Yeah, me neither, but it is what it is, and gives an obtuse pleasure more profound than, say, "Types of Horse" or "Continental Cheeses", although the latter could have some traction as a future theme. First I thought about witty puns and homophones, you know, pallbearers and the such aPAULing ideas. Then I moved on to the name, with which I have stuck. At first I was going to riff on alternate spellings, so Porl Thompson or Pòl Brennan*, but left off, feeling it too contrived. (Like it has ever stopped me before.) I assumed someone somewhere might already be considering the only living boy in New York, so avoided that one, or any other singer-songwriter casting a similar shadow. So, what was left?
I asked Alexa, and she didn't disappoint, reminding me of the estimable charm of Adrianne Lenker's band, Big Thief, whom I don't think have been included here before. Big Thief usually get described as indie, which, these days, seems a phrase of some redundancy, encompassing anything outwith a standard blues based rock orthodoxy, and where electric guitars are employed. I have also seen them written up as folk-rock, which also, at least in any anglo-celtic tradition, seems just wrong. Could they be post-rock, that term I don't really understand, knowingly dropped into conversation by erudite folk like, well, like me, actually. Never let it be said that understanding is a prerequisite to use of any word, idea or undertaking. (For the record, wiki tell me that post-rock is:"a form of experimental rock[3] characterized by a focus on exploring textures and timbre over traditional rocksong structures, chords, or riffs." Well, that clears that up, then.)
Frankly, does it matter? The sound and songs they make are often a delight of subtle twists of phrase and melody, borne along on the fragile and raw intimacy of Lenker's vocal. Unfair to call the band Lenker's really, as she has a separate solo life that began ahead the band, and continues, alongside. And that, perhaps, does fit more comfortably into a "folk" characterisation, acoustic and organic Indeed, she made her first album in 2006, before even attending Berklee College of Music, where she met the other members of Big Thief, all four of the original quartet graduates of that august institution. But she becomes identifiably the focus, such is the default of most vocalists.
Paul comes from their debut, often defined their masterpiece, which is handy, as that is exactly the same name they gave it themselves, back in 2016. It is one of those songs that instantly arouses interest. I guess I first heard it back in about 2020, ever late to the game, possibly as the pandemic had me hunkering down, with more time to explore back catalogues and back pages, the present effectively on hold. A splurge on youtube viewing had me moving from track to track, album to album. Similar to when I first heard the National, suddenly I wanted to hear it all and hear them more. Thankfully(!), they haven't been that prolific, unless one discounts her solo work and the proto-BF stirrings of her duet work with later bandmate, and erstwhile husband, the guitarist Buck Meek. Since Masterpiece, there have been four releases, the latest being a freshly minted double, Dragon New Morning Warm Mountain, from barely two months ago.
I'm not going to link any more of their songs; I want that to be a delight for any self-sourcing this piece may provoke. But here's a live radio performance of Paul:
And a further version, stripped back in duet form, Adrianne and Buck style.
No, there was not even the slightest premonition
that the departing theme was going to get any more real than a nod to Memorial
Day (SMM tries to theme to calendar events such as Thanksgiving..) Really.
That's not fake news.
The driving force behind the War/Peace theme was
recognition of Memorial Day. If you follow SMM, you already know that the site
tries to periodically link its theme to the calendar. This, of course, was 10
days ago.
As such, I don't feel a great need to apologize
for fueling the current rage (if in fact we did, in our own limited way), but
there seems to be a need to bring things around to a more mellow place with
another post about War/Peace. I DID say that waging peace is almost equally as
fraught with its own issues as waging war (see the furor over Lennon's sleep in
for peace). I had no premonitions of the future as I chose to go with a
"1968-themed" song about an ongoing war resulting from American
political decisions 50 years ago. Yes, I referenced current political issues
(bone spurs, senator's sons...), but they were wild shots, certainly not targeting
a news item I had not yet heard about.
That said, maybe we can do our civic best to
guide the conversation away from civil war (and bands with names like Guns 'n Roses, the Clash)
As the theme generator, I fuss with the Blogger tools to check previously-used themes. I keep my own Excel file of used/unused themes which I try to keep up to date. [It's hard after 20 years]
That means decisions about <fall> or <autumn> or, this time, <leaves> as a substitute to fall, since that is the season.
