Step Aside, Sergeant Pepper!

I awoke Tuesday morning to the strains of Simon and Garfunkel emanating from the television. I was eerily reminded that my day exactly three weeks before had begun with finding them in the news. My normally cloudy morning personality was downright stormy, and Dad pointed out an article in that day’s newspaper about their new compilation album. It did succeed in making me smile, and soon I was watching Good Morning America from the kitchen, semi-ready to face the day. Had I known what the day had in store, I may have followed my first instincts and stayed in bed... So here it was, three weeks to the day, my dad headed to a meeting he had last attended on the 11th, and I was getting a creepy sense of deja-vu. I was relieved to discover upon the close of the evening that history had not repeated itself.

But the haunting melody remained. “Time it was, and what a time it was, it was / a time of innocence, / a time of confidences. / Long ago it must be, / I have a photograph. / Preserve your memories, / they’re all that’s left you.” It was played in memory of two sisters who perished in a tornado that struck the University of Maryland. Simon and Garfunkel was their favorite group, Bookends their favorite song. And what a powerful reminder to us all to cherish each moment. Thousands of people now have only photographs of the loved ones they lost on September 11th. The magnitude of that event was such that it robbed an entire nation of its innocence. Whether it is terrorism or a tornado, life can be snatched away with no warning. Perhaps we will be more inclined to appreciate that now.

Bookends is Simon and Garfunkel’s most unique album. I once read that when Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band came out, Paul Simon was depressed because he was convinced nothing Simon and Garfunkel could do would ever come close. Luckily for us, he turned that jealous awe into resolve, and he and Art Garfunkel emerged with one of their strongest albums, only slightly surpassed by Bridge Over Troubled Water.

The album has the feel of a single, with one side that is what the record is all about and another that fills up the available time with good music that isn’t really what people bought the album for. Bookends is all about side one, and the five songs which fill the second side just make the album all that much more worth buying.

The first of these is Fakin’ It, a rather hard-edged song about being thrown into a destiny that isn’t really yours. Spoken apparently from Paul’s perspective, it presents the notion that he happened to be dropped into the right place at the right time and that he got all this fame by mistake. He muses, “Prior to this lifetime / I surely was a tailor.” I suppose the same would apply to Art as well, though the profession might be different. It’s not on my list of favorite Simon and Garfunkel tunes, but it does provide food for thought.

Next up is Punky’s Dilemma, whose tone is the exact opposite of Fakin’ It. Very lazy and laid back, it was written to be a part of the soundtrack for The Graduate but never made it in. It is quite silly to begin with. “I wish I was a Kellogg’s cornflake, / floatin’ in my bowl, takin’ movies.” “I wish I was an English muffin, / ‘bout to make the most out of a toaster.” But the third verse qualifies the first two, indicating that the speaker is daydreaming about being in these bizarre situations because he is about to be shipped off for military duty. He wishes he didn’t have to go, and he can sympathize with the draftee who does not feel himself bound by honor and chooses to act upon his escapist wishes rather than risk his life fighting in a war he doesn’t believe in.

Speaking of The Graduate, next up is Mrs. Robinson, the only song featured in prominence in the film that was not taken from a previous album. In the movie, it only had a chorus, but now there are verses which lend further insight into the character of this seductress, as well as the state of events that allowed her affair to occur. The chorus itself seems to be an instance, found in a couple other Simon and Garfunkel songs, of the lyrics saying exactly the opposite of what they mean. They seem to be comforting Mrs. Robinson and rooting for her, but I believe that they are, in reality, mocking her.

The verses further elucidate that she is a disturbed woman in a disturbed society that does not want to admit it is anything but perfectly normal. “It’s a little secret, just a Robinson’s affair. / Most of all, you’ve got to hide it from the kids.” It even implies that she winds up in a mental institution. “Stroll around the grounds until you feel at home.” The final verse somehow manages to be the most powerful, even though it always seems out of place. “Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio? / Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you.” Young Ben, like most members of his generation, is hopelessly lost and looking for fulfilment somewhere. His family and his world seem devoid of meaning, and he agrees to the affair in hopes that it will somehow bring him a sense of wholeness. All it actually does, of course, is tear him apart.

