010
My Little Town
This is an odd choice for a reunion song. It is a sad and hurt song, full of anger and frustration.
The song does not seem to be autobiographical; are there "factories" in Queens? Rather, it seems to be a song about growing up feeling pent-up in, perhaps, a steel town; compare the song to Billy Joel's "Allentown" or Springsteen's "Youngstown." The images of factories and guns are later combined in John Gorka's number "The One That Got Away: "I grew up beneath the trees/ Not far from the refineries/ Aimed at the sky like smoking guns/ I learned to walk; I learned to run away."
Gorka, a folksinger-songwriter, is the laureate of leaving. He has over a dozen songs in his catalog on the subject, with titles like "The Gypsy Life," "Out of the Valley," and "You're On Your Way." But even he would be hard-pressed to come up with a leaving song as completely bitter as "My Little Town."
The song's anger is all the more shocking when one realizes that the subject is a child. The song's events and impressions are related by an adult remembering the claustrophobia-- both physical and emotional-- of his "little" town. The adjective is key-- the town is not just small, but small-minded.
The song begins with an unwanted prayer at school. "God" watches "us all," but he is especially oppressive to the speaker: "He used to lean upon me."
Then there is, of course, the Pledge of Allegiance. Only instead of pledging to a flag, the speaker pledges to "the wall." Perhaps his desk is by a wall, so he can't even see the flag clearly from his seat; he might as well be pledging his allegiance to that hard, blank surface. Or perhaps the school itself is a "wall," as in the Pink Floyd image of education: "Teacher, leave those kids alone/ All in all, you're just another brick in the wall."
The next images are of grim dinginess. There are the "factories" spewing the pollution that makes for a "dirty breeze" to hang clean "laundry" in. There is the black rainbow. The pall of grayness spewed by the smokestacks captures the "lack" of "imagination" the speaker feels in his surroundings, discoloring even a rainbow.
(The image of an all-black rainbow, Simon reveals in the Still Crazy liner notes, is Ted Hughes': "a black rainbow/ bent in emptiness.")
Only on his ride home does he engage in metaphor, as he "flies" his bike home. Only alone, in between the school and home, is there freedom. Yes, there is the omnipresent factory. But at school, he pledges allegiance to a wall, while on the ride home, he "flies" past restrictive "gates."
And what is waiting at home? A mother doing laundry, and a father who-- like everyone else in town-- defines the speaker in his terms, and his generation's: "I never meant nothin'/ I was just my father's son."
But then alone again, perhaps in his bedroom, he "dream[s] of glory." And he doesn't just dream, he plans, by "saving [his] money."
All the while, he is as ready to explode as a "gun," waiting until he is 18, or perhaps just old enough to drive, to leave. On his stereo, he might even have the (also 1975) LP of "Born to Run," with the rallying cry in its title track: "Baby, this town rips the bones from your back... We gotta get out while we're young."
Now an adult, he has no nostalgia for the place whatsoever. He regards those he left behind as "dead and dying." We imagine he means the latter term not literally (although, with that pollution...), but in the same way Bob Dylan did in his observation: "He not busy being born is busy dying."
Considering the negative emotion that caused the breakup and then followed it, this song would be a strange reunion song for any other duo... but perhaps not this one.
IMPACT: Simon included the track on his Still Crazy After All These Years album, which would go on to win a Grammy, and Garfunkel placed it on his album Breakaway. Both albums came out in 1975. The song went to #9 and the do performed it on Saturday Night Live.
The song does not seem to be autobiographical; are there "factories" in Queens? Rather, it seems to be a song about growing up feeling pent-up in, perhaps, a steel town; compare the song to Billy Joel's "Allentown" or Springsteen's "Youngstown." The images of factories and guns are later combined in John Gorka's number "The One That Got Away: "I grew up beneath the trees/ Not far from the refineries/ Aimed at the sky like smoking guns/ I learned to walk; I learned to run away."
Gorka, a folksinger-songwriter, is the laureate of leaving. He has over a dozen songs in his catalog on the subject, with titles like "The Gypsy Life," "Out of the Valley," and "You're On Your Way." But even he would be hard-pressed to come up with a leaving song as completely bitter as "My Little Town."
