“Outrageous” was the first song that hooked me on Surprise. I was chatting about my first impressions with someone who had heard the album before I did; I had just heard it for the first time and had “Father And Daughter,” the album’s last cut, still playing between my ears. I said that I liked it from top to bottom, that it was a mesmerizing listening experience and that Paul Simon had pulled off a lovely blend of innovation and familiarity again, perhaps the hallmark of his career. I also said that I really liked “Outrageous,” that it had a great, out-of-the-blue, hooky guitar line and that it was funny. Never underestimate the power of a quick wit and a clever line to make a point. “Outrageous” carefully navigates a fine line between self-righteousness and self-loathing, presenting a guy who just might be a little too old and a little too vain to be complaining about high school lunches and those who exploit the poor. But he’s not. “It’s outrageous a man like me, stand here and complain. But I’m tired,” Simon sings, appropriately aware of the condescension creeping in on his list of complaints, right before he starts to make fun of his own stupid habits (“nine hundred sit-ups a day, I’m painting my hair the colour of mud, mud OK?”). Here’s the Paul Simon we know and love: sharp, thoughtful, poised and funny. That he can do all that over a layer of his funkiest guitar playing ever and a swooning electronic almost-therminlike groove deserves mad props.
Like the “Everything About it is a Love Song,” “Outrageous” has its share of lovely imagery: “It’s a blessing to wash your face in the summer solstice rain” and “It’s a blessing to rest my head in the circle of your love” strike a basic, beautiful chord – the obscenity of our world can be undone through nature and companionship. And who’s the ultimate companion? Or, as Simon puts it, “who’s gonna love you when your looks are gone? God will.”
Simon’s acknowledgement of God, and with that, his own peculiar presence in the universe (“I’m nothing,” Simon told Nightline. “A speck”), is remarkably humbling, and its accompanied by a musical shift; a song that begins with a manic, crunchy guitar line ends with a slow, riverlike melody. Over it, Simon reveals the depth of his self-awareness: “Take me, I’m an ordinary player in the Key of C, and my will was broken by my pride and my vanity.”
This, perhaps, is not so outrageous after all.
