Paul S. at the Riverside, etc.

Paul Simon and I go way back—it’s always been a little lopsided, but I can’t recall a time before he was in my life. The relationship has always been complicated, too. “The Boxer” is my earliest concrete memory of a song (it’s either that or “Stayin’ Alive”; I can’t remember any more which one happened first), and it’s not a happy memory. I was afraid of that song. I always tied the fear to those impossibly loud snare shots during the chorus; on the record they sound like gunshots, and it made sense that gunshots would scare a kid.

I grew to love the song quickly though, probably as quickly as my brain learned to compartmentalize. I thought it was cute that I was afraid of it, and I’ve told a lot people the story. I was never afraid of any Beatles songs, or Stones songs, or Hank Williams songs, any of those other songs that started seeping in before consciousness. As a teenager I wrote a lot of poetry and a lot of it was inadvertently modeled after Simon’s lyrics; I came to regard him as the premier poet of rock and roll’s heyday. I couldn’t relate to Dylan, it didn’t matter how many times I read about how great he was and had his songs explained to me. Leonard Cohen, as much as my mom loved him, I had no idea what ANY of his songs were about. Simon’s songs, for the most part, didn’t require explanation.

At some point in the ‘90s I was listening to a radio DJ interview Paul, and he asked if there were any songs from his past that Paul didn’t like any more, and he singled out “The Dangling Conversation” as one he’d be happy never to hear again. But…I loved that song! And then rather than ask for an explanation, they just played the song! I was so frustrated; I wanted to know WHY. Worse, the obvious disdain in Simon’s voice indicated that my love for the song…was wrong. This meant that my TASTE IN MUSIC had suddenly been called into question. All these years, these English classes, all these books I’d read, all these mentors who’d shaped my tastes, how could I possibly be WRONG about this?

As I’ve gotten older I’ve lost my touch with poetry if I ever had one; at the same time, it’s pretty easy now to understand why Paul would find “The Dangling Conversation” embarrassing. The interesting thing is, it doesn’t mean YOU can’t like it. The song has a quality of sophistication that makes a precocious kid want to understand it, and a romantic melodrama that makes a shy kid yearn to experience the tragedy of it. So after a period of trying to force myself to shun that song, I eventually let that kid keep liking it, to hell with what Paul thinks. People will occasionally reach out to me and tell me they loved something I wrote, something I felt like a hack even putting my name on. The truth is, a creator is sometimes the worst person to judge their own work.

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When I first saw the announcement of two Paul Simon shows at the Riverside, I couldn’t imagine I’d have much to gain from seeing one. I’d seen him plenty of times already, first in 1999 when he had an absolutely bonkers band and was still playing a lot of RHYTHM OF THE SAINTS material and frankly blew Bob Dylan and his band to smithereens that night. And well, it’d been diminishing returns ever since. To be clear, there’s never been any love lost; I just questioned whether I needed to continue to witness the man’s aging process. Simon’s one of the rare artists who keeps coming up with interesting new music no matter how old he gets; he’s had his career missteps but again, it’s all about perspective. His 1983 flop HEARTS AND BONES, for instance, is my favorite of all his albums. Its importance in my life, I hardly know where to begin.

He didn’t play anything off that album in ’99, though, nor in 2001 when he returned to Summerfest, nor the next time in ’06. And the ’06 show was just not very impressive; Simon seemed lackadaisical, the vibe was very ‘I’m Paul Simon and these people will dig whatever the fuck I do’. And STILL when he came back in 2011 I pitched a review, but there was no media pass forthcoming that time around. By the time I found out, it was sold out. I’m sure there were options—there are always options, but man. That last show had been so weak. And Paul punished me for losing faith, playing my favorite goddamn song at the one show I had to miss.

Such is life! I had a different assignment the next night he played Milwaukee; he didn’t do anything off HEARTS AND BONES that night anyway. The next thing I knew, he was retired from playing shows. To me, that was only sad because he kept making great albums full of songs that would never get performed. Whereas Cohen and Dylan’s lyrical talents were insane to begin with, Simon only occasionally hit on brilliance even in his “classic” days; it’s always been more about the full song. Maybe something about that construction process keeps him from repeating himself while even his most esteemed contemporaries are mostly, ahem, working on their retreads.

During a trip home from Canada last summer we’d listened to the podcast series “Miracle And Wonder: Conversations with Paul Simon”, which is very much worth hearing if you’re Simon fan. His voice sounded significantly more frail than I remembered, though, even compared to his 2023 SEVEN PSALMS release. I also knew he’d mostly lost his hearing. The trick with all this music fandom, going to see all these live shows, is to avoid seeing what your heroes are sometimes reduced to. I just saw Jon Anderson a couple weeks ago, one of my favorite musicians who’s ever lived, and while he was wonderful as always, it was risky. And sadly it was alllll the same predictable songs he always sings; my brain is making zero effort to retain any of it.

Yep, all this played out in my head in the blink of an eye (hahaha) and STILL my conclusion was ‘I gotta go to one of these shows.’ I’d asked my dad back in 2011 if he’d ever seen Simon live, in a clear attempt to guilt-trip myself for not buying tickets. No, he had not. Considering it was at least half his fault I ever got into this mess, he had to join me this time. Considering the fact that my wife and I, if we had to choose ‘our song’, I’m pretty sure there are only two options, one of which Paul wrote, so she had to come too. Tickets were easy ‘cause there were two nights, gee what a concept. Then a few weeks later we went to Big Ears as always (http://www.you-phoria.com/Blog/2025/April/big-ears-2025), and I messaged an old friend I’d met up with there a couple years prior, hoping he’d be back. “Not this year,” he said. “Currently rehearsing with Paul Simon before we hit the road for 5 months.”

So casual. Don’t you just love texting?

