Something So Right - An Appreciation
Music industry insider Bob Lefsetz writes a regular e-newsletter about the biz. While usually discussing the industry’s orientation (and imminent collapse), Lefsetz writes enthusiastically and honestly about music, about songs and musicians, albums and performers. His appreciation of “Something So Right,” one of Paul Simon’s most heartfelt compositions, is dyanmite. You can read it here (you can sign up for his newsletter here). Though I disagree with his assessment of Simon’s more recent work (and his place in the rock & roll cannon), he nails the tune. The relevant bits:
So, there are a ton of great records from the sixties and seventies that are collecting dust. Seemingly never to be rediscovered.
One of these is “There Goes Rhymin’ Simon”.
Oh, I know this is complicated. That Simon reunited with Garfunkel and did boffo at the b.o. But did you check the audience? Everybody was an alta kacher. In a few years they won’t even be ABLE to tour, their audience will be dead.
As was Paul Simon’s solo career.
Somehow, being one of America’s best lyricists wasn’t enough to sustain a career. He too, like Jackson Browne, changed his sound. Went harder. Did “Graceland” and “Rhythm Of The Saints”. And you might like those records, but they’re far from the essence. Far from what Paul Simon will be remembered for, if he’s remembered at all. Hell, by the turn of the century Paul’s live career had faded. He was too old. The world music act he’d been parading had run out of steam.
Now if you listen to Paul, he’ll tell you his Simon & Garfunkel music was lame. That he didn’t have it totally together. That he didn’t really fully blossom until he went solo.
As good as “America” and the rest of the tracks from “Bookends” are, this is true.
Paul Simon’s first solo album didn’t land with a thud in the winter of ‘72, but in an era of English arena acts, it didn’t burn up the chart. Oh, it eventually hit with the reggae-influenced “Mother And Child Reunion” and the equally upbeat “Me and Julio Down By The Schoolyard”. But those weren’t hits out of the box. And although they got airplay, the album never completely caught fire. In ‘72 you were much more likely to hear “Thick As A Brick” than Paul’s solo debut. Still, deep in the album were tracks so good, so haunting, so PICTURESQUE, that to know them was to be a member of a secret club, worshiping an abandoned idol. Most legendary is “Duncan”. Simon & Garfunkel specialized in a slick, expansive sound. “Duncan” SOUNDS like it was cut in a hotel room. By someone whom you’d never heard of, not a household name. Still, the one I constantly sing to myself is “Armistice Day”. This sounds NOTHING like what Simon & Garfunkel cut. Or maybe it sounds like EVERYTHING Simon & Garfunkel cut. It’s got the quiet intimacy of “Old Friends”, and the explosive playing of “The Boxer”, all in one tune. The guitar-playing alone sells you. But it’s also Paul’s vocal. Art Garfunkel could never sing this as well. Paul’s voice is molasses smooth at first, and then revs up to roughness. The track is totally his.
But, like I said, “Paul Simon”, although an artistic triumph, was not a sales triumph. And Paul Simon needed a sales triumph. To prove that HE was even MORE important than the now acting Art Garfunkel, that he might not be pretty and might not have as good a voice, but HE was the act, HE wrote the songs. Make no mistake, some of the world’s greatest art has been created with similar motivation, someone wanting to PROVE something, wanting to be NOTICED!
So Paul cut “Rhymin’ Simon”.
Unfortunately, Paul did his job too well. He created two hits in the Simon & Garfunkel vein that completely overshadowed everything else on the record. People bought “Rhymin’ Simon” for the hits, and since they were sold as single hits, the album market looked down on the record. Oh, it SOLD, it just didn’t have any staying power. But I can’t think of another record from ‘73 that deserves to be remembered so much.
Even I didn’t get it at first. It was only years later, when I played the album again, that I truly understood. I heard “Kodachrome” WAY too much on the AM radio in my ‘63 Chevy. And I never really loved “Loves Me Like A Rock”. Oh, I got “American Tune”, it was just I didn’t realize the true magnitude of the rest of the songs, that Paul Simon had caught the Muscle Shoals players at their peak, that he’d melded a masterpiece.
It’s the intro to “One Man’s Ceiling Is Another Man’s Floor”. So simple, yet the intro by Muscle Shoals ivory-tickler Barry Beckett is enough to melt you. Still, the groove, the lyrics, THE CHORUS…SO FANTASTIC! And when Barry’s intro part comes back, you SWOON! God, this doesn’t sound like STARS, this sounds like the working musicians in your apartment building having a laugh at two in the morning. Yet, that Barry Beckett piano part is no laughing matter, no the starving, hassled musician is crying.