That said, the first song that came to mind for the <Leaves> theme (considering my age and time-frame) was: Leaves That Are Green, a classic <folk> hit from the 60s that almost qualifies for "pop", but not rock.
The Simon and Garfunkel duo made millions (I trust) from their 60s albums that blurred the boundaries between "[pop] songs your Mom approved of" and the simultaneous raucous rock that was brewing underneath. Theirs was a kind of acceptable pathway to the inevitable cacophany of the latter half of the 70s: "Pop is not so bad/probably OK. If moderated."
I don't mean to take away from their later forays: Garkunkle's <My Home Town> has its high points and verges away from their <folk> format, to some extent.
Simon has done some very positive expositions of alternative [African] vibes - to everyone's benefit. But they [individually and combined] are generally relegated to a status less than they really deserve for what they have given/left us.
I cannot re-create the atmosphere of the mid-60s for you, a time filled with Motown, emerging Stones and Beatles, short-lived acts like Manfred Man, the Monekeys and more.
However, Simon and Garfunkel kept it up - both through the psychedelia (without going down that path) and then for at least another generation ... well a decade or two ..., each in their own way.
Leaves That Are Green .. somewhere between rock and the future ....
Simon & Garfunkel go back far enough that there are visual/video records of their first appearances, and there is one of their earliest <Leaves That Are Green> shows available online.
And .. summer moving into fall - we've got green going to brown.
No, this isn’t an article about Jerry Garcia (who died in 1995) or Bob Weir (still very much alive).
As always, we find ourselves looking back on the past year, marveling sadly at the losses the music world has suffered. And as is my habit, I try to highlight some of the lesser known people who died, because the more famous have been lauded at length elsewhere.
In fact, the first person I considered writing about, Maggie Roche, was the subject of an excellent piece in The New York Times Magazine, and I’m not going to try to compete with that—so read it at the link.
Instead, I decided to write about a few of the many guitarists that passed away in 2017, in many genres (and thanks to KKafa for writing so well about Larry Coryell, and Darius for writing about Walter Becker, so I don’t have to). There should probably be some sort of clever organizing principle, but I can’t think of one, so I’ll do it in order of the date they died:
Tommy Allsup: Rarely does a coin toss turn out to be a matter of life and death, but for Tommy Allsup, losing one to Ritchie Valens on a cold Iowa night in February, 1959 allowed him to escape the fate of Valens, Buddy Holly and The Big Bopper (and pilot Roger Peterson). But it would be wrong to focus only on Allsup’s luck—he was a fine musician, who was touring with Holly and went on to a long career as a musician, songwriter and producer. In addition to Holly, Allsup worked with Willie Nelson, Leon Russell, Bob Wills & His Texas Playboys, Asleep at the Wheel, George Jones, Don McLean, Marty Robbins, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings (also left off the plane in Iowa that night), Earl Scruggs, Jerry Lee Lewis, Dwight Yoakum, and the Everly Brothers, among others. Admittedly, despite that long resume, it appears that pretty much everything ever written about Allsup includes a reference to the coin toss. You can hear him tell the story here. And here he is telling more stories about Holly, before playing “It’s So Easy:”
Allan Holdsworth: Holdsworth is probably the best known of the guitarists in this article, and in some circles, he is considered to be one of the most influential guitarists of all time. I’ve referred to him before, most recently in a piece about a Gong song, one of the many bands that he contributed to over the years. Here’s what I wrote then:
If you don’t know who Allan Holdsworth was (he passed away earlier this year), find his music on the Internet. Days before his death, a 12 CD box set of his solo albums from 1982-2003, entitled The Man Who Changed Guitar Forever, was released. The title was taken from a proclamation on the cover of an issue of Guitar Player in 2008, and it isn’t an overstatement. That’s not to say that there aren’t other guitarists who changed the way guitar was played, but he’s certainly one of them. He was the favorite guitarist of Eddie van Halen; Tom Morello and Frank Zappa, among others, have cited him as an influence.
