Lyric of the Week: 'Boy in the Bubble' by Paul Simon

Paul Simon's Graceland is a mighty miracle among those very, very few albums that teeter atop the mountain that straddles the worlds of Pop and Art. This week we'll break down the album's opening track, with a focus on a lyrical feat that is all too rare. Paul Simon achieves sublime effects lyrically by crafting lines that slither effortlessly between vernacular speech and image-laden poetry.

Witness the first verse:

It was a slow day,
and the sun was beating
on the soldiers on the side of the road.
There was a bright light
a shattering of shop windows,
the bomb in the baby carriage
was wired to a radio.

This is a beautiful balance between everyday speech and poetic effects. He uses things like alliteration (slow... sun... soldiers... side... shattering of shop...) but this alliteration is spread out just the right amount--we don't know that it's working on us while listening, we probably don't notice it until we look at the lyrics. The whole verse is so straight forward--the first half sets the scene, the second half transforms that scene completely. Never mind that the story told was written around 1985, you can hear veterans of America's current wars tell this story anywhere you go. The key is that it's almost how that veteran would describe it--just not quite. Simon tweaks the language enough that it's just a little more poetic than you would expect to hear from a soldier (though lord knows there's plenty of articulate and literary minded soldiers).

Then we hear the chorus for the first time, no pause, we slide right into it as Simon changes just one chord (the root) so that it's a slick little modulation downward by a whole step. We've just heard a bomb go off, and now we hear:

Chorus:
These are the days of miracle and wonder
This is a long distance call.
The way the camera follows us in slow-mo,
the way we look to us all.
The way we look to a distant constellation
that is dying in the corner of the sky...
These are the days of miracle and wonder,
and don't cry baby, don't cry, don't cry.

This is quite cinematic--he starts with an abstraction, telling us what kind of days we're live in, then getting a little more specific with "this is a long distance call", but then we get literal and cinematic with "the camera follows us in slow-mo".

And here I'd like to step back for a moment and observe the shift that's taken place. The narrator started out by telling his story in the third person, and then he changes his role slightly beginning with the chorus: now he's telling us how to think of our times, and suggests the technological wonder of "a long distance call." Then he shifts, and speaks inclusively by saying that the camera follows us--we're all in it together now, "we look to us all." This form of address continues through the rest of the chorus until he hits the refrain: "These are the days..." The rest of the song continues this pattern of address: the verses telling a story from a removed third person perspective that smoothly pivots to an inclusive "we" with each successive chorus.

The important thing to point out about the song as a whole is that it is as clear an embodiment of the feeling of wonder as one could possibly achieve without being cheesy or campy.

There's a lot to mine in the rest of this song, for now I'm going to leave it at that, and ask you what grabs you about this particular masterpiece. Here's the whole thing:

'The Boy in the Bubble'
by Paul Simon, 1986.

It was a slow day,
and the sun was beating
on the soldiers on the side of the road.
There was a bright light
a shattering of shop windows,
the bomb in the baby carriage
was wired to a radio.

Chorus:
These are the days of miracle and wonder
This is a long distance call.
The way the camera follows us in slow-mo,
the way we look to us all.
The way we look to a distant constellation
that is dying in the corner of the sky...
These are the days of miracle and wonder,
and don't cry baby, don't cry, don't cry.

It was a dry wind
and it swept across the desert
and curled into the circle of gloom.
And the dead sand
falling on the children,
the mothers and the fathers,
and the automatic earth.

Chorus

It's a turn-around jumpshot
it's everybody jumpstart,
it's every generation throws a hero up the pop charts.
Medicine is magical and magical is art
there go the boy in the bubble
and the baby with a baboon heart, and I believe--

These are the days of lasers in jungle,
lasers in the jungle somewhere.
Staccato signals of constant information,
A loose affiliation of millionaires and billionaires and baby,
These are the days of miracle and wonder
This is a long distance call.
The way the camera follows us in slow-mo,
the way we look to us all.
The way we look to a distant constellation
that is dying in the corner of the sky...
These are the days of miracle and wonder,
and don't cry baby, don't cry, don't cry.

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