Goin' to Graceland

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I know several people who think Paul Simon's "Graceland" album, which hit the music stores on this day in 1986, was his greatest musical achievement.

It's hard to argue with that. It had probably been more than a decade since Simon enjoyed real commercial and critical success (with 1975's "Still Crazy After All These Years"), and he had kind of disappeared from public view — "Graceland" was something of a comeback for him. And what a comeback it was. It won the Grammy for Album of the Year and sold more than 16 million copies.

And it had five singles that vied for public attention on the charts.

Probably "You Can Call Me Al" was the biggest hit on the album. With Chevy Chase lip syncing the lyrics, the song shot up the charts and earned significant airplay.

It was the first of five singles to be released, hitting the stores nearly two weeks after the album did. Sales were sluggish initially, but the song enjoyed a revival after the album's Grammy success and rose to #23 on the charts.

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The second single was the title song, "Graceland," and in my opinion it is one of Simon's most eloquent songs — at least in his solo career. It was an expression of his thoughts following the breakup of his marriage to Carrie Fisher.

"Graceland" wasn't the hit that "You Can Call Me Al" was — but it didn't have the same joyful feel to it, either. It did, however, have a whisper of redemption in it and cracked Billboard's Hot 100 but only reached #81.

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The third single from the album, "The Boy in the Bubble," was released as a single about seven months after the album was released. Unless you had the album, you might have assumed the song was part of a new one.

I was surprised to discover, years later, how well it did. I don't really remember hearing it on the radio, but it reached #15 on Billboard's Rock Tracks chart. Still, it only reached #86 on Billboard's Hot 100.

I always thought it was kind of a contradictory tune, with lyrics about such topics as terrorism (which was still, at that time, a subject that had not touched Americans directly) and hunger, infused with shots of humor and even cheer.

Still, compared to the rather dour "Hearts and Bones," which had been Simon's previous album, "Graceland" was positively giddy.

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The fourth single, "Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes," charted well in Canada, and I remember hearing it on the radio more than I heard "The Boy in the Bubble" — "Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes" was released as a single about a month later — but it doesn't seem to have made a ripple on Billboard's Hot 100.

The song featured South African backup singers, giving most Americans their first real exposure to South African music.

A few weeks after the song was released as a single, Simon and the South African singers performed the song on Saturday Night Live, giving it national exposure.

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Simon expanded on the African theme in the fifth and final single from the "Graceland" album, "Under African Skies."

"Under African Skies" was released as a single about a year after the album came out.

And it featured Linda Ronstadt with additional vocals. She got top billing with Simon on that single, too.

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Of course, she was Linda Rondstadt, perhaps the most successful female recording artist ever.

But he was Paul Simon, and he had been in the public eye longer than she had. They made a heavyweight combination.

The Greatest Hits Album That Darn Near Everyone Had

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I don't know when CD technology was developed, but it wasn't the way recordings were packaged and sold when I was growing up. I was raised on vinyl records that eventually wound up with scratches and cassette tapes that eventually got snarled in the gears of the tape player. It's how we rolled.

In those days, I had some greatest hits albums in my collection — not many, though, probably because the capacity of records and tapes was so limited. Most albums were about 30 to 40 minutes or so when you added up the lengths of the tracks on both sides. (You can get at least twice as much material on a CD.) Double albums really were better deals, but most bands didn't have enough material that qualified as hits for a two–record greatest hits collection.

Besides, if I liked a band well enough to buy its greatest hits album, odds were I already had several of that band's albums in my collection, and the greatest hits package would merely duplicate most, if not all, of the material I had — while depriving me of a band's lesser–known works.

It occurred to me the other night that I have many more greatest hits on CD than I ever had on vinyl — probably because it is possible to get so much more information into the digital format — but one of the greatest hits albums that I did have in my vinyl collection hit the music stores of America on this day in 1976. I am speaking of the "Eagles Greatest Hits."

I never owned many Eagles albums when I was growing up. I liked them. I liked their hits. I just never owned many of their albums. I still don't even though I have completely transitioned to CDs now. I own, as I always have, "On the Border," one of their early albums, and a two–CD collection called "The Very Best of the Eagles" — which is basically the "Eagles Greatest Hits" plus the bonus tracks of the Eagles' post–1975 hits.

("On the Border" was a great example of what I meant when I spoke of a band's "lesser–known works" of which I would not want to be deprived. My favorite Eagles song, "My Man," is on it, and it was never a hit.)

