Not So Simple Paul Simon

Homeward Bound:

The Life of Paul Simon

By Peter Ames Carlin

Henry Holt

 My trifecta of reading biographies over the past few months ended with this 2016 life of musical performer and songwriter Paul Simon.  While the Tom Stoppard bio had the participation of its subject, and the Mike Nichols the cooperation of his friends, author Peter Ames Carlin did not have those advantages here.  He never got to interview his subject, nor several other important figures, like Art Garfunkel (though I wonder if he may have secretly helped.)  But he includes numerous notes that catalogue his sources, most of them published.

 I’ve followed Simon’s career since “The Sounds of Silence,” including for awhile professionally.  But I didn’t know much about his early life—his youthful association with “Artie”—and especially his early  professional career(s), as a hustling pop songwriter, plugger and producer (including while still a college student) named Jerry Landis, transformed into a folk singer in small clubs in England. 

The love/hate, brotherly intimacy of Simon and Garfunkel over the years is an irresistible theme, beginning with an arresting image of the two of them in Paul’s bedroom working on their harmonies so intensely that while singing they studied the inside of each other’s mouths.  Their relationship now and again evoked unattractive aspects of their characters: Simon as a clueless bastard, and Garfunkel as a passive-aggressive manipulator.  But together they were among the most potent acts of their time, and this book reminds us of just how big they were as pop stars and a cultural force, from the early 60s well into the 70s. 

 Carlin is a pretty good storyteller, with flashes of eloquence.  His summaries of songs and his judgment on the music are puzzlingly inconsistent—sometimes revealing, sometimes obtuse.  Of course, some of that impression is influenced by my disagreement with the songs and albums he likes and doesn’t, as well as how he characterizes them.

 I can’t say how accurate his facts are, except for one minor error that touches upon personal knowledge.  In his post-S &G career, Simon didn’t perform live until just after his second album was released, Here Comes Rhymin’ Simon.  His first concert was in Boston, and Carlin quotes extensively from Jon Landau’s laudatory review.  However, Carlin writes that it appeared in the Boston Phoenix, which it did not.  I know this because at the time I was the Managing Editor/Arts for the Boston Phoenix, and edited the review we did publish, which was by music journalist Peter Herbst.  Jon Landau, who by that time was probably transitioning from Rolling Stone’s record review editor to its film critic, wrote on music for our Cambridge rival alternative weekly, the Real Paper.  (He later went on to become Bruce Springsteen's producer and manager.)

 Which leads to my one and only Paul Simon story. The day our review was published, I was beginning a vacation, and on my way to visit friends in the Twin Cities.  I was carrying our paper with me when my plane from Boston landed in Chicago, and I rushed across O’Hare Airport to get to my connecting flight.  Along the way I mused idily, what if I ran into Paul Simon?   Minutes later, I did.  He was chatting with a young woman in an airline uniform near a ticket counter.  I thrust my newspaper into his hands, with the news that a review of his first concert was inside.  Then I remembered.  I had attended the concert myself, and I was as dazzled as Jon Landau was.  But Peter Herbst wasn’t, quite.  His review was mixed.

 So I mumbled something about enjoying the concert, when the young woman started to take an interest, and Simon looked at me and said curtly, “don’t say another thing.”  Evidently she didn’t know who he was, and he was enjoying that—perhaps enjoying making time with her without relying on the superstar aura.  I backed out of there as gracefully as I could (not very) and ran for my flight.

 Carlin answers one petty question I had, regarding the sudden change in Simon’s hairline: transplant or appliance?  According to Carlin, appliance.  Perhaps Simon got advice on the subject from Mike Nichols, with whom he worked and befriended.  Nichols' use of S&G songs in The Graduate revived their career at that point.

Carlin writes enough about Paul Simon's relationship with his father to suggest its complexities. But I remain curious about Paul Simon’s relationship with his slightly older brother, also a musician and (according to Carlin) a better guitar player.  He’s mentioned a few times but there are no scenes with them together.  Did they ever play together?  If not, why not?  I believe I saw his brother once—at that Boston concert, where he was helping to set up.  He looked like Paul’s twin, except with facial hair.  I’ve looked for mention of him ever since, but it’s as if he didn’t exist.  

 Carlin is especially enthusiastic about Simon’s music since (and including) Graceland (he misses only one album so far, released since 2016.)  But his description of how most of these records were made makes me a little queasy.  Even given the way music works and the fact that no musical composition is wholly original, I’m not sure how I feel about the process of using music invented by others in the studio and putting your own copyright on it.  As much as I liked many of these songs (and those recorded in Jamaica for an earlier album), when I listen to Graceland and Rhythm of the Saints now, the clash between the music (and where it comes from) and the very urban Manhattan/US contemporary lyrics jars me.  Still, I’m curious now about those more recent records I haven’t heard.

 The album which precedes Graceland was Hearts & Bones, originally conceived as a S&G record, that did poorly commercially.  Carlin seems to agree with the general sentiment at the time, but I liked that album very much when it came out, particularly “Rene and Georgia Magritte…” and now it’s apparently considered one of Simon’s best.  (Then again I remain fond of the S&G album Bookends, which apparently even Simon feels is inferior. It’s thin maybe, but what’s there anchors that time for me.)

 Carlin also denigrates the S&G song “The Dangling Conversation,” and quotes Simon as agreeing that it’s kind of an undergraduate ditty.  Since I was an undergrad at the time—and my strongest memory of the song is hearing it played repeatedly on the campus coffee shop jukebox—I don’t find that disqualifying. It was a great undergraduate song.

 Carlin mentions the late, unlikely pairing of Simon with Bob Dylan in a series of concerts.  They were rivals in the early 60s, and Simon was not shy about criticizing Dylan then.  Simon probably has more in common with another legend he toured with in recent years: Sting.  They both broke up groups at their commercial height, and both used their solo careers to explore new areas of music and songwriting.

 Carlin provides texture to the known history, and a lot of food for thought.  But nothing anybody writes or doesn’t write, nor any flaws in Simon’s character, can dispute the worth of the work.  He’s written so many great songs—from “Sounds of Silence” through "Mother and Child Reunion," “Kodachrome,” “My Little Town” and the most famous ones, like “Bridge” and “The Boxer.”  Then there are lesser- known gems like “Duncan,” “Only Living Boy in New York” and so on.

 And then there are the transcendent ones, the songs so nearly perfect that they are unassailable.  “American Tune,” “Slip Sliding Away” and “Still Crazy After All These Years” are my choices in that category.  They are quintessentially Paul Simon songs, and also among the few songs that most still speak to me, and speak for me.

 Since this book was originally published, Robert Hillburn’s Paul Simon: The Life has appeared, which did have Simon’s full participation.  I haven’t read this yet, so it will be interesting to see how it differs. Paul Simon didn’t do many interviews, at least until recent years, but he was always articulate and precise. He was much more forthcoming about the process of writing his songs, and I’d love to see more of that in print. Carlin’s book may not be the definitive life of Paul Simon but it seems a professional and provocative start.