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Bookends è la storia della gente comune. È la storia dell'America minore. È vivere non guardando, ma vedendo. La realtà dipinta con poche pennellate non troppo corpose, ma neanche leggere. Sono le impressioni di due giovani uomini che stanno crescendo, che stanno diventando famosi quando meno selo aspettavano e che rispondono al mondo con un sussurro. Simon & Garfunkel, una sigla, o semplicemente un nome e un cognome, di due semplici ragazzi. Due voci, due onde, che alternano amari flutti scuri a spumose denunce di insoddisfazione. Si muovono tra le donne che tornano a casa con la spesa, stanche e senza il tempo per fermarsi, per pensare a quel che davvero desiderano. Uomini che fumano nel freddo muovendosi lungo i viali vicino al Sunset Boulevard, zig-zagando i dolori e cercando un po' di speranza in fondo a dure, monotone giornate urbane.
Mentre Bob Dylan vuole spaccare il mondo e i Beatles farne uno nuovo, Simon & Garfunkel si chiudono nel loro piccolo universo, cercando di salvare ciò che di buono è rimasto. È con occhi apparentemente innocenti e insicuri che ci guardano dalla scarna, meravigliosa copertina. Forse non hanno bisogno di pose ed atteggiamenti, forse hanno già davanti a sé l'immagine dei loro orizzonti. È una ricerca del puro, del genuino, dei sentimenti veri, più forti, e finalmente con una maturità e una consapevolezza che era mancata nei primi (comunque interessanti) lavori dei due giovani artisti. L'illusione concreta, la fiducia evanescente che la quotidianità in fondo abbia quel che cercavamo. Ma cosa cercavamo? Qualcosa di buono, la mitologia dell'ordinario si riveste di straordinarietà, fare le linguacce da un autobus, rimanere a parlare insieme con gli anziani, ascoltare ciò che hanno da regalarci, storie di mariti morti in guerre lontane, amori ingialliti di cui vogliamo imparare magie ed errori. Riflettere alla finestra, meravigliarsi della bellezza di un fiore, perdersi dentro uno zoo, sorridendo per colpa di una donna e scherzare con gli animali. Non c'è aria di rivoluzione, ma di riforma. E quindi non si rinnega (per ora) il fedele folk alla bruta maniera di un Highway 61, ma si inghirlanda di delicati, gentili, a volte frenetici abbellimenti. Le percussioni di Mrs. Robinson faranno scuola, in quell'aria di eccitazione dove non siamo più bravi ragazzi ma nemmeno ribelli troppo rumorosi.
Azzeccatissima risulta infatti la scelta delle canzoni del duo per la fortunata colonna sonora dell'epocale "Il Laureato" di Mike Nichols (1967). Il film è forse la perfetta trasposizione cinematografica di quella stessa atmosfera, di quelle stesse personalità di cui parlavamo: il personaggio di Dustin Hoffman è quasi un alter-ego di Paul Simon e degli eroi che animano i suoi sensibili racconti. Questi non sono i giovani visionari e bizzarri di "Easy Rider", né quelli tormentati e sbandati come il Jack Nicholson di, ad esempio, "Cinque Pezzi Facili": sono poeti piccolo-borghesi che hanno bisogno di trovare un ideale, un valore, una donna per cui sacrificarsi, vogliono credere e abbandonarsi in qualcosa che possa durare, sono cacciatori e amanti del tempo. Vogliono dare un futuro ai bambini che stanno per nascere, salvare il passato dei nonni, la loro saggezza come elisir di lunga felicità. Si registrano i rumori della vita per recuperarli e per valorizzare quel che sarebbe una "semplice" canzone. Che così diventa un corpo a tre dimensioni. All'interno di questa breve dozzina di racconti possiamo sentire testimonianze, porte sbattute in faccia, battiti di mani e cori assordanti, risate, bottiglie e vetri che risuonano, fischietti, sigarette accese prima di cominciare a cantare...e per rassicurarci tra una nuova scoperta e un altra, tanti zuccherini blues-rock'n'roll serviti in piatti d'argento solo per farci sentire che siamo comunque vicini a casa, al sicuro, nell'America più sincera, che si interroga appena imbronciata, ma (per la gioia dei marzulliani) sa anche darsi una dolce, decisa risposta.
