[Note to Readers: These next several posts, before we head on into the Hearts and Bones album, will be dedicated to some of Simon's material which was written before this point, but did not appear on any of the regular albums up to this point. So expect to discover some lost treasures .]
In keeping with the chronological idea of this blog, this song should have been discussed before One-Trick Pony. It was intended for Still Crazy and now appears (albeit in demo form) on the CD reissue of that disc.
It was first released on Greatest Hits, Etc., and was the lead-off track on that compilation, which was issued in 1977, two years after Still Crazy and three years before Pony.
So, if this blog ever turns into a book, the order will be: "Silent Eyes" (the last track of Still Crazy), then "Slip Slidin' Away" and "Stranded in a Limosine"... and then "Late in the Evening" (the first track of Pony).
That bit of housekeeping taken care of, on with the show...
This song is an expansion of John Lennon's dictum, "Life is what happens when we're making other plans," or the expression "Man plans and God laughs" (which is found in Yiddish, but I can't believe exclusively.)
It has a nihilistic theme that presages the Kansas song "Dust in the Wind"... and an episodic structure that prefigures Springsteen's "Glory Days" (further, both songs first present a man, then a woman, then a father [in a lesser-known concert version of the Springsteen song], then a philosophical conclusion).
The song begins, in fact, with this famous chorus: "Slip slidin’ away/ You know the nearer your destination/ The more you’re slip slidin’ away." Often, Simon is not so declarative of the message of his song.
First, we meet a man who is a martyr when it comes to love. The first clue to this Christ imagery is the word "passion," which at first we think just means "lustful affection." But then comes the image of the "crown of thorns" Jesus was forced to wear during the Crucifixion, which causes us to reinterpret the idea of "passion" to also mean something more like a "Passion Play."
In his protestation, he explains that his love for her is so intense, he is in danger of losing his sense of self: "My love for you’s so overpowering/ I’m afraid that I will disappear." So, the "nearer" he gets to her, the more his self "slips away." Imagine an ice cube in love with a lit candle-- the closer it gets, the smaller it becomes, until it is no longer ice at all, let alone a cube.
The second verse is about a woman who lives in regret. She has already lost herself. She's not a woman who "got married," she "became a wife." As if that meant she was no longer a "woman" unto herself, but now defined by her relationship to a man. A good day, to her, is not even one that is "sunny," but simply one that "ain’t got no rain,” which is a pretty low standard for nice weather. Meanwhile, when it does rain and she is stuck in the house (because she can't buy a raincoat or umbrella?), she simply wallows in regret: "I lie in bed/ And think of things that might have been.”
In her case, she is not in process of "slidin' away"; it may be fair to say she has already slid. She is not beyond hope, however, as she is aware of her situation, and may someday grow tired of it and reassert her own identity.
Now, the man and woman in the first two verses speak. The third verse presents a father who intends to, but does not: "He came a long way/ Just to explain/ He kissed his boy as he lay sleeping/ Then he turned around and headed home again."
His silence is immense. The child does not even know that his father was there. We can only imagine that the "boy" in question is relatively young to receive that appellation, and is not married in any case. Is he a child or teen, still living with his post-divorce mother? Probably. The other possibility is that the son lives alone, in which case, he is in college or is working and living in an apartment. But how did he fall asleep and leave the apartment door unlocked for his father to enter? Did his roommate let his dad in?
The first scenario seems more likely-- a wayward father (maybe like the one in Springsteen's "Hungry Heart") returns, wants to explain himself, then considers the possibility that the son has gotten over him and that his return will only prove disruptive. Who is he doing this unburdening for, anyway? If it's for himself, maybe he should leave well enough alone. Certainly, waking a child up with, "Hi, remember me, your dad? Anyway, here's why I left. OK, then... back to sleep, now," is not something any therapist would recommend.
He has reached his "destination," only to realize that the distance between himself and his son is not measured in miles (or kilometers); he is right there, yet as far away as ever.
The last verse is the "...and God laughs" part. The key word here is "gliding." Not "driving"; we are at least self-aware enough to know we are not in control. But we do believe we are savvy enough to ride the road like an albatross does the air currents or a surfer does the waves-- able to change with the curves and even use them to increase our forward momentum... to "glide."
Even this level of control, Simon explains, is an illusion: "God makes his plan/ The information’s unavailable/ To the mortal man" (think of God's response to Job: "Were you there when I made the universe?"). We think we are headed toward our "destination," say, in our career or financial plan. But no, even as we reach our retirement or monetary goals, overcoming the curves in the road, we are missing the point.
We spend our time planning when we have no control over God's plan for us. We have no control over natural disasters or elections or wars or Wall Street or diseases or accidents or most other things. We can be "gliding down the highway" in entirely the wrong direction, but it matters not, as we will ended up where we were Intended to be regardless.
This song is about providence and predetermination. It is about fortune and fate... even fatalism. It's beautiful, yet a very sad and resigned shrug about mortality and the futility of human action. Everyone in the song tries for a goal and not only misses it but loses him- or herself in the process of aiming for it altogether. People lose themselves in the pursuit of love, stability, or money; even the father who went off to find himself now only sees what he lost in doing so.