The concept of bonus tracks didn't exist in 1976 although I guess one of the tracks on "Eagles Greatest Hits" would qualify as something of a bonus track. "Tequila Sunrise" was the only song on the album that did not crack the Top 40, but the album would be altogether different without it. It would still be a great collection, but listening to it would be a much different experience.

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All the hits prior to 1976 were in the package — "Take It Easy," "Best Of My Love," "Take It To The Limit," "One Of These Nights," "Desperado." There were 10 tracks in all.

And everyone, it seemed, had the album. Even folks who already had most if not all of the Eagles' albums in their collections. Turned out that wasn't my imagination after all.

A week after "Eagles Greatest Hits" was released, it became the first album to receive the Recording Industry Association of America's platinum award recognizing 1 million shipments in the United States. In 1999 it was certified 26x multi–platinum, making it the all–time best–selling album.

Note that the latter was achieved long after CDs had overtaken vinyl in the commercial music market. It was certified 29x multi–platinum in 2006; that was 30 years after its release.

To date Michael Jackson's "Thriller" is the only other album to be certified 29x multi–platinum. It was released in 1984, and I'm sure Jackson's death spurred sales of all his albums. That's what happened when Elvis died, when John Lennon died, when Frank Sinatra died. I guess it happens when most famous singers die.

Eagles co–founder Glenn Frey died nearly a month ago, but I haven't heard if any of the Eagles albums, particularly the greatest hits package that was released 40 years ago today, has had a boost in sales as a result. Maybe the difference is that the artists I mentioned were perceived as solo acts (except for Lennon, of course, who was a founding member of the Beatles but had been a solo performer for a decade at the time of his death).

But maybe that doesn't matter after all. Frey had a solo career, too, and it was pretty successful, with hits like "The Heat Is On," "You Belong to the City" and "Smuggler's Blues." I guess he will always be remembered, though, for his work with the Eagles. The surviving Eagles, with Jackson Browne, performed a fitting tribute to Frey at the Grammys Monday night.

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Of course, "Take It Easy" — the Eagles' first big hit, back in the summer of '72 — was a highlight of Monday night's tribute. Browne and Frey wrote it; appropriately, Browne sang it at the awards show.

And the greatest hits album that was on music store shelves 40 years ago today undeniably would have been incomplete without it.

Christopher Cross' Debut Album

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In December of 1979, Christopher Cross released his first album. The cover bore only his name and a rather pastoral painting of a flamingo — which, by the way, popped up on his other albums, too. The flamingo became something of a symbol for him.

It was soft rock, as the hits from the album verified, one by one. But, you know, that was OK because Cross never pretended to be doing anything else. As soft rock albums go, this one was darn near flawless, and it was helped by the presence of some of the top talent of the day to back him up — Don Henley of the Eagles provided some vocals as did Nicolette Larson, J.D. Souther and Michael McDonald of the Doobie Brothers.

Those who are eternally possessed of a teenage mentality will recall some of the tracks, like "Never Be The Same," in which the song's narrator laments the end of an affair and repeatedly pledges to live out his days alone.

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Looking back, the song reeks of the angst of a teenager mourning the end of his first love affair. Those of us who survived our teen years and our first loves — and that is most of us — will say that, while painful, they aren't as extreme as Cross' music makes them seem.

At the time, though, the song seemed to rejuvenate a sagging radio industry. "Never Be The Same" was Cross' third Top 10 single from the album. It said nothing profound, but one can still imagine millions of broken–hearted teens listening to it endlessly and convincing themselves that the song was written for them.

What rubbish.

The first Top 10 single from the album was "Ride Like the Wind," which got as high as #2 on the charts. It was followed by "Sailing," which became the top–selling single in August of 1980.

"Sailing" went on to be named the Song of the Year at the Grammy Awards and probably was what propelled the album to Album of the Year, beating Pink Floyd's "The Wall." I guess that was where things changed for that album and me. See, at first I thought Cross' album was pleasant enough, and I had no serious objections to it until it aced out Pink Floyd at the Grammys.

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When that happened — and for quite awhile thereafter — I would switch off my radio if I happened to be driving around and one of Cross' songs came on. I would rather drive in silence than listen to Christopher Cross after his simplistic music won awards that should have gone to Pink Floyd.

I felt it was a clear case of commercialism triumphing over the obvious best choice — and I went from being able to tolerate songs from the album to not even being able to do that.

I can report that I have overcome my objections, and I can listen to tracks from that album now. I can even appreciate them for what they are/were.

They have their place.

The Dawning of the Age of Aquarius

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It was 40 years ago today that the Fifth Dimension received a Grammy Award for Record of the Year for "Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In."

