What did Artie Garfunkel do, anyway?

 

 

artie-paul
More than you think, probably. And so check this out: another in a series of video trailers for “Outward Bound: The Life of Paul Simon.” Shot, directed and edited by Mikel Chase, these film-lets are chock full-o fun and little known info from the book!

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#artgarfunkel
#homewardbound:thelifeofpaulsimon
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Nobel Special: When Bob Dylan laughed at Simon & Garfunkel

bob-and-paul

When Bob Dylan wins the Nobel Prize for Literature on Paul Simon’s 75th birthday it’s fun to remember how linked their careers have been over the years. Along with the same record label, producer and musical backdrop they also shared a reflexive suspicion, even antipathy, for one another. Paul would go on to criticize Dylan regularly during the 1960s, most memorably in his sarcastic homage, “A Simple Desultory Philippic,” recorded first for his UK solo album The Paul Simon Songbook, then re-recored for Simon & Garfunkel’s Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme. Here’s part of the reason why:

The night before the final recording session, Paul and Artie played their first scheduled show at Gerde’s Folk City. It was their first major appearance since they started recording for Columbia and to stir up excitement (Columbia producer) Tom Wilson rallied some of his hipper friends and colleagues to the show. The producer was there, of course, as was Barry Kornfeld and some of his living room regulars. But the real prize was Bob Dylan himself. He came a little late, perching at the bar next to the influential New York Times music critic Robert Shelton. They’d had a few drinks. Maybe they’d blown a little grass. Whatever, he was laughing. Hand in front of mouth, head down, shoulders heaving. Haw-haw-haw, ohmygod. And you could hear it. Paul and Artie played in a hush. One guitar, two voices and delicate strands of melody and harmony. The power was as much between the notes as in the notes themselves and it begged close listening. And everyone knew that beaky high plains honk.

Haw-haw!

In a career whose every twitch and twang has been anatomized for personal, literary, political and Biblical magnitude, the meaning of that Dylan guffaw remains cloaked in mystery. Shelton went to his grave insisting that the laughter — he was giggling too, only more quietly — had nothing to do with what was happening on the stage. That whatever had spurred the giggle fit was completely detached from Paul and Artie’s performance. It was just bad timing that whatever they were talking about, and Shelton never identified what it was, had popped their corks.

But there was more to Shelton’s story. Dylan and Paul had met for the first time only days earlier, and the encounter had gone badly. Despite having so much in common, including extended visits with the same folk musicians in London, Paul and Dylan couldn’t find anything to say to each other. So they traded the smallest of small talk. Neither pretended to be delighted, or even all that interested, in meeting the other.

Oh yeah, how’s it going, I heard you were around, you’re Kornfeld’s friend, right? So, yeah. Hi. Okay.

Then back to their separate corners, separate friends and separate visions of the world and their rightful position within it. And maybe it was the same place. And maybe there was only room for one of them. Which may be why Shelton described that fast-approaching night at Gerde’s as “an encounter typical of New York’s paranoia and instant rivalries.” Which makes his claims of innocent snickering seem a wee bit less convincing.

Homeward Bound
The Life of Paul Simon

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#tomwilson
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“Homeward Bound” trailer #1

Portland radio host/actor/writer/filmmaker/cool dude Mikel Chase is producing some promotional clips about “Homeward Bound,” and here’s the first one…

Homeward Bound
The Life of Paul Simon

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#carriefisher
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#romantic
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Rolling Stone calls “Homeward Bound” ‘Definitive.’

rs-review

#RollingStone’s Andy Greene has weighed in on ‘Homeward Bound’ and wrote really nice things: “”Definitive…Intimate…Carlin has gone deeper than anyone yet.”

The book will be officially published on Oct. 11 (Tuesday!) and you can find it lots of places:

Homeward Bound
The Life of Paul Simon

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First Glimpse into HOMEWARD BOUND: THE LIFE OF PAUL SIMON

ps-cool

To preview the release of my biography of Paul Simon I’m going to post daily previews of the book, taken mostly from original reporting and writing that fueled and/or didn’t quite make it onto the pages. This is a segment of the proposal I wrote for the book in 2012.

My earliest pop radio memories take me to Seattle in the summer of 1968 when my five-year-old self passed the summer pushing trucks across the yard to the tune of “Mrs. Robinson” playing from every transistor radio on the block every 20 minutes. An entire season defined by that off-kilter rhythm, the twittery harmonies and abstruse verses about…well, I had no idea. And yet the images were indelible. Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?/A nation turns its lonely eyes to you… Such are the roots of my cultural consciousness.

