LAST NIGHT Paul Simon was just as marvelous as you'd expect. He played to the sold-out Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall for nearly two hours, peppering his set with charming anecdotes and topical quips about Fred Armisen and Portlandia.
Simon and his nine-piece band primarily played songs from 1986's Graceland and 1990's The Rhythm of the Saints, two albums that heavily "borrow" from the traditional music of South Africa and Brazil. In his excellent piece on Paul Simon in this week's issue, Senior Editor Ned Lannamann says that this incarnation of Simon as a musician belonged to a "small enclave of white men—David Byrne and Peter Gabriel among them—who'd begun to use the textures of African, South African, and Asian music to buttress their Anglo pop songs, to great acclaim." Simon gave some background on the influences of particular songs—before the iconic percussive intro of "The Obvious Child" he noted that it was inspired by the rhythms of Brazil.
Early in the set they played older hits like "Mother and Child Reunion" and "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover." Simon's barely audible whistling on "Me and Julio Down By the Schoolyard" was forgivable and met with a standing ovation. Before playing "Spirit Voices" he shared the song's inspiration: During his travels in the Amazon he visited a healer who served him Ayahuasca after warning that he might have visions of "the anaconda" and also might barf. After his truly perfect execution of "Homeward Bound" Simon and his band played the instrumental intro to "El Condor Pasa"—my personal favorite—but it was just a fake-out before they launched into "Duncan."
Paul Simon is incredible—his prolific (albeit periodically controversial) career has left an indelible mark on modern pop music. But the 74-year-old legend's newest songs were his weakest. The recently-released single "The Werewolf" from his forthcoming full-length Stranger to Stranger is just plain bad. He flirts with vague, half-baked social commentary on lines like "Revenues, pay per views, it should be pretty healthy/The usual productions, and it all goes to the wealthy/Still, the werewolf's coming." Simon redeemed himself by ending the set with "Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes" and "You Can Call Me Al."
He came back to play another forgettable new song, "Wristband," before indulging fans with "Graceland" and "Still Crazy After All These Years." Gullible and tired, I believed this was going to be Simon's only encore, but apparently he returned to play "The Boxer" and "The Sound of Silence." I just pray someday I'll recover from this debilitating retroactive FOMO.
Before wrapping this up, I've got to give some orchestra-level shoutouts: To the dancing little girl in purple who successfully escaped from her mother's grip multiple times to run down the aisle towards the front (Simon gave her a shoutout, too). To her mother, who is obviously raising an amazing human. To the swarm of adults who followed the little girl's lead—the older woman who unleashed the grooviest moves I've ever seen as she danced up and down the aisle, much to the chagrin of docents who tried and failed MANY times to shepherd her back to her seat; the dude in the Hawaiian shirt smelling strongly of the ganj who placidly moseyed towards the commotion. To whoever's sneakers inexplicably appeared under my seat. Thanks for the memories.
