Two billion heartbeats and…

Paul Simon, 83, has simply changed his mind about a farewell to touring that he announced in 2018, with a valedictory arena tour that ended with a park concert in Queens. He had more to say and sing.
He’s back on the road with a relatively intimate, scaled-down postscript: his A Quiet Celebration tour. It’s booked into theaters selected for their acoustics, and it’s made possible by an advanced monitoring system that helps him cope with his recent severe hearing loss. […]

In 2023, Simon released “Seven Psalms,” a continuous 33-minute suite of songs about the brevity, fragility and preciousness of life — “Two billion heartbeats and out / Or does it all begin again?” […]

He opened his Beacon Theater concert with a full performance of that album wearing a blazer, without his usual ball cap. The suite’s sections are loosely held together by delicate guitar picking patterns, recurring vocal lines and occasional refrains. But they also explore enigmatic tangents and dissolve into abstract sounds. In the best way, “Seven Psalms” sounds like someone thinking aloud, melodically and philosophically. […]

Between songs, Simon spoke about musical constructions. He teased instantly recognizable “guitar figures” from Simon & Garfunkel songs before playing a weary, countryish version of his touring-musician’s lament, “Homeward Bound.” He explained “Rewrite” — sung by a burned-out character wishing he could rewrite his life story — as growing out of a beat and a quick-fingered guitar lick.

Simon’s songs have had grown-up concerns for decades. He sang about parenthood in “Graceland” and “St. Judy’s Comet.” He sang about inevitable disillusionment in “Slip Slidin’ Away.” He sang about reluctant breakups, wistfully, in “Train in the Distance” and drolly in “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover.” And after explaining how he saw a song title in a photo caption, he sang about romance, art, consumerism and the power of music in “Rene and Georgette Magritte With Their Dog After the War,” in the pointillistic arrangement from his 2018 album “In the Blue Light.”

His reedy voice is weaker and scratchier than it once was, but he was still game, reaching for high notes in “Slip Slidin’ Away” and “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard.” The restrained volume and the age of the audience made the room reluctant to sing along until near the end of the set. But when “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover” arrived, and when Simon suggested “Sing!” during “The Boxer,” loud singalongs sprang up. For all his intricacies, he always knew how to write a hook.

Jon Pareles, excerpts from “Paul Simon at the Beacon Theater: Quiet, Intricate, Masterly (NY Times, Jun 17 2025)


Photo: jambands.com

Walking Cross-Town. With Al.

walking-aerial

Jorie Graham: “The slow overture of rain, each drop breaking without breaking into the next, describes the unrelenting, syncopated mind.” (from “Mind,” Hybrids of Plants and of Ghosts.)

6:30 am.
The train pulls into Grand Central, and clears. I sit. And wait.
The conductor walks up the aisle gathering tickets.
I cue up a Paul Simon playlist and walk.
The platform is empty. Stragglers amble toward the exits.
I nod to the armed guard, and slip through the open door onto 42nd, passing a conga line of yellow cabs. Not today gentlemen, not today. We’re walking Cross-Town.

Good morning America.
Dawn in Manhattan.
Sun Power lights up the skyscrapers, they lean in from the shadows to warm.
A wisp of a breeze cools, a welcome cut of the ever-present humidity, and a respite from the simmering trash and the marinating urine.

The electronic horse walks.
There’s a skip in the step this morning, loaded with a full night’s sleep, and boosted by Sun’s Solar Power.  Beast and Beast. One up Top. One on the ground. Duo is Un-freak-ing-stoppable. Continue reading “Walking Cross-Town. With Al.”