This post began with a suggestion of which songs this one influenced, but writers as early as King Solomon concluded: "...all is vanity, and striving after wind."
IMPACT:
Amazingly, for such a somber number-- and one without a proper album to support it at that-- the song went to #5 in the US. It remains a radio mainstay, even if it is still only available on compilations (and, of course, online).
Along with "Fifty ways to leave your lover," "Mrs. Robinson," "Bridge over troubled water," and "Still crazy after all these years," the phrase "Slip slidin' away" has become part of the American linguistic landscape.
Next Song: Slow Man
Monday, September 12, 2011
Monday, September 5, 2011
Stranded in a Limosine
Yes, Simon uses the American spelling, not "limousine."
The song is less about the major character, the "mean individual" in question, and more about the reaction he engenders. Throughout most of the song, he is inert, "stranded," and without action or even a face. All he seems to have is a bad reputation and a nice car.
Some questions can be immediately raised by the title. How, exactly, does one get "stranded" in a vehicle? Can't it just, you know, move? Say it was immobilized due to mechanical failure. The passenger is still not paralyzed; he can leave the limo and proceed by foot, taxi, or bus.
And the location of this stranding is odd, too-- a "green" traffic light. Wouldn't that normally mean the chauffeur would press the accelerator and continue the trip?
Next, the first to react are the children "on the street." Are they actually on the street, playing hopscotch and stickball? No, they "come running out the... door," meaning they had been inside their homes. They just live "on the street" where the limo has halted. And enough were looking out their windows so that "all" of them burst from their homes at once. Had they been watching the news, being told by the anchorpeople to look out the window for suspicious luxury automobiles? They run to tell their parents, who are back inside.
It isn't even day, actually. The "individual" vanishes "in the black of night," presumably in the short time-- less than 10 minutes, say-- between when the children alert their parents to his presence and when the "sirens and flashing lights" arrive. So it would have had to have been night already when the "light turned green."
The parents react by swarming, loudly-- they all cried "Lord, Lord!"-- to the scene. The "individual," we now learn, is not just "mean" but a wanted criminal with a "reward" offered for his capture.
So, here is what the police (who show up too late) would piece together... It's night time. Late enough for it to be "black" outside. A black limo pulls up to a red light. The light turns green. The limo does not move. All the children who live on that block, being awake and at their windows way past bedtime, see the black limo in the darkness. They also know whose it is. Excitedly, they run outside to see it closer, then back inside to tell their parents.
The parents, now aware that a wanted criminal is nearby, abandon their children and race to the limo. They are sure that this wanted, wealthy, "mean," and even "naturally crazy" man will simply submit to their citizens' arrest. And not, for instance, have his henchmen step outside the limo with their automatic weapons and start spraying bullets around.
The police, having ascertained what happened, and assume that the "perp" has "left the neighborhood." So instead of tracking him outside the area, they "search the roofs" inside the area. Now, peering down from the high vantage of the roofs might make sense to spot a fleeing person... but these officers search the rooftops themselves, as if the escapee might be up there.
They also "checked the groups," as if this man, whom everyone knew was wanted and was eager to turn in, had insinuated himself with whoever is hanging out in groups at midnight.
By which I mean to say... none of this makes any sense. "Punky's Dilemma" made no sense either, but it did not pretend, or portend, to. This story is told as if it were a true crime report, or an episode of a cop show (compare to another song about a mean individual who runs into trouble, say "Bad Bad Leroy Brown"). And yet, taken individually and together, none of the plot points hold up.
We can only assume the entire song is a massive allegory. A dictator holed up in his palace can be seen as being "stranded in a limosine." The light turning "green" might mean that a revolution has begun. First, the "children on the street," the locals who have no real power, react by calling attention to the situation. Then various authorities-- in politics, academics, the media, etc.-- elbow their way into the spotlight, coming to "divvy up the reward" for predicting the outcome. And then the military-- the US, UN, NATO, what have you-- show up too late, and the dictator has slipped their grasp.
"Stranded in a Limosine" was copyrighted in 1980, and I am not sure which then-current "mean individual" is being referred to. No one dictator, or particular person, is meant. It could as easily be a rapacious executive, a drug cartel kingpin, a philandering politician, a mob boss, a tribal warlord, or any other powerful yet "crazy" person who repeatedly eludes his captors. At first, they are "stranded in a limosine," yet within moments, they "vanish."
Musically, the song is gospel in flavor, yet I cannot imagine an actual gospel group choosing this number to sing on Sunday morning.
IMPACT:
I always figured this song was rather obscure, but folksinger Michelle Shocked performs it on her (initially bootleg) album The Texas Campfire Tapes.
It originally appeared on Simon's compilation album Greatest Hits, Etc., and can be considered one of the songs meant by "Etc." as all but one other was already a hit. And the other song did become a hit in its own right, and it is the next song we will consider (see below).
"Stranded" can now be found as a bonus track to the One-Trick Pony soundtrack, which is why we discuss it now.