The song's anger is all the more shocking when one realizes that the subject is a child. The song's events and impressions are related by an adult remembering the claustrophobia-- both physical and emotional-- of his "little" town. The adjective is key-- the town is not just small, but small-minded.
The song begins with an unwanted prayer at school. "God" watches "us all," but he is especially oppressive to the speaker: "He used to lean upon me."
Then there is, of course, the Pledge of Allegiance. Only instead of pledging to a flag, the speaker pledges to "the wall." Perhaps his desk is by a wall, so he can't even see the flag clearly from his seat; he might as well be pledging his allegiance to that hard, blank surface. Or perhaps the school itself is a "wall," as in the Pink Floyd image of education: "Teacher, leave those kids alone/ All in all, you're just another brick in the wall."
The next images are of grim dinginess. There are the "factories" spewing the pollution that makes for a "dirty breeze" to hang clean "laundry" in. There is the black rainbow. The pall of grayness spewed by the smokestacks captures the "lack" of "imagination" the speaker feels in his surroundings, discoloring even a rainbow.
(The image of an all-black rainbow, Simon reveals in the Still Crazy liner notes, is Ted Hughes': "a black rainbow/ bent in emptiness.")
Only on his ride home does he engage in metaphor, as he "flies" his bike home. Only alone, in between the school and home, is there freedom. Yes, there is the omnipresent factory. But at school, he pledges allegiance to a wall, while on the ride home, he "flies" past restrictive "gates."
And what is waiting at home? A mother doing laundry, and a father who-- like everyone else in town-- defines the speaker in his terms, and his generation's: "I never meant nothin'/ I was just my father's son."
But then alone again, perhaps in his bedroom, he "dream[s] of glory." And he doesn't just dream, he plans, by "saving [his] money."
All the while, he is as ready to explode as a "gun," waiting until he is 18, or perhaps just old enough to drive, to leave. On his stereo, he might even have the (also 1975) LP of "Born to Run," with the rallying cry in its title track: "Baby, this town rips the bones from your back... We gotta get out while we're young."
Now an adult, he has no nostalgia for the place whatsoever. He regards those he left behind as "dead and dying." We imagine he means the latter term not literally (although, with that pollution...), but in the same way Bob Dylan did in his observation: "He not busy being born is busy dying."
Considering the negative emotion that caused the breakup and then followed it, this song would be a strange reunion song for any other duo... but perhaps not this one.
IMPACT: Simon included the track on his Still Crazy After All These Years album, which would go on to win a Grammy, and Garfunkel placed it on his album Breakaway. Both albums came out in 1975. The song went to #9 and the do performed it on Saturday Night Live.
In 2012, a band called AJR released a song called "Way Less Sad," which sampled the piano and trumpets from this song. It went to #54 on the Hot 100, #45 in Canada, #33 in New Zealand, and also landed on other, more specific charts.
Some Thoughts on Simon's S&G Material:
While Simon is primarily thought of as a serious and even somber folk songwriter, his S&G work also pulls a great deal from the lighthearted and innocent work of '50s pop. Further, while his world-music phase is often thought to start circa Graceland, we see a constant exploration of sounds outside the American sonic landscape even very early on.
Had Simon never written another song after the breakup, his legacy as one of the premier songwriters of all time would still be assured. Lucky for us, he kept going... and still is.
[If any reader knows of a S&aG track I have missed, skipped, or forgotten, please let me know. Next week starts Simon's post-S&G solo material. Those who "only" like music from this era of Simon's output are encouraged to stay and explore this fascinating series of albums, which is still unfolding.]
Next Song: Mother and Child Reunion
Some Thoughts on Simon's S&G Material:
While Simon is primarily thought of as a serious and even somber folk songwriter, his S&G work also pulls a great deal from the lighthearted and innocent work of '50s pop. Further, while his world-music phase is often thought to start circa Graceland, we see a constant exploration of sounds outside the American sonic landscape even very early on.
Had Simon never written another song after the breakup, his legacy as one of the premier songwriters of all time would still be assured. Lucky for us, he kept going... and still is.
[If any reader knows of a S&aG track I have missed, skipped, or forgotten, please let me know. Next week starts Simon's post-S&G solo material. Those who "only" like music from this era of Simon's output are encouraged to stay and explore this fascinating series of albums, which is still unfolding.]
