All Is Not Groovy at Paul Simon Celebration
By Jennie Rose Halperin
PUBLISHED APRIL 14, 2008
If a musician is only as good as those who surround him, then Paul Simon is the greatest musician alive. This Friday night, the prolific singer-songwriter performed selections from the albums Graceland and The Rhythm of the Saints at the magnificent and acoustically perfect Brooklyn Academy of Music opera house with a powerhouse band and a selection of friends that was so over-rehearsed not a note was missed—or creatively interpreted. Indeed, the band was huge and overpowering to the extent that Simon looked small and silly on stage. As he sang, he would occasionally strum his guitar, presumably because he needed something to do with his hands.
While most of the crowd-pleasers were from Graceland, the incredible 1986 album that has been experiencing a recent renaissance, the genius The Rhythm of the Saints also received its due. The standouts from that album included a spot-on version of “Can’t Run But,” sung by Brazilian singer Luciana Souza, and a lovely scatted version of “Proof,” sung by Cameroonian singer Kaissa. While Kaissa succeeded in putting lyrics like “My face, my race don’t matter anymore” into context, she later misstepped by over-interpreting and rewording the “The Coast,” removing the refrains “all along the injured coast” and the tragic “that is worth some money, now that is worth some money.”
The night was, however, supremely and wonderfully dorky from the moment Ladysmith Black Mambazo marched out in matching outfits, high-stepping to their traditional South African vocal repertoire. After an overly electric version of “The Boy in the Bubble,” sung effectively by South African singer Vusi Mahlasela, Simon walked out for a disappointing performance of “Gumboots.” What followed was approximately an hour of extremely uneven performances, highlighted by a version of “Under African Skies,” in which Kaissa completely drowned out Mahlasela with a badly construed harmony that was not at all in step with the rest of the band. The night trudged on, though, and Luciana Souza, looking exceptionally beautiful and five months pregnant, joined Simon for a duet written by Simon and the Brazilian singer Milton Nascimento with competence, although Simon’s stance throughout resembled a performer in a middle-school talent show.
Then, out stepped David Byrne, that iconoclast and seasoned performer—he and the band proceeded to steal the show from everyone. Beginning as back-up for Souza and Kaissa (who knew he had such a beautiful voice?), with a hip swing and a swagger, he was completely mesmerizing. Stepping up to the microphone, he set up the guitar hook for “I Know What I Know,” and the audience, elated and clapping, rose to dance.
This was after a man in the back first yelled, “Who wants to get up out of their seats and dance?!” to the seated and sober audience. Twenty minutes later, he yelled from the doors: “Don’t let them throw me out! I just want to dance!” Simon’s response? “Aww, throw him out!”
Byrne led a newly rejuvenated audience through “You Can Call Me Al,” even yelling over the audience and band at one point—completely audibly. Next, Ladysmith Black Mambazo came back out to sing a heartbreaking rendition of “Homeless,” combined with South African folk melodies. The song, in a post-Katrina, post-tsunami world, took on new meaning, and the words were given the heartwrenching weight they deserved. But when the first a cappella notes of “Diamonds on the Soles of her Shoes” were uttered, the audience stood up again to dance for a raucous version, during which the band and performers seemed to finally enjoy themselves. In the final 15 minutes, Simon ploughed through his hits, including “Graceland” and “That Was Your Mother.”
The audience stood up after a scanty two hours with some of the greatest performers in the world, feeling pleased and a little empty. Simon’s songs were once a radical force, a transformation of American pop music to a more ecumenical and inclusive model, but they felt dated and vacant in the modern concert setting. Diaspora has never been so easy to digest.
TAGS: BAM, Paul Simon
