The first anniversary of September 11th passed with an around-the-clock vigil atmosphere to it. Broadcast television networks suspended regular programming, giving us a break from the trials and tribulations of the stars of Days of Our Lives and other regular fare. Perhaps out of a sense of fear - of the other shoe dropping, a sense that lingers still today, the feeling was mournful. Last year’s anniversary seemed less emotional - 9/11 had somehow moved a little further from our personal memory and a little closer to our collective memory. The relatively quiet commemoration this year (or so it seemed) has spoken less and less to our sense of impending doom, and more and more to our sense of compassion, sadness and hope. Though 9/11 may not have changed everything (though that seems to be all we ever hear about it), it has given many of us a profound, personal experience that, above all, teaches us to cherish the fragility of life and the beauty that can be wiped out without warning.
How is this relevant to Paul Simon? Well, Paul gave two of his most touching performances in the wake of 9/11. He sang Bridge Over Troubled Water as if it were a hundreds-year-old hymn in the days following the attacks (you can purchase it at any music shop or at http://www.tributetoheroesmusic.org/) and he did an incredibly resilient version of The Boxer to kick off Saturday Night Live’s season. Paul also contributed this to the New York Times on September 23:
The events of recent days, as unbearable as they were to witness, were ameliorated by the almost total absence of popular culture from the nation’s airwaves. Award ceremonies and concerts were cancelled. No blockbuster movies opened. No new television shows premiered. It was a temporary respite from the cultural din. Hyperbolic and aggressive selling was not only muted but also seemed, when one stumbled upon it, to belong to an already distant past made irrelevant by the tragedy of Sept. 11. Within this chaos, there was a deep if momentary silence that encouraged us to re-examine ourselves as a people and a culture.
What changes could and should occur?
The nihilism and violence that are often found in our music and film should be recognized as the cynical entertainment that they are when contrasted with the reality of Sept. 11. The firefighters and police who worked 24-hour shifts were real-life heroes, completely alien to the popular culture’s idea of heroism. Artists should feel comfortable with this non-show-biz reality, and let it be reflected in their work. The marketplace can accommodate these truths without losing money.
Our notions of profit and value could be adjusted to allow for a greater degree of artistic questioning without an implication that such actions would automatically have adverse economic consequences. Artists could hold themselves to a higher standard of honesty.
Corporate America should allow more voices to reach our ears. We are saturated with music and videos that have no relationship to anything but the bottom line. We should encourage the compassion and generosity that flowed reflexively to victims’ families and communities in the last week to permeate our everyday lives.
It’s too soon to predict the ways that the arts will change, but change is inevitable, catastrophe or not. We should recognize that seismic events impact on the creative process and that artistic and spiritual rebirth can follow a shattering experience.
