Fifty Years Of Paul Simon

Tiggerlion on Paul Simon released 24th January 1972

Fifty years ago today, Paul Simon embarked on his solo career without his partner Art Garfunkel. Their relationship had always been volatile but, over a collaboration that started in 1957 and yielded five albums, plus a soundtrack for The Graduate, they enjoyed huge success, culminating in the phenomenon that is Bridge Over Troubled Water. He’d gone solo before. After their first album, Wednesday Morning 3am, flopped, Art returned to college while Paul travelled to England and carved out a lonely, nomadic living on the Folk circuit, just him and his finger-picked acoustic guitar. In 1964/5, he made an LP in London, called The Paul Simon Songbook. On the cover, he is sitting crosslegged on damp cobblestones, lost in a world of his own, engrossed in a soft toy, while his girlfriend, Kathy Chitty, looks on. He seems awkward, a fish out of water far away from his native environment. The record wasn’t even released in the US but, when he returned, The Sounds Of Silence had been converted into a million selling smash single and Simon and Garfunkel took off. By 1972, the Songbook seemed to have come from a different era, aeons away.

This time, there would be no going back. The trauma of recording of Bridge Over Troubled Water had been too much. Paul needed to grieve and to come to terms with its global success. He quietly signed up to teach songwriting at New York University. His students described him as nervous, an attentive listener who offered suggestions and criticisms, especially with regard to the lyrics, providing insights to the inspirations behind his own work. He travelled to explore different musical styles, Latin, Jazz, Blues, with a particular eye on World Music. He tried to settle down to domestic bliss with his wife, Peggy. That relationship also turned out to be rocky, ending in divorce after six years. Their son, Harper, was born September 1972, so must have been conceived close to fifty years ago. Paul was thirty at the time, a grown, mature man with responsibilities. Financially, there were no worries but emotionally, there was turmoil. He must have been looking to the future with some trepidation. No wonder, on the front cover, he is peeping, shyly, hesitantly from underneath his parka hood.

Paul Simon is an album dominated by one man’s exquisite voice, his masterful acoustic guitar playing and Roy Halee’s exquisite engineering and co-production. They first met when Halee engineered Wednesday Morning 3am, an album on which the instruments are just acoustic guitar, banjo and double bass. He knew how best to capture Paul’s most intimate moments, as if beckoning the listener to come close to share his secrets. Paul Simon is overflowing with those moments. There are plenty of guest musicians across the whole LP but most tracks only feature one or two. Halee’s skill and versatilty are amply demonstrated by this album and the previous one. Whereas Bridge Over Troubled Water is sweeping and panoramic, Paul Simon is discrete and introspective. As always, it’s the little details that count.

The album opens, adventurously enough, with a Reggae number, the lead single. Mother And Child Reunion is authentic, recorded in Jamaica using Jimmy Cliff’s backing band plus a couple of The Maytals. Paul was embarrassed to find himself the only white man in the studio but he is a genuine lover of Reggae and a fan of Jimmy Cliff in particular. He admired his 1969 eponymous album which features Many Rivers To Cross and Vietnam, a song that describes a mother receiving a telegram informing her that her son was dead. It is said that Mother And Child Reunion is a response. Either that, or it’s inspired by a dish served at 456 Restaurant, Chinatown, New York. Or, just possibly, the death of a dog. For a man known for the precision of his lyrics, these are opaque and mysterious. What does the word ‘motion’ mean exactly? Is it a court order reuniting a foster child with its mother or a transition occurring after death? Could it be a mondegreen and he really means ’emotion’? Nevertheless, the song’s catchiness and charm prevent it from being a totally downbeat introduction. However, it does carry a warning for the rest of the album. He does not want to give us false hope.

Duncan is almost a miniature Bridge Over Troubled Water: The Boxer crossed with El Cóndor Pasa plus a sprinkling of naughtiness from Cecilia. It’s a beautifully spun narrative, moving from a cheap motel to the street onto a tent and into the woods, packed with vivid images but opening and closing with the most striking, a tale of a young man losing his virginity. Living in abject poverty, an enticing preacher befriends him “like a dog”, the instrumental break implying a Pied Piper seduction. At the end, he finds himself playing his guitar and thanking the Lord for his fingers. The sound is lush and deep, yet it’s just Paul’s acoustic guitar and Los Incas, an Andean group, playing flutes, charango and percussion. It is a quintessential Paul Simon song, carefully constructed, a captivating story set to an attractive melody, the lyrics polished to perfection and delivered with a twinkle in the eye.

Everything Put Together Falls Apart lasts just two minutes. In that time, it ruminates on Aristotlean Determinism, melancholy cynicism, the dangers and contradictions of drugs, the futility of well-meaning advice and the inevitability of death. It begins with the word ‘paraphernalia’. Paul is revisiting a theme dating back to I Am A Rock; love causes pain. Its melody and peculiar syntax drop little breadcrumbs that keep the listener guessing. Larry Knechtel, a member of The Wrecking Crew, earns his session fee with the most subtle piano chords and a gentle murmur into a harmonium. The pair of them make it sound so easy, in every one of its meanings.

Run That Body Down is the simplest song on the album but is played by the most stellar musicians: David Spinozza and Gerry Hahn guitars, Hal Blaine drums, Mike Manieri vibes and the Jazz great Ron Carter bass. The music oozes class as it glides by, purring like a contented cat, the rhythm a relaxing soft-shoe shuffle. It needs to be because the strain of the last couple of years is beginning to take its toll on both Paul and his wife Peg. At least they are able to share a moment of touching domesticity (“sweet boy”) before Paul’s head voice soars off into a reverie.

