Graceland, Memphis - Tennessee |
When I was in America in 2008 I visited Graceland. I am aware of Elvis Presley and his music, but the real reason I was excited about going to Graceland was the Paul Simon song. In the hotel car park in Memphis, on the morning of our visit I put Paul Simon onto my ipod nice and loud and had a little over-excited silent dance party, because - I was going to Graceland!
Elvis image - one amongst many at Graceland |
'...following the river down the highway through the cradle of the civil war. I'm going to Graceland... poor boys and pilgrims with families we are going to Graceland...'
I have loved the Paul
Simon album Graceland for as
long as I can remember. The title song evokes a legend of music, it is about a journey and it literally bounces you along the road. It
was released twenty five years ago – which (if my parents bought it
when it was first released) means that I would have been about six
years old when I first heard it. There was politics around the making
of the album in South Africa and his fusion of sounds was ground
breaking, but as a child I did not know a thing about
any of that.
All I knew was that the loose limbed sounds were joyous and different, and there were evocative words like cinematographer, diamonds, delta, Memphis and bat-faced-girl, mingled with energetic whoooops. The music reverberated with a beat that made you want to move and then snatches of stories would burst through - conjuring up images of people and places far away from my world in regional Victoria:
'people say she's
crazy she's got diamonds on the soles of her shoes...'
'there is a girl in New
York city who calls herself the human trampoline...'
Of course I can only
glimpse that child through the sive of my current self. But I know
how the music touches me still, and I have no hesitancy saying that
that little tape was from the beginning of our intimacy a precious
object holding a special magical energy.
My trip to America was
not particularly a Paul Simon pilgrimage, but the man, and his music
touched various legs of my trip. Early on, I had an overnight
bus ride from San Fran to LA, arriving in the pale empty city very early in the morning, hassled on the bus, with no sleep, already missing my new San Fran friends and my boyfriend terribly. I
sank into a rather deep hole. With four hours to kill before I could
get into my room, have a wash and a sleep I turned to the only thing
I could think of to lift me out of my funk- I sat down with my ipod
and listened to Paul Simon – and the magic worked. He pulled me
out.
There
is a Graceland 25 year anniversary tour going on in Europe starting
this week, and I came very close to buying myself a ticket to go and
see the man, but the stars were not aligned properly for me to go on
that particular journey.
New Orleans - 2008 |
I did see him once, not
in a concert hall, or at a rock concert but in a bookstore in New York.
Weeks after he helped dry out my tears in LA, and I had visited many
many iconic locations (including Graceland) I was scanning the street
press for New York things to do, when I saw that the man himself was
speaking at a bookstore.
Central Park and two mad hatters - 2008 |
I went along to the
packed event and took a spot near the back. My hero talked about song
writing, his long career as a performer and New York, and every now
and then he sang. The legs of some must have tired, because as the
evening wore on I was able to make my way closer to the man sitting
on a stool with a guitar at his side. And at the close of the
evening, while others had given way to the fatigues of standing
upright, neck craning for a view- I did not have to crane my neck at
all to be able to watch Paul Simon sing the Only living boy in
New York right in front of me.
I
have always felt blessed to have been lucky enough to see Paul Simon
in his hometown... and although I am sad that I won't get to see him
perform for the 25th anniversary of Graceland I carry the music with me in my heart nonetheless.
Is it a kind of a dream
ReplyDeleteFloating out on the tide
Following the river of death downstream
Oh is it a dream?
There's a fog along the horizon
A strange glow in the sky
And nobody seems to know where it goes
And what does it mean?
Oh is it a dream?
Bright eyes, burning like fire
Bright eyes, how can you close and fail?
How can the light that burned so brightly,
Suddenly burn so pale?
Bright eyes
Is it a kind of a shadow
Reaching into the night
Wandering over the hills unseen
Oh is it a dream?
There's a high wind in the trees
A cold sound in the air
And nobody ever knows where you go
And where do you start?
Oh into the dark
Bright eyes, burning like fire
Bright eyes, how can you close and fail?
How can the light that burned so brightly,
Suddenly burn so pale?
Bright eyes
Bright eyes, burning like fire
Bright eyes, how can you close and fail?
How can the light that burned so brightly,
Suddenly burn so pale?
Bright eyes