Personal observation:
Monty Python has an album called Contractual Obligation, and that might as well have been the title of Greatest Hit, Etc. too. Simon released it to finish out his contract with Columbia, before signing to Warner Brothers.
Now, I cannot prove this next idea, and I do not as a rule cotton to conspiracy theories. But when Simon began to create his CD box set at Warner, he went back and asked Columbia for the master tapes from his S&G albums. Columbia said they couldn't find them. All five sets of songs, from all five official S&G albums. Again, it could be sheer incompetence, but how do you lose that? Seems to me more like a case of: "Oh, you need us now, do you? Sorry, can't help!"
Simon had kept some of the original pressings of his S&G albums as souvenirs. He opened the shrink wrap and used them as masters for his box set. To this day, I have no idea if the S&G master tapes have ever been "found." They seem to have "vanished in the black of night."
Next Song: Slip Slidin' Away
The song is less about the major character, the "mean individual" in question, and more about the reaction he engenders. Throughout most of the song, he is inert, "stranded," and without action or even a face. All he seems to have is a bad reputation and a nice car.
Some questions can be immediately raised by the title. How, exactly, does one get "stranded" in a vehicle? Can't it just, you know, move? Say it was immobilized due to mechanical failure. The passenger is still not paralyzed; he can leave the limo and proceed by foot, taxi, or bus.
And the location of this stranding is odd, too-- a "green" traffic light. Wouldn't that normally mean the chauffeur would press the accelerator and continue the trip?
Next, the first to react are the children "on the street." Are they actually on the street, playing hopscotch and stickball? No, they "come running out the... door," meaning they had been inside their homes. They just live "on the street" where the limo has halted. And enough were looking out their windows so that "all" of them burst from their homes at once. Had they been watching the news, being told by the anchorpeople to look out the window for suspicious luxury automobiles? They run to tell their parents, who are back inside.
It isn't even day, actually. The "individual" vanishes "in the black of night," presumably in the short time-- less than 10 minutes, say-- between when the children alert their parents to his presence and when the "sirens and flashing lights" arrive. So it would have had to have been night already when the "light turned green."
The parents react by swarming, loudly-- they all cried "Lord, Lord!"-- to the scene. The "individual," we now learn, is not just "mean" but a wanted criminal with a "reward" offered for his capture.
So, here is what the police (who show up too late) would piece together... It's night time. Late enough for it to be "black" outside. A black limo pulls up to a red light. The light turns green. The limo does not move. All the children who live on that block, being awake and at their windows way past bedtime, see the black limo in the darkness. They also know whose it is. Excitedly, they run outside to see it closer, then back inside to tell their parents.
The parents, now aware that a wanted criminal is nearby, abandon their children and race to the limo. They are sure that this wanted, wealthy, "mean," and even "naturally crazy" man will simply submit to their citizens' arrest. And not, for instance, have his henchmen step outside the limo with their automatic weapons and start spraying bullets around.
The police, having ascertained what happened, and assume that the "perp" has "left the neighborhood." So instead of tracking him outside the area, they "search the roofs" inside the area. Now, peering down from the high vantage of the roofs might make sense to spot a fleeing person... but these officers search the rooftops themselves, as if the escapee might be up there.
They also "checked the groups," as if this man, whom everyone knew was wanted and was eager to turn in, had insinuated himself with whoever is hanging out in groups at midnight.
By which I mean to say... none of this makes any sense. "Punky's Dilemma" made no sense either, but it did not pretend, or portend, to. This story is told as if it were a true crime report, or an episode of a cop show (compare to another song about a mean individual who runs into trouble, say "Bad Bad Leroy Brown"). And yet, taken individually and together, none of the plot points hold up.
We can only assume the entire song is a massive allegory. A dictator holed up in his palace can be seen as being "stranded in a limosine." The light turning "green" might mean that a revolution has begun. First, the "children on the street," the locals who have no real power, react by calling attention to the situation. Then various authorities-- in politics, academics, the media, etc.-- elbow their way into the spotlight, coming to "divvy up the reward" for predicting the outcome. And then the military-- the US, UN, NATO, what have you-- show up too late, and the dictator has slipped their grasp.
"Stranded in a Limosine" was copyrighted in 1980, and I am not sure which then-current "mean individual" is being referred to. No one dictator, or particular person, is meant. It could as easily be a rapacious executive, a drug cartel kingpin, a philandering politician, a mob boss, a tribal warlord, or any other powerful yet "crazy" person who repeatedly eludes his captors. At first, they are "stranded in a limosine," yet within moments, they "vanish."
Musically, the song is gospel in flavor, yet I cannot imagine an actual gospel group choosing this number to sing on Sunday morning.
IMPACT:
I always figured this song was rather obscure, but folksinger Michelle Shocked performs it on her (initially bootleg) album The Texas Campfire Tapes.
It originally appeared on Simon's compilation album Greatest Hits, Etc., and can be considered one of the songs meant by "Etc." as all but one other was already a hit. And the other song did become a hit in its own right, and it is the next song we will consider (see below).
"Stranded" can now be found as a bonus track to the One-Trick Pony soundtrack, which is why we discuss it now.