Admittedly, Caleb (yeah we have the same name, he even stuck it out with the entire thing) had already played with plenty of my heroes! He was the kid who rocketed outta Janesville as far and fast as all of his considerable faculties could carry him. Simon though, is a slightly different notion, at least for me, a non-musician. I managed to contain my flabbergastipation, though, replying as nonchalantly as possible. “Bringing my dad to the Sunday show, as a matter of fact.” Reality is best expressed face to face.

I definitely pride myself on a high degree of objectivity as a writer; on rare occasions I’ve even written paid pieces about people I consider friends. Still, I’m really glad that press pass came through for Metal Fest (https://milwaukeerecord.com/music/two-days-at-milwaukee-metal-fest-metalcore-moshing-milwaukee-as-metal-mecca/), because I told my editors at MILWAUKEE RECORD that if it didn’t, I’d review Simon for them instead. That piece would’ve been much shorter and more people probably would’ve read it, but my so-called objectivity would’ve been pushed to its limits. It’s just a different feeling, seeing your friend onstage with Paul MFing Simon.

We now conclude history’s longest disclaimer. Paul Simon played two nights at the Riverside Theater last weekend! They were his first shows here since 2017 (but Caleb’s first time in Milwaukee in 15 years!), and my colleague Piet captured the first night perfectly here: https://www.jsonline.com/story/entertainment/music/2025/05/18/paul-simon-gentle-and-grand-at-riverside-theater-concert-in-milwaukee/83669662007/

There were probably very few differences between the two nights. I know the first night was sold out; if Sunday wasn’t, it was damn close. When Paul came onstage, he first expressed how grateful he was to even be there, not in a jovial manner but rather gravely; everyone in the crowd felt it earnestly, I think. Then he explained to us exactly what he and the band were about to do: first, perform SEVEN PSALMS all the way through, then take a break and play a bunch of hits and a few deep cuts. The first set was gorgeous and fluid; Simon was seated in the center, encircled by his 12-piece ensemble. Caleb (Burhans, viola and vocals) had told us at dinner that Gyan Riley was Terry Riley’s son; I didn’t know that, nor that Gyan was part of Simon’s band. Simon’s written some guitar pieces over the years that he surely can’t physically play any more; who better than Riley to handle ‘em? Also on guitar was Mark Stewart, who’s worked with Simon going back at least as far as 2000’s YOU’RE THE ONE album.

There weren’t a lot of flashy individual moments from the band, although those brief moments were always immaculate; it was a single-minded entity tethered to Simon. He’d occasionally conduct briefly but for the most part they stayed on their toes; even within sections, SEVEN PSALMS slides liberally in and out of tempos and motifs. Paul’s voice was shaky for maybe the first ten minutes but continued to warm up throughout the performance; it always was a quirky voice, the way it twists the beginnings and ends of vowels, and once you get to know it that character becomes far more crucial than its range or precision.

My dad and I were wondering after the show, did Simon ever tour with his wife before? Have there been concerts before where they performed together? We hadn’t even noticed Edie Brickell slipping onstage towards the end of the set until she started singing; she was facing inward so we didn’t even know for sure it was her until the second set, when Paul brought her out, center stage this time, and properly introduced her to sing Linda Ronstadt’s part in “Under African Skies”. Their harmonies sounded incredible. She did also pop out to do the whistling part in “Me And Julio Down By The Schoolyard” which certainly got a rise out of the crowd.

And what album would you guess Simon pulled the most from in that second set? Why, the 1983 flop of course. I was especially hopeful this time around because there’s lots of strings on that album; back in 2017 when Simon played Eaux Claires with yMusic (https://milwaukeerecord.com/music/third-eaux-claires-weathers-rain-and-growing-pains-emerges-triumphant/), I did finally hear one H&B track, “Train In The Distance”, but there were other even better choices! Like “The Late Great Johnny Ace”, for instance, and “Rene And Georgette Magritte With Their Dog After The War”, both of which the band pulled off amazingly on Sunday. He could’ve picked any number of better-known songs this band would’ve also been perfect for; these are just as good as any of those, though.

Lots of folks are coming to shows on this tour, of course, thinking it’s their last chance to see a legend. The easiest thing would be to simply play the hits. Instead, he picks the lullaby “St. Judy’s Comet” as the only song off the platinum THERE GOES RHYMIN’ SIMON record. But these are all songs that have the capacity to move you easily even if you never heard them before. I love that he sticks by “Rewrite”, a highlight of 2011’s SO BEAUTIFUL OR SO WHAT; you don’t have to be a writer to get a kick out of this song.

Then it was time for the hits, and in the encore, after an extra groovy rendition of “50 Ways To Leave Your Lover”, they started into “The Boxer”. Most songs of the night didn’t sound much like their studio versions; that’s always the case with Simon, but this in particular had a completely different feel to it. It was as if years of tribulations had softened his opinions about the poor boy whose story has now been endlessly told, maybe even his opinions of New York City. There weren’t going to be any gunshots in this version; it was a rollicking, compassionate tale, there’s no more need to go “lie-la-lie” for minutes on end while an orchestra swells ever more dramatically. It never was the snare hits that scared me anyway; it was the burning feeling during that long crescendo that something terrible was in the process of happening, and that stupid acoustic guitar at the end never explaining what it was. It was a looming dread I could never resolve.

Back then I had no knowledge of ACTUAL looming dread. Nowadays there’s little use for the imaginary kind. It was only a few refrains at the end of the song this time; the band didn’t get loud. Yet it was still the most cathartic experience I’ve ever had with the song. I might’ve still been afraid of it until just then—more specifically, afraid of what that old fear might do some day, coming at me unawares. You never know what can happen when an ancient fear bubbles up, especially in public. But it turns out, the worst a song can do is make you cry.