I really lack the vocabulary to explain why Holdsworth is also one of my favorite, if not my favorite, guitarist, so here’s a quote from Robben Ford, not a bad player in his own right: "I think Allan Holdsworth is the John Coltrane of the guitar. I don't think anyone can do as much with the guitar as Allan Holdsworth can." Apparently, he developed his style attempting to make the guitar sound more like a saxophone.
I may have first encountered Holdsworth from his Gong performances, or it might have been with his incredible playing in Bill Bruford’s band. And from there, I’ve listened to his solo work, his one great album with U.K., and his other recordings, with Tony Williams, Jean-Luc Ponty, Soft Machine and others. I saw him once, in the early 80s at the Bottom Line in NY, and it was a pretty incredible experience.
Here he is playing with Bruford—the guitar solos kicks in at about 3:25, but don’t skip ahead—the band is too good:
Ray Phiri: Like Tommy Allsup, I suspect that most Americans, at least, are familiar with Ray Phiri for something that was really only a small part of his career. Phiri, a South African guitarist, singer, composer and arranger was featured on Paul Simon’s groundbreaking Graceland album, as well as its follow up, the more Brazilian-flavored Rhythm of The Saints. Ultimately, Phiri and Simon fell out over, as usual, issues relating to song credits and royalties. But in many ways, it was Phiri’s African/rock/blues fusion guitar, and his arrangements, that helped to turn Graceland into a huge hit for Simon.
Nevertheless, Phiri’s career in South Africa, as the founder of The Cannibals and Stimela, and as an anti-apartheid activist is his most important legacy. That is why in 2011, the President of South Africa, Jacob Zuma, awarded Phiri the Order of Ikhamanga, a national honor, citing “the successful use of arts as an instrument of social transformation.”
Here’s Simon’s “Boy In The Bubble” from the 1991 concert in Central Park, which was later released as a live album. Phiri has a brief solo at about 2:55. Also visible on stage is Cameroonian guitarist Vincent Nguini, who played and recorded with Simon for 30 years, and who died in December, 2017:
John Abercrombie: There was a time, when I was in college, and for a few years afterwards, that I listened to a lot of jazz on the ECM label, which I got into initially by listening to Pat Metheny, with whom Abercrombie shares some sensibilities. In addition to his own, fluid, understated virtuosity, Abercrombie regularly played with other great musicians, including drummer Jack DeJohnette, bassist Dave Holland (who together comprised the Gateway Trio), bassist George Mraz, and drummer Peter Erskine, among many others. I sort of lost track of Abercrombie in the 1980s and am not all that familiar with his later work. But I still occasionally enjoy some of those early ECM albums. Here’s a live recording of the Gateway Trio, which highlights Abercrombie’s playing, as well as Holland and DeJohnette (who is one of my favorite drummers):
Phil Miller: I’ve writtennumeroustimes about bands and musicians from the Canterbury Scene, of which Phil Miller was a significant part. Miller, who was a member of Matching Mole, Hatfield And The North, National Health (which I wrote about here), and other bands, was a fluid and nimble player, whose soloing was imaginative and avoided cliché, but was also a skilled accompanist. I never had the chance to see any of Miller’s bands live, but have long enjoyed his recordings, particularly with National Health. And, based on this video, I wish that I had seen them (you can skip the first minute of noise, if you must):
Bonus Dead Bass Player--John Wetton: The bass is a type of guitar, right? And Wetton is probably more famous that anyone above, having had some actual hits, with Asia in the 80s. Wetton died just shy of two months after Greg Lake, another bass player with a similar voice, who Wetton ultimately succeeded in King Crimson (Lake, interestingly, briefly replaced Wetton in Asia, years later). In addition to playing in King Crimson, on three of their best albums, Larks' Tongues in Aspic, Starless and Bible Black, and Red, Wetton was a member of U.K., which originally included Holdsworth (and Bruford and Eddie Jobson), as well as Roxy Music, Uriah Heep, Wishbone Ash, and other bands, and collaborated with many musicians, including Phil Manzanera, Brian Eno, Bryan Ferry, Steve Hackett, and Geoff Downes.