Personal observation:
Monty Python has an album called Contractual Obligation, and that might as well have been the title of Greatest Hit, Etc. too. Simon released it to finish out his contract with Columbia, before signing to Warner Brothers.
Now, I cannot prove this next idea, and I do not as a rule cotton to conspiracy theories. But when Simon began to create his CD box set at Warner, he went back and asked Columbia for the master tapes from his S&G albums. Columbia said they couldn't find them. All five sets of songs, from all five official S&G albums. Again, it could be sheer incompetence, but how do you lose that? Seems to me more like a case of: "Oh, you need us now, do you? Sorry, can't help!"
Simon had kept some of the original pressings of his S&G albums as souvenirs. He opened the shrink wrap and used them as masters for his box set. To this day, I have no idea if the S&G master tapes have ever been "found." They seem to have "vanished in the black of night."
Next Song: Slip Slidin' Away
Monday, August 29, 2011
All Because of You
As the first musical notes indicate, this is the early version of the song that became "Oh, Marion." It even contains the idea of love being an "easy game" for others. In the original incarnation, the line read: "...another lover/ Is an easy game."
Simon begins with an idea recycled from "Run that Body Down": "I went to my doctor." While the doctor might be able to help with a heartburn or even a heart attack, he cannot help with what the speaker has, which is heartbreak: "It’s all because of you/ It’s all because of you wouldn't say 'I do.'"
The doctor is no help, so he tries the drugstore. Or perhaps, the "drugstore," because one does not generally ask a pharmacist "Do the drugs on me," but a pusher. Again, this health-care provider demurs.
"Ain’t nobody loves me/ Nobody needs my love," our lovelorn speaker laments. Not only is he not the recipient of love, no one wants to be the recipient of his. Of course, the only one he knows this for certain about is the woman who would not accept his marriage proposal. Also, it could be that other women are steering clear of someone so clearly "on the rebound."
Then Simon comes up with a line he will use later: "This my only life." This is a cosmopolitan, existential disavowal of reincarnation/resurrection, which rather than comforting him with its enlightenment leads to a sense of mortality and despair. It shows up again as a line in "The Coast" on Rhythm of the Saints as "This is the only life" (and the variant "This is a lonely life.")
Frustrated with Western medicine, our despondent speaker turns to "alternative" or "traditional" cures: "So I went to the gypsy woman." While the word "Gypsy" is today considered offensive (and perhaps always was) and the preferred term is Rroma, the image of the kerchief-topped crone bending over a crystal ball is common in rock music, from "Madame Ruth/ The Gypsy with the gold-capped tooth" in "Love Potion #9" (originally by The Clovers) to Springsteen's line in "Sandy": "Well, the cops finally busted Madame Marie/ For telling fortunes better than they do."
The psychic admits, "I ain’t got no potions and no special kind of weed," but at least has some useful advice: "Go away, take a weekend or two." Staying where he is, brooding on the breakup, is not working, so perhaps a change of scene is in order.
The bridge explains why our Romeo is so beside himself, why his "brain’s all messed up." It's bad enough that his lover would not say "I do" and seems to have either rejected his marriage proposal or, worse, left him at the altar. But she won't break up with him, either: "...you would not say we’re through."
Although one has to wonder why the marriage rejection is not seen, in and of itself, as a break-up.
Perhaps Simon realized this and decided on a thorough rewrite of the song. He saved the medical metaphors in "Oh, Marion," writing about a "heart that beats on the opposite side," and a even reference to "brains," although it now means "intelligence" instead of "emotional state." Rather than being a song about a man who is troubled by a vexing woman-- a common song subject-- it is now about being a vexing man, who at least appreciates that he might be difficult to tolerate. A much more uncommon subject, indeed.
Next song: Stranded in a Limosine
Simon begins with an idea recycled from "Run that Body Down": "I went to my doctor." While the doctor might be able to help with a heartburn or even a heart attack, he cannot help with what the speaker has, which is heartbreak: "It’s all because of you/ It’s all because of you wouldn't say 'I do.'"
The doctor is no help, so he tries the drugstore. Or perhaps, the "drugstore," because one does not generally ask a pharmacist "Do the drugs on me," but a pusher. Again, this health-care provider demurs.
"Ain’t nobody loves me/ Nobody needs my love," our lovelorn speaker laments. Not only is he not the recipient of love, no one wants to be the recipient of his. Of course, the only one he knows this for certain about is the woman who would not accept his marriage proposal. Also, it could be that other women are steering clear of someone so clearly "on the rebound."
Then Simon comes up with a line he will use later: "This my only life." This is a cosmopolitan, existential disavowal of reincarnation/resurrection, which rather than comforting him with its enlightenment leads to a sense of mortality and despair. It shows up again as a line in "The Coast" on Rhythm of the Saints as "This is the only life" (and the variant "This is a lonely life.")