Next Song: Mother and Child Reunion
Monday, October 25, 2010
Someday, One Day
The song's theme is optimism. The very title speaks to the idea that, whatever the setbacks, one's goal can be achieved with persistence.
One notable feature of the song is its lack of consistent rhyme. The chorus is a/a/b/a, with the first and last lines ending in "day." The first verse's lines end with the words "mirror/you/of/love," for a rhyme scheme of a/b/c/c. The second verse: "dreamer/thinkin'/doin'/say," or a/b/c/d (which is to say, no rhymed lines). And then the third verse is "discouraged/slowly/doin'/movin'," so the slant rhyme of the last two lines brings us back to a/b/c/c.
Perhaps this lack of rhyme reflects the state of mind of the listener-- not so much the person speaking, but the one being spoken to. The listener is someone who is "down" and needs to be "bucked up." He (or she) is not feeling like there is much rhyme is his life.
The lyrics themselves are very straightforward and comprise a "pep talk." The way The Seekers perform it, it could be addressed to anyone needing encouragement.
While I am a bit hesitant to assign meanings to Simon's songs based on his circumstances at the time of their writing, I must wonder if in this case such an ideas isn't warranted.
Simon and Garfunkel, no longer Tom and Jerry, had regrouped as a folk duo and put out "Wednesday Morning." It did not do well. So Simon might have been addressing the song to Garfunkel, telling him that with some persistence, they might still find success.
Another, even bolder, interpretation might be that Simon addressed this song to himself. In England at the time, he recorded an album of solo acoustic material (his "Songbook") and was writing songs with Woodley, but neither was the success he had hoped for with Garfunkel.
One can imagine him "look(ing) in the mirror," trying to convince himself that in a "time not so far away," that could still happen.
What he did not know is that, back in New York, a producer named Tom Wilson was creating an electric "remix" of "Sound of Silence"... which would go to #1 and start Simon and Garfunkel on their way.
NOTE: On Paul Simon's official website's lyric page, there is a song listed as "Some Day." It is nearly identical, with some of the verses being in a different order, and lacking a chorus. I can't imagine that it was anything other than an early draft of this hit.
IMPACT:
Another collaboration with Woodley, this was The Seekers' follow-up to their #1 hit "I'll Never Find Another You." (Thanks to a reader for correcting me; this was not The Seekers' first hit, as I had said.)
As The Seekers were the first act with international impact from Australia, it is fair to say that Simon, aside from his part in South Africa's musical history, is also part of that island continent's cultural story.
Later acts from Australia ranged from The Little River Band to Men At Work, and perhaps most notably another harmony act like The Seekers-- The Bee Gees. Well, not much like The Seekers.
Next song: My Little Town
One notable feature of the song is its lack of consistent rhyme. The chorus is a/a/b/a, with the first and last lines ending in "day." The first verse's lines end with the words "mirror/you/of/love," for a rhyme scheme of a/b/c/c. The second verse: "dreamer/thinkin'/doin'/say," or a/b/c/d (which is to say, no rhymed lines). And then the third verse is "discouraged/slowly/doin'/movin'," so the slant rhyme of the last two lines brings us back to a/b/c/c.
Perhaps this lack of rhyme reflects the state of mind of the listener-- not so much the person speaking, but the one being spoken to. The listener is someone who is "down" and needs to be "bucked up." He (or she) is not feeling like there is much rhyme is his life.
The lyrics themselves are very straightforward and comprise a "pep talk." The way The Seekers perform it, it could be addressed to anyone needing encouragement.
While I am a bit hesitant to assign meanings to Simon's songs based on his circumstances at the time of their writing, I must wonder if in this case such an ideas isn't warranted.
Simon and Garfunkel, no longer Tom and Jerry, had regrouped as a folk duo and put out "Wednesday Morning." It did not do well. So Simon might have been addressing the song to Garfunkel, telling him that with some persistence, they might still find success.
Another, even bolder, interpretation might be that Simon addressed this song to himself. In England at the time, he recorded an album of solo acoustic material (his "Songbook") and was writing songs with Woodley, but neither was the success he had hoped for with Garfunkel.
One can imagine him "look(ing) in the mirror," trying to convince himself that in a "time not so far away," that could still happen.
