Tale of the Tape: "Paul Simon's Concert in the Park"
I can see it on the TV at Al’s Pizzeria.
Al’s was my pizzeria of choice when I was a kid. I remember so much about it. I remember the square coupons they gave you when you ordered a large pizza, and that when you had 10, you got a free large pizza. I remember the few tables in the back, and then the room they opened up to add a few more tables. I ate at the tables when my friends came with me but usually ate my two slices at the counter. I was a regular, so they knew what I wanted as soon as I walked in. The only real question was if I was staying or going. At some point, Curt behind the counter decided that if I wanted the slices to go, it meant I wanted them “with legs”; if I was going to stay, it was “without.” So, I’d walk in, Curt or someone else would take note of me, and then I’d be asked, “With or without?”
I had a special code at my favorite pizzeria. It was pretty cool.
I ate a lot of slices without legs at the counter and gradually came to feel I was one of the guys. I’d do the TV Guide crossword at the counter while Curt and the other guys pretended to be impressed that I was doing it so quickly. I gave as good as I got from one of the delivery guys who was a Rangers fan (though maybe I’d skip the slices the day after an Islanders loss to the Rangers). It was like being on Cheers, except it was in a pizzeria instead of a bar. And if I wasn’t quite Norm, I was close enough for my liking.
Behind the counter, up in the corner by the window was a TV. I don’t remember what was on most days, but on August 15, 1991, it was showing Paul Simon’s concert in Central Park. I know the concert was aired on HBO, but it would be odd that Al’s would have pay cable, so maybe it was simulcast on a local channel? Or maybe the concert wasn’t on at all and I’m just a lunatic who decided to write about a pizzeria you’ve never heard of as a way to introduce a discussion of the two-cassette set of “Paul Simon’s Concert in the Park” and the impact it and Paul Simon had on my life.
Still crazy after all these years, eh?
I’m pretty sure the concert was on the TV at Al’s that day, but I am 100% certain I bought Paul Simon’s “Graceland” at the Sam Goody at Woodbridge Center. I’d been circling the album for a little bit after spending a significant amount of time listening to the 45 of “You Can Call Me Al” and watching the video for the song. Oh, how I danced along with Chevy Chase and Paul Simon every time that video came on. Didn’t we all? Shall we all dance along now?
I suppose I was aware of Paul Simon before seeing that video, but he became a part of my daily life after that video was released. And I guess at some point, I thought to myself, or told my imaginary friend, “Hey, I wonder if he has other songs that are good.” And that is how I found myself at the Woodbridge Sam Goody spending my mom’s money on a cassette of “Graceland.”
At this point in my life, I have slightly mixed feelings about “Graceland,” largely because, by Steve Berlin’s account, Simon was a real jerk when it came to working with Los Lobos. But I spent too many hours playing that “Graceland” cassette to totally dismiss it from my inner being. On the nights when I wasn’t drifting into sleep listening to sad music that made me think about girls who didn’t like me, I would listen to “Graceland.” Some of it was probably too up-tempo to listen to, but “Homeless” and “Under African Skies” did the job and were welcome relief from the sad songs I favored.
I eventually went back into Simon and Garfunkel stuff, and I loved a lot of it, including their concert in Central Park. And when that time came in 1991 and Paul Simon announced he was doing a free show in Central Park, there was definitely a part of me that wanted to go. By that point, I knew “Graceland” front to back, almost all of the Simon and Garfunkel hits, and a healthy smattering of Simon solo stuff, so seeing him live seemed like it would probably be cool. I mean, seeing anything live at that point would’ve been cool, but seeing Simon would have been particularly fun.
Alas, I was 14, so the likelihood of me going to Central Park, which I’d never been to, and seeing a concert with thousands of strangers crammed into a field was low, both due to my general terror at such a scenario and my parents’ assumed reluctance to allow me to go. So, I’d have to make do with watching the show on HBO (and, more than likely, the TV at Al’s) and later listening to the official release when it came out a few months after the concert. It was the first local concert I remember that was a spectacle, an event. It opened up the possibility that I might get to be part of such an event someday.
And if you think I danced a lot to “You Can Call Me Al” (and, honestly, it’s a weird thing for you to think about, even if I did bring it up), it pales in comparison to the number of times I popped one of the two “Paul Simon’s Concert in Central Park” tapes into my Walkman. It was a constant companion in 1991 and 1992 and a frequent pal in the years after. I can still pretty much tap out the drum rhythm to the show-opening “The Obvious Child” if you ask. Or even if you don’t ask. Keep your eyes open for it.
There was at least one song on every side of the two tapes I loved. Side two of tape one was the one that brought the least joy, probably because it has Simon’s version of “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” which is decidedly less good than when Garfunkel sings it but much better than when I tried to sing it at a shopping mall recording studio after being told the track to “Mrs. Robinson” was not working. But the second tape is nearly all killer, no filler (I’m not too keen on “Hearts and Bones”). The one-two punch of “America” and “The Boxer” pretty much guaranteed that I’ll never truly stop being a fan of Paul Simon (despite his jerkiness toward Los Lobos and the way he looked straight past me on the way into a taping of “Late Show with David Letterman”). I mean, if he only wrote those two songs, that’d be enough. I imagined myself to be the titular boxer on many bus rides to and from high school.
And speaking of high school (which I try to do as little as possible), being a fan of Paul Simon likely got me one of my treasured high school friends. When I joined my high school’s Retreat Team (wow, does that sound sexy or what?), one of the first team-building exercises we did was pass around an index card with our name on it, with the instructions that we were to write one thing we liked about the person who’s name was at the top of the card and then pass that card to the next person. We were told not to repeat anything that was already on the card when we got it and to not write anything that would give away the person who wrote it.
So, after my card made it all the way around the room, I got it back and I’d say roughly two-thirds of the comments were variations of “Is quiet but seems like a cool guy.” This seemed to run counter to the rules we’d been given, but, to be fair, being quiet was probably the only distinguishing characteristic one could point out regarding my existence at the time. But among the comments was one that took up most of the back of the card that mentioned I had great taste in music and added a parenthetical declaration of “Simon and Garfunkel #1.”
It wasn’t hard to deduce that this was from one of my few friends, and I wasn’t sure when we became friends or when we discovered we both liked Simon and Garfunkel, but for the last two years of high school, he and I built off this bond. We even went to see Art Garfunkel at Carnegie Hall, where we were yelled at just as the concert was ending by a guy who apparently did not care for us talking in between songs. We were dumb teenagers and the guy was probably right to be annoyed, but he also seemed like kind of a dick. So maybe everyone was wrong in that situation, which, really, is how a lot of situations go.
Anyway, my friend and I also spent some time writing lyrics to song parodies about our economics teacher, as all of us did in high school, right? I mean, the economics teacher song parody field is ever expanding. Of course, we wrote a few using Simon and Garfunkel songs as the basis for our wit. As I recall, they’re real powerful stuff. I remember one to the tune of “America,” and I’m sure we mentioned ZPG in it. And if I can just get 1000 more subscribers to this Substack, I’ll share the lyrics to that gem here free.
The point is that I probably would never have had that friend if I didn’t spend the better part of two years listening to “Paul Simon’s Concert in the Park.” And though we’re not in touch anymore, it would have been sad to miss out on that friendship.
And, of course, those economics song parodies wouldn’t exist, which would truly be a shame.
Get everyone you know to subscribe and you’ll see what I mean. And if I get 10 million subscribers, I’ll release the tape I made of me singing “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” I can’t even bring myself to listen to that, but if the populations of several small nations sign up here, we’ll all endure it together.
I eventually saw Paul Simon live a few times. The first two times he opened up for Bob Dylan, which would have been a dream bill for me a few years earlier. But I’d sort of fallen off in my Simon fandom by that point. Still, it was fun to see him that first time at Madison Square Garden (I think I bailed early on his set at Jones Beach, but if you lived on Staten Island and were trying to get home from Jones Beach via public transportation, you’d probably bail on just about anyone).
And then in September 2018, I finally got to have my own mini-Central Park experience when I bought a ticket to Simon’s farewell-to-touring concert at Flushing Meadows Corona Park. It wasn’t free and it wasn’t with as many people as crammed into Central Park, but it was more fun than I expected it would be to hear Simon play a hometown show on his way out of the touring business (kind of; he’s done shows since, though it seems now that he really may be calling it a day). I still see him a little bit through the eyes of a loyal Los Lobos fan, but the feelings those songs brought remain nestled inside me.
And, so, as it turns out, my Paul Simon fandom, though not as strong as it once was, still endures. I think I’m better for that fandom, and for that purchase of “Graceland” at Sam Goody, and, most importantly, for the years spent listening to “Paul Simon’s Concert in the Park.” And any tapes that make me think of Al’s Pizzeria and a treasured friendship are pretty good tapes to have.