Elenco tracce testi samples e video
01 Bookends Theme (00:32)
Time it was, and what a time
it was, it was
A time of innocence,
A time of confidences
Long ago, it must be,
I have a photograph
Preserve your memories;
They're all that's left you
03 America (03:35)
"Let us be lovers, we'll marry our fortunes together"
"I've got some real estate here in my bag"
So we bought a pack of cigarettes and Mrs. Wagner pies
And walked off to look for America
"Kathy" I said as we boarded a Greyhound in Pittsburgh
"Michigan seems like a dream to me now"
It took me four days to hitchhike from Saginaw
I've come to look for America
Laughing on the bus
Playing games with the faces
She said the man in the gabardine suit was a spy
I said "Be careful, his bowtie is really a camera"
"Toss me a cigarette, I think there's one in my raincoat"
"We smoked the last one an hour ago"
So I looked at the scenery, she read her magazine
And the moon rose over an open field
"Kathy, I'm lost" I said, though I knew she was sleeping
I'm empty and aching and I don't know why
Counting the cars on the New Jersey turnpike
They've all come to look for America
All come to look for America
All come to look for America
04 Overs (02:18)
Why don't we stop fooling ourselves?
The game is over,
Over,
Over.
No good times, no bad times,
There's no times at all,
Just The New York Times,
Sitting on the windowsill
Near the flowers.
We might as well be apart.
It hardly matters,
We sleep separately.
And drop a smile passing in the hall
But there's no laughs left
'Cause we laughed them all.
And we laughed them all
In a very short time.
Time
Is tapping on my forehead,
Hanging from my mirror,
Rattling the teacups,
And I wonder,
How long can I delay?
We're just a habit
Like saccharin.
And I'm habitually feelin' kinda blue.
But each time I try on
The thought of leaving you,
I stop...
I stop and think it over
06 Old Friends (02:35)
Old friends, old friends,
Sat on their parkbench like bookends
A newspaper blown through the grass
Falls on the round toes
of the high shoes of the old friends
Old friends, winter companions, the old men
Lost in their overcoats, waiting for the sunset
The sounds of the city sifting through trees
Settle like dust on the shoulders of the old friends.
Can you imagine us years from today,
Sharing a parkbench quietly
How terribly strange to be seventy
Old friends, memory brushes the same years,
Silently sharing the same fears
Time it was
and what a
time it was
it was
A time of innocence
a time of confidences.
Long ago
it must be
I have a photograph
preserve your memories
they're all that's left you.
07 Bookends Theme (01:23)
Time it was, and what a time
it was, it was
A time of innocence,
A time of confidences
Long ago, it must be,
I have a photograph
Preserve your memories;
They're all that's left you
08 Fakin' It (03:19)
When she goes, she's gone.
If she stays, she stays here.
The girl does what she wants to do.
She knows what she wants to do.
And I know I'm fakin' it.
I'm not really makin' it.
I'm such a dubious soul,
And a walk in the garden
Wears me down.
Tangled in the fallen vines,
Pickin' up the punch lines,
I've just been fakin' it,
Not really makin' it.
Is there any danger?
No, no not really.
Just lean on me.
Takin' time to treat
Your friendly neighbors honestly.
I've just been fakin' it.
I'm not really makin' it.
This feeling of fakin' it.
I still haven't shaken it.
Prior to this lifetime
I surely was a tailor
I own the tailor's face and hands.
I am the tailor's face and hands and
I know I'm fakin' it,
I'm not really makin' it.