Hazy Shade of Winter reflects the theme of Bookends in a much harsher manner. The speaker is young and life is spread out before him, but he doesn’t like what he sees. “Look around, leaves are brown / and the sky is a hazy shade of winter.” Time has already passed him by so quickly. There is so much that he has not accomplished, and the world is looking more and more ominous with each passing day. Verse three is dripping with sarcasm. “Hang on to your hopes, my friend. / That’s an easy thing to say / but if all hopes should pass away / then simply pretend / that you can build them again. / Look around, the grass is high, / the fields are ripe, it’s the springtime of my life.” Obviously he doesn’t believe that. Again, saying exactly the opposite of what he means, and echoing the sentiments of an earlier song in the process. Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall is a much softer song which maintains a gentle sense of idealism that the speaker can’t quite reconcile to what he knows is true. Hazy Shade of Winter makes little pretense at optimism, and by the end of the song its negative outlook is such that it begins to weigh down upon the listener.

Which is why this side needed another Feelin’ Groovy-sounding track. At the Zoo is especially calm and quiet in the beginning. It does crescendo a bit towards the end, thanks in part to the variance of the instruments used. That, and they’re practically shouting by the last line. Nonetheless, this clever ditty which personifies many of the animals to be found in the zoo lightens the spirit after the heaviness of Hazy Shade of Winter. “The monkeys stand for honesty, / giraffes are insincere, / and the elephants are kindly but they're dumb. / Orangutans are skeptical / Of changes in their cages, / and the zookeeper is very fond of rum.” Mostly just a fun song that encourages us to take ourselves less seriously, and maybe entices us to visit the zoo when we get a chance. Also was made into a children’s book.

Now for Bookends. Beginning with the instrumental Bookends theme, it is a testament to time which chronicles life from youthful angst and idealism to middle age disillusionment to the melancholy of old age before coming full circle to end with the Bookends theme, this time with the words included.

When Art Garfunkel came to Erie last year, he described Poem on an Underground Wall as the strangest song Simon and Garfunkel ever did. I am inclined to disagree. Save the Life of my Child, which starts off this album, is my pick. I guess it accurately mirrors the confusion many adolescents experience as they try to find their place in society, but it sure is bizarre. The MOOG synthesizer is partly to blame. When they used it for this song, Simon and Garfunkel were being extremely innovative. The result was unsettling. The lyrics tell a tale of a boy atop a building, threatening to jump. Everyone runs to stop such an event from occurring, all the while expressing the sentiments that caused the young man to feel the need to jump in the first place.

Their singing here is not very harmonious, nor even melodious. It is largely wailing and screeching and funny voices making comments. Is this all Simon and Garfunkel, with their voices altered, or is it a chorus of other people? The mourning cries of the mother in the chorus which chill me each time I hear them certainly don’t sound like either one of them. When the singers are discernably Simon and Garfunkel, they tend to be chanting more than singing, and it’s not much fun to listen to them because there is so much shrieking and shouting going on in the background. The uselessness of the parents’ generation hearkens back to The Graduate, though this particular song had nothing to do with that movie. Especially revealing is the cop’s comment when he views the situation. “A patrol car passing by / halted to a stop. / Said Officer MacDougal in dismay: / “The force can't do a decent job / ‘cause the kids got no respect / for the law today (and blah blah blah).” He has utterly missed the point, and he is a part of the problem.

The song completely shifts gear at the end, when they announce, suddenly harmonious, that “he flew away.” I can only assume that means that the boy decides to jump, and in the midst of the chaos surrounding him, he suddenly has found peace because he doesn’t have to deal with it anymore. All the commotion of the song up to this point disappears, and the song fades away with Simon and Garfunkel, sounding like a duo of angels, singing “Oh, my grace / I got no hiding place.” All in all, an extraordinarily unnerving song.

