Still Meshuguna After All These Years

by Ben Greenberg

Listening to Paul Simon’s music, it isn't immediately apparent that he's Jewish. He sings “Jesus Is The Answer," on an early live record. Then of course, there's the famous lyric, "And here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson / Jesus loves you more than you will know." This year he even recorded a straight-faced Christmas song, and his gospel tinged hit "Loves Me like A Rock" features vocal group, The Dixie Hummingbirds. But upon closer inspection, the man is revealed to be a pure blooded Tribesman. Looking even more closely, perhaps it could have been inferred from songs with titles like “That Was Your Mother,” “The Boy In The Bubble,” “Allergies,” “Voices Of Old People,” and “Diamonds On The Soles Of Her Shoes.” According to Wikipedia (source: Citation Needed) Paul Simon’s parents were Hungarian Jews.

Paul Simon (real name, no gimmicks) was born in Newark, NJ and raised in Queens, and from what I can put together, he was more of a cultural Jew than a religious one. If you are reading the Boogie Woogie Flu and are Jewish, I’m willing to bet that you can identify with that. We are the heathen Jews. We know who we are. I’ll see you all in whatever the Jewish equivalent of Hell is.

From the Late 50s to the early 60s, Simon & Garfunkel, performed alternately as Tom & Jerry and Tico and The Triumphs. During this time, Paul also wrote and recorded solo material under the pseudonyms True Taylor and Jerry Landis—an even more Jewish-sounding name than his real one. He went to London in 1965 to establish himself on the folk scene, and while there, produced what is to my mind one of the greatest folk albums of the era, the eponymously titled debut by Jackson C. Frank. If you ever want to go on a real bummer, read any bio of Jackson Frank. His getting shot through the eye by a passing stranger while sitting on a park bench doesn’t even begin to plumb the depths of travesty that befell this man. In fact, the gunshot through the eye is only usually mentioned briefly, in passing.

Returning to the States, Simon and Garfunkel recorded a string of enormously successful LPs in the years that followed. But rather than open up a new Wikipedia page, let’s just move right along into his solo career, and to what is probably my personal favorite Paul Simon album, the self-titled debut from 1972—the one with Paul hiding under a yeti on the front. It’s got the hits “Me & Julio” and “Mother & Child Reunion”, but this album is packed with lesser-known gems, my favorites of which are the one-two punch of “Peace Like A River” and “Papa Hobo,” both, brilliant songs.

What else can I say about him? Other than that I think the music from The Capeman is vastly underrated, and for anyone who thinks that the interpolation of World Music into Simon’s pop songs began with or around Graceland—I offer up the track “Duncan” from Live Rhymin,’ performed with the South American group Urubamba, recorded in 1974, a full twelve years before Graceland. Pan flute chorus attack! What could be more World Music than that? Also, I offer an unfinished version of the same song with totally different lyrics and sections where he only has a line or two done. It's an interesting take, and a song with a fully different meaning (seemingly about someone named Benson McGuire and someone, possibly Benson, getting something buried deep in his shoulder). Below you can find a suite of songs from the early years, prior to Simon and Garfunkel, and a selection of choice nuggets.

Happy Hanukkah, and here's to you Mrs. Rubinstein...

Download:

"Dancin' Wild" mp3
by Tom & Jerry, 1957.
available on Two Can Dream Alone

"True or False" mp3
by True Taylor, 1958.
available on Two Can Dream Alone

"Motorcycle" mp3
by Tico and the Triumphs, 1961.
available on Two Can Dream Alone

"The Lone Teen Ranger" mp3
by Jerry Landis, 1962.
available on Recorded As Jerry Landis & Artie Garr

"Blues Run The Game" mp3
by Jackson C Frank, 1965.
produced by Paul Simon
available on Blues Run the Game

"Peace Like A River" mp3
by Paul Simon, 1972.
available on Paul Simon

"Papa Hobo" mp3
by Paul Simon, 1972.
available on Paul Simon

"Duncan (demo)" mp3
by Paul Simon, 1972.
available on Paul Simon

"Duncan" mp3
by Paul Simon, 1974.
available on Paul Simon in Concert: Live Rhymin'

"Loves Me Like A Rock" mp3
by Paul Simon, 1973
available on There Goes Rhymin' Simon

"You're Kind" mp3
by Paul Simon, 1975.
available on Still Crazy After All These Years

"God Bless The Absentee" mp3
by Paul Simon, 1980.
available on One-Trick Pony

"Rene And Georgette Magritte With Their Dog After The War" mp3
by Paul Simon, 1983.
available on Hearts and Bones

"Trailways Bus" mp3
by Paul Simon, 1997.
available on Songs from The Capeman

"Getting Ready For Christmas Day" mp3
by Paul Simon, 2010.
from the forthcoming album So Beautiful Or So What
available at paulsimon.com

Ben Greenberg is a senior editor at Grand Central Publishing.