Frustrated with Western medicine, our despondent speaker turns to "alternative" or "traditional" cures: "So I went to the gypsy woman." While the word "Gypsy" is today considered offensive (and perhaps always was) and the preferred term is Rroma, the image of the kerchief-topped crone bending over a crystal ball is common in rock music, from "Madame Ruth/ The Gypsy with the gold-capped tooth" in "Love Potion #9" (originally by The Clovers) to Springsteen's line in "Sandy": "Well, the cops finally busted Madame Marie/ For telling fortunes better than they do."
The psychic admits, "I ain’t got no potions and no special kind of weed," but at least has some useful advice: "Go away, take a weekend or two." Staying where he is, brooding on the breakup, is not working, so perhaps a change of scene is in order.
The bridge explains why our Romeo is so beside himself, why his "brain’s all messed up." It's bad enough that his lover would not say "I do" and seems to have either rejected his marriage proposal or, worse, left him at the altar. But she won't break up with him, either: "...you would not say we’re through."
Although one has to wonder why the marriage rejection is not seen, in and of itself, as a break-up.
Perhaps Simon realized this and decided on a thorough rewrite of the song. He saved the medical metaphors in "Oh, Marion," writing about a "heart that beats on the opposite side," and a even reference to "brains," although it now means "intelligence" instead of "emotional state." Rather than being a song about a man who is troubled by a vexing woman-- a common song subject-- it is now about being a vexing man, who at least appreciates that he might be difficult to tolerate. A much more uncommon subject, indeed.
Next song: Stranded in a Limosine
Monday, August 22, 2011
Spiral Highway
This song, unreleased until recently-- when it appeared as a bonus track on the re-release of the One-Trick Pony soundtrack-- is a rough draft for "How the Heart Approaches."
The end of this song makes it clear, as it includes the entire chorus "After the rain on the interstate," here used as a verse. And then this: "Then I think it’s strange/ The way the body turns/ And how my heart approaches what it yearns."
Again, the song does not appear in the film or on the original release of the soundtrack; this is fine, since it not only repeats lines that ended up in a stronger song, but it also is another bemoaning of the travails of the road musician. Still, it contains an interesting idea or two, it shows another way a song could have gone, and it is a pretty number in its own right.
The most famous road that bears the name "Spiral Highway" is in Idaho. It winds around a hill, from the base to the summit, wrapping itself up and up-- or, I suppose, down and down, if you went in the other direction. Here, however, it serves as a metaphor.
In "Jonah," the speaker refers to "traveling around this circuit." This song takes that image to its logical extreme, and imagines the entire highway system as one endlessly looping Mobius strip: "Ride the spiral highway one more round," goes the chorus.
Then it gets specific: "Every bar and grill/ Every greasy spoon/ Anywhere a quarter buys a tune," the last phrase being a reference to jukeboxes. The repeated starting word "every" (employing a rhetorical device called "anaphora") recalls "Homeward Bound": "Every stop is neatly planned... And each town looks the same to me... and every stranger's face I see..."
Here, however, the thing that is repeated, aside from the music, is also another kind of performance. The idea of a "local call," and a "pink motel," Well... who are we calling, locally? Not the family, not the wife back home. Probably a groupie who was friendly last time through. And the motel is "pink" because is a not a business motel or family-friendly place, but one reserved for a rendezvous.
But even this repetition becomes meaningless: "Any time the strain begins to tell." The constant moving, setting up, breaking down, playing the same songs in the same kinds of places-- even the exact same places-- eventually takes its toll. And now even the after-show entertainment leaves a sense of "been there, done that."
Then we meet the "bone-weary traveler" watching "headlights slide past the Moon." But here, there is no longing passion to balance that image ("I dream we are lying on top of a hill..." Rather than the absent but desired lover in "How the Heart Approaches," we have a lover who is there, but no passion between them. Here, she is very "locally" ensconced in a "pink-"sheeted bed, with the exact opposite effect. Yes, here is a live a person... but no passion.
At this point, the lines "Then I think it’s strange/ The way the body turns/ And how my heart approaches what it yearns" come in. Oh, has he learned his lesson? Has the traveler answered the question "Where's he going?" with the word "Home"? Has he "turned" his "body" and started to finally "approach" what his "heart... yearns" for?
Um... Not exactly. The song concludes: "Ride that spiral highway one more round/ Ride that spiral highway one more round." He is "turning," he is "approaching" but he is not aimed anywhere. He is not yet finished with literally going around in circles.
Next song: All Because of You
The end of this song makes it clear, as it includes the entire chorus "After the rain on the interstate," here used as a verse. And then this: "Then I think it’s strange/ The way the body turns/ And how my heart approaches what it yearns."
Again, the song does not appear in the film or on the original release of the soundtrack; this is fine, since it not only repeats lines that ended up in a stronger song, but it also is another bemoaning of the travails of the road musician. Still, it contains an interesting idea or two, it shows another way a song could have gone, and it is a pretty number in its own right.
The most famous road that bears the name "Spiral Highway" is in Idaho. It winds around a hill, from the base to the summit, wrapping itself up and up-- or, I suppose, down and down, if you went in the other direction. Here, however, it serves as a metaphor.
In "Jonah," the speaker refers to "traveling around this circuit." This song takes that image to its logical extreme, and imagines the entire highway system as one endlessly looping Mobius strip: "Ride the spiral highway one more round," goes the chorus.