This feeling of fakin' it
I still haven't shaken it.
09 Punky's Dilemma (02:17)
Wish I was a Kellogg's Cornflake
Floatin' in my bowl takin' movies,
Relaxin' awhile, livin' in style,
Talkin' to a raisin who 'casion'ly plays L.A.,
Casually glancing at his toupee.
Wish I was an English muffin
'Bout to make the most out of a toaster.
I'd ease myself down,
Comin' up brown.
I prefer boysenberry
More than any ordinary jam.
I'm a "Citizens for Boysenberry Jam" fan.
Ah, South California.
If I become a first lieutenant
Would you put my photo on your piano?
To Maryjane--
Best wishes, Martin.
(Old Roger draft-dodger
Leavin' by the basement door),
Everybody knows what he's
Tippy-toeing down there for
10 Mrs. Robinson (04:05)
And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson
Jesus loves you more than you will know
God bless you, please Mrs. Robinson
Heaven holds a place for those who pray
Hey, hey, hey
We'd like to know a little bit about you for our files
We'd like to help you learn to help yourself
Look around you all you see are sympathetic eyes
Stroll around the grounds until you feel at home
And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson
Jesus loves you more than you will know
God bless you, please, Mrs. Robinson
Heaven holds a place for those who pray
Hey, hey, hey
Hide in the hiding place where no one ever goes
Put it in your pantry with your cupcakes
It's a little secret just the Robinsons' affair
Most of all you've got to hide it from the kids
Koo-koo-ka-choo, Mrs. Robinson
Jesus loves you more than you will know
God bless you, please, Mrs. Robinson
Heaven holds a place for those who pray
Hey, hey, hey
Sitting on a sofa on a Sunday afternoon
Going to the candidate's debate
Laugh about it, shout about it
When you've got to choose
Every way you look at this you lose
Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio
Our nation turns it's lonely eyes to you
What's that you say, Mrs. Robinson
Joltin Joe has left and gone away
Hey hey hey
11 A Hazy Shade of Winter (02:17)
Time, time, time
See what's become of me
While I looked around
For my possibilities
I was so hard to please
But look around
Leaves are brown
And the sky
Is a hazy shade of winter
Hear the Salvation Army band
Down by the riverside
It's bound to be a better ride
Than what you've got planned
Carry your cup in your hand
And look around you
Leaves are brown now
And the sky
Is a hazy shade of winter
Hang on to your hopes, my friend
That's an easy thing to say
But if your hopes should pass away
Simply pretend
That you can build them again
Look around
Grass is high
The fields are ripe
It's the springtime of my life
Ah, seasons change with the scenery
Weaving time in a tapestry
Won't you stop and remember me
At any convenient time
Funny how my memory skips
While looking over manuscripts
Of unpublished rhyme
Drinking my vodka and lime
I look around
Leaves are brown now
And the sky
Is a hazy shade of winter
Look around
Leaves are brown
There's a patch of snow on the ground
Look around
Leaves are brown
There's a patch of snow on the ground
Look around
Leaves are brown
There's a patch of snow on the ground
12 At the Zoo (02:22)
Someone told me it's all happening at the zoo.
I do believe it, I do believe it's true.
Its a light-and-tumble journey from the East Side to the park,
Just a fine and fancy ramble to the zoo.
But you can take the crosstown bus if it's rainin' or it's cold,
And the animals will love it if you do...
(If you do, now...)
Something tells me it's all happening at the zoo.
I do believe it, I do believe it's true.
The monkeys stand for honesty, giraffes are insincere,
And the elephants are kindly but they're dumb.
Orangutans are skeptical of changes in their cages,
And the zookeeper is very fond of rum.
Zebras are reactionaries, antelopes are missionaries,
Pigeons blocked in secrecy, and hamsters turn on frequently,
(what the...)
Guess you'll have to come and see at the zoo,
At the zoo, at the zoo, at the zoo, at the zoo.
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