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I don’t agree with Oprah Winfrey, the High Priestess of the New Age, on much of anything — whether the subject is religious, political or any other. But it turns out we have the same favorite album of all time.
Paul Simon’s Graceland.
From its opening chords, the album blew me away when I first listened to it. For one thing, it sounded unlike anything I had heard up to that time. Ever.
It begins with the song The Boy In the Bubble, about how the scientific advances of mankind have not helped us advance the least bit spiritually. The song is a lyrical showcase with “Rhymin’ Simon” at the peak of his powers of wordplay (“It’s a turn-around jump shot/ It’s everybody jump start/ Every generation throws a hero up the pop charts/ Medicine is magical and magical is art/ You know, the boy in the bubble and the baby with the baboon’s heart...”).
From there, the album runs the gamut of emotions from the haunting Homeless to the pure fun of That Was Your Mother, as a father explains to his young son what life was like for his Mom and Dad in their early years together: “Well, that was your mother and that was your father/ Before you was born, dude, when life was great/ You are the burden of my generation/ I sure do love you, but let’s get that straight.”
At the heart of it all is the song Graceland with its refrain “I’m going to Graceland” cataloguing a journey to the estate of the late Elvis Presley. This, in turn, becomes a metaphor for man’s quest for lasting peace and freedom, and ultimately for redemption that’s available to all people (“Maybe I’ve a reason to believe/ We all will be received/ In Graceland”).
In You Can Call Me Al, the album’s one big hit, a cynical and self-involved man visiting South Africa becomes aware of something far bigger than himself and looks heavenward for the first time: “He looks around and sees angels in the architecture/ Spinning in infinity/ He says, ‘Amen and hallelujah!’...”
When the album was released in 1986, it caused quite a stir — not only because it was such an astounding artistic achievement, but even more so for Simon’s controversial use of South African musicians.
At the time, South Africa was still a segregated country where blacks suffered under a brutal system of apartheid, and where Nelson Mandela was still in prison. There was a boycott of South Africa which most musicians and artists honored in an attempt to end apartheid and bring attention to atrocities taking place there, like the murder of black activist Steven Biko. Consequently, many musical acts refused to perform in Sun City, a popular South African resort area, despite lucrative multi-million-dollar offers to do so.
I don’t agree with Oprah Winfrey, the High Priestess of the New Age, on much of anything — whether the subject is religious, political or any other. But it turns out we have the same favorite album of all time.
Paul Simon’s Graceland.
From its opening chords, the album blew me away when I first listened to it. For one thing, it sounded unlike anything I had heard up to that time. Ever.
It begins with the song The Boy In the Bubble, about how the scientific advances of mankind have not helped us advance the least bit spiritually. The song is a lyrical showcase with “Rhymin’ Simon” at the peak of his powers of wordplay (“It’s a turn-around jump shot/ It’s everybody jump start/ Every generation throws a hero up the pop charts/ Medicine is magical and magical is art/ You know, the boy in the bubble and the baby with the baboon’s heart...”).
From there, the album runs the gamut of emotions from the haunting Homeless to the pure fun of That Was Your Mother, as a father explains to his young son what life was like for his Mom and Dad in their early years together: “Well, that was your mother and that was your father/ Before you was born, dude, when life was great/ You are the burden of my generation/ I sure do love you, but let’s get that straight.”
At the heart of it all is the song Graceland with its refrain “I’m going to Graceland” cataloguing a journey to the estate of the late Elvis Presley. This, in turn, becomes a metaphor for man’s quest for lasting peace and freedom, and ultimately for redemption that’s available to all people (“Maybe I’ve a reason to believe/ We all will be received/ In Graceland”).
In You Can Call Me Al, the album’s one big hit, a cynical and self-involved man visiting South Africa becomes aware of something far bigger than himself and looks heavenward for the first time: “He looks around and sees angels in the architecture/ Spinning in infinity/ He says, ‘Amen and hallelujah!’...”
When the album was released in 1986, it caused quite a stir — not only because it was such an astounding artistic achievement, but even more so for Simon’s controversial use of South African musicians.
At the time, South Africa was still a segregated country where blacks suffered under a brutal system of apartheid, and where Nelson Mandela was still in prison. There was a boycott of South Africa which most musicians and artists honored in an attempt to end apartheid and bring attention to atrocities taking place there, like the murder of black activist Steven Biko. Consequently, many musical acts refused to perform in Sun City, a popular South African resort area, despite lucrative multi-million-dollar offers to do so.
In the mid-1980s, I attended an Amnesty International Concert in Los Angeles featuring a litany of top musical acts like U2 and Sting, each being introduced by various movie stars, and South Africa was a prominent theme that night.
The highlight of the evening was the set by Peter Gabriel, back when he was still simply “that guy from Genesis” (this was before he recorded his huge late-80s hits like Sledgehammer and Big Time). Yet he blew all the other bigger-name performers off the stage and brought down the house with his closing number, Biko, walking off the stage with thousands of people continuing to pump their fists into the air while chanting in unison “Bi-ko....oh, oh, oh!”
Not long after, at another concert — the final show of Bruce Springsteen’s Born In the USA tour — The Boss saluted his former guitarist Steve Van Zandt, who had recently left the E Street Band to make his first solo record. The album was about South Africa, and it included the hit song (I Ain’t Gonna Play) Sun City.
So, needless to say, when Simon released Graceland — featuring the native rhythms of some truly extraordinary South African musicians — many people denounced him for defying the boycott and harming the cause. He was accused of everything from artistic theft to selling out to supporting apartheid to having racist sentiments himself, and the tour was plagued by bomb threats.
Yet Simon wasn’t exploiting the music of these black artists, as some popular white singers had done in the 1950s during segregation. Rather, by exposing their work to a global audience, he did more for the musicians — and for the suffering people of South Africa — than much of the politically-correct crowd, although he was ostracized and even demonized for it. Simon did win the Grammy that year for Best Album, but even that became a controversy.
Now, the whole controversy is being revisited with a new documentary called Under African Skies which explores the issues surrounding the outrage over Graceland, although it never quite gets to the core of the matter.
Sadly, much of the music industry and the rest of the Left prefers feeling good above actually doing good. The boycott made them feel better about themselves, but whatever good it may have done, it left them unable to recognize or appreciate the powerful effect that hearing these wonderful musicians would have upon the world, and for the world to learn what they were going through as a result of apartheid.
For the Left, even when their heart is in the right place, their brains remain largely dysfunctional, distorted by a corrupted secular worldview. Live Aid and the recording of We Are the World is a great example. The musicians felt great, the world cheered and contributed vast sums of money, but in the end the food never reached the starving people it was meant to help. Even music industry outlets like Spin magazine reported that the brutal tyrants of Africa confiscated it all, leaving them more money to buy weapons.
The tyrants were the real problem all along in Africa — not the easy scapegoat of “white racism” — but because they were black and they were the ones oppressing black people, it just didn’t fit into the Left’s long-spun narrative. Still, it didn’t change the fact that they stole the food and used it to solidify their hold on power, and thereby oppress their own people even more.
And look how much better off Africa is today thanks to that feel-good moment of the 80s.
Not that you should ever question the righteousness of the Live Aid concerts or doubt their effectiveness. That would make you a racist.
Just ask Paul Simon.
e-mail: tom3264@msn.com, or go to tom’s Facebook page to send a message
