Paul Simon - Graceland

By Alexander Robertson-Rose

“The United Nations General Assembly requests all states to prevent all cultural, academic, sporting and other exchanges with South Africa. Appeals to writers, artists, musicians and other personalities to boycott South Africa.”

UN Resolution 35/206 of December 1980 was clear: South African culture was to be cut from the world’s tapestry. The boycott was just one part of a series of political and economic measures aimed at forcing the end of apartheid, which had formally persisted in South Africa since 1948. Many musicians broke with the boycott in order to perform in the country; Queen, Rod Stewart and the Beach Boys just to name a few. But in recording Graceland, his unexpected comeback hit which revitalised his fading career and reintroduced South African music to the western world, Paul Simon became the face of the cultural boycott debate.

By 1984, Simon was quickly fading out of the popular consciousness and was facing several personal issues. His musical partnership with Art Garfunkel had deteriorated, with the two deciding to go their separate ways, his marriage to Carrie Fisher had fallen apart, and his record Hearts and Bones was a commercial failure. Battling a period of depression, Simon privately felt that he had lost his creative vision and would never again ascend to the heights he had previously reached. Maybe it was destiny, maybe it was luck, or maybe it was a bit of both, but his life was to change later that year, thanks entirely to a small, bootlegged cassette tape.  

The title track of Graceland, describing a road trip taken by Simon after the breakup of his marriage with Fisher, is one of the most compelling songs on the record. Graceland, Elvis Presley’s old Tennessee mansion, is not just a tourist destination for Simon but represents something more – an opportunity for grace. He counts himself among the number of “Poor boys and pilgrims with families / And we are going to Graceland.” The ideas of pilgrimage and grace are used repeatedly in this song, adding to the sense that Simon’s journey is more spiritual than physical.  

It soon becomes clear that Simon’s marriage troubles are the source of his search for grace, with the verse, “And she said losing love / Is like a window in your heart / Everybody sees you’re blown apart / Everybody sees the wind blow.” Simon’s wistful, softly sung vocal performance and soothing backing vocals make this one of the most melancholy and thought-provoking moments on the album, as Simon considers how he has been affected by the very public nature of his divorce and fall from grace. Of all his brilliantly written songs over a long and successful career, ‘Graceland’ perhaps stands out as one of his most thoughtful and considered efforts.

It’s amazing how a life can change on a cassette tape. The tape in question was of mbaqanga, a type of street music from Soweto, Johannesburg, rooted in traditional Zulu music. Upon hearing it when it fell into his lap in 1984, Simon immediately felt revitalised; this was it, he realised, this was the inspiration for his next record. But in order to make his vision a reality, he would have to go to South Africa, breaking with the boycott. It was a difficult decision, one which Simon later defended on grounds of musicianship. “I was following my musical instincts in wanting to work with people whose music I greatly admired,” he said. “I wasn't going to record for the government of Pretoria or to perform for segregated audiences.” His motivations, then, were purely artistic, not financial. Nevertheless, that did not stop him from receiving plenty of (albeit expected) criticism from around the world. Indeed, for several years after the release of Graceland, people would protest his actions outside his concerts. But, despite the inevitable backlash, Simon chose to make the trip, touching down in Johannesburg in February 1985.

‘Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes’ is another highlight of the album which perfectly demonstrates Simon’s idiosyncrasies and his penchant for imagery. The story of a rich girl - so rich that she has diamonds on the soles of her shoes - and “a poor boy / Empty as a pocket,” the song’s lyrics feature an array of vivid images, which end with the two characters sleeping in a doorway, both clad in diamonds, a symbol of how they have blended together. Inventive basslines and guitarwork mesh seamlessly with Simon’s vocal delivery, with Zulu lyrics also featuring, as they do on other tracks. This song, too, is trademark Simon, with a hint of folk and lyrics that, somehow, simply sound right.    

Soweto in the mid-80s perhaps wasn’t the best place to be a musician. At least, not for everyone. Apartheid legislation meant that the black musicians Simon was working with had to adhere to a strict curfew. Police presence was significant, and it was obvious, even to a white outsider like Simon, that “right below the surface there was all this tension.” Being a musician in Soweto also tended not to be particularly lucrative – Simon paid his collaborators $200 an hour, way above the $15 a day that was the normal rate for Johannesburg musicians. Although Simon was paying substantially more than even the rate for New York, it ultimately seems a bargain when you consider what the two weeks of recording produced.  

The song ‘Homeless,’ for example, a completely acapella track with South African group Ladysmith Black Mambazo, is a beautiful blend of harmony and call-and-response which is at once mournful and joyous. On the one hand, considering the high prevalence of homelessness in South Africa, especially in townships, the anguish of the subject matter is clear to see. Yet, as with so much of the album, there is a fundamental hopefulness to the song, a sense of the beauty of life and nature. This track, perhaps more than any other, fully embraces traditional African music, and is all the better for it. Naturally, critics remain. South African jazz musician Jonas Gwangwa stands among them, with his pointed remark, “So, it has taken another white man to discover my people?” As valid as this view may be, Graceland never feels patronising, nor does really attempt to comment on the political system of the time. Above all, it is simply what Simon hoped it would be – a creative triumph.

Whatever your view, Simon’s work remains, standing as a testament to the beauty of African music and to his skill as a songwriter. In a decade of glam metal, new wave and electronic music, of drum machines, synthesisers and questionable haircuts, Graceland, with the kind of folksy charm that only Simon could pull off, is warm, gratifying and profoundly human. It is a record that is aware of the darkness around it, but is unapologetic and unrepentant in its pursuit of light. These days, it is widely recognised as Simon’s best work and, after its release, he even reunited with Carrie Fisher for several more years. It’s amazing how a life can change on a cassette tape. Simon’s certainly did and, with the release of Graceland, so, I’m sure, did the lives of countless others.