Here’s a link where you can download an unreleased track of Wetton playing with Robert Fripp and Phil Collins, and here’s a video of a live U.K. performance with the original lineup, synced to the album track:
I know we can write about any season, but it would seem strange to be writing about summer now, since it is cold, and we are in the middle of the winter holidays. Of course, south of the Equator, it is summer, but I don’t think we have any writers from that part of the world. Parenthetically, it is a little strange—and maybe one of the most obvious examples of how world culture is so dominated by the American/Northern European tradition—that even in those places where Christmas is celebrated in the warm weather, there seems to be no lack of pine trees (usually fake), snow (fake), stocking caps (unnecessary) and other wintery symbols in the iconography of the holiday.
So, winter it is, but not a holiday related song. Instead, we will discuss “A Hazy Shade of Winter,” a relatively early masterpiece written by Paul Simon, and performed by him with his erstwhile partner, Art Garfunkel, two nice Jewish boys from Queens. It is hard to read Paul Simon lyrics without realizing how great they are. And he has been able to write music in so many styles, that it is sort of mind-boggling. Unlike many of his peers (and even those younger), he never rested on his laurels—famously experimenting with world music, before going all in on Graceland, and even collaborating with Brian Eno in his mid-60s (Eno is only a few years younger than Simon, but you have to admit that the pairing seemed a bit surprising—likely part of the reason that their album together is called Surprise).
“A Hazy Shade of Winter,” though, goes back to Simon’s days in England, in 1965, where he had gone to perform as a solo act when the first Simon & Garfunkel album flopped. But a remix of “Sounds of Silence” from that album, became a hit, and Simon returned to New York and Garfunkel, for their amazing run. “Hazy” was recorded for the Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme album in 1966, but failed to make the final cut. It was released later that year as a successful single, and was included on 1968’s Bookends album.
By the standards of that period’s Simon & Garfunkel songs, it is almost Ramones-esque in its tempo and how it rocks, but the song's lyrics are really what stand out. You can almost see the young Paul Simon, who as a teenager had written and recorded hit songs, feeling exiled and failing in chilly mid-1960s London, writing a song about an unfulfilled artist—still in the “springtime of my life,” but drinking while thinking of his “manuscripts of unpublished rhyme.” Meanwhile, it is metaphorically, and maybe even actually, the time when autumn is turning to an uncertain winter:
Leaves are brown, now And the sky is a hazy shade of winter
The narrator continues:
Hang on to your hopes, my friend That's an easy thing to say But if your hopes should pass away Simply pretend that you can build them again
Oh, that is bleak, isn’t it? (Which makes me think of one of my favorite actual Christmas songs that would fit this theme, “In the Bleak Midwinter,” also mournful, but religiously so.)
Some of you slightly younger folks might know the song better from the excellent cover by The Bangles, which they had long performed live before recording it for the soundtrack to the pretty bleak 1987 movie Less Than Zero, scenes from which can be seen in this video:
Something So Right can be called a classic song by Paul Simon. It has certainly been covered often enough. But I had a hard time finding a version that came close to what I hear in my head. That has everything to do with how records were produced in the 1970s. The song originally appeared on Simon’s album There Goes Rhymin’ Simon. It started well enough, but soon the production starts to swell with unnecessary strings that I have always felt provide a level of artificial emotion that this song does not need. The genuine emotion in the writing should be enough. Even so, the song does need a small ensemble to move it along. So, Simon’s live version on Live Rhymin’ suffers from the opposite extreme. Here, Simon strips the song down to just voice and guitar, but now the song sounds desolate in a way that still does not do justice to the lyric. So I went in search of the perfect cover, a version that heard what I hear. Phoebe Snow’s version is marred by the pop-jazz arrangement that worked so beautifully for Poetry Man, but became a cliché for her. Annie Lennox did a cover years later that Simon blessed with his backing vocals and guitar playing, but here again I find the production overdone. There is a DVD of Paul Simon and Friends where Dianne Reaves takes the song and gives it a promising small band jazz reading, but Reaves loses her mind at the bridge, and falls into the trap of oversinging the song. I was afraid to even sample versions by Barbara Streisand and Celine Dion with the Muppets.