Then it gets specific: "Every bar and grill/ Every greasy spoon/ Anywhere a quarter buys a tune," the last phrase being a reference to jukeboxes. The repeated starting word "every" (employing a rhetorical device called "anaphora") recalls "Homeward Bound": "Every stop is neatly planned... And each town looks the same to me... and every stranger's face I see..."
Here, however, the thing that is repeated, aside from the music, is also another kind of performance. The idea of a "local call," and a "pink motel," Well... who are we calling, locally? Not the family, not the wife back home. Probably a groupie who was friendly last time through. And the motel is "pink" because is a not a business motel or family-friendly place, but one reserved for a rendezvous.
But even this repetition becomes meaningless: "Any time the strain begins to tell." The constant moving, setting up, breaking down, playing the same songs in the same kinds of places-- even the exact same places-- eventually takes its toll. And now even the after-show entertainment leaves a sense of "been there, done that."
Then we meet the "bone-weary traveler" watching "headlights slide past the Moon." But here, there is no longing passion to balance that image ("I dream we are lying on top of a hill..." Rather than the absent but desired lover in "How the Heart Approaches," we have a lover who is there, but no passion between them. Here, she is very "locally" ensconced in a "pink-"sheeted bed, with the exact opposite effect. Yes, here is a live a person... but no passion.
At this point, the lines "Then I think it’s strange/ The way the body turns/ And how my heart approaches what it yearns" come in. Oh, has he learned his lesson? Has the traveler answered the question "Where's he going?" with the word "Home"? Has he "turned" his "body" and started to finally "approach" what his "heart... yearns" for?
Um... Not exactly. The song concludes: "Ride that spiral highway one more round/ Ride that spiral highway one more round." He is "turning," he is "approaching" but he is not aimed anywhere. He is not yet finished with literally going around in circles.
Next song: All Because of You
Monday, August 15, 2011
Soft Parachutes
Simon is not the most political, protest-oriented of the Greenwich Village school/era of songwriters. He has, however-- to this point in his career-- made his feelings known on a few major events and issues: the Freedom Rides, church burnings, advertising, drugs, homelessness, aging, even (in another obscure number) Nixon and Castro.
But until now, Simon has not registered his sentiments on one of the most important issues of his day: The Viet Nam War. (Well, except for the offhand mention in "Punky's Dilemma.")
As usual, his approach is personal, not national or global. He song relates, in its one verse, the jarring experience of one draftee: "Last year, I was a senior... I had me a girlfriend/ We used to get high/ And now I am flying/ Down some Vietnam highway...God only knows why."
The speaker is shocked into submission by the suddenness and severity of the change in his life. He offers no protest, even though his life has been turned upside down for no discernible reason. All he can do is obey and hope to survive, even as he sees destruction, chaos, unreason, and death at all sides.
The music of the song is understated almost to the point of a whisper. War is supposed to be loud, but Simon's imagery is rather quiet as well: "soft parachutes" drifting hushedly down into jungles; "villages burning," but not the bombs, bullets, of flamethrowers that set them explosively ablaze; and "returning the bodies," done in passive voice (who is returning them?) and the silence of the dead themselves. He is not shown fighting, either, just driving to or from some battle zone.
The loudest thing in the song, in fact, is not part of the war at all. It's "The Fourth of July," easily the loudest of all American holidays. Even so, he does not mention fireworks. Just that this Fourth is being celebrated by parachutes in the skies instead... and the bright lights are on the ground instead of overhead. By juxtaposing the two types of pyrotechnics, the song implies the question: "What are we doing-- blowing up villages here, so we we can shoot off fireworks at home?"
This is one of the most obscure of all of Simon's tracks, and with a reason. It is in the movie, but not on the movie's original soundtrack.
In the film, Simon's character, Jonah, is a trying to make his name on the blues and rock circuit. This is interrupted by the chance to do a big-deal gig... but one with a price to his rep. The gig is a folk-nostalgia concert, with the actual Lovin' Spoonful sharing the bill for context. Jonah has been trying to break away from his flower-child aura and forge a harder-edged one... so artistically, this is a backward step. But it's too much exposure (and cash) to turn down. So he swallows his pride and gives the crowd what it wants-- a thoughtful folk song.
At this point his his own career, Simon was ten years past his breakup with Garfunkel. It must have been a challenge for him to, in the middle writing the rock songs for "One-Trick Pony," suddenly have to switch back to his "He Was My Brother" mode (although this is actually closer in tone to "Old Friends"). The song does not fit with the others in the Jonah Levin Band's repertoire, so it was left off the soundtrack, to give it a more cohesive feel as a stand-alone album.
But it available on the CD reissue, and you can see the song's entire performance from the film on YouTube. It's worth watching, since I do not believe there is any footage of Simon's solo "Songbook" recording sessions.
Next song: Spiral Highway
But until now, Simon has not registered his sentiments on one of the most important issues of his day: The Viet Nam War. (Well, except for the offhand mention in "Punky's Dilemma.")