America is much more my style. Surprisingly so, actually. This song, which didn’t hit the Top 40 until a live version was included on the Greatest Hits album – an odd self-fulfilling prophecy – is atypical of Paul Simon’s work in that it doesn’t rhyme. I happen to be a big fan of rhyme, and it’s usually hard for me to become very attached to a song which lacks it. But in this case, it was a long time before I even noticed that it didn’t rhyme. That’s how well-crafted it is. I just can’t get over the power of such simple lines as “It took me four days to hitchhike from Saginaw” and “Countin’ the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike,” whose impact is amplified by the simultaneous crashing of cymbals.

This gentle waltz is the story of a young man on a journey, searching for himself and searching for his country. I must admit a preference to the smoother, more lilting version found on the Greatest Hits album, but I heard that first so that probably has a lot to do with it. This version is a bit more guitar-oriented and leans less heavily on Art’s vocals. But either way, it’s a great song, a song worthy of being broadcast on ABC News a couple weeks ago behind footage of America finding its way to its feet. Its boundless idealism and sense of adventure balances out the despair of Save the Life of my Child, leaving an opening for the next phase of the album.

Overs shows the life of a middle-aged couple embroiled in mediocrity. Nothing is exciting or enjoyable anymore, and each is hopelessly bored with the company of the other. Complacency is the only thing that keeps them going. Both Overs and Old Friends have the same type of format, beginning and ending with Paul’s voice in prominence with a contemplative bridge sung by Art. In Overs, Paul begins by saying how all the zest has been sucked out of life. “...There’s no laughs left because we laughed them all, / and we laughed them all in a very short time...” When Art picks up the bridge on that note, the Bookends theme of time’s fleetingness is strongly stated. “Time is tappin’ on my forehead, / hangin’ from a mirror, / rattlin’ the teacups...”

Reminders are everywhere. Life is passing by, and here they are stuck in this unfulfilling relationship. “I’m habitually feelin’ kinda blue” packs a powerful whallop and drives home the central mood of the song. But when it comes right down to it, this couple is, to borrow a favorite line from Billy Joel, “sharing a drink they call loneliness, / but it’s better than drinkin’ alone.” They’d rather be miserable together.

Voices of Old People is almost universally agreed upon as the least successful track on the album. It is not a song but rather a montage of observations and reminisces by elderly folks interviewed by Art Garfunkel. It is very muffled and difficult to understand most of the time, and if each song on the album is a painting, this track is a collage. But it provides a nice transition into the final song on the album, which segues directly into Bookends.

Old Friends is, oddly enough, my thirteen-year-old brother’s favorite Simon and Garfunkel song. It is steeped in melancholy, yet its poignancy contains a sweetness as well. The almost Rockwellian vision is built on a series of carefully placed images. The song begins with the imperceptible humming of violins which swells when Paul’s wistful voice starts to set the scene. “Old friends / sat on their park bench like bookends...” Just before the song turns inward with Art’s ruminating bridge, the two sing together the most poignant line of the song. “...Lost in their overcoats, / waiting for the sunset...” Not only are they sitting together in order to watch the sunset, they are approaching the sunset of their own lives together. When Art sings, “Can you imagine us years from today, / sharing a park bench quietly?” we are forced to consider the prospect of growing old, just as Paul must have when he wrote this song.

As the song melts away into the Bookends theme, we realize how precious our lives, our friends, and our memories truly are. This powerful reminder to cherish the ones we love and treasure each moment first came when the Vietnam War and the threat of nuclear attack weighed heavily on the American psyche. Now that the prospect of war once again plagues our minds, let us reflect on the message of Simon and Garfunkel and cling tight to the love we once took for granted.