It is very difficult to say anything more about an 81-year-old legend that has not been written down before. Of all the major artists who emerged from the great American folk protest movement in the 1960’s, only Dylan can possibly be said to be more influential upon our modern culture. I might also add that of all musical duos in rock and pop history who have split owing to the usual egos and nonsense, Simon is easily the one who most enhanced his reputation, with so many bona fide classics after Bridge Over Troubled Waters and above anyone else, Gabriel included, doing more to bring African music to the overt consciousness of Western audiences, and for this he will go down in history.
Simon has retired from performing, unlike his erstwhile partner whose voice, frankly, went past its best many years ago and is painful, both sonically and emotionally, to watch these days. It was, therefore, a bit of a surprise when Seven Psalms was announced as his first recording since 2018’s In the Blue Light, which I found satisfying, but no more.
The work was born of a dream and is a testament to aging, relationships with God and man, and accompanying thoughts of mortality because there are many more days behind than in front.
I read a very interesting interview in my newspaper a week before this work’s release, quite unrelated to it, by the way. It was with an atheist rabbi, something you might think is a contradiction in terms, but is not altogether uncommon, certainly agnosticism being a very healthy tradition in Hebrew history. Said rabbi stated that Jews had always had a very difficult relationship with God, and he thought it best to return to the tradition of Torah, which is far more about the way we live in the present than any fear of a future eternity in God’s sight (it is the case that Christianity brought with it a fear of dying unparalleled in ancient times). It is what I love about Judaism, the plurality, the questing, and the acceptance of differing traditions.
This is an essential work. It is stunning. It has, as one might expect from the title, seven distinct movements, but Simon has insisted that the work should be listened to in one sitting, and who am I to disagree? By the way, as another point of interest to those who are not aware of Jewish tradition, Psalms were not meant to be recited in a monotone by a rather nice, but dull chap (or, these days, also a chapette) in the Anglican church on a Sunday morning. They were poems and thoughts set to music, most famously by David. The Paul Simon voice is, by a natural process of age, fragile now, but unlike others he never tries to be anything he is not, which is essentially a purveyor of words set to some incredibly clever and intricate music, and Seven Psalms is no different.
The seven elements are entitled The Lord, the exhortations of which are repeated throughout, Love Is Like a Braid, My Professional Opinion, Your Forgiveness, Trail of Volcanoes, The Sacred Harp, and Wait.
Bells introduce the work. Simon sings about The Great Migration and proclaims The Lord as various images, including a clever reference to Slip Slidin’ Away from days of yore. This is a pretty and relatively benign beginning to proceedings. As the work progresses, Simon recalls familial rituals. The Lord at this stage is a kind of park ranger, looking after the poor. All those familiar with the God of Torah will know that this will not exclusively last.
When he sings that nothing dies of too much love in a delightful passage, Simon references his own history as a singer of the 60’s – he is, of course, also intelligent enough to realise that this generation’s time has passed, and it all ended in failure, idealism shot to the wind.
At the end, the song takes a darker turn, inevitably. The Lord is now a Covid virus, and the music and guitar chords take an altogether bleaker hue.
Love is Like a Braid is fragile, extraordinarily so. It has the sound of a man searching for the soul and passion of his youth but facing the jury judging that time. The prodigal son, the thorns on a rose, torn lives, and loves, you can feel the passion transposed to his guitar.
My Professional Opinion changes the mood starkly, with the doctor wishing Mr Indignation a good morning heartily, although he hasn’t slept a wink all night. Of course, this is a reference to the dreams which inspired this work and kept him up half the night. He is talking to himself at 5 a.m., and some of the noises coming out of a harmonica are as dark as the middle of the night, almost like an out-of-control vehicle running down his Texas ranch’s track (he left New York some time ago). This is a very strong piece of Americana, dark folk wrought large and supremely impressive, steel, and acoustic guitar so powerful. We get a repeat of The Lord intonations, almost as if Simon is reaching for that reassurance of eternal power and love, but this is destroyed by the Covid virus personified as God on earth, the vengeful deity, and we ask ourselves why. The Lord is a terrible swift sword, and anyone familiar with The Psalms will recognise just why the Jewish people have always struggled with the dichotomy within Yahweh.
Your Forgiveness has Simon searching for this, exhorting sorrow as a beautiful song, and yearning for the loving deity whose infinite patience is the saviour of us all, hoping the gates won’t be closed to him when the time comes, an achingly sad reflection on one’s mortality and fate. The vocal chants although sad and fragile are as powerful as anything on Graceland. He admits he has his reasons to doubt dipping into heaven’s water and God’s imagination with some flute and string work which is yearning.
Trail of Volcanoes is not a physical tour, but a reference to the fact that many of the roads Simon travelled when younger is now filled with refugees escaping poverty, death, destruction, pestilence, those age-old human conditions (and they have been for the bulk of humanity down the ages – we never learn). The simplicity in the guitar chords are themselves a powerful statement, and there is some deliciously complex percussion personifying the chaos, alongside some primal chants and a weirdly distorted guitar to close.
The Sacred Harp cools things down with a gentler guitar, still mournful, and those chimes returning. Simon himself sings of a change of mood and a sunny sky with hitchhikers trying to flag them down whilst cruising on the road. It sees the introduction vocally of Simon’s wife of 30 years, Edie Brickell, herself an extremely accomplished singer-songwriter (and considerably younger than her husband). It is she who persuades the husband to pick up the travellers, and the two of them take a journey underneath the stars, with him mainly talking to himself in his head, and then the song references beautifully the sacred harp that David played whilst singing his words in ancient Jerusalem. The idea of God turning music into bliss.
We end with Wait, six minutes in duration, and begins with a reprise of The Lord, but this time, He is a puff of smoke, who disappears when the wind blows. He is Simon’s personal joke, a reflection in the window. Ultimately, isn’t this how we should think of God, as a reflection of ourselves as humans? A trial & error, one of a billion in the universe? This is, therefore, deeply reflective, and the thumping drum accompanies the more urgent guitar as we sing to the Lord whose music we hear, for good and bad.
The bells chime, and we have a simply incredible denouement. Paul Simon is not ready. He is simply packing. He is raging against the inevitable, with a clear mind. The contribution of Brickell is to die for as she comforts Simon with the meaning of it all, and the fact that heaven is beautiful, almost like home. He wants to believe in that dreamless transition. He needs her by his side. All the love they hold for each other is exemplified in this closing passage. She is his guide to the other side he isn’t sure exists. Amen and the chimes close.
Wow! Paul Simon has been a recording and performing artist for over 60 years. His place within the pantheon of American music legends is assured, and was without this work of art.
I tell you, though. Seven Psalms is one of the most important albums of that stellar career. As someone who has been interested in religion, religious history, and my own mortality for as long as I can remember, I find this a deeply touching album, because it is, in essence, a personal journey of discovery to a place he doesn’t even know about yet. That he will get there is the fate which befalls us all, but if anyone in these times is capable of enunciating that as well as on this remarkable work, I would be astounded.