Finally, I stumbled upon this version by Jeanne O’Connor. I had not heard of her before, but by this time I knew the version I wanted would be by an indie artist. It would be someone who avoided the temptation to overproduce the song by the simple expedient of not having the budget to do so. This is a small ensemble jazz take, which suits the song well, but O’Connor keeps her voice under control. By not forcing things, she allows the emotion of Simon’s writing to shine through as it always should have. O’Connor’s vocal has enough heart to make the song completely convincing, but she does not impose her will on a song that is too fine to need that kind of help. There is still room for someone to record the perfect version of the song, perhaps with guitar and a small folk combo. But until that version is recorded or finds my ears, this will do nicely.
Not too long back, I noted that the Kingston Trio (and others of their ilk such as Bob Dylan and Simon & Garfunkel) helped pave the path to Rock music.
Simon & Garfunkel eventually went their own ways and they both began producing separate/solo works. Garfunkel (with fewer efforts: apropos our theme: Songs from a Parent to a Child, Watermark ..) And Simon, with Still Crazy After All These Years, There Goes Rhymin' Simon ...)
In among Simon's works is the "solo" <Mother and Child Reunion>. Solo? Yes - in that Garfunkel is no longer his main man. Not so solo in that Simon has lots of help.
Like most any other major musicians from the 60s still with us (RIP: too many to name), Paul Simon has provided us with an eclectic collection - see Graceland. Occasionally reuniting with Art Garfunkel (See My Little Town).
In the original Paul Simon version of Mother and Child Reunion, the song hints at its reggae roots. In the Marley take here, the reggae is front and foremost. Of course.
Last week, I watched all 10 episodes of Aziz Ansari’s great new Netflix series Master of None. In addition to being very funny, the show deals head on with issues of racism, sexism and ageism, among other “isms.” So, when I thought about suggesting a cover song theme for the next two weeks, I became sensitive to the fact that over the years we have done nine other themes focusing on cover songs, and in each case, but one, the spotlight artists were male. Joni Mitchell was the only featured woman. (And as I write this, I realize that all nine artists are white, something that also needs to be addressed). And that’s how we ended up with a theme highlighting Carole King Covers. (That’s a lot of “K” sounds, so it must be funny.)
Next year is the 45th anniversary of the release of Tapestry, which was King’s second solo release. It established her as a commercial success as a performer, and is still one of the largest selling albums of all time. Pretty much every song on the album is great, and I loved it when I was a kid, but it is, honestly, not an album that I pull out to listen to anymore. I hope that some of the other writers here write about covers of songs from Tapestry, and I might down the road, but not today.
By 1971, when Tapestry was released, King had already had a 20 year long music career, beginning with her appearance on the Horn and Hardart Children’s Hour as an 8 year old, recordingdemos in high school with her friend Paul Simon, and, while attending Queens College, writing songs for others, mostly with Gerry Goffin, from an office in the famous Brill Building in Times Square. The number of hit songs she turned out is stunning, as is the breadth of styles—artists as diverse as Aretha Franklin, The Monkees, The Shirelles, Herman’s Hermits, The Drifters and even The Beatles recorded covers of her songs. The Broadway show Beautiful does a nice job bringing this to life, as well as discussing King’s later career. It is, of course, a cleaned up, streamlined version of the story, but it is very entertaining.
The Animals, led by singer Eric Burdon, were created in the early 1960s, and featured a gritty, blues based sound. In 1964, they released their signature song, a cover of the traditional blues song, “House of the Rising Sun.” Their producer, Mickie Most, reportedly called into the offices of Screen Gems music, then run by Don Kirshner, looking for songs. A furious competition ensued among the various writers and teams, which ultimately resulted in three hits—“We Gotta Get Out Of This Place,” written by Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil (who were friends and rivals of Goffin and King), “It’s My Life,” written by the team of Roger Atkins and Carl D’Errico, and “Don’t Bring Me Down,” a Goffin/King composition, which was the last hit for the band, before it was renamed “Eric Burdon and The Animals," before breaking up. (Burdon re-formed the band, with new members and a psychedelic style after moving to California in 1966, although the old incarnation also had reunions.)
I had the opportunity to interview David Johansen, I believe in 1981, when he appeared in Trenton at City Gardens. I might even have introduced him. Johansen is one of those musicians who has successfully reinvented himself over the years, from his days fronting the legendary New York Dolls, which was followed by a solo career under his own name, to his partying alter-ego Buster Poindexter and his more recent country-blues work with The Harry Smiths. I was, and continue to be a big fan of the music he released in the early ‘80s, particularly his first three albums, David Johansen, In Style, and Here Comes the Night, all of which received heavy airplay on my radio shows.
