We all will be received in Graceland

Graceland – Paul Simon

So I was wandering in New York a couple days ago and was noting how great it is that you can just get flowers 24 hours a day. Someone we were visiting mentioned that the little corner shops that sell them are called ‘bodegas’ which is a word I’ve probably heard thousands of times before but never really processed. It’s weird how that can happen.

Anyways, thinking about that meant that I was humming this line from Paul Simon’s absolutely wonderful “Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes” for days:

She makes the sign of a teaspoon, he makes the sign of a wave
The poor boy changes clothes and puts on aftershave
To compensate for his ordinary shoes
And she said honey take me dancing but they ended up by sleeping in a doorway
By the bodegas and the lights on Upper Broadway
Wearing diamonds on the soles of their shoes

There’s always been something about that bit that struck me deeply. The image of the guy who wants to be everything for this rich girl, but the best he can do is put on a new set of clothes and some aftershave. He can’t take her out on the town, maybe doesn’t even have a home. It’s sad and discouraging, but also beautiful. Because it’s the moment in the song when suddenly it’s not just diamonds on the soles of HER shoes. It’s diamonds on the soles of THEIR shoes.

It’s one of the amazing things about music – how evocative it can be in such a short period of time. But I’ve always had a big crush on the woman in this song. There’s something effortless in the dualism of it. You could think of her as careless (a Gatsby character), so rich that she has diamonds even on the soles of her shoes. But you can also think of her as rich in spirit, not ashamed of who she is and where she’s from, but feeling no need to flaunt it. She wears the diamonds because…why not. But she wears them on her soles, where no one will ever see them, where they are trodden on every day. “She’s a rich girl, she don’t try to hide it, diamonds on the soles of her shoes.” But later, “She said you’ve taken me for granted because I please you, wearing these diamonds.” And you wonder…was she cast out or did she leave? And is it possible that she’s far happier than she could ever have been in high society now that she’s out on the streets with the poor boy? There’s no way to no for sure, but that’s what makes it such a great song.

So, once I had that song on my mind, I couldn’t help but listen to the whole record. If you’ve never heard Graceland I strongly recommend you go buy it immediately. And if you haven’t listened in a while, make the effort. It’s every bit as good as the hype. Paul Simon has always been a magnificent wordsmith–and written a lot of great tunes to boot–and it’s hard to argue for anything else (even mid-Simon and Garfunkel stuff) as his best work.

It manages to simultaneously work on several different levels. In one sense, it’s a relatively straightforward record about broken hearts and failing relationships. In another, it’s about the existential meaning of love, and what it means to live your life FOR something as opposed to simply existing. And mixed in with all of that is the thoughts of fading empires and the politics of identity which manifest themselves both in the sense of fading memories (in an almost nostalgic way) and in a direct and present way with the difficulties Simon went through because of apartheid and the associated sanctions.

All in all, it’s really nothing more or less than the sound of hope which shines through in the darkest of times – not always (or even often) successfully. But trying nonetheless.

Another track that I always liked but only relatively recently came to truly feel is “Graceland.” It’s got some of my all-time favorites lyrics, including the opening line: “The Mississippi Delta was shining like a national guitar / I am following the river down the highway through the cradle of the civil war.” That is pure poetry, evocative and beautiful. And it establishes the multi-layered themes. Traveling with the one who loves your most truly (your son) on a pilgrimage to the roots of rock and roll, seeing the country that tore itself apart and slowly (very slowly) began to heal itself over the centuries, and thinking about your own world being blown apart.

So it’s no surprise when you hear the next verse:

She comes back to tell me she’s gone
As if I didn’t know that
As if I didn’t know my own bed
As if I’d never noticed the way she brushed her hair from her forehead
And she said losing love is like a window in your heart
Everybody sees you’re blown apart
Everybody sees the wind blow

Which, for my money, captures a feeling about as perfectly as you could ever dream it. The deep, intense sadness. The slight sense of bemusement and disbelief. The realization that you knew all along but just couldn’t quite admit it. And the falling down of the walls that you normally are able to sustain between your interior and the world outside.

There aren’t answers here, but there really couldn’t be. The important thing is the searching, not what you will find. So it’s no surprise when you get a concluding thought like:

And I may be obliged to defend
Every love, every ending
Or maybe there’s no obligations now
Maybe I’ve got a reason to believe
We all will be received in Graceland

There is almost no end to the little bit and pieces like this that make me shiver with joy. And I could try to talk about the fusion of South African beats with Simon’s more traditional folk and rock elements and how it produces something magical. Despite a lot of imitators who have tried to turn ‘world music’ into pop, Graceland towers above all followers. It’s a true testament to the strength of the album that it doesn’t feel even remotely dated or kitschy despite the parade of others occupying the genre who are so hard to take seriously.

I think the thing that’s so impressive about Graceland is how utterly it escapes the charge of musical colonialism. This record does not sound like Simon tacking on some ‘world’ sounds in order to spice things up. It sounds like him getting caught up in the tempest of sounds and feelings and doing his best to find himself within it. It’s distinctly a Paul Simon album, but there is simply no way that anything remotely like “The Boy in the Bubble” could have been produced out of a different milieu. It’s what makes his voice sound so perfect on the line “these are the days of miracle and wonder” – because you can tell how genuinely he feels it.

I’m a guy who hates pastiche as a musical art form. But the corollary to that is that I absolutely adore the true artifact of engagement – when things aren’t merely sampled, but instead are given a life of their own. When the artist takes a leap of faith and lets the music go where it may. When the artist is changed by the sounds he or she encounters, and embraces the change. That’s what Simon does on Graceland, and it’s what makes it such a masterpiece.

Seriously, go buy a copy right now.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *