“Furthermore, I hope my meaning won’t be lost or misconstrued.”
— Paul Simon
My most recent submission for Here’s The Thing was a mind-numbing listing of the best songs for the brokenhearted. From the four or five people who read the essay I did receive some worthy suggestions for additions to my list.
I will not recount them here, but my friend Joe did say, “How about Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover? You should write about that.” I thought to myself that since this was about the only good idea I had ever heard from Joe, I should do it.
I will tell you that this endeavor has led me down a dark and disappointing path. Written and performed by the universally loved Paul Simon in 1976, this classic lament has passed the lips of generations as they have smiled and sung along.
I was anxious to list the 50 ways and moved straight away to my trusty composition book. Meticulously, I numbered 1 through 50 along the left margin with periods perfectly aligned.
Like most of you, I know some words to many songs and sing heartily a few bars of the chorus until I soon run into lyrics unknown when the singing turns into “a pocketful of mumbles” (from “The Boxer”) with slurred phrases and quizzical looks from those gathered about. I admire those who know the second verse of any song. So, I ask that you forgive my naivete in thinking that I would find 50 ways within the song.
Here is what I discovered in my deep dive into the lyrics. After talking his way through the first verse setup, Simon gets to the point of the title:
1. Slip out the back, Jack
2. Make a new plan, Stan
3. Don’t need to be coy, Roy
4. Hop on the bus, Gus
5. Drop off the key, Lee
At this point I took a break from my research. I smoked a cigarette and poured a cup of coffee to prepare myself for the next 45. With steely reserve, I licked the tip of my pencil, positioned my right hand over the page and hit play on the cassette player with my left. Bring it on Mr. Simon, I thought to myself.
Again, he talked his way through the second verse, and then … Did he add to the list? No. He merely repeated the same five as listed above.
Dumbstruck, I dropped my pencil and realized the deception I had just uncovered. Evidently, the erudite master lyricist either did not have the energy, nor the will to fulfill the promise of the song’s title. Having been a long-time admirer of Paul Simon, my discovery was disturbing and profound.
To date, I have written, called, texted and emailed Paul Simon with no response. Knowing that he wrote this song after a difficult divorce, I wanted to offer him the opportunity to defend his deception before I took this research public. Was he depressed, just unwilling or unable to come up with more rhymes?
I sent a letter to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame with the revelation of what I had discovered. No response. I called Tucker Carlson at Fox News. He listened intently and spoke nervously as he said that his conspiracy plate was already full, and he would be unable to help. Further, I called and spoke to Trudy Song, the executive director of the Society for Integrity and Honesty in Song Lyrics (SIHSL). Although she was initially polite, her tone soon changed when I offered a detailed explanation of what my research had uncovered. She asked me to not call again. Curious, I GPS’d the address of SIHSL and found that it is headquartered in an obscure strip mall in Gas City, Ind. Having been born there, I was immediately suspicious. Under cover of disguise, I traveled to Gas City to find a shell of an office with a landline phone on an empty wooden desk visible through a dusty window. At the desk was a middle-aged woman with her hair in curlers. I did not go in. My suspicions were confirmed. There is no functioning SIHSL. There is no integrity nor honesty in song lyrics.
I can only conclude that there is a long-standing conspiracy afoot. I will leave it to others to explore and to expose other such deceptions as I have uncovered. I will not be naming more names or be leading the charge for greater accountability. That will be work for others. I myself will be content knowing that I, with pure intentions, discovered the Paul Simon deception and reported it dutifully. I am not a hero. I ask no other honor.
Here’s The Thing: Now I am wondering if Paul Simon ever really owned a Nikon camera, whether he packed a suitcase and guitar to faraway places, if he ever actually attended Scarborough Fair, whether he crossed that bridge, and if he truly could hear the sound of silence. Can I even call him Al?
It’s got me thinking that maybe this is the reason he kicked Art Garfunkel out of the group. Art was onto him. Say it ain’t so, Paul.
ken.ballinger@yahoo.com
