Tom writes:
Songs are poetry set to music. I don’t know if this is a precise quote, but it’s certainly the way I’ve known many people describe the nature of the things we sing and listen to others sing. While I’m not entirely sure the concept always stands – there are many songs, including some by bona fide geniuses, that I think work brilliantly when heard in the context of the accompanying music that would never stand alone if released as text alone – I do acknowledge that there are certain songs that do stand alone just in terms of their text, and certain artists who produce more such songs than others.
I’d argue one of those artists who could stand alone as a poet even if they weren’t also a brilliant musician is Paul Simon. His poetic skills are certainly to be seen in “Wristband”, the lead single from his 2016 album, Stranger to Stranger. It’s a wonderful lyrical track, full of both the mundane and the imaginative as it begins by telling the story of a rehearsal that goes awry as he steps outside only to hear the door close and lock behind him. As the story continues, it becomes clear that the wristband of the title is that piece of plastic, nylon, or cloth familiar to gig and festival goers the world over – the clothing accessory that points to the fact that you are entitled to be in a place that the majority are not.
As the story continues, Simon eloquently and evocatively describes his own fears, despite being a global star who is recognisable to anyone working a music venue, as he approaches the bouncer on the main venue door – who is insistent entry is based on the ownership of a wristband and is behaving like “St Peter at the pearly gates”. Even Simon’s descent into wordless scat as he attempts to persuade the doorman that he is the star of the show is somehow more poetic than many songs I’ve heard.
Yet his true poetic lyricism comes as the song progresses on. The song shifts in the light of that wordlessness from the simple narrative of an artist locked out of his own gig to something much larger and more significant. It becomes clear that all of that is just setting up the larger metaphor and truer meaning of the song:
The riots started slowly,
with the homeless and the lowly,
then they spread into the heartland:
towns that never get a wristband,
kids that can’t afford the cool brand,
whose anger is a short-hand
for you’ll never get a wristband,
and if you don’t have a wristband
then you can’t get through the door.
No, you can’t get through the door…
So it turns out that a catchy little ditty about a musician and his unfortunate need for a cigarette is actually a prophetic pronouncement on the ways in which so many in our communities, our nations, and our global village are denied access to so many things – including the very basics of life. That, it seems to me, is genuine poetry that just happens to be set to music. It’s also poetry, and music, worth listening to – you may not find them on subway walls, or tenement halls, and they’re certainly not silent, but they are prophetic.
Those of us who wear wristbands of many kinds need to be aware of our deep privileges and consider the consequences of a world in which so many are blocked from even getting in the door, let alone get to perform on the stage.
You can find out more about Paul Simon at paulsimon.com
The Friday Fix 