Celebrating Art Garfunkel's 70th Birthday With Breakaway

“How terribly strange to be 70…” In the late 1960s, Paul Simon wrote those words, and Art Garfunkel sang them. At the time, they were young 20-somethings thinking ahead to old age, and their morose vision of 70 has little to do with the still-robust men they are today. Nonetheless, that age has always loomed as especially significant. Paul reached it three weeks ago, and today it’s Art’s turn. As Art’s place as my favorite living singer was cemented when I spoke with him briefly 11 years ago, I knew I’d have to find some way of marking this day, so I thought I’d turn my attention to Breakaway, one of the few solo Garfunkel albums I haven’t already reviewed. Produced, with the exception of one track, by Richard Perry, it’s an excellent example of Art’s skill as a vocalist and musical interpreter.

I Believe (When I Fall in Love It Will Be Forever) - Most of the songs on this album have mingled threads of romance and melancholy, so this piano-driven Stevie Wonder song is a good way to kick off the album. It’s an optimistic song, but there’s a lot of pain behind the hopeful words; it’s clear that this guy has been through a few relationships that haven’t worked out so well. Anguish tinges Art’s voice in the first verse, while the second feels less extreme. The chorus is the real kicker, though, especially the extended repetition at the end as he harmonizes with himself, flirting with the melody but rarely hitting it dead on as though to suggest that what he wants is within reach but he’s just not quite there yet. “I believe when I fall in love with you it will be forever. I believe when I fall in love, this time, it will be forever.”

Rag Doll - This song has a gentle lullaby feel to it with delicate chimes and soft percussion evocative of raindrops. Regret is the driving theme here as he sings of a woman who seems to have been just a shade offbeat. It seems that her oddity embarrassed him and it was only after he rejected her that he truly realized what a remarkable person he had lost. The tone here reminds me of Jack Shephard at the midpoint of LOST making a startling declaration about reclaiming the destiny he never wanted; he sounds very determined, but it seems most unlikely that what he desires will actually come about. Stirring. “The wind in the trees sings a sad, sad, sad song. I lie in my bed listenin’ all night long.”

Break Away - This, too, is about a fractured relationship, and while the tone is romantic, it’s hard not to read it in the context of Simon and Garfunkel, whose need for artistic space turned into a permanent breakup. Whether a singing partnership or a romance, the gist is similar; he wants to give the other person freedom but fears the consequences of a departure. Will he be left alone permanently? This was the first song on the album that I heard, and it remains one of my favorites. These days, it reminds me of Train’s Drops of Jupiter; she’s searching for herself, he’s torn between saying, “Go for it!” and “Please don’t go.” It’s sort of the opposite of Kelly Clarkson’s song of the same name, as she is the one leaving, while he is the one being left. The keyboard adds to the upbeat tone, and I love the bright vocal layers on the chorus, but this seems to be one of those songs that sounds a lot more cheerful than it actually is. “It’s not the place you’re goin’ to; it’s just a phase you’re goin’ through. Though I won’t stop you, I don’t want you to break away, fly across your ocean…”

Disney Girls - This mellow Beach Boys classic written by Bruce Johnston expresses a yearning for more innocent days gone by. The longest song on the album by more than half a minute, it’s an ideal vehicle for Art because of those exceptional Beach Boy harmonies. It too has a wistful quality to it, but the focus is on the beauty of those blissful days he’s not ready to relinquish. There’s a sense that he won’t be able to hang onto his personal Neverland forever, but for the time being, he’s going to try his hardest to live carefree. From the laid-back guitar and smooth woodwinds to the whistling at the end and the little melodic laugh on the chorus, the track certainly captures that breezy feeling. “Reality, it’s not for me, and it makes me laugh. But fantasy world and Disney girls, I’m comin’ back.”

Waters of March - This song, originally written in Portuguese by Brazilian musician Antonio Carlos Jobim, who also wrote the English lyrics, is a peculiar list of nouns. It’s made up of clipped sentences containing only a few words, and many of them begin with the words “It’s” or “It is.” The song reads a bit like one long word-association exercise; one image leads naturally to another and then another, but compare the images in one verse with another and you might not see a strong connection. There is a definite South American flavor to this guitar-driven reflection on life and all its little pleasures and discomforts. His delivery is very deliberate here as though this were a speech therapy exercise; each word is carefully pronounced, so although it’s an exhausting list, none of the lyrics are difficult to understand. “And the riverbank talks of the waters of March. It’s the promise of life; it’s the joy in your heart.”

