Paul Simon's third solo album finds him at peak versatility, moving from New Orleans R&B to Brazilian rhythms to Appalachian folk with a session band so good you'll rewind just to hear the drums. Made in 1973 and still the sound of a songwriter who refuses to stay in one room. If you've only heard "You Can Call Me Al," you're missing the album that proved Simon could remake himself without losing himself.
There’s a moment on “Kodachrome” where the rhythm section drops in—a session band so tight you’d swear they’d been playing together for decades when they’d actually just met in the studio—and you understand immediately why Paul Simon spent 1973 the way he did: not chasing what worked before, but chasing what moved him that week.
This album arrived three years after Bridge Over Troubled Water, which means Simon had somewhere to fall from and nowhere obvious to go. He chose to go everywhere. The engineering and production sessions bounced across three different studios—some cuts at A&M in Hollywood, others at Record Plant where Phil Ramone sat in the chair, and sessions that pulled in players from New Orleans, from Brazil, from country and gospel traditions that had nothing to do with the sound he’d built with Garfunkel. The choice wasn’t chaos. It was precision disguised as wanderlust.
Phoebe Snow sings harmony on “Gone at Last,” her voice folding into Simon’s like they’d rehearsed it a hundred times instead of once. The Jessy Dixon Singers anchor “Tenderness” with a gospel power that could’ve felt incongruous—should have felt incongruous—but instead feels inevitable. These weren’t star turns or celebrity window dressing. They were exactly the voices Simon needed in that exact moment, and he knew it.
The Sound of Risk
The album’s sequencing is its own kind of risk. “Kodachrome” opens with that Latin percussion, Stevie Wonder on harmonica and clavinet, a full-spectrum production that uses every inch of the stereo field. By contrast, “Something So Right” is sparse—Simon and Carole King duetting over finger snaps and acoustic guitar, almost conversational. A lesser producer would’ve smoothed these transitions. Ramone and whoever else’s fingerprints are on these tapes left them jagged, let each song breathe its own air.
The strings on “American Tune” (arranged by orchestrator John Williams, though he’d credit the work more famously five years later) sit under Simon’s voice like they’re carrying weight he’s tired of holding. This is what happens when a songwriter stops proving something and starts admitting something.
Where the Drum Work Lives
Listen to Bernard Purdie on “Kodachrome"—he’s the session drummer who played on half the soul records you own and you didn’t even know his name was Purdie. He’s not flashy here. He’s exact. The hi-hat work is what separates a good record from one you keep coming back to. The snare doesn’t crack—it settles into the mix like a heartbeat that knows exactly where to land.
“Was a Sunny Day” features another session drummer entirely, and the difference is audible immediately; the groove sits back, gives the song room to meander. This is production thinking, not just hiring. Someone in that control room understood that different songs needed different kinds of time-keeping, and they made sure the right drummer showed up for the right song.
The album never feels like a greatest-hits collection of influences. It feels like the work of someone who’d given himself permission to follow his ear without explaining himself. In 1973, that was rarer than it sounds. Especially for someone who’d already won.
🎵 Key Takeaways
- Session band met in studio but played like they'd known each other for decades
- Three different studios and producers created cohesive album instead of scattered mess
- Phoebe Snow and gospel singers weren't celebrity guests but precisely chosen voices
- Album's jarring transitions between dense and sparse songs were left intentionally unsmoothed
- Latin percussion and Stevie Wonder open record after three years of silence
Why did Paul Simon use Bernard Purdie as the drummer on 'Kodachrome' instead of a more famous name?
Purdie was one of the most recorded session drummers in soul and R&B music, and Simon needed someone who could lock into the Latin percussion and Stevie Wonder's clavinet with surgical precision rather than flashiness. His hi-hat work and restrained snare approach were exactly what the track required to sit properly in the stereo mix without overwhelming the arrangement.
How many different studios were used to record 'There Goes Rhymin' Simon' and why did Simon bounce sessions between locations?
The album was tracked across at least three studios including A&M in Hollywood and Record Plant under Phil Ramone's production, allowing Simon to pull in session musicians from different regional traditions—New Orleans, Brazil, gospel, and country—that wouldn't have been available at a single location. This geographic approach to recording directly shaped the album's eclecticism rather than being a logistical necessity.
What orchestrator arranged the strings on 'American Tune' and why is that credit significant?
John Williams arranged the strings for 'American Tune,' which predates his more famous orchestral work by five years and represents his contribution to Simon's introspective ballad style. The arrangement sits deliberately low in the mix, supporting rather than showcasing, which demonstrates Williams' understanding that the song's emotional weight belonged to Simon's admission, not the orchestra's drama.
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