Side one concludes with possibly the most complex and anguished track. It starts sombre and sorrowful, remembering the casualties of war on Armistice Day. Very soon, the fingers attack the guitar strings more aggressively. A girl tries to provide some unconditional ‘comfort’. The track then explodes with anger and frustration, driven on by a couple of saxophones and Jerry Hahn’s choppy guitar. The guitar is so exhilarating, Paul mimics it in a vocal scat. A calm settles towards the fade, as disturbing as a unstable truce.

Me And Julio Down By The Schoolyard skips along with the carefree exuberance of youth. Two mischievous boys are getting into trouble, causing a scandal, possibly committing a crime. The adults are outraged in a cartoon extreme way. Aorto Moreira, a Brazilian Jazz percussionist, adds a multicultural dimension. Paul is so enthused, he indulges in some whistling, and, as a lifelong perfectionist, even permitting himself a bum note. The exact nature of the misdemeanor isn’t clear but it’s worth pointing out that homosexuality was against the law in 1972.

Peace Like A River is a celestial hymn for the oppressed, the glimmers of hope, the brutal suffering and the shattered dreams. Paul spends sleepless nights fretting, deploying his head voice again, plus his own multi-tracked backing vocals, to express his helplessness. Victor Montanez taps relentlessly on his congas as the struggle goes on. It could be the best song he’s ever written.

If you lived on the streets of Detroit, you, too, would have a wheeze. Charlie McCoy’s bass harmonica provides the backdrop to some vivid lyrics. As a vertically challenged gentleman, Paul clearly empathises with feeling like a clown in a basketball town. Papa Hobo may be choking on petrol fumes but he has ambition, at least until the weather turns bad. He breaks out into some joyous busking on Hobo’s Blues that would guarantee a hatful of cash. It’s Stéphane Grappelli playing the violin, so, maybe Papa isn’t up to that standard but you can bet he could match it for enthusiasm. In this song pairing, it’s the narrator who’s sorrowful not the subject.

From one Stéphane to another. Stefan Grossman’s bottleneck is as energetic and accomplished as Grappelli’s violin. Paranoia Blues is a false flag. It’s actually a lot of fun. Paul and the band, for it is a band with Hal Blaine, baritone sax and trombone, enjoy a well told joke. As with all the best jokes, there is more than a kernel of truth behind it. “Whose side are you on?” is an impassioned challenge and the relief of getting out “in the nick of time” is palpable.

The album closes on a funereal note. Congratulations are offered with a heavy heart, seemingly for a divorce. Paul’s own marriage was said to be unstable but only came to an end three years later. However, the final verse finds no joy in being in love and Paul despairs of ever being able to live in domestic contentment. Musically, once again, Larry Knechtel puts in a star turn, this time on piano, Würlitzer electric piano and Hammond organ. His judicious chords suggest a slightly more optimistic point of view and, maybe, a hint at a future return to church for an another attempt.

Paul Simon is his finest LP because it contains his best songwriting, his most expressive singing and his most impressive guitar playing. All ten songs, plus one addendum, are wonderfully written, full of surprises to keep the listener interested, with multiple twists lyrically, musically or rhythmically and enough mystery to allow us to project our own interpretations onto them. As a collection, they are his most personal and most varied. Even the character songs have more than a piece of him in them. On Paul Simon, he tells good stories, is unafraid of revealing details from his life and makes his political opinions known. Paul has been accused of being emotionally detached but, here, he is fully immersed in these songs, singing them with passion and commitment. This is most apparent in his wordless vocalisations when he sounds spontaneous and relaxed. For a man famous for the purity of his choir boy voice, it’s quite a shock to hear him snarl on Paranoia Blues, bristle with anger on Armistace Day or bite into the ‘k’ in ‘the press let the story leak’ line on Me And Julio. There are plenty of guest musicians but they are used sparingly to give each song its distinctive mood and personality. Paul does give himself the pleasure of working with genuine Latin, Reggae, Jazz experts but he does so respectfully and they respond in kind. A Jazz great such as Ron Carter merely adds tone and texture because that is all the song requires. Fabulous horn players, such as Steve Turre, keep notes to a minimum. His own playing is exceptional. Only Grappelli steals the limelight and Hobo’s Blues is a deliberate showcase. Paul Simon could be described as melancholy and anxious but it has its uninhibited, joyful moments and it’s the interplay with the musicians that excite him the most.

Since Paul Simon, he has flourished in a long and successful career that is still going strong. There was a fleeting reconnection with Garfunkel but only one studio song. He has released numerous acclaimed albums, not least Graceland, There Goes Rhymin’ Simon and Still Crazy After All These Years, which often seem to overshadow Paul Simon. His musical innovations are gentle. His revolutionary style is generally subversive and stubborn rather than overtly confrontational. His breach of the South African boycott for Graceland drew sharp criticism but he was determined to use African musicians on the album. His sound is comfortable on the ear. More than that, his records are gorgeous. Even his darkest songs are bathed in luxurious sunlight. He doesn’t throw a gauntlet at his listeners, challenging them with wild experimentation. His anger isn’t as spittle-flecked as Dylan’s nor his romance as erotically-charged as Cohen’s but he does get angry and he is a hopeless romantic. He continues to be an incredible songwriter. His whole career has been spent crafting, honing and perfecting songs. He may have written some better ones than most of those on Paul Simon but he hasn’t been able to match it for consistent excellence across a whole LP. It remains the case, that if you want to get to know Paul better, Paul Simon is the album where he is hiding in plaIn sight. It captures him in a state of vulnerability at a time when his personal and professional life were in flux but everything you need to know about Paul Simon, the man, the artist, is here. Never mind any accusations of being middle-of-the-road, Paul Simon is extraordinary.

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