As usual, his approach is personal, not national or global. He song relates, in its one verse, the jarring experience of one draftee: "Last year, I was a senior... I had me a girlfriend/ We used to get high/ And now I am flying/ Down some Vietnam highway...God only knows why."
The speaker is shocked into submission by the suddenness and severity of the change in his life. He offers no protest, even though his life has been turned upside down for no discernible reason. All he can do is obey and hope to survive, even as he sees destruction, chaos, unreason, and death at all sides.
The music of the song is understated almost to the point of a whisper. War is supposed to be loud, but Simon's imagery is rather quiet as well: "soft parachutes" drifting hushedly down into jungles; "villages burning," but not the bombs, bullets, of flamethrowers that set them explosively ablaze; and "returning the bodies," done in passive voice (who is returning them?) and the silence of the dead themselves. He is not shown fighting, either, just driving to or from some battle zone.
The loudest thing in the song, in fact, is not part of the war at all. It's "The Fourth of July," easily the loudest of all American holidays. Even so, he does not mention fireworks. Just that this Fourth is being celebrated by parachutes in the skies instead... and the bright lights are on the ground instead of overhead. By juxtaposing the two types of pyrotechnics, the song implies the question: "What are we doing-- blowing up villages here, so we we can shoot off fireworks at home?"
This is one of the most obscure of all of Simon's tracks, and with a reason. It is in the movie, but not on the movie's original soundtrack.
In the film, Simon's character, Jonah, is a trying to make his name on the blues and rock circuit. This is interrupted by the chance to do a big-deal gig... but one with a price to his rep. The gig is a folk-nostalgia concert, with the actual Lovin' Spoonful sharing the bill for context. Jonah has been trying to break away from his flower-child aura and forge a harder-edged one... so artistically, this is a backward step. But it's too much exposure (and cash) to turn down. So he swallows his pride and gives the crowd what it wants-- a thoughtful folk song.
At this point his his own career, Simon was ten years past his breakup with Garfunkel. It must have been a challenge for him to, in the middle writing the rock songs for "One-Trick Pony," suddenly have to switch back to his "He Was My Brother" mode (although this is actually closer in tone to "Old Friends"). The song does not fit with the others in the Jonah Levin Band's repertoire, so it was left off the soundtrack, to give it a more cohesive feel as a stand-alone album.
But it available on the CD reissue, and you can see the song's entire performance from the film on YouTube. It's worth watching, since I do not believe there is any footage of Simon's solo "Songbook" recording sessions.
Next song: Spiral Highway
Sunday, August 7, 2011
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
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
Monday, August 1, 2011
God Bless the Absentee
Most people probably see the life of a travelling musician much the way the speaker of the song "Money for Nothing" does: "That's the way you do it/ You play the gee-tar on the MTV/ Money for nothin', chicks for free."
As we have already seen, the life of a travelling musician may be anything but glamorous. I recall seeing one folkie in college. A guy came out, set up a stool and a mic', put some water on the stool, came back with a guitar and tuned it, and left the stage. Five minutes later, the same guy came out, picked up the guitar, and started to play and sing. This guy was his own roadie-- glamorous, indeed! Like the guys Dire Straits sing about who have to "install microwave ovens," the speaker considers himself a "working man."
This is the level of the game our speaker plays. In earlier songs on this soundtrack, Jonah discusses the toll it takes on him. Here, he widens his scope a bit: "I have a wife and family, but they don’t see much of me."
The line "I play the ace of spades" can be taken several ways. It might be a reference to "Ace in the Hole"; one imagines many games of poker are played on tour! Another meaning could be that he must always play his highest card, his best material, as his he still making his name. Yet another, more unlikely, idea is that he plays the role of the ace, the leader of the group, but this is a role he puts on.
Then speaking of his family, he asks for a blessing for himself, "God bless the absentee." On the surface, this may seem selfish. After all, shouldn't his family be the one he is asking God to bless, having to make their way without him? Ah, but of course God is watching over them. He is the one who has to remind God-- "Hey, I need some blessing, too! It's hard out here!" (This is the third song on the soundtrack to mention "God," plus one that mentions "Jesus.")
The next metaphor for what he does is surgery: "Music is my knife." In what way? "It cuts away my sorrow." Yes, but doesn't it also, in a way, cause it? After all, if his sorrow is missing his family, the music is what takes him away from them in the first place. If he gave up touring, he could see them every night. Perhaps that is not his only source of sorrow, however.
Now, if his heart would be "released" from the rest of his body, it would need the Absentee's Blessing. A heart with no body-- "pure" emotion without that which to feel about-- is not present in a new, truer context as it would hope, but "absent" from its real home. That heart would need God's special attention, with no other support system.
The bridge may seem to be about his "woman," but all the sentences start with "I." He is the true subject of the song; without his wife, bed, and pillow, he feels alone. Even if it was his choice to go on tour.
The next few lines are about his "son," whom he says "do[es]n’t need me yet." Why? "His bones are soft." This would imply a newborn, and one could argue that all a newborn needs is a source of milk, a clean diaper, and a nice crib.
