or better or worse, we here at Stylus, in all of our autocratic consumer-crit greed, are slaves to timeliness. A record over six months old is often discarded, deemed too old for publication, a relic in the internet age. That's why each week at Stylus, one writer takes a look at an album with the benefit of time. Whether it has been unjustly ignored, unfairly lauded, or misunderstood in some fundamental way, we aim with On Second Thought to provide a fresh look at albums that need it.

In 1986, I was 11 years old. I had been raised by my parents on a steady diet of everything from the Beatles, Merle Haggard, Aretha Franklin, Eddy Arnold, Elton John, Cat Stevens, Laura Nyro, Sade, and Sting. It was a pretty diverse list, but also, very M.O.R. Thankfully, my mom’s best friend played a copy of Graceland for us in the car one day, and I fell in love with it fast and hard. It was the first album that I bought with my very own allowance, a cassette to be played in my pink plastic boom box with the Go-Go’s sticker on the side. It’s hard to pin down what grabbed me initially. Most likely, at the awkward, pre-teen age of 11, I was unable to appreciate Paul Simon’s broad, perceptive lyrics or the then exciting idea of combining pop music with traditional South African mbaqanga music. Boy howdy, do I remember that I felt that rhythm though. The gentle pulsing of the deep bass and the guitar that seemed to float in the sun made me feel like I was traveling. Paul sang, “I know what I know/ I’ll sing what I said/ We come and we go...”, and while I didn’t fully comprehend the Zen of those lyrics, somewhere, subconsciously, I understood. Damn, it’s really intimidating to revisit an album that not only had a profound effect on a gum-chewing, 11 year old me, but also on the entire face of pop music.

“These are the days of miracle and wonder/ This is the long distance call/ The way the camera follows us in slo-mo/ The way we look to us all/ The way we look to a distant constellation/ That’s dying in the corner of the sky” is the repeating refrain in album opener, “The Boy In The Bubble”. It sets a lyrical tone for the rest of the album, and marks a distinct shift in Paul Simon’s already well praised lyrical style. Many of the songs on this album move from his usual fare of striking, perceptive narratives and linear stories to more circular, almost abstract meditations. “It was a dry wind/ And it swept across the desert/ And it curled into the circle of birth/ And the dead sand/ Falling on the children/ The mothers and the fathers/ and the automatic Earth”. Simon continues on his bittersweet love song to the World. In 1986, Haley’s comet made another pass by Earth and the Voyager 2 was sending transmissions full of information about Uranus across the stars and to back to us, but a few months later, the Space shuttle Challenger exploded before leaving the atmosphere. It was also the year that Chernobyl melted down and left a cloud of waste to tour the globe. Simon’s lyrics stuck in the hearts of the collective unconscious, a poetic expression of the love/hate relationship with booming technology and our inability to control it.

I’d really rather stay away from all the obvious nonsense of how Graceland brought the plight of South Africa into the consciousness of late 80’s yuppies and housewives. Because, at this point in time, it’s beside the point. Everyone knows that story. That review has been written a thousand times, that essay has been published hundreds and hundreds of times. An impressive accomplishment to be sure... but lest we forget about the music. Despite a few moments sounding dated (which really doesn’t bother me very much because this album really captured a moment in time), and a few 80’s production quibbles, there’s very little to complain about here. The lows are warm, and the highs are crisp. Nothing fancy, just clean, focused pop craft. The songs that make up Graceland are not just exercises in genre, they’re flawless pop songs.

All of the songs that use traditional South African music sound warm and inviting. The singers and instruments used add deep, rich tones. Thick browns and woody reds. It still amazes me to this day, that Simon managed to integrate this music into his quite traditional songs without making it sound like mere decoration. The rhythmic singing of Ladysmith Black Mambazo melts seamlessly into Simon’s own lead vocal on “Diamonds On The Souls of Her Shoes”, and later, on “Under African Skies” Paul is joined by Linda Ronstadt who lends her soaring alto to the track with sublime effects. Both vocalists tackle the traditional singing sections of the song fearlessly, head on. Ronstadt’s vocals are the perfect foil to Simon’s own understated style of singing.

Simon is just as successful co-opting Zydeco as he is with South African. The previously mentioned, “Boy In The Bubble”, buzzes with accordion and a fuzzy bass. The most Zydeco heavy tracks come at the end though, a couple of jumpin’ numbers, “That Was Your Mother” which makes me want to drink beer and boogie, and “All Around The World or The Myth of Fingerprints” with guests Los Lobos.

The title track is the heart of this record. Rhythm guitar that repeats itself endlessly and effortlessly, like driving fast over an empty road. Everything about this song is big, open, and wide. The lyrics are also their most evocative here. The images are vivid, and the dialog within the song develops like a good movie. “The Mississippi Delta was shining/ Like a National Guitar/ I am following the river/ Down the highway/ Through the cradle of the Civil War.” Paul sings, “But I’ve reason to believe/ We all will be received/ In Graceland”. Simon’s own backing vocals coo like angels in the background as the rhythm guitar continues to chug away. Now, I don’t know about everyone else, but the idea of dying and going to Graceland is a very comforting thought. Drifting up through the ether and landing behind the golden gates, Elvis’ guitar floats through the clouds and a choir of gospel angels sings. I realize that immediately, he’s singing about going to Graceland in the literal sense, but then the song ends with the lyrics, “And I may be obliged to defend/ Every love, every ending/ Or maybe there’s no obligations now/ Maybe I’ve a reason to believe/ We all will be received/ In Graceland.”

Boy, I sure hope so.