Shortly after I graduated from college, and regrettably left the radio world behind, Johansen released a great live record, Live it Up, which capitalized on his justified reputation as a great concert performer. The collection kicks off with an intense medley of the three songs that Mickie Most bought for the Animals from Screen Gems, including a great version of “Don’t Bring Me Down.” Not only is Johansen in total command of the material, his band is tight. It included guitarists Huw Gower, who power pop lovers might know best as the guitarist on The Records’ incredible “Starry Eyes,” and Dave Nelson, who was in Nektar, New Riders of the Purple Sage and The Turtles, as well as keyboard player Charlie Giordano, who now plays with the E Street Band and drummer Tony Machine, who had been in later versions of the New York Dolls.
Paul Simon: Mother and Child Reunion [purchase mp3]
Moving from "Wet" to "Reunion" with this piece. Here is Paul Simon (and Art Garfunkel) doing some slipping and sliding.
Within the last week or so several news sources have referenced interview/comments from Art Garfunkel that make a new Simon and Garfunkel reunion seem even more unlikely that it might have already been. Granted, the duo split (after what was known as a difficult relationship) back in 1970 ... but they wouldn't have been the first to get together again for a reunion that would likely prove profitable. They did get together off and on several times over the years - never comfortably, it appears. After 1970, each pursued solo careers. Garfunkel gravitated more towards film while Simon focused more on the music. 1972's <Paul Simon> album was well received/sold pretty well. Garfunkel - solo -wasn't as successful. Getting back together off and on, together they managed >My Little Town> in the mid 70s and a couple of memory lane concerts afterwards. Paul Simon, on the other hand, put out solos albums in 72, 73, 74, 75 ... that included major hits such as Me and Julio Down in the Schoolyard, Kodachrome, Loves Me Like a Rock, Still Crazy After All These Years, and - of course - Mother and Child Reunion.
We’re celebrating Halloween a week early here this week. This way, anyone who still doesn’t know what to dress up as can benefit from our suggestions. Seriously, Halloween, at least as observed here in the United States, is the time when we give into the urge for a short time to become someone or something else. That urge may be motivated by a desire for secrecy or concealment. Or, it may be a way of projecting a different identity onto someone else. The whole question of identity is rich ground for songwriters, and costumes and masks are a fine way to express that.
That said, our first example is not the finest display of deep songwriting you will ever hear. The Lone Teen Ranger is a 1950’s pop song about jealousy. The masked man in the title is a metaphor for a rival who probably doesn’t wear a mask as he walks the halls of his high school. The song is sometimes credited to Jerry Landis by himself, and sometimes to his group Tom & Jerry. This is itself a disguise for a duo that would later become much better known as Simon and Garfunkle. Landis is Paul Simon, whose songwriting under his own name is of a very different quality than this.
A Simple Desultory Philippic is a hilarious parody of the 60's and, more specifically, of Bob Dylan and his fans. Of this song, Paul Simon said, "This is, of course, a take-off, a take-on, a private joke, but no joke is all that private or any less serious for being a joke."
Dylan and his fans are most scathingly mocked in the middle section when Simon sings, in an obvious Dylan-esq whine, about a man who's "so unhip, when you say 'Dylan' he thinks you're talking about Dylan Thomas, whoever he was. The man ain't got no culture. But it's alright, Ma, everybody must get stoned!"
I think Simon keeps the parody at a humorous, as opposed to a personal or hurtful, level when he includes his own work in the list of things that he's sick of. "Been Roy Halee'd and Art Garfunkel'd."
Listen to the original version for alternate lyrics and a more mockingly authentic Dylan guitar riff.
Ahhh, Graceland. What an exhilarating thing it was when I first heard the album. Yes, Paul Simon had already been around forever at that point, but this was a brand new sound. But, because I read world music magazines, I soon had to deal with the question of cultural imperialism.
The idea is this. There is some pure version of the music of every tribe in the world. This purity is destroyed when native musicians are exposed to music from outside their culture. Somehow, the villain in this is always western music. Paul Simon, in this construction, committed a worse sin by actually having these musicians play with him.