My Little Town - It’s just a tad amusing that Simon and Garfunkel’s first post-breakup recording together would appear on an album entitled Breakaway. It also appeared on Paul’s Still Crazy After All These Years; the two titles juxtaposed are suggestive of the personal and professional tug-of-war that marked much of their association with each other in the post-duo decades. A part of them wants to just make a clean break, but ultimately, the friendship, messy as it may be at times, is just too important. At any rate, while this is a reunion, it’s also a song that reflects the album title, since it speaks of a hometown as a place of stagnation. It’s as though the speaker is trying to look back on his childhood fondly but just can’t quite manage it. The affection is disingenuous; he just wants to shake the dust off his shoes and move on. Paul’s lower voice gives this rather hard-edged song a very different sound than any of the others on the album, and there’s a bit of cognitive dissonance here because the lyrics eschew looking back, but boy, does it do the heart good to hear those voices together again. “And after it rains, there’s a rainbow, but all of the colors are black. It’s not that the colors aren’t there; it’s just imagination they lack. Everything’s the same back in my little town.”

I Only Have Eyes For You - I’ve heard many different versions of this song originally written in 1934, but this low-key version is my favorite. One certainly gets the sense that the speaker’s affections are returned, so this is perhaps the only song on the album without a hint of depression. Of course, tweak the words a tiny bit and it could be a total downer of an unrequited love anthem. Instead, however, the tone is one of pure joy that bubbles up from within him, and it’s just a delight to listen to Art’s delivery here, particularly toward the end when he hits those high notes with such enthusiasm. I also love the dense harmony on the word “garden” in the bridge. The instruments are great, though I would warn against listening to this one on the headphones; the opening bars create a curiously psychedelic ear-ringing effect that takes a few measures to shake. Nonetheless, this straightforward song of unbridled affection is one of his most romantic recordings. “You’re here; so am I. Maybe millions of people go by, but they all disappear from view, and I only have eyes for you.”

Lookin’ for the Right One - I kinda wish this track had gone before the last one so I could think of that song as the sequel to this aching one. There’s a quaver in his voice here as he sings of believing he has found “the right one,” only to be rejected time and again. Piano and guitar team up here for this sorrowful meditation. There’s a moment in the bridge that seems to be a musical quote of George Harrison’s Something, which would be fairly fitting; in fact, it seems to answer the question posed in that song in a far more despairing manner than the Beatles hit suggests. “They say there’s no use runnin’ after somethin’ you’ll never get, but my heart says, ‘Don’t say no.’ Somewhere in this lonesome city is the woman for me; will I wait another lifetime just to keep on looking for the right one?”

99 Miles from L.A. - Considering that Art is a native New Yorker, it’s interesting that the two songs on this album with the strongest positive nostalgic associations have a California connection. I remember reading that Art wasn’t sold on this song at first, but it’s one of the album’s strongest tracks, another expression of romantic regret and longing for reconciliation. I love the steady ripple of the acoustic guitar here and increasingly prominent plinking percussion that imitates the raindrops on his windshield. I’ve always presumed that he is headed to L.A. to connect with the woman he loves, though I suppose it’s possible that’s where he lives. In either case, it would seem that these two live fairly far from each other – though not far enough, perhaps, to merit a plane ticket. How did they meet in the first place? There’s a lot of story simmering under the surface here, and we’re only getting tantalizing hints as he contrasts his memories of their happy times together with his miserable present speeding along the freeway in the rain toward someone who might not want anything to do with him. “Passing the white sandy beach, we’re sailing; turning the radio on, we’re dancing. Ninety-nine miles from L.A., I want you, I need you. Please be there.”

The Same Old Tears On A New Background - This Stephen Bishop song ends the album on a note of feigned optimism. Like Paul’s American Tune, which came out a couple years earlier, it includes a repeated assurance of “I’m alright” that is basically contradicted by everything else in the song. He’s trying to put a brave face on things, but this guy is struggling. The lush piano and string combo here puts me in mind of All I Know, Art’s first smash solo hit, which covers similar thematic territory. A moody conclusion. “It’s the same old me crying the same old tears, and I’ll walk away like I always do, still in love with you…”

I’ll admit that the grainy black-and-white photo of Art with a woman on each arm, surrounded by half-empty wine glasses, is my least favorite of his album covers, particularly because one of the women is smoking a cigarette. Perhaps he was trying to break away from his largely innocent image? I’m not sure, but I could do without it, and I wish the album included something beyond a track list in the way of liner notes. With the music itself, however, I have no complaint, and it holds up well all these years later, when Art is a man of seven decades who can look back on more than half a century as a recording artist and truly be proud of his contributions. Happy 70th, Artie!