What he did not know is that, back in New York, a producer named Tom Wilson was creating an electric "remix" of "Sound of Silence"... which would go to #1 and start Simon and Garfunkel on their way.
NOTE: On Paul Simon's official website's lyric page, there is a song listed as "Some Day." It is nearly identical, with some of the verses being in a different order, and lacking a chorus. I can't imagine that it was anything other than an early draft of this hit.
IMPACT:
Another collaboration with Woodley, this was The Seekers' follow-up to their #1 hit "I'll Never Find Another You." (Thanks to a reader for correcting me; this was not The Seekers' first hit, as I had said.)
As The Seekers were the first act with international impact from Australia, it is fair to say that Simon, aside from his part in South Africa's musical history, is also part of that island continent's cultural story.
Later acts from Australia ranged from The Little River Band to Men At Work, and perhaps most notably another harmony act like The Seekers-- The Bee Gees. Well, not much like The Seekers.
Next song: My Little Town
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
I Wish You Could Be Here
This song was co-written with Bruce Woodley of The Seekers, and performed by that Australian group. It was written in the short hiatus between the letdown of the first proper S&G album, "Wednesday Morning" and their follow-up, "Silence." (Woodley also co-wrote "Cloudy.")
While it does not seem to have been recorded by S&G, it is included in the songbook "Songs by Paul Simon" (Charing Cross Music, 1967), which largely contains S&G material.
Thematically, the song prefigures "Kathy's Song." The opening imagery, however, is of snow, not rain, as in "I Am a Rock": "Lookin' from my window at the freshly fallen snow/ That sparkles as it tumbles upon the street below."
The song does not discuss the internal angst of the speaker, as "Kathy's Song" does. It simply speaks of the speaker's longing for his absent love, describes the ambiance of the room, as in "Dangling Conversation," and discusses what the speaker does with his "lot of empty time to kill"-- There is a fire in the fireplace; "the room is warm and sleepy." He listens to "some records," and tries to "read the paper."
But, while he doesn't use these words, his mind is distracted and diffused. The words in the paper "aren't very clear," and his "thoughts return to you/ And I know there's somethin' missin', I wish you could be here."
While he aches for her return, he does not expect it. "I keep list'nin' for your footsteps or your key turned in the door/ I sure could use your company, but we've been through that before."
This last line is the only one that provides any context for the relationship. This is not just "I miss you," but "I miss you since we broke up."
Somewhat like "Somewhere They Can't Find Me" is a rock remake of "Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M." "I Wish You Could Be Here" is a pop remake of "Kathy's Song." It is roughly the same song, with simpler words and concepts substituted for the others' collegiate and poetic sensibilities.
Also, in "Kathy's Song," the couple is geographically apart but still together. More importantly, here the singer is upset but still "has it together," while in "Kathy's Song" he has a major crisis: "I have come to doubt all that I once held as true."
What makes this song interesting is that it shows that Simon is capable of presenting the same material in two different ways-- as a simple folk-pop ditty, or as a highly philosophical and emotional poem.
Next Song: "Someday, One Day."
While it does not seem to have been recorded by S&G, it is included in the songbook "Songs by Paul Simon" (Charing Cross Music, 1967), which largely contains S&G material.
Thematically, the song prefigures "Kathy's Song." The opening imagery, however, is of snow, not rain, as in "I Am a Rock": "Lookin' from my window at the freshly fallen snow/ That sparkles as it tumbles upon the street below."
The song does not discuss the internal angst of the speaker, as "Kathy's Song" does. It simply speaks of the speaker's longing for his absent love, describes the ambiance of the room, as in "Dangling Conversation," and discusses what the speaker does with his "lot of empty time to kill"-- There is a fire in the fireplace; "the room is warm and sleepy." He listens to "some records," and tries to "read the paper."
But, while he doesn't use these words, his mind is distracted and diffused. The words in the paper "aren't very clear," and his "thoughts return to you/ And I know there's somethin' missin', I wish you could be here."
While he aches for her return, he does not expect it. "I keep list'nin' for your footsteps or your key turned in the door/ I sure could use your company, but we've been through that before."
This last line is the only one that provides any context for the relationship. This is not just "I miss you," but "I miss you since we broke up."