But here’s the thing: in these same magazines, I learned something of the history of South African music. The township sound that Simon was so drawn to in the first place was heavily influenced by doo-wop. So was Simon, but he took it in a different direction. Elsewhere in Africa, King Sunny Ade and Fela Kuti were influenced by the music of James Brown and Miles Davis. Now take it back even further, and you find that the music of James Brown and Miles Davis evolved from the music of Africa. Music doesn’t stand still, and musicians are influenced by whatever is available to them. It is fascinating to hear music that retains its cultural purity, and has been unchanged for centuries. But it is just not that likely to happen in the modern world, and the music that replaces it is just as fascinating. I offer You Can Call Me Al as a fine example of what I mean, and I don’t think Paul Simon has anything to apologize for.
When I interviewed Bob Mould in the early nineties, the former Hüsker Dü guitarist alerted me to almost forgotten Canadian punk band the Diodes. According to Mould, their untitled first album was even better than the Ramones´ debut, as, and I quote: "a guitar solo came by every now and then".
Which made me seek out that ´77 slab of vinyl pronto of course, and I soon found that Mould surely had been waxing nostalgic a bit. The Diodes didn´t come close to the genius of Da Brudders, although they certainly had their moments. Here´s their inspired Paul Simon cover Red Rubber Ball (indeed featuring a guitar solo, and a fine one at that) for proof. Legend has it they picked this song because Simon had been slagging off punk in the media.
And as a bonus I just couldn´t resist given this week´s theme, here´s another early Canadian punk band for you. The Subhumans sounded much rawer than the Diodes and weren´t to happy with their ´white wasteland´ apparently... "Oh Canaduh, what’s wrong with you, you better wake up, now what you gonna do..."
I will forever associate this song and its album with the arc of a particular love affair, specifically the girl I dated through my last years of high school, an exotic, sensual, tiny and sweet free-spirited child of mixed-race divorce who at fourteen showed me the burning intensity of life for the first time. Our theme song was Song About the Moon, an equally gorgeous lullaby, but this title song from the album she kept on her stereo describes everything I was feeling at the time, from our "love like lightning shaking to moans" to the constant mischievous immediacy she tried, and ultimately failed, to convince me was the way I wanted to live my life, though I will always love her for it in my memory.
In many ways, Hearts and Bones is Paul Simon's most flawed album, with a few embarrassing clunkers in the mix, the whole product yawing too-wide through a set of songs about half of which stand better on their own than in the midst of the discomforting chaos that is the track-to-track listing. Yet in its own way, it is also terribly underrated, containing echoes of what came before and what was to come, as are the young loves who brought us to ourselves. I miss both girl and album every day, though I'd not trade either in a million years for what and who we have all - Simon, myself, and the girl, who is now a distant memory - moved on to become.
As a bonus, here's the sweetest cover of this song I know - equally poignant, though in a simpler, more wistful way.
First, let me say that I am one of those people who hates sing-alongs. I always feel that I’m going to get it wrong. So I don’t sing.
But when my wife and I took my daughter to see The Wild Thornberry Movie in the theater, something came over me. When the story is over, a song plays while the end titles roll. In The Wild Thornberry Movie, that song is Paul Simon’s Father and Daughter. In the theater, I was hearing it for the first time. By the time the chorus repeated for the first time, I had turned to my daughter, and was singing it to her. The magic carried through to the end of the song and a little beyond. That moment is now my reminder, if I ever need it, of just how much I love my daughter. The years that have passed since then have not changed that.
Bonus trivia fact: Nigel Thornberry was voiced, in the movie and on television, by Tim Curry.
John Wesley Harding found an unusual way to pay tribute to one of his musical inspirations a few years ago: he recorded the album Trad. Arr. Jones, a collection of traditional songs in arrangements that were inspired by those used by English folk singer Nic Jones. In the album notes, Harding encourages everybody to also seek out the Nic Jones “originals”.
Following the releases of Graceland, which featured South African musicians, and Rhythm of the Saints, which featured musicians from Brazil, Paul Simon toured with an amazing band of musicians from many lands. The sound of this band was preserved on the album Concert in the Park, from which this track was taken. The studio version was on Rhythm of the Saints.
