Was Paul Simon’s “Songs from The Capeman” a prescient vision of Lin Manuel Miranda? Was it the doo-wop Hamilton no one would accept because it was written by a middle aged white guy? Or was it one of the great mid-career missteps?

I didn’t see this on stage. You can’t really judge this thing as an album, but that’s what I have in front of me. I can say it’s not one of those musical theater soundtracks you can listen to without seeing the play. Whether it’s “fixed” by seeing it performed, I don’t know. But I do see some worrisome yellow flags. To start, it seems that making doo-wop great again is one of the highest levels of artistic sorcery. “Songs from the Capeman” does not fully weave that spell but it does make doo-wop listenable. It is, after, all a form built on harmonies, which is what Simon & Garfunkel made their mark doing — singing about Vietnam instead of cars and Cindy Lou. I was relieved to find the album mixes in Latin and Caribbean music. Late 70s Simon can be a little too gentle for my taste. His voice is round, pleasing and limited. Whether it’s Art Garfunkel's acrobatic soprano, or another countries’ rhythms, he needs a counterpoint to his steady tone. Without collaborators, he says he’s “still crazy”, but he sounds a little sleepy to me.

The musical is about Salvador Argon, a 16 year old who moved from the Puerto Rico to NYC and started running with a gang called the Vampires. In 1958 on the way to a rumble, Argon killed two innocent people, mistaking them for members of an Irish gang. Witnesses reported Argon running from the scene wearing a cape, hence the name “Capeman”. Salvador was soon caught, and became the youngest person to be sentenced to the electric chair. Argon used his incarceration to find God, do a lot of writing, and get a college degree. He was eventually released and he went on to speak to the youth about the dangers of gangs. “The Capeman” is not really like “Hamilton” at all. It’s more like West Side Story with a ton of homework added.

Paul Simon’s 1970 story song “The Boxer” is rightfully beloved, but writing story songs is not the same as writing theater. The limitation of a song’s length is a gift.  I don’t need to know what happened to the Boxer next Thursday. As a full album, “Songs from the Capeman” has no such limitation and that’s the problem. The opening song “Adios Hermanos” generates both doo-wop harmonies and compassion for the murderer, as Argon belts out the pain of being shackled on the way to prison. It’s surprisingly moving, shifting into the direction of Puerto Rican spiritual, and far from the pit of Sha Na Na. “I was born in Puerto Rico” starts from the point of view of an incarcerated Argon, using the vibrant latin flavored chorus to summon up the image of Argon’s tropical island homeland against the tragedy of his incarcerated reality. These early songs on the album are more successful because they don’t require you to retain meaning from previous numbers to feel their impact. “Vampires” with its strong Cuban influenced piano lead has Simon singing the part of the gang leader seducing the young Argon into the gang. It works well enough as a song if you can ignore the image of Paul Simon on stage costumed as a Puerto Rican gang leader. Simon, fortunately resisted appearing in the musical himself, but he jumps into costume on record.

“Can I Forgive Him” starts the real problem. t’s a song sung by Salvador’s mother to the victim’s mother asking for forgiveness. The victim’s mother replies that she cannot forgive him. It all sounds like fine, heartbreaking material, but if you are not riveted by this story at this point, there is no possible way you could be interested in this song, Backed by a threadbare melody, its lyrics read like a court transcript with an occasional rhyme. At one point, I looked down at my hands to see if I was actually reading a novelization of the album — nope — it was a long, dull song. Moreover, your emotional investment can only happen if you have retained the background of the story from the previous songs, which I had not. In addition to this song between two mothers, there are two songs from the warden’s perspective, and one from a guard named Virgil. These hillbilly-type portraits of the prison workers, elevate Argon as a victim of ignoramuses, but take up a disproportionate space on the record.  As narrative, the songs seem in search of a villain, but Simon’s generous soul softens these men into cartoons. The sharp irony of Randy Newman is needed if these are to be the real heavies.

The task of the whole story, working as drama and song, proved a leap too far. Derek Walcott may have been part of the problem. He was a Caribbean Nobel prize winning poet and playwright, but definitely not a songwriter. Simon collaborated with him on the lyrics. The clash between word and song sinks “Time is an Ocean” sung by Rueben Blades as a prison mentor who encourages Argon to start writing. The melody has a pulse to it, but Simon can’t get some of its lines to swing. It’s not listed who wrote what but: “The politics of prison are a mirror of the street, the poor endure oppression, the police control the state” doesn’t sound like Paul Simon. Could Gershwin do better with a mouthful like that? This cell-bound section of the album is the toughest ride. The stasis of prison life can’t summon up enough of a beat. It needs the riot of “Jailhouse Rock”. This may be a reason no one ever wrote a hit single about going to read at the prison library.

In 1986 Simon soared on the wings of Ladysmith Black Mambozo’s contribution to his South African influenced “Graceland”. In 1988 he went to Brazil and came back with “The Rhythm of the Saints”. In the playbill for “The Capeman” it must have appeared he was going to find inspiration in the sounds of the Caribbean and do it again. He didn’t. The songs of “Graceland” and “Rhythm of the Saints” sprout from their rhythmic sources. The lyrics are poetic and narrative content is reduced to foreground the rhythm. The songs in “The Capeman” sprout from the story, and then Simon colors in with period and regionally appropriate songs. That’s ultimately the difference, and why “Graceland” still sounds fresh, and this album misses the mark. It’s proof of how mercurial creative success can be. The spirit of collaboration that filled Paul Simon’s sails from Garfunkel to the drums of Brazil, finally blew him in the wrong direction.

by Steve Collins