The other night, Jen and I went to a Simon and Garfunkel concert. As I’m sure you know, they broke up 33 years ago over “creative differences.” Somehow millionaire rock stars can’t stand to work with someone with whom they have “creative differences.” Guys who work next to each other for 16 hours a day for 45 years shoveling coal into a blast furnace for 11 bucks an hour aren’t allowed to have “creative differences.”

You could see that there was still tension between the two of them. This manifested itself mostly in Paul Simon referring to “Simon and Garfunkel” exclusively as “Simon” and repeatedly accusing the man standing next to him of having “brains of glue.” Even during the songs, tension would flare up. Sometimes Garfunkel would give Simon a dirty look, and sometimes Simon would chase Garfunkel around the stage with a gong mallet yelling “Stop stalking me you q-tip headed freak!” Even then, Garfunkle would try to harmonize.

One thing to remember is that S & G are, well…old. By “old” I mean they have lived many, many years. They don’t bring medical personnel on tour, they bring coffins. However, about halfway through the show they brought out the band that inspired them onto the stage. That’s right, the skeletons of the Everly Brothers were wheeled out. The sheer antiquity of their act was reflected in the dated titles of some of the songs they performed, including:

= My Girl Eve
= Inventin’ the Wheel
= Saber Tooth Scratch Fever
= The Tale of the Baby Mariner
= That Methuselah is Jailbait
= I got the Primordial Ooze Blues
= Please come to Mesopotamia

Despite everything, the concert was a lot of fun. My frequent requests to play “Whippin Post” were largely ignored by the band and my constant yelling of “The Pants are Comin’ Down!!” mostly seemed to annoy those around me. But it was fun hearing them sing “Kathy’s Song” and “Cecelia,” although I found it best not to dwell too much on the fact that Kathy and Cecelia have both retired to the Saddle River New Jersey Assisted Living Center, where they spend their days playing bingo and hoarding anti-Semitic literature.

The sad fact is that we are nearing the last days when we can still see the old, classic acts perform. Soon they’ll be playing Britney Spears on the oldies station, and the original rockers from the ’60’s will be, in the words of Monty Python, “decomposing composers” as they follow the route of Mama Cass and one by one choke on ham sandwiches (just a prediction). But at least I got to see Simon and Garfunkel forget the words to “Feelin Groovy,” give each other the finger, and storm off the stage to commence litigation. I will always have that.

Dutch Laroooo
Tomorrow: Will my constituents and I have “creative differences?”