Paul Simon's The Rhythm of the Saints was the first album I ever bought on CD and I've never fallen out of love with it. It's a deeply satisfying showcase of cross-cultural collaboration, particularly with some of the musical giants of Brazil and West and Central Africa, and I think Simon's evocative, impressionistic lyrics deserve to be taught in poetry classes. I love all the songs on it; but of all of them, I've always been most fascinated by "The Cool, Cool River" and its dark complexity. It moves from mood to mood -- encompassing anger, contemplation, determination, and ultimately hope -- and I think it's the song from the album that most speaks to these times.
Hear how deeply restless it is? The rhythm uses an uncommon 9/8 time signature, creating the uneasy sense that something is slightly off, out of whack; it's almost impossible to clap or snap along to without losing your place (try it). Over foreboding percussion and a jittery bass line, Simon sings of a slow-boiling anger that "no one can heal" and that moves among the people "like a fist through traffic," as they live in the shadow of what looks like authoritarian rule: "Yes, Boss," "the government handshake," "the crusher of language."
But the song occasionally finds an oasis of hopefulness. "I believe in the future," he sings twice, and the amazing imagery of "song dogs barking at the break of dawn / lightning pushes the edges of a thunderstorm" seems like a promise of change on the horizon. The music briefly lulls, like a held breath, as he sings about "these streets, quiet as a sleeping army." And then, the army awakes. The horn section arrives like the cavalry, its bright major chords cutting through fog and shadow. And the song turns to celebrate, strikingly, not outright victory but endurance: the importance of being a witness as much as a warrior, of refusing to run, of acknowledging the injustices of the world and the inevitability of sorrow. This may feel like resignation to some, but to me it feels like grit. In Simon's delivery, "Hard times? I'm used to them" sounds not like defeat but like a survivor's defiant challenge: bring it on.
Here's the last section of the song, just because I've always loved these lines:
And I believe in the future
We shall suffer no more
Maybe not in my lifetime
But in yours, I feel sure
Song dogs barking at the break of dawn
Lightning pushes the edges of a thunderstorm
And these streets
Quiet as a sleeping army
Send their battered dreams to heaven, to heaven
For the mother's restless son
Who is a witness to, who is a warrior
Who denies his urge to break and run
Who says, "Hard times?
I'm used to them
The speeding planet burns
I'm used to that
My life's so common it disappears"
And sometimes even music
Cannot substitute for tears
Full lyrics here. Thanks for reading this far. These are hard times indeed (for some more than others), the speeding planet burns, and far, far too many "common" lives are disappearing, and not just from this disease. But there are song dogs barking, and a storm is coming. And when it's rolled past, what we choose to build (and rebuild) remains to be seen. I hope it's something better.
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