But is this child a newborn? Not in the movie, and not here: "He flies a silver airplane/ He wears a golden cross." This is presumably a toy airplane, and one might even guess the kind of gift bought by a hurried, harried parent at an airport on the way home, having forgotten to buy one at the other city. And the son is old enough to wear a necklace, something one certainly does not put on an infant or toddler. Perhaps our speaker is in denial about how old his child really is and how much he needs a present father figure.
The last verse seems like a cop-out, blaming societal changes for his own guilt. The comments about how the country is changing reveal that he has not changed while everything around him has-- and maybe he is just noticing now (for instance, his newborn is now zooming around the living room narrating the flights of toy airplanes).
Changing the subject and externalizing his "sorrow" proves useless, however. He sees in the metaphors available to a traveler-- "highways" and "airports"-- what he is avoiding at home: conflict. Why else would he look at something usually used as a metaphor for freedom and spontaneity-- the open road-- and see "litigation"? Why imagine something as sterile and efficiency-minded as an airport "disagreeing"?
Maybe his store of sympathy has run out at home. Maybe when he calls home to gripe about something that happened at a gig, his wife replies that her single parenting is hardly the life of Riley, either... and if he hates it so much out there, he could come home and wash a dish or two.
Home is warm and cozy but stifling and stultifying; the road is thrilling and full of possibility and opportunity but lonely. Perhaps our conflicted absentee is truly in need of a blessing after all.
Next song: Long, Long Day
As we have already seen, the life of a travelling musician may be anything but glamorous. I recall seeing one folkie in college. A guy came out, set up a stool and a mic', put some water on the stool, came back with a guitar and tuned it, and left the stage. Five minutes later, the same guy came out, picked up the guitar, and started to play and sing. This guy was his own roadie-- glamorous, indeed! Like the guys Dire Straits sing about who have to "install microwave ovens," the speaker considers himself a "working man."
This is the level of the game our speaker plays. In earlier songs on this soundtrack, Jonah discusses the toll it takes on him. Here, he widens his scope a bit: "I have a wife and family, but they don’t see much of me."
The line "I play the ace of spades" can be taken several ways. It might be a reference to "Ace in the Hole"; one imagines many games of poker are played on tour! Another meaning could be that he must always play his highest card, his best material, as his he still making his name. Yet another, more unlikely, idea is that he plays the role of the ace, the leader of the group, but this is a role he puts on.
Then speaking of his family, he asks for a blessing for himself, "God bless the absentee." On the surface, this may seem selfish. After all, shouldn't his family be the one he is asking God to bless, having to make their way without him? Ah, but of course God is watching over them. He is the one who has to remind God-- "Hey, I need some blessing, too! It's hard out here!" (This is the third song on the soundtrack to mention "God," plus one that mentions "Jesus.")
The next metaphor for what he does is surgery: "Music is my knife." In what way? "It cuts away my sorrow." Yes, but doesn't it also, in a way, cause it? After all, if his sorrow is missing his family, the music is what takes him away from them in the first place. If he gave up touring, he could see them every night. Perhaps that is not his only source of sorrow, however.
Now, if his heart would be "released" from the rest of his body, it would need the Absentee's Blessing. A heart with no body-- "pure" emotion without that which to feel about-- is not present in a new, truer context as it would hope, but "absent" from its real home. That heart would need God's special attention, with no other support system.
The bridge may seem to be about his "woman," but all the sentences start with "I." He is the true subject of the song; without his wife, bed, and pillow, he feels alone. Even if it was his choice to go on tour.
The next few lines are about his "son," whom he says "do[es]n’t need me yet." Why? "His bones are soft." This would imply a newborn, and one could argue that all a newborn needs is a source of milk, a clean diaper, and a nice crib.
But is this child a newborn? Not in the movie, and not here: "He flies a silver airplane/ He wears a golden cross." This is presumably a toy airplane, and one might even guess the kind of gift bought by a hurried, harried parent at an airport on the way home, having forgotten to buy one at the other city. And the son is old enough to wear a necklace, something one certainly does not put on an infant or toddler. Perhaps our speaker is in denial about how old his child really is and how much he needs a present father figure.
The last verse seems like a cop-out, blaming societal changes for his own guilt. The comments about how the country is changing reveal that he has not changed while everything around him has-- and maybe he is just noticing now (for instance, his newborn is now zooming around the living room narrating the flights of toy airplanes).
Changing the subject and externalizing his "sorrow" proves useless, however. He sees in the metaphors available to a traveler-- "highways" and "airports"-- what he is avoiding at home: conflict. Why else would he look at something usually used as a metaphor for freedom and spontaneity-- the open road-- and see "litigation"? Why imagine something as sterile and efficiency-minded as an airport "disagreeing"?
Maybe his store of sympathy has run out at home. Maybe when he calls home to gripe about something that happened at a gig, his wife replies that her single parenting is hardly the life of Riley, either... and if he hates it so much out there, he could come home and wash a dish or two.
Home is warm and cozy but stifling and stultifying; the road is thrilling and full of possibility and opportunity but lonely. Perhaps our conflicted absentee is truly in need of a blessing after all.
Next song: Long, Long Day
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