Back in 2002, Simon and Garfunkel released a live album from a concert
that they performed at Philharmonic Hall in January of 1967. I'd never
seen Simon and Garfunkel in concert, and the chances of them reuniting
for a tour seemed increasingly remote, so I was excited to get my hands
on this official, pristinely preserved recording. Little did I know then
that I'd get to see them the following year. I eagerly snatched up my
copy, admiring the shiny packaging and lyrical liner notes by Anthony
DeCurtis. I confess that in my years as an avid Simon and Garfunkel fan,
I've tracked down some unofficial recordings, so I wasn't entirely new
to the experience of the duo performing live in the '60s. But the
recording quality here is much more consistent, and besides, it's on the
up and up.
Knowing of those recordings makes me just a little wistful that they had recorded something
during this particular concert that wasn't from their albums. But
there's no changing now what they did then, so that complaint would be
more pertinent for the 1969 album, which draws from several concerts.
Among the several rare gems I unearthed, my favorite is The Lightning Express, an old folk tune once recorded by the Everly Brothers, sung by Simon and Garfunkel in Paris in 1970. Live From New York City 1967
includes no such surprises. Nonetheless, it's exciting to hear Paul and
Art singing together in such intimate harmony, with nothing to come
between their voices except Paul's guitar. Additionally, about half of
the tracks include some sort of introduction from either Paul or Art;
they divide the speaking duties pretty evenly, and though there are few
revelations here for the die-hard fan, it's great to hear them offer
these nuggets themselves.
Following the opening number, He Was My Brother
(an rather surprising choice for the first song but a reflection, I
suppose, of the prevalence of the Civil Rights movement), Art, in a
blissed-out tone, breathes, "Wow! Carnegie Hall!" before launching into Leaves That Are Green. Paul's the one who introduces Sparrow, earning a laugh as he does so; a couple tracks later, he describes You Don't Know Where Your Interest Lies as "almost finished". Paul takes the lead again on A Most Peculiar Man, explaining its genesis in a four-line article in a newspaper in England that struck him as "a very bad way to go out".
Art describes The Dangling Conversation
as the song that took the longest to write and record and also claims
it as their favorite at that particular time, though the highly
intellectual number was never especially popular. While that song
references Emily Dickinson and Robert Frost, Richard Cory is
practically lifted right from the Edward Arlington Robinson poem Art
says was "written many years ago and studied by myself in junior high
school." It was high school for me, but I can relate!
Before For Emily, Paul laughingly tells an unruly audience to tone it down, which is odd since the same thing happens just before For Emily
on the 1969 album. By the end of the set, he seems to be in a
thoroughly goofy mood, doing a Beatles impersonation before launching
into Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M. and concluding the song - and concert - with a brief guitar homage to Yankee Doodle. But the best spoken bit on the album has to be Art's recollection of the photo shoot for the Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M. album cover. This live track was included in the Old Friends boxed set, so it won't be new to everyone, but I never get tired of hearing Art, by way of introducing Poem on an Underground Wall,
tactfully mentioning "the old familiar suggestion" that none of them
had noticed plastered all over the wall where against which they had
been standing.
The songs without banter are, of course, lovely as well. I was particularly surprised by Benedictus, which doesn't seem like it would be a concert selection, but they perform it gorgeously. Other tracks include Homeward Bound, Feelin' Groovy, A Hazy Shade of Winter, Blessed, Anji, I Am a Rock, The Sound of Silence and A Church Is Burning. If you're a fan of Simon and Garfunkel, particularly unplugged, then Live From New York City 1967 is for you.
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