A Quiet Celebration with Paul Simon
Plus, my q-and-a with Jason Isbell. (Sort of.)
Paul Simon doesn’t need this.
At 83, he could easily be at home1, counting the hundreds of millions of dollars he earned for his songwriting catalog and Simon & Garfunkel recording royalties. Or, if he wanted an easy gig, he could be appearing at your favorite local arena, cranking out the hits one last time for a Boomer audience eager to overpay for the privilege.
Instead, he came to Bass Concert Hall in Austin, capacity 3,000, to perform his latest recording: A 33-minute suite dubbed Seven Psalms, a lyrical meditation on faith and death, with soft accompaniment in a range of styles familiar to anyone who has followed his six-decade career. If that title doesn’t exactly promise humility and humor, the album might surprise you — across that half-hour and change, Simon cracks wise about talking cows and the joys of (metaphorical?) gardening, alongside conceding his mortality, praising the Lord, invoking Daniel and his sacred harp. “Nothing dies of too much love,” he proclaims.
Simon billed the concert as “A Quiet Celebration,” and he offered equal does of the former and the latter. As he played his Psalms, his band of 12 was locked-in, whispering to each other through their guitars, violins, and flutes, and the audience was pin-drop silent, giving the music the reverence it deserved. The lyrics hit hard, and the sound crew had Simon’s voice — in fantastic form, by the way, given his age and years of performing — up high in the mix. When he got to the last lines, about coming home to heaven, you could feel the lifting of the weight of the last 33 minutes, but also the last 83 years. Amen, indeed.
But wait, there was more!
For his second set, Simon played through his back catalog, songs both familiar (“The Boxer”) and less so (“Train in the Distance”)2. Using the same subtle energy of the main event, the best moments were when the songs felt recast, renewed. He wrestled with humanity in a plaintive “Slip Slidin’ Away,” while “Homeward Bound” felt like a spiritual by way of Merle Haggard, leaving no doubt that home for Simon now rests in the great beyond. On “The Late Great Johnny Ace,” a tribute to both the titular doo-wop singer and John Lennon, Simon sung like someone who knew a little to well what it might be like to die.
He also played two songs that directly addressed fatherhood: The lovely deep cut “St. Judy’s Comet” from 1973’s There Goes Rhymin’ Simon, addressed to a bedtime-fighting son. And the Oscar-nominated3 “Father and Daughter,” a sappier affair, but damn if the declaration of love in the chorus doesn’t get me every time. The themes of spirituality and family played well in a room full of grayhairs4, but for those of us on the (relatively) younger side, it felt like receiving a message from a wise elder: Time is fleeting, love while you can.
What a gift. See him if — and while — you can.
Another divorced dad singer-songwriter swung through Austin recently: Jason Isbell kicked off his tour with his band, the 400 Unit, at the confusingly named (but immaculately designed) ACL Live at Moody Theater5. The big questions were whether and how he would perform songs from Foxes in the Snow, his new solo acoustic record, with songs centered around losing one love and finding another.
He answered immediately with a rocking opener, “Crimson and Clay,” with a full-band sound that wouldn’t have been out of place on his past few records. He ultimately performed seven of the album’s 11 songs, ranging from delicate acoustic treatments (“Eileen”; “Ride to Robert’s”) to surprisingly heavier iterations (“True Believer”). The highlight: album opener “Bury Me,” given a bluegrass-style treatment6 that I hope makes it to an album someday. (Live from the Ryman, Vol. 3, perhaps?)
His band, tight and professional as ever, extended the likes of “Last of My Kind” with mellow jams and unshowy solos. And the guy who jokes about his lyrics making band members cry in the studio dropped plenty of tearjerkers. By the time he got to the closer, “Danko/Manuel,” a song about the haunted and exhausted life of a touring musician from his days in the Drive-By Truckers, one thing was clear: The themes of the new album, about love and loss, about home and leaving, have been with him for awhile.
Prior to the show, I had the privilege of attending a taping of Overheard With Evan Smith on PBS, with Isbell as the guest of honor. He was as you’d expect: Thoughtful and funny, drawing an especially big laugh with a line about changing the first word of the show title to “Overserved.” (“That’s for the podcast,” Smith quipped.)
After the main interview, they do an audience q-and-a, from which selected qs will be shown online. I decided to take my shot, and asked if Isbell had a Springsteen-like trove of leftover recordings from his years of songwriting. (Earlier that week, The Boss announced he was releasing seven — seven! — unreleased albums from his archives.)
The answer: No, not exactly. He said there are usually two or three songs left over from each record, and that we will get to hear them all, eventually… when he’s dead.
Here’s hoping he changes his mind on that.
Longing to see St. Judy's Comet sparkle in your eyes when you awake,
P.L.U.
In Wimberley, Texas! Evidently he moved there in 2022, which I learned after investigating why his first words to the concert audience were “Hello from Wimberley.” He lives with his wife, Edie Brickell, who joined Simon on a handful of songs.
I went into this concert with zero expectations around a setlist — Simon’s catalog is just too big to think he’d play all the hits. But I had to laugh during the encore break as I kept thinking of more songs he probably wouldn’t play — and it wasn’t until the next day that I remembered “Mother and Child Reunion” and “The Only Living Boy in New York.” The man has songs!
From 2002’s The Wild Thornberrys Movie, if you can believe it.
Not that this describes me or the missus!
Not to be confused with Austin’s Moody Amphitheater or Moody Center. And no, not all concerts at ACL Live are filmed for the eponymous television program, ACL Live.
Don’t miss Sarah Jarosz’s lovely cover, either.