Somewhat like "Somewhere They Can't Find Me" is a rock remake of "Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M." "I Wish You Could Be Here" is a pop remake of "Kathy's Song." It is roughly the same song, with simpler words and concepts substituted for the others' collegiate and poetic sensibilities.
Also, in "Kathy's Song," the couple is geographically apart but still together. More importantly, here the singer is upset but still "has it together," while in "Kathy's Song" he has a major crisis: "I have come to doubt all that I once held as true."
What makes this song interesting is that it shows that Simon is capable of presenting the same material in two different ways-- as a simple folk-pop ditty, or as a highly philosophical and emotional poem.
Next Song: "Someday, One Day."
Monday, October 11, 2010
Hey Schoolgirl
Puppy love used to have a soundtrack.
This is an innocent little flirtation about a young "crush" that, in a situation that seems rare in Simon's later work, is mutual.
The boy makes the first move, and daringly whispers-- during class!-- that he'd like to meet up with this young lady after "after school."
She agrees, but is demure. Her school day is over an entire hour and a half later. If they are in the same classroom, they must be in the same school and even the same grade... how is her school day so much different? Does she have after-school activities? Detention? (Heaven forbid.)
She then puts him off three times more. "Maybe when we're older, then we can date" seems like a very big put-off. Her excuse about homework taking her "hours" would only mean he'd have to wait hours, not years until they are "older."
And then the vague "Someday we'll go steady" seems a timeframe of months, perhaps years again.
But each put-off is equalled by a come-on: "Let's wait" means later, yes, but not never-- as does "So don't you fret/ Ooh, not yet."
At this point, our poor young fellow might be forgiven if he feels "played" or "strung along," what with such mixed messages.
But then, just as suddenly, the girl changes her mind, and with a sense of purpose commits herself: "I'm gonna skip my homework, gonna cut my class/ Bug out of here real fast."
Our young Romeo could not be happier, with the situation or with himself: "Now we're going steady... You're mine/ I knew it all the time." Sure he did.
Still, what was it about him that won her over? His brazenness in approaching her during class? His confidence in suggesting a date before he even knew her name? His doo-wop influenced pick-up line: "hoo-babaloo-chi-bop"? The fact that once he made his overture, he hung back, letting her come to him?
We'll never know for sure. But this extremely early song does remain one of the few songs in Simon's portfolio about a successful relationship. Is such a thing possible only when the participants are as uncomplicatedly innocent-- or as obliviously confident-- as children?
IMPACT:
This is the one song from the Tom and Jerry, pre-S&G, days that the duo still performs.
They were still in high school when, with this song, they found their first taste of success. It was their first professional recording, cut in 1957. It sold 100,000 copies and cracked the Top 50 (#49, but still).
It even took them to the performance show of their time-- long before American Idol, MTV, Star Search or even Soul Train-- called American Bandstand. New artists took turns playing their hits, teens danced, and Dick Clark hosted the proceedings. (The TV show central to the plot of Hairspray is based on this show.)
When he introduced them, Clark asked them where they were from. Garfunkel admitted to being from New York, but Simon falsely drawled that he was from Macon, Georgia. This fib was, perhaps, in an attempt at authenticity... or at not wanting to be out-authentic-ed by the act that they were to follow: Jerry Lee Lewis, performing "Great Balls of Fire."
Next Song: I Wish You Could Be Here
This is an innocent little flirtation about a young "crush" that, in a situation that seems rare in Simon's later work, is mutual.
The boy makes the first move, and daringly whispers-- during class!-- that he'd like to meet up with this young lady after "after school."
She agrees, but is demure. Her school day is over an entire hour and a half later. If they are in the same classroom, they must be in the same school and even the same grade... how is her school day so much different? Does she have after-school activities? Detention? (Heaven forbid.)
She then puts him off three times more. "Maybe when we're older, then we can date" seems like a very big put-off. Her excuse about homework taking her "hours" would only mean he'd have to wait hours, not years until they are "older."
And then the vague "Someday we'll go steady" seems a timeframe of months, perhaps years again.
But each put-off is equalled by a come-on: "Let's wait" means later, yes, but not never-- as does "So don't you fret/ Ooh, not yet."
