Paul Simon - Paul Simon

Some time back, probably two years or so, Kara's mom donated to us her LP collection spanning the musical predilections of several decades.  Contained within these old busted-ass tapedup boxes were no end of oddities both pleasing and repelling.  They've fueled many a late night sing along, I'll tell you that.  What better litmus test can you offer a party comer than whether they find hundreds of totally random LPs fascinating and compelling and a fine reason to stay up till 6 am in joyous exploration...or boring and a reason to go home?  The LPs don't lie.  They're like a very smart dog.  They know good people.  They know bad people.  They also tell fortunes.  They're probably the most magical collective item I've ever encountered.   

Among them resides this one item of particular magic.  Paul Simon's first post-Garfunkel effort.  I'd heard some of the tracks before, but always on some afterthought best-of compilation.  But, as with all great artists, the best stuff lies between the exclamtion points.  I dug it out and threw it on the old turntable and was stricken up the turn-pike to New England, sweet New England.   The album wraps itself around you like a big furry hood and warms your cockles with a doleful,  genuine expression of effortless beauty that you really can't find just anywhere. 

It has all the characteristic harmonic and vocal lushness of Paul Simon's earlier work which we all love so well, bedded in absolutely flawless recording engineering.   Here's what I mean:  listen to the very first cymbal crash on the very first track.  It's like no other crash you've ever heard.  It's like jumping into a pool of molten brass.  That doesn't happen by accident.  I bet they recorded that one crash 906 different ways.  And old Paul knew which one was best.  That's what makes his recordings so stellar.  He  must be some kind of crazy perfectionist.  But look at the product! 

I will say that the record sounds better on vinyl than the remastered version  you can get digitally these days.  I don't know why technically.  I couldn't explain it in anything but hack-terminology,  but the roving, fretless bass lines and shimmering cymbal crashes tell the truth.  Vinyl's deeper. 

Nonetheless, you just won't find a bad sound on this record.  Every note is exquisitely in tune, every phrase a triumph of musicianship perfectly balanced against every other voice and sounding as natural as if it were happening right next to you.  It's filled with those tangential little moments where one voice jumps out of the ensemble and rips off a melody or variation of such supreme taste and poise and tonal mastery that you can't believe it and then before you know it three more have passed by and you have to listen all over again.  Yet it's not the least bit cluttered.  It's measured and accurate and without the slightest hint of clamor.  

The lyrics are poetic and darkly touching, evocative of feelings, places, and times.  My favorite track, Duncan,  is the monologue of Lincoln Duncan.  His father was a fisherman, his mother was a fisherman's friend.  And he was born of the boredom and the chowder.  So when he reached his prime, he left his home in the maritimes, and headed down the turnpike for New England, sweet New England.  It goes on with amazing poetry from there.  Check it.  For reals. 

There's a psychic element to his singing which conveys far more on a subliminal level than the words ever could.    That's a cliche for sure, but damnit it's true.  That's what good music does. It must be exhausting to keep that range of emotions in the front of your brain constantly so they can be summoned and excersized at will.  

The whole work moves like a dream, taking you through stories and personages you'd never imagined necessarily, but can thoroughly understand with some prompting from the narrator.  His inward and intricate discussion of wives, children, friends long lost, and tragic drug addictions are cold, bleak, and brutally human in their rawness.  The sweet harmonies and melodies and joyous outbreaks, however, move you up to a silver sentimentality you think must only come when one becomes very, very old.  

In a nutshell, it's the kind of album you put on, only to find yourself suddenly at the end, having lost time and space, and feeling wiser, better, far more at peace in this life.