Graceland

Twenty-five years ago, when I was pregnant with S, I was given a pirated cassette tape of Paul Simon's Graceland. I loved it, and played it loads. Newborn S had unsettled evenings for quite a long time, and we tried to soothe him with music. Graceland was so effective that later I warned him that if ever he was driving and Graceland came on the car radio he should switch off for fear of falling asleep at the wheel. All the family have listened and sung over the years (and we've acquired three unpirated copies - some evidence that pirating can be good for music sales).

Earlier this year, S offered to buy us both tickets to Paul Simon and Ladysmith Black Mambazo's first performance for 25 years. I was hugely touched - it felt like the nurturing had come full circle. Tonight in Hyde Park we were a group of seven and had a superb evening. I had heard a hint beforehand that there might be an unscheduled appearance by Jimmy Cliff, but Hugh Masakela appearing on stage as well was a total surprise. The music was fabulous, thousands sang along, word perfect, and you could feel the waves of appreciation between performers and audience. Astonishingly the rain held off as a golden sun slowly set over the crowds.

On the way home I told S that if ever he has to deal with a demented mother, all he has to do is put the video of this evening on a loop and I will live in a perpetually happy present.

We were passing the camera to and fro and I suspect, from the 6 foot plus viewpoint, that S took this fine record of our evening. I straightened it though!


Four days later: I am still haunted by Paul Simon's (first) encore. The sun had set and the golden halos had gone but the grey-purple sky was still streaked with orange. The cheering and whooping that marked the end of You can call me Al rolled on and on, until Paul Simon walked alone to the middle of the vast stage and sat, very small. Silence. Then one picked note from his guitar then another and everyone knew what was coming. It felt as if he was playing in a small room, for seven or eight people, not amplified in front of thousands. You could feel the breath held, waiting for the words. Then:

Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again...

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people maybe more...

Haunted.