At this point, our poor young fellow might be forgiven if he feels "played" or "strung along," what with such mixed messages.
But then, just as suddenly, the girl changes her mind, and with a sense of purpose commits herself: "I'm gonna skip my homework, gonna cut my class/ Bug out of here real fast."
Our young Romeo could not be happier, with the situation or with himself: "Now we're going steady... You're mine/ I knew it all the time." Sure he did.
Still, what was it about him that won her over? His brazenness in approaching her during class? His confidence in suggesting a date before he even knew her name? His doo-wop influenced pick-up line: "hoo-babaloo-chi-bop"? The fact that once he made his overture, he hung back, letting her come to him?
We'll never know for sure. But this extremely early song does remain one of the few songs in Simon's portfolio about a successful relationship. Is such a thing possible only when the participants are as uncomplicatedly innocent-- or as obliviously confident-- as children?
IMPACT:
This is the one song from the Tom and Jerry, pre-S&G, days that the duo still performs.
They were still in high school when, with this song, they found their first taste of success. It was their first professional recording, cut in 1957. It sold 100,000 copies and cracked the Top 50 (#49, but still).
It even took them to the performance show of their time-- long before American Idol, MTV, Star Search or even Soul Train-- called American Bandstand. New artists took turns playing their hits, teens danced, and Dick Clark hosted the proceedings. (The TV show central to the plot of Hairspray is based on this show.)
When he introduced them, Clark asked them where they were from. Garfunkel admitted to being from New York, but Simon falsely drawled that he was from Macon, Georgia. This fib was, perhaps, in an attempt at authenticity... or at not wanting to be out-authentic-ed by the act that they were to follow: Jerry Lee Lewis, performing "Great Balls of Fire."
Next Song: I Wish You Could Be Here
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Red Rubber Ball
Simon co-wrote this song, but he does not seem to have recorded a solo version. Then again, neither did S&G... except on a concert CD that was released many years post-breakup.
Since there is an S&G recording of the song, and since Simon co-wrote the song pre-breakup, let's call this an "S&G-era song," if not an "S&G song" proper.
While the previously discussed track recalls Simon's 1960's style protest work, this number hearkens back even further, to his Brill Building, "Hey Schoolgirl" days.
The lyrics, as befitting that time and place, are straightforward, if somewhat clever. The main imagery is childlike: a "roller-coaster," a "starfish," and the titular red ball.
But there is a sophistication in the message. Yes, there is some residual anger in this breakup song, but nothing like the venom of "Interest" or the petulance of "I Am a Rock."
Breakups can be like other losses, and move through the five basic emotions of grieving outlined by psychiatrist Elisabeth Kubler-Ross (she never intended for people to think that these had to be felt "in order," though, or even one at a time): Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.
So if those other songs have a speaker stuck in Anger mode, the speaker of "Rubber Ball" is largely in a state of Acceptance: "I think it's gonna be all right/ Yeah, the worst is over now/ The morning sun is shining."
Yes, but why "like a red rubber ball"? Well, anything from childhood can be seen as a sign of hope.
One could read a sense of resiliency, of "bouncing back" from a let-down, into the fact that the ball is rubber.
That might be pushing things. After all, Bobby Vee's "Rubber Ball" uses the same image to refer to an overly pliant boy who can't get over a girl: "Like a rubber ball, I come bouncing back to you."
Instead, let's look at Simon's song as he uses Anger as a lever to move himself into a place of Acceptance. As the speaker looks back over the relationship-- the song itself starts with "I should have known"-- he lists the reasons that he is relieved the relationship's sun has set:
She was dismissive of, perhaps even loose with, his "secrets"... she treated him like 'arm candy,' as they say today... and she never had "time" for him. Overall, he felt uncared for, and uncared about: "You never cared... never caring."
Whatever good times there were do not seem to have been worth the anguish the relationship caused. Simon uses the somewhat cliche image of a "roller-coaster ride" to illustrate these ups-and-downs...
...then tries to extend the metaphor-- "I bought my ticket with my tears." Rather than smirk at the histrionics of that line, let us realize that this was at least an attempt to elevate a cliche, and that it is entirely in keeping with what passed for poetry in song lyrics of its era (again compare to the Bobby Vee song). Lastly, even if someone was trying to write a song in the voice of a wounded teen today, they might very well write that line; it is entirely in character.