Born in the early ‘60s, baptized into the culture in the hippie era, old enough to carry a sign (as placed by my mom) through protests against new highways and for the Equal Rights Amendment and into the post-idealistic early ‘70s, through the urban anomie of the next decade and on and on I went, and never without Paul Simon’s voice high in the cacophony. He always had my ear. Made me turn up KJR-AM to consider the unexplained scandals in Julio’s schoolyard, to ride the chorus of “Kodachrome” into the southern gospel of “Loves Me Like a Rock” into the Caribbean rattle of “Mother and Child Reunion.”

And all of this on Casey Kasem’s Top 40 every Sunday night, both alongside and somehow above the love ballads and gloss-rockers that made up the rest of the hit parade. I’m in elementary school, I’m not thinking about this as much as letting it wash over me as I navigated inner city schools whose concrete walls wore fresh memorials to Martin Luther King and Medgar Evers. The black kids were angry, the Catholic kids were always hot for a fight. And at least one longhaired son of Jewish intellectuals stuck to the edges summoning the radio voice that laid it all out in witty, but unsparing terms. “When I think back at all the crap I learned in high school…”

I didn’t seek him out back then, but Paul Simon’s voice was always in the breeze and became, as if by cultural fiat, a pillar in my comprehension of the world. In late 1975 or early 1976 I read a magazine article about the new sophistication of the top 40, registering the author’s awe for the Ted Hughes-inspired lyric of “My Little Town” and the sui generis drum pattern in “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover.” When I absorbed the articles about the launch of NBC’s new Saturday Night enough to give it a look it made sense that Paul Simon was on the leading edge of that curve, too. He hosted the second episode (with Simon & Garfunkel as his musical guest), performing both of the aforementioned songs, shooting hoops with Connie Hawkins and clearly enthralling the shaggy urbanites in the live audience. I’m thirteen, the larger connections start to register. I’m fourteen, fifteen, and the internal networks spark and go immediately haywire. I need new clothes, new friends, a new identity. Nothing comes easily except self-consciousness and the romanticism of adolescent melancholy. With a retrofitting purchase of Simon & Garfunkel’s Greatest Hits, I have the soundtrack.

You’ve seen this. Maybe you lived some version of it yourself. Goodbye, Columbus read with “For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her,” “America” and “The Boxer” as the backdrop. The sound of innocence colliding with experience in post-war America. As I continued digging through Simon’s catalogue I recognized a sensibility that bridged my emotional and intellectual impulses. As a freshman in college I’d find a rehearsal room and spend hours at the piano hoping to untangle the complexities of “American Tune,” “My Little Town” or “Something so Right.” I analyzed the visual imagery in “Old Friends” in a key first term English paper, and dragged my un-eager and eventually unimpressed roommate to see “One-Trick Pony” at the college’s repertory movie theater.

I had my limits (“The Dangling Conversation” and its sad literary couple who mark their progress through the works of Dickinson and Frost with bookmarks “that measure what we’ve lost,” gives me the vapors) and connections to other artists that at times eclipsed all previous fixations. But just as those earlier records described my youth, Simon’s later work traces my adulthood from post-collegiate (Graceland) to early marriage and career (Rhythm of the Saints) my era in New York media (“The Capeman,” some of which I heard first in a press-only studio preview with Simon and his stars) to my return to Portland (“You’re the One”) to the sweet years of parenthood (Surprise, and particularly the tune ‘Father and Daughter,’ which I’ll never hear without recalling my then-10-year-old daughter’s proclamation that it was her favorite song.)

So it’s no exaggeration to say that Simon is as present in life as the air and waters: That’s exactly how I experienced him over the last 45 years. Song by song, year by year, album by album. Not quite a soundtrack to my entire life, but certainly a musical companion.

And if I’m still finding new meanings in those abstruse lyrics, I have long since grasped the depth of influence Simon’s genre-and-culture-bending music has had on world culture. Just think of those transistor radios playing on my block in 1968 and imagine them stretching around the planet, from Queens to Hollywood to New Orleans to Kingston to South Africa to Brazil and off into space. These are the days of miracle and wonder/This is a long distance call…and it resonates, and keeps on resonating.