Writing

There came a moment – just over an hour and twenty minutes into the opening night of Paul Simon’s ‘Homeward Bound‘ farewell tour in Vancouver on Wednesday last – when the most excellent fifteen piece band brought an exuberant rendition of ‘You Can Call me Al‘ to a juddering close and the great man himself stepped forward to acknowledge and bask in the applause of the devoted crowd – when a sudden startled stir rippled through the arena. Was that it? Had a mere sixteen songs from Simon’s extraordinarily extensive back-catalogue been all that we would be left to remember him by?

It was not enough. Not by a long chalk…

Three extended encores (featuring ten further songs and lasting for a full fifty minutes) later we reluctantly let the man go. He is – after all – seventy five years of age and this was the first night of a long tour. Perhaps he was testing the water – investigating what was possible and seeing how far he could push a voice that – whilst it sounded a little tenuous at the start – warmed up more and more as the evening progressed.

Were we satisfied? Well – of course we were – though much of the talk afterwards was of classic tracks that had not been included. There was no ‘Kodachrome‘ – no ‘Train in the Distance‘ – no ‘Only Living Boy in New York‘…  but I guess that is the inevitable side-effect of having such a voluminous inventory of classic compositions from which to choose.

Simon ended alone on stage singing – along, it seemed, with the entire crowd – ‘The Sound of Silence‘. My view (widely shared of course) that the man is a complete genius was again borne out by the recognition anew that his music – even that dating from the mid-sixties – has really not aged at all – neither in its poetry nor its melodies. This is surely a true mark of the enduring legacy that this great artist has gifted to us. He makes us sing – he makes us happy – he makes us dance – he moves us to tears (at least three times during Wednesday night’s show).

More than this we cannot ask – though should his tease that he had only billed the tour as his farewell so as to be able to push up the ticket prices turn out to be true – I have no doubt at all that he would be welcomed back to the West Coast with open arms.

Genius! ‘Nuff said!

When Bob Dylan set out in the latter part of 1965 on the American, Australia and European tour that would wind its way long into 1966 – having already that year shaken the American folk scene to its core with his first public amplified appearance at the Newport Folk Festival – he took on the road with him an electric band… the Hawks.

The Hawks – based in Arkansas – had been the backing outfit for rockabilly legend Ronnie Hawkins before striking out on their own in 1964. Following a recommendation from a friend they were hired by Dylan in 1965 to back him for the electric component of his upcoming world tour. The format of the shows comprised two parts – a solo acoustic set by Dylan followed by the more controversial amplified section.

For an outfit based in the deep south the Hawks had a strong Canadian component – at one point featuring four Canadians and one American. One of those Canadians – who had headed south on his own as a sixteen year old in 1959 to join the band – was Jaime Royal Robertson… better known now as Robbie Robertson.

The Hawks famously morphed into The Band. Robertson emerged as a major songwriter whose later history need hardly be catalogued here. Suffice it to say that the man who wrote “The night they drove old Dixie down” is a legend in his own right and I have recommended him before in these jottings with reference to his wonderful recording – Music for the Native Americans.

Robertson – now seventy three – has recently published a first volume of his autobiography – “Testimony” – and Victoria’s excellent Bolen Books invited him, somewhat speculatively, to come to the city for a reasonably rare public appearance. Roberston – never having visited Victoria – agreed and the ensuing event – at the University of Victoria’s Farquhar Auditorium – drew a crowd in excess of a thousand souls, each of whom received a signed hardback copy of the book as part of the package.

Needless to say I would have crawled over broken glass to attend the event. Our coming to Canada – and coincident attainment of a certain venerable stage of life – seems to be offering us opportunities to reconnect with those who have become our heroes and exemplars over the years. Given the tragic number of such who have passed beyond these shores during this strangest of years this is clearly an important and necessary experience.

Robertson described the effect on a fresh-faced twenty three year old of having to endure – night after night over a period of some nine months across three continents – the fury of Dylan’s acolytes at their hero’s adoption of the electric guitar and the accompanying band. The start of the second set was routinely met with boos, heckles, the throwing of objects onto the stage and – infamously at Manchester’s Free Trade Hall – the denunciation as ‘Judas‘ of the recent Nobel laureate.

If one can endure this sort of experience as a young man I guess one can endure just about anything.