Briefly, for those who don't know the finer points of the Grammy Awards, a Record of the Year is given for the best recording of the year — not necessarily the best song (composition) or album (collection of songs), which are two other categories, although there has been some overlapping over the years. Record of the Year often seems to go to the most commercially successful recording of the year — or, at least, to the recording that is perceived to be the most commercially successful.

Performers who have won more than one Record of the Year have been somewhat rare since they started giving out Grammy Awards in 1958, but at the time that "Aquarius" was the recipient, it wasn't as unusual as it has become. Henry Mancini received two in the 1960s, and the Fifth Dimension's Record of the Year for "Aquarius" was its second in three years (the group won for "Up, Up and Away" two years earlier).

For that matter, "Aquarius" was bookended by two Simon and Garfunkel Record of the Year winners — "Mrs. Robinson" in 1969 and "Bridge Over Troubled Water" in 1971 — and Roberta Flack won back–to–back Record of the Year awards in the mid–1970s.

More recently, U2 duplicated that achievement (in 2001 and 2002), but, for the most part, Record of the Year winners have been honored only once. You might be surprised at the acts that never won Record of the Year (in spite of being nominated numerous times) — the Beatles, Elvis Presley, James Taylor. And Bob Dylan was never nominated for Record of the Year at all.

Anyway, it seems to me that "Aquarius" is often remembered as being something of an anthem for the so–called "hippies." I've always thought there were several songs for which one could make valid arguments for deserving that designation, and I have often wondered why "Aquarius" often appears to be the default winner.

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Perhaps it is because it was featured in the hit musical "Hair," which was controversial in its day for many reasons and was strongly linked, in the public's mind, with the counter–culture. There was a scene in the musical, which lasted only about 20 seconds, during which members of the cast were nude — and, while it would probably be regarded as tame today, it was disturbing for many at the time — and symbolic of the divide between the generations.

"Hair" was made into a film in the late 1970s. By that time, I guess, the nudity wasn't as shocking.

But I always wondered if the nudity wasn't a smokescreen concealing what was really bothering those who so strenuously objected to "Hair" in the late 1960s — its adherence to astrology and mysticism.

Many people find it hard to reconcile faith in astrology with faith in God — and, after spending several years in the newspaper business, I can understand that.

After all, whether one believes the writings of the Bible or the Torah or the Qur'an, one must concede that they never change — not really, although, at least in the case of the Bible, translations do vary. And interpretations of passages in all three can vary, depending upon who is doing the interpreting.

I guess that the late 1960s and early 1970s were the heyday, in my lifetime, of public belief in astrology and regard for the notion that the movements of the planets influence events on earth. I hadn't been in the newspaper business very long before I discovered that newspapers subscribe to different syndicated horoscope columns — and those columnists never seem to come up with the same interpretation of celestial activity. Some will tell you that Monday will be a good day for you while others will warn you not to leave the house on Monday.

So my assessment of astrology has evolved into one of skepticism, I suppose, and that probably isn't too surprising. But you probably would be surprised to learn who is not a skeptic. I remember that astrology was taken very seriously by many of the "hippies" — which is why there were guffaws a–plenty when it was revealed in the 1980s that first lady Nancy Reagan had consulted an astrologer when planning her husband's daily schedule in the White House after the attempt on his life in 1981. President Reagan, after all, had his share of run–ins with the "hippies" when he was governor of California.

Anyway, according to the New Age movement (which was the apparent inspiration for "Hair"), the world would be entering an age of love, light and humanity in the second half of the 20th century. This would be the "age of Aquarius," which would be radically different from the age that preceded it, the "age of Pisces." As I say, though, the authors of horoscopes almost never agree in their astrological interpretations so it really should come as no surprise that, while many astrologers agreed that an "age of Aquarius" really was coming, there was considerable disagreement about when. There was at least one astrologer who thought it was still seven centuries away.

I don't think there was anything particularly mystical about the song "Aquarius" — or "Let the Sunshine In," which was the second part of the medley. I'm reasonably sure the Fifth Dimension didn't think there was anything mystical about it. They knew it was one of a string of hits for them, probably their biggest.

Was it proclaiming the dawn of a new age? I guess history will need more time before rendering its verdict — unless, of course, the Mayan calendar proves to be right and the end of the world is only a couple of years away. If that is the case, the "age of Aquarius" may be over almost before anyone fully realizes it was here.

The song has certainly done its part to herald the arrival of other new ages in our culture. The "Let the Sunshine In" portion of the medley was used by Barack Obama's presidential campaign, and the song has been part of several commercial ventures in the last four decades.