Paul Simon
One-Trick Pony

The issue is as follows. And it's somewhat delicate, as an issue. 

It's about making good use of this brief space that I am given, and proving (or at least trying to) the two theses that follow.

1) "One-Trick Pony" (mind the hyphen, please...) is more than just the soundtrack of that little movie that was "Divorce New York Style" - for us Italians, but in the USA the film had the same title as the album here present. And for this reason, it can easily be discussed on its own, as these pieces shine with an autonomous light from the context of the cinema. This was also in Paul's mind, after all.

2) "One-Trick Pony" (again, mind the hyphen) is also more than just a minor or even forgettable episode in the discography of the little New Yorker Paolo Simone who has made and continues to make me dream, both in a duo and solo. The year is 1980, after all: the first of a decade for him that is outstanding artistically and commercially, in which he will be hailed as a World Music ambassador and (with his exceptional productions) will confirm his already solid status as a Legend. A subdued start, then...? Well. Relatively, I'd say. 

In reality and paradoxically (but of such paradoxes, the history of Rock is full), this LP reveals its qualities better TODAY than it did back then. Three years before "Hearts & Bones," six before "Graceland," "O.T.P." can be seen today as a preparation, an appetizer, a prelude (worthy) to those wonders. In the sounds and the quality of the arrangements - but that was, if anything, continuing a discourse already begun, rather than foreshadowing something; and above all, in the brilliance of the writing: pure Manhattan poetry in a bittersweet bath of youthful memories and present discomforts. A "one-trick pony" is a horse with one trick, a man who in his life can do (well) only one thing and has remained limited to that. It's a fierce caricature of the rock star tossed around from stage to stage, detached from human relationships they can no longer experience. With a bitterly self-ironic gaze, Paul (without even much disguise behind the character portrayed in the film, but telling of himself and his world) sketches a balance of the years gone by and tries to look ahead: a marriage in crisis and a relationship to (re)build with a son are just the starting points for a screenplay that becomes life in total spontaneity, almost imperceptibly. Here lies the beauty, or rather one of the beautiful things, about the album.

Among others, there's one that stands out already from the first tracks: the extremely high level of the sound, crafted and chiseled in detail by people like Steve Gadd, Tony Levin, Eric Gale, Richard Tee with his electric piano... and just to leave nothing out, those sumptuous and understated orchestral arrangements that had made the greatness of "Still Crazy After All These Years," returning here under the direction of none other than Dave Grusin. All this - plus a cast of "special guests" to add to the base formation - is at the roots of the nocturnal and finely jazz-infused feeling that permeates every note; enriched by that exotic vein that soon will be the rule, and not the precious exception, of a repertoire destined to rise in level. "Late In The Evening" is pure Rumba, a carnival of horns and Latin moods that pervade a very simple, direct, immediate underlying blues structure: the Gadd-Levin groove, but especially the impressive work of the former behind the drums, is an explicit and playful invitation to dance (while the lyrics talk of revelries and youthful crushes, nightclubs, and music to play and play - late into the night, indeed).

But it's still early. The initial euphoria quickly turns into melancholy and metropolitan greyness, and except for a few interludes, this will be the dominant "mood," reaching (an ideal conclusion of a journey - daily and life-long) the whispered weariness of "Long Long Day," when one is tired of everything and everyone and there's nothing left to do but take off your shoes and climb into bed - ALONE. Because meanwhile, the day has exhausted you, taken everything from you and left, leaving you only the colorless apathy of an empty room. It promised you so much, but now that the dances are over there's only time for a yawn. 

In between, all those fragments of life. Childhood memories ("That's Why God Made The Movies"), the funk of a title track recorded live like "Ace In The Hole," sweetness and sincere words, the wonder of encountering an "Oh Marion" worthy of the Genius of melody we're talking about - again resignation and disenchantment, just for a change: "The voice is a disguise, when the words do not match the expression of the eyes...".

And like the protagonist in "How The Heart Approaches," you'll finish listening to this album with the sensation of being inside a phone booth. At night. In the rain.

And still alone.