Review Summary: It's time to come home
We have no destination
The moon and stars
Provide us with our rooms
I'm envious of those who are totally at peace with the concept of dying. Whether you're religious, agnostic, or atheist, it takes a rare amount of perspective and self-assuredness in your views to have a positive attitude towards your own passing. For most people, it's something they grapple with their whole lives, and I feel like I'm going to be one of them. Paul Simon, it seems, is another: the eighty-one year old musical icon finds himself staring down the last phase of his physical existence, embracing the idea of there being a God yet not without some questions and serious doubts of his own.
The concept for
Seven Psalms came to Simon in a series of dreams which began in 2019; dreams he claims were so strong that he got up between 3am-5am several times per week to write down words as they appeared in his mind. The end result became his fifteenth studio album, a single track that is entirely acoustic and spans a half hour. Within the experience is a recurring melody with lyrical motifs that seem to signify what is on Paul Simon's mind: the enduring love
and wrath of God, and the crossroads he finds himself at in trying to decide – once and for all – what he should believe as he enters "the great migration".
On its surface,
Seven Psalms sounds like you might expect it to. It's not uncommon for human beings, as they examine the looming reality of death, to rely on religion as a crutch. After all, it's far more comforting to assume a stance that reunites us with loved ones than it is to willingly dive into eternal nothingness. The first movement, or "psalm", is simply titled 'The Lord', and delivers verses like "The Lord is my engineer / The Lord is the earth I ride on / The Lord is the face in the atmosphere." However, when it seems like things are about to border on evangelical, Simon drives a dagger into it all: "The Covid virus is the Lord / The Lord is the ocean rising / The Lord is a terrible swift sword." The more Simon sings about God, the more it becomes clear that he's using God as a metaphor for all the wonderful and cataclysmic things that comprise existence; in essence, the whole of powers above humanity's grasp to control. It's not a worship record, it's an examination and – dare I say a judgment – of God. He's trying to wrap his mind around this "Lord" and who he really is. While the validity of God's very existence could be debated, he strikes the fairest tone when viewing God as – at the very least – a
concept that has been around since the dawn of time: "a simple truth surviving." In between Simon's pendulum swings portraying God as either a savior or bringer of destruction, this seems to be his most impartial claim.
As these songs flow effortlessly into one another, Simon weighs the deeds of his life against where he's headed. "I, the last in the line / Hoping the gates won't be closed / Before your forgiveness" he at one point sings, making an obvious reference to the gates of heaven whilst depicting himself as being in an unfavorable position to gain entry. He also writes of feuds and grudges, penning verses such as "The pity is / The damage that's done / Leaves so little time for amends" but ultimately relinquishes them to the beauty of nature: "Gonna carry my grievances down to the shore / And wash 'em away in the tumbling tide." There are a lot of ideas swirling within this relatively short work, but they all revolve around preparing for death – or as Paul sings in the final movement (appropriately titled 'Wait'): "I'm not ready / I'm just packing my gear."
Musically,
Seven Psalms is a piece full of understated beauty. Simon's acoustic picking and overall songwriting whims feel, at least initially, a little too unstructured for their own good – but the more you absorb
Seven Psalms as
one experience, the more these seemingly entropic ideas begin to jell. The bluesy 'My Professional Opinion' stands out in particular, utilizing Paul Simon's weathered eighty-one year old croons to further its soulful atmosphere. Another highlight is when Paul's wife, Edie Brickell, lends her breathtaking backing vocals to 'The Sacred Harp' and album closer 'Wait'. Their voices create magic together, and without her presence,
Seven Psalms would lack a much needed splash of color. Woven into the music's fabric are also various accents, often barely audible: flutes, choral harmonies, the sounds of nature – and they all assist in transporting
Seven Psalms into the dreamlike space that it occupies. The record is brimming with these kinds of small, subtle complements; they're not enough to take away from the raw, earthy feel of the music, but they do breathe life into the music whenever it seems like it could be on the verge of stagnation or repetition.
Seven Psalms is, more than anything else, a thematic experience. It beckons listeners to drift into the ethereal, embracing the acoustic ambiance while collectively pondering
our existential crisis – because while it may be Paul Simon facing these questions today, it will eventually be you and I, if we are so fortunate to enjoy long, healthy lives and have the luxury of being able to seek perspective. That's why the themes here are so well-established, because it's not Paul Simon sitting down in the studio to create a batch of songs so much as it is him trying to hash out his real, very conflicted beliefs – in essence, it's a battle for his soul. The recurring melody of 'The Lord' is vital to this, peeking its head through several more times after it is first introduced while shapeshifting tones to match whatever Simon happens to be thinking. At times, it seems like pure praise ("The Lord is a meal for the poorest of the poor / A welcome door to the stranger"), but at other times it is far more cynical ("The Lord is a puff of smoke / That disappears when the winds blow / The Lord is my personal joke"). It captures the conundrum of human existence: to believe or not to believe; or – does it even matter what you believe? On the curtain-call 'Wait', Paul sings in beautiful harmony with his wife, "I need you here by my side / My beautiful mystery guide", and he could very well be talking about either her or God. There's a beautiful ambiguity to the lines and what they symbolize – either a literal or metaphorical hand to hold as he enters the realm of the unknown. One thing is for sure either way: by the time the album ends, Paul Simon seems to be ready for whatever awaits him on the other side.
My hand's steady
My mind is still clear
It's time to come home