********************************

This is the sixth of eight posts at the Boogie Woogie Flu, in which eight Jewish writers will discuss the works of other Jewish artists for eight consecutive days in celebration of Hanukkah.

Some Skunk Funk

Emily, Michael, and Randy Brecker being good Jews, circa 1950.

by Ben Greenberg

This is supposed to be a fun little piece to celebrate my two uncles, (not unlike My Two Dads), a pair of highly distinguished horn players, a toast to the holidays and to ring in the new year. Yet it’s almost impossible for me to write about The Brecker Brothers without soon being blindsided by a deep sadness and a pervasive emptiness that seems intent on blocking out the good old memories. It's a downer, I know. Michael, my mom’s brother, died about two years ago and it’s still just as raw. It just feels like it’s still happening, the moment frozen in time—like he’s still dying. That instant stomach flip whenever his name comes up or his face enters my mind. Every day I spend time trying to recreate the times that were, the bond we had, like piecing together a very old jigsaw puzzle—but as soon as some pieces lock, they disintegrate just as quickly. They say he lives on through the music, his legacy, but for me, that’s just something people say. The truth is, I loved him to death, he literally saved my life, and I can’t call him anymore.

When I was young, my family and Michael’s used to go to Long Beach Island, NJ together in the summers. We would rent houses across the street from each other, and all the kids would play around. Waterskiing, barbeques, movies, beach, stories, minigolf, fishing. I never thought about him as a musician. He was just Uncle Mike--funny, charming, sweet, caring and warm. He always thought that whatever you were doing was amazing. "Wow what an incredible sandcastle!" Even though it was quite ordinary. "What a great hole you dug!" Years later, I’d say I was an assistant at some company, answering phones and doing copies. "You’re really doing it!" He’d say it with such sincerity that is difficult to replicate without sounding like a complete asshole. This, coming from someone with more Grammys than fingers, I don’t know, but it made me feel good. I took up saxophone because of him when I was in the 6th grade, and soon enough he procured me a beautiful black laquer Dave Guardala tenor. I had hoped that it had some inherent power in it, and I could be really good just because of where it came from, but turns out you have to practice like everyone else. It’s in a closet at my parents’ house in Philly.

In college I was taking a jazz history course and figured I would interview Mike and Randy for a paper I was writing. I brought a dictaphone up to Thanksgiving at Michael’s (we had Thanksgiving there every year and still do) and started asking questions. I realized that I’d never really spoken to either of them about their musician lives before. I had been to their concerts, listened to their albums, gone backstage, and the like. What emerged from that interview were countless stories that seemed almost to be about other people, not the uncles that I’d known my whole life. It was kind of like discovering an oil well in your backyard--if you were writing a paper about oil. They told me about how when recording with Parliament/Funkadelic, George Clinton would walk around with a different science fiction hardcover book every day with coke piled on top. It had to be a science fiction book, no other genre would do. They told me stories about what it was like to tour with The Plastic Ono Band (from what I recall, not so enlightening). They dropped out of college to play in NYC with nothing but a hunger and immense talent. First they started the awesome fusion band Dreams, then went on to own and operate the legendary jazz club Seventh Avenue South. They played on Born To Run (on a side note, I was in a meeting with Clarence Clemons recently and when it came up that they were my uncles, he said in that quiet commanding voice of his, “Can I get their autographs?”), and played on studio sessions for numerous big pop and rock acts in the last 20-30 years including The Rolling Stones, Frank Zappa, James Brown, Steely Dan, James Taylor, and John Lennon. All this, while remaining highly respected and incredibly formidable jazz musicians as well. You usually can’t have it both ways. They did.

During that interview, when I heard this all at once, it almost seemed like they had lived a thousand lives. We went down to Michael’s studio in his basement where he had an immense record collection, and I asked him about some of his favorites. He started to talk about Coltrane, Sonny Rollins, Ornette Coleman, and Wayne Shorter. At the time, I was listening to Albert Ayler. I asked Mike what he thought of him, and he replied, "I listened to him in High School." Who listens to Albert Ayler in High School? I wish I still had those interview tapes.

Here’s a few tracks that I’ve loved over the years. And here’s to the Brecker Brothers, and to Mike, and to imagining all the good times that could have been.



Download:

"15 Miles to Provo" mp3
by Dreams, 1970.
available on Dreams

"Do That Stuff" mp3
by Parliment, 1976.
available on The Clones of Dr. Funkenstein

"Gospel Feeling" mp3
by Weldon Irvine, 1976
available on Sinbad

"Think" mp3
by James Brown, 1973.
available on The CD of JB

"Tenth Avenue Freezeout" mp3
by Bruce Springsteen, 1975.
available on Born to Run

"Tumbleweed" mp3
by Michael Brecker, 2007.
available on Pilgrimage