Lastly, let us applaud the speaker for personal strength of the rest of the line: "...that's all I'm gonna spend." No Bargaining going on here, no "If only you'd..." or "I promise to..." The speaker has cried enough, and is done.
In case he was unclear, the speaker states his case plainly in other lines: "I don't need you at all... If I never hear your name again, it's all the same to me."
He realizes he's worth more than the sort of treatment he's been getting... and after all, she's not the only fish in the sea.
Not even the only "starfish."
IMPACT:
The song was made famous by a band called The Cyrkle, who opened for The Beatles in the US and spelled their name like that because John Lennon told them to.
The song rose to #2, and "went gold," which means it sold over a million copies. It was co-written by The Seekers' Bruce Woodley.
Also, after I selected it last week for this week's post, I heard it blasting from a car stereo here in Chicago on a fall weekend afternoon.
Next Song: Hey Schoolgirl
Since there is an S&G recording of the song, and since Simon co-wrote the song pre-breakup, let's call this an "S&G-era song," if not an "S&G song" proper.
While the previously discussed track recalls Simon's 1960's style protest work, this number hearkens back even further, to his Brill Building, "Hey Schoolgirl" days.
The lyrics, as befitting that time and place, are straightforward, if somewhat clever. The main imagery is childlike: a "roller-coaster," a "starfish," and the titular red ball.
But there is a sophistication in the message. Yes, there is some residual anger in this breakup song, but nothing like the venom of "Interest" or the petulance of "I Am a Rock."
Breakups can be like other losses, and move through the five basic emotions of grieving outlined by psychiatrist Elisabeth Kubler-Ross (she never intended for people to think that these had to be felt "in order," though, or even one at a time): Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.
So if those other songs have a speaker stuck in Anger mode, the speaker of "Rubber Ball" is largely in a state of Acceptance: "I think it's gonna be all right/ Yeah, the worst is over now/ The morning sun is shining."
Yes, but why "like a red rubber ball"? Well, anything from childhood can be seen as a sign of hope.
One could read a sense of resiliency, of "bouncing back" from a let-down, into the fact that the ball is rubber.
That might be pushing things. After all, Bobby Vee's "Rubber Ball" uses the same image to refer to an overly pliant boy who can't get over a girl: "Like a rubber ball, I come bouncing back to you."
Instead, let's look at Simon's song as he uses Anger as a lever to move himself into a place of Acceptance. As the speaker looks back over the relationship-- the song itself starts with "I should have known"-- he lists the reasons that he is relieved the relationship's sun has set:
She was dismissive of, perhaps even loose with, his "secrets"... she treated him like 'arm candy,' as they say today... and she never had "time" for him. Overall, he felt uncared for, and uncared about: "You never cared... never caring."
Whatever good times there were do not seem to have been worth the anguish the relationship caused. Simon uses the somewhat cliche image of a "roller-coaster ride" to illustrate these ups-and-downs...
...then tries to extend the metaphor-- "I bought my ticket with my tears." Rather than smirk at the histrionics of that line, let us realize that this was at least an attempt to elevate a cliche, and that it is entirely in keeping with what passed for poetry in song lyrics of its era (again compare to the Bobby Vee song). Lastly, even if someone was trying to write a song in the voice of a wounded teen today, they might very well write that line; it is entirely in character.
Lastly, let us applaud the speaker for personal strength of the rest of the line: "...that's all I'm gonna spend." No Bargaining going on here, no "If only you'd..." or "I promise to..." The speaker has cried enough, and is done.
In case he was unclear, the speaker states his case plainly in other lines: "I don't need you at all... If I never hear your name again, it's all the same to me."
He realizes he's worth more than the sort of treatment he's been getting... and after all, she's not the only fish in the sea.
Not even the only "starfish."
IMPACT:
The song was made famous by a band called The Cyrkle, who opened for The Beatles in the US and spelled their name like that because John Lennon told them to.
The song rose to #2, and "went gold," which means it sold over a million copies. It was co-written by The Seekers' Bruce Woodley.
Also, after I selected it last week for this week's post, I heard it blasting from a car stereo here in Chicago on a fall weekend afternoon.
Next Song: Hey Schoolgirl
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)