Then there’s “Learn How To Fall”. This is the track most similar to the solo debut. Still, “Rhymin’ Simon” is less intimate, more in your face. There’s an audience for this record, it wasn’t cut in isolation. But the message alone makes “Learn How To Fall” a classic.
And of course we’ve got “St. Judy’s Comet” and “Was A Sunny Day”. But the piece de resistance of “There Goes Rhymin’ Simon” is a track you don’t hear on the radio, one you don’t hear musos discussing. It’s “Something So Right”.
Oh, it’s like your best buddy has knocked on your door at 3 a.m. Anybody else you’d turn away, make like you were asleep or not home. But this guy…he’s listened to you. You pull back the chain, you twist the lock, you let him in.
And he falls into your couch, exasperated, almost unable to speak.
You ask him if he wants a drink.
He says that would be fine. As if it didn’t matter, that it would be all right not to get one too.
You go into the kitchen and get him a tall glass of water, not a beer, you don’t want anything that’s going to mess with his mind, influence his mood.
And, after taking a few sips, your buddy, quite slowly, but determinedly, starts to speak.
“When something goes wrong
I’m the first to admit it
I’m the first to admit it
And the last one to know”I heard this from my mother my whole life. That I had to ADMIT I WAS WRONG!
But then I became over-sensitive. I got to the point where I was admitting I was wrong when I wasn’t, or it wasn’t even my fault.
But it’s really not about me. It’s about the underdog. The person whose relationship with society is tenuous. One who doesn’t want to jeopardize the connection. Someone who wants little, but expects less. The good egg that American society has got no use for. Someone just this side of loser. Someone who feels stupid, simple and out of it on PRINCIPLE!
That’s exactly how Paul’s singing these words. Like your buddy on your couch who must have just lost his job or his girlfriend or SOMETHING!
“Some people never say the words ‘I love you’
It’s not their style
To be so bold
Some people never say those words ‘I love you’
But like a child they’re longing to be told”How do you get there, that’s the point. How do you get to the point where you’re lying in bed with another person, your arm around their torso, feeling content.
Oh, you take it for granted when you’ve got a relationship.
But when you don’t, the chasm between heart’s desire and accomplishment seems the size of the English Channel. Swimmable by the superstars, but not by you.
We’ve seen this concept explored on “Sex In The City”, in movies. But those are just actors, playing. Paul Simon is singing from HIS heart. You hear the unspoken stories. The person who never verbally confessed their love to him, even though they were deeply involved with him. His inability to say what he wanted to, even though his needs are so deep.
This is the human condition. This is what’s absent from music today. Oh, you can hear ANGST in the music today. And comedic irreverence. But truth about life…that’s somehow taboo. Truth has been replaced by values. Values say you’re against abortion. But the truth is you’re knocked up. What you gonna do about THAT?
Or you lose weight, buy the hip clothes, go out to the bar, and you STILL can’t get laid. Never mind laid, hell, you can’t even get into a good conversation. You slink home thinking life just isn’t worth living.
But it turns out this isn’t the usual middle of the night appearance by your downtrodden buddy. This isn’t a negative story, but a positive one. It’s just that he can’t believe it, he just can’t accept it.
“When something goes wrong
I’m the first to admit it
I’m the first to admit it
And the last one to know
When something goes right
Well it’s likely to lose me
It’s apt to confuse me
Because it’s such an unusual sight
Oh, I swear, I can’t get used to something so right
Something so right”Turns out things have gone his way. He’s made a connection. He’s pinching himself. He’s in uncharted territory. He doesn’t know how to be optimistic. He can’t believe that he was wrong. That life IS worth living. That you truly DO have to hang in there and continue to play.
“Something So Right” is the fourth track on the first side of “There Goes Rhymin’ Simon”. It never got hyped, never got pushed, it was just there for you to discover. Not a diamond in the rough, but a rock in the barn, out in the open, if you were willing to venture into the barn to begin with.
If you watch MTV, it appears that the younger generation lives to get dressed up and go out dancing.
You can’t dance to “Something So Right”. No, you’re more likely sitting on the couch in the dark, contemplating what’s up with your life as you listen.
But moments of reflection, of contemplation, they’re much more frequent than upbeat non-thinking ones. They’re what life is about. The aloneness, thinking about where you fit in.
I hope for two things. I hope that it becomes hip to make music from the heart once again. Oh, not the platitudes of Sarah McLachlan or the attitude of Ani DiFranco. They’re both good, but one is too mainstream, the other too offbeat. No, I’m looking for everyday genius. The average-looking bloke down the block singing about HIS life, which resonates, because it’s MY life.
And the other thing I hope for is that the great personal records of the seventies survive. Joni’s “Blue”. Jackson’s “Late For The Sky”. And Paul Simon’s “There Goes Rhymin’ Simon”.