My first two posts this week came from albums I love without reservation. That is not the case here. I knew Paul Simon from his days with Art Garfunkel. This time, my brothers were not to blame; I had a best friend who was a year younger than me, but started buying albums before I did. The Simon and Garfunkel albums had a variety of production touches, but nothing that didn't suit the songs.
When I think of the 70's, I think first of insipid overproduced ballads. Then, I remember the horrors of disco. In 1973, disco was still far off, but the bland productions had begun. Here Comes Rhymin' Simon suffers from this to a degree. The slow songs especially have a wash of smooth backing vocals that serve only to make the songs sound more like musical wallpaper, and there are extraneous instruments, (most notably the electric piano), which do nothing to help the songs. This is all the more aggravating because the songwriting is really good.
But then, towards the end of the album, there is Loves Me Like a Rock. With a full band and gospel vocals, you could say there is no more heavy handed production on the album. But here it all works. The song may be called a secular gospel song, and it is a blast. This actually was my introduction to the gospel style, and it definitely inspired me to explore further.
When the theme is "songs about the moon", what better song can there be than "Song About The Moon"? And, when one of the greatest songwriters of modern times gives you advice about how to write a song, you'd best listen.
I have always thought that Hearts and Bones was an under-rated album. Of course, it was originally recorded as a reunion Simon & Garfunkel album, but when the two could not agree about certain creative aspects of the recording (e.g., whether or not to allow Garfunkel to sing on any tracks... at all) Simon pulled the plug on the reunion, scrubbed Garfunkel's vocals from the existing tracks, and rerecorded the album as a solo effort. I agree with most critics that it is not his best, or even close to his best, but still it's really not bad. There are a few songs on this album that are absolutely terrific (The Late Great Johnny Ace, Renee And Georgette Magritte With Their Dog After The War, and Hearts & Bones itself). Of course there are a few others that are quite skippable.
Overall, it's worth owning. Song About The Moon is not necessarily a highlight of the album, but it's decent musically and wonderful lyrically. Check it out.
Graceland is Paul Simon's last great album. And it really is great.
I happened to be living in South Africa when it came out, so it has always been an important record for me. I heard it frequently in people's homes, and I played it almost constantly on my little one-speaker tape recorder.
Paul Simon instantly became a sort of hero in South Africa when he recorded this record there in spite of accusations that he had broken cultural and legal boycotts against the country. His use of South African sounds, South African musicians, and a South African recording studio was great validation for many (but not all) of the citizens of a country that saw itself as, at best, outside of the world community and, at worst, shunned by it.
One striking thing about the South African people, at that time at least, was that they were very concerned about how the world saw them. As I was preparing to move back to California probably 10-15 people independently said to me, "Go back and tell people that our country is beautiful. Tell them that we're not bad people. Tell them that many of us hate the current system. Tell them that many of us want a freer country too..." etc. I was struck by their concern for these things.
Of course apartheid is now history. I saw it in action back in the mid and late-80's, and it was extremely disturbing and awful to witness; however, I loved that incredibly beautiful country and its many wonderful people. I appreciate Paul Simon for being able to find some of what was beautiful about them, at the time when they needed it most, and showcase it to the world.
Graceland was Album Of The Year. The title track was Record Of The Year. The album has sold more than 14 million copies, making it Simon's most commercially successful album.
When I saw this theme coming I asked myself, "What are the ultimate big-mammas of all advice songs?" The first song that came to my mind was Hey Jude. Is there a more popular and well known advice song in existence? I think not. However, I don't want to post it because it is so well known that there is probably not a single reader within the sound of my keyboard who doesn't own a copy of this tune (unless they don't want one). The second song that came to mind was Jim Croce's You Don't Mess Around With Jim. Cool song, but already ably featured by Dean. The third song that came to mind was the Paul Simon classic, 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover. If familiarity is your rubric, then those three songs together may very well constitute the ultimate triumvirate of advice songs.
I don't love this song for the oft-sung chorus. What's great about it is the verses. The sophistication of the chord progression, the drum line, the conversational lyrics, and the melody (which is the signature highlight of most Paul Simon compositions). The chorus is OK too, but I think of it as something that bridges the gap between the much more wonderful verses.
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