We don’t see musical legends to hear music; we come to view the divine. Headphones are better for music. I saw Paul so I could think, “That’s the closest to God I’ve ever seen.”
He opened with America, which stabs my chest with recollections of love for someone who disappears for months at a time. Then came hit after hit that even your kids would know.
He didn’t sing Bridge over Troubled Water or Mrs. Robinson – both #1s. “Maybe he doesn’t want to sing them without Garfunkel.” But he sang The Sound of Silence, and that was a Garfunkel song. (And anyway, it’s not about the music).
His solo pieces strip the man down to emotional expression. His body drops away and Paul becomes a voice, guitar, and poetry.
Can we substitute in a bad rendition of those two #1s instead of the string-backed songs he played that no one knew? Does he care about my opinion? Should he?
There goes a man who achieved his purpose. He lived a satisfying, accomplished life. What more is there?
How can my writing impact as many lives as his did, and still provide the high of thousands making pilgrimage en masse to realize I’m not God?