Little Big Town Full Album
Cora Hickel
In 1970 Simon and Garfunkel decided to part ways and record their own solo material. In June 1972 they were asked to sing at a political benefit concert for United States presidential candidate George McGovern at Madison Square Garden, New York City.[1] During this hiatus, Garfunkel worked as a teacher in Connecticut, a draftsman in New York and a math tutor in Los Angeles, before working on a solo album himself, coincidentally, at the same time as Simon.
In early 1975, Simon had decided to prepare material for a new solo album and the music was a bit more personal, but one song was written in particular with Garfunkel specifically in mind. He has been quoted as saying: "It originally was a song I was writing for Artie. I was gonna write a song for his new album, and I told him it would be a nasty song, because he was singing too many sweet songs. It seemed like a good concept for him."[2] After playing the song for Garfunkel, the two decided to collaborate again in the studio on this one track.
Simon has stated that the song is not autobiographical; instead he says it is about "someone who hates the town he grew up in. Somebody happy to get out."[2] Garfunkel has explained that the song was about his own childhood, how he "grew up in an area where a career in music was not seen as either desirable or exciting".[citation needed] Garfunkel's parents insisted he gain some qualification aside from his singing (he earned a bachelor's degree in art history in 1965, and a master's degree in mathematics in 1967).
In an interview with Bill Flanagan for the book "Written In My Soul: Conversations With Great Songwriters," Simon says he was "actually picturing a town. I was thinking about Gloucester, Massachusetts. A friend of mine comes from Gloucester and he used to talk about what it was like to grow up there...That song was entirely an act of imagination...There's no element of me in there at all."
The song references the lines of a Ted Hughes poem (quoted in liner notes to Paul Simon's release of the song: "To hatch a crow, a black rainbow/Bent in emptiness/over emptiness/But flying"), the song relates the town's sameness suggesting even the colors of the rainbow there are black.
The song begins with a piano solo by Barry Beckett and drums from Roger Hawkins. Paul Simon provides acoustic guitar, Pete Carr plays electric guitar; bass is provided by David Hood and percussion by Ralph MacDonald. Horns and backing vocals are present in the last verse.
On October 18, 1975, Simon hosted the second episode of the premiere season of the NBC comedy sketch program Saturday Night Live. During the musical numbers, Garfunkel performed with him, and together they sang three songs: "The Boxer"; "Scarborough Fair", and their new collaboration, "My Little Town".[6]
The buzz surrounding the surprise reunion of the two singers helped to generate anticipation for each of their solo albums, which were released within a few weeks of the performance on Saturday Night Live. Credited on both albums as being performed by 'Simon & Garfunkel', "My Little Town" became the duo's eighth top-ten hit on the Billboard Hot 100 chart in late 1975, peaking at number nine.[7] It spent two weeks atop the Billboard adult contemporary chart, and was their second number one on this survey as a duo.[2] Both singers have hit number one on the adult contemporary chart as solo performers as well, Garfunkel four times and Simon twice.
A small section of the horn part at the end of "My Little Town" was sampled by AJR for their 2021 song "Way Less Sad." The band said that "My Little Town" was one of their favorite songs growing up, and that the ending was their favorite part.[19][20]
In my little town, I grew up believing, god keeps his eye on us all, and he used to lean upon me, as I pledged allegiance to the wall. Lord, I recall my little town, comin' home after school, flyin' my bike past the gates of the factories, my mom doin' the laundry, hangin' out shirts in the dirty breeze, and after it rains, there's a rainbow, and all of the colors are black. It's not that the colors aren't there, it's just imagination they lack. Everything's the same back in my little town (my little town) (my little town).
Leavin' nothin' but the dead and dyin' back in my little town, nothin' but the dead and dyin' back in my little town, nothin' but the dead and dyin' back in my little town, nothin' but the dead and dyin' back in my little town, nothin' but the dead and dyin' back in my little town, my little town.
At just 27, Alynda Lee Segarra, the lynchpin of Hurray For The Riff Raff, already has a biography that reads like the outline of a folk ballad. Born in The Bronx, she left home at 17 to live a transient lifestyle, travelling the US on freight trains and falling in with a collective of hobo musicians, before finally settling down amidst the violence and disruption of post-Katrina New Orleans. More John Steinbeck novella than diary of a teen runaway, it's a catalogue of experience that belies her youth and informs her sound. So when she sings lines like "I've been hanging by a thread/I've been losing what I had/Now I'm starting to believe that the good times are done for me" - on 'Good Time Blues (An Outlaw's Lament)' - her wistful vocals carry weight, which - in an age when modern roots music is mired in Mumford/Lumineers folkster posturing - feels genuine and refreshing.
This feeling plays out across much of her latest LP Small Town Heroes. Segarra's confident understanding of Americana allows her to flit between genres and play with expectations, marrying the tropes of tradition to a broad range of contemporary preoccupations, whether it's the endemic violence that infests New Orleans on 'St Roch Blues', the heartbreak and loneliness of life on the road in 'The New SF Bay Blues' or the snapshots of burnouts and strays trapped in desolate southern towns on 'Small Town Heroes'.
While this all sounds a little heavy, it's alleviated by vocals and arrangements which deliver it with the lightest of touches. Segarra's music - largely a study in restraint - inhabits a beautiful, arid landscape of tight plucked acoustics and brushed percussion, only occasionally breaking out into eager rasps of banjo ('Blue Ridge Mountain') or sonorous electric guitars ('Levon's Dream'). And her vocals, on tracks like the stripped back closer 'Forever Is Just A Day', imbue even the most melancholic moments with warmth. Segarra's dusky and mellifluous tones harmonising with Yosi Perlstein's resonant fiddle: their sound - as with the separated lovers in the song - is united across an ocean of space.
If there's a flaw it's that the upbeat numbers - despite their slickly produced allure and tendency to invoke involuntary foot-stomping - feel a little too obvious, a concession towards the mainstream that has a feel of the Radio 2 playlist about them. It's something you can't blame Segarra for doing, but songs such as 'I Know It's Wrong (But That's Alright)' and the garrulous Louisiana rumble of 'No One Else' - which will undoubtedly play well live - feel like filler when sat next to the rest of the album.
This aside, Small Town Heroes holds enough versatility and charm to captivate even the most jaded soul; songs that will wend their way into your consciousness and stay with you long after the album is done. Segarra has lived in the spirit of folk, and now it lives on through her music; the sound of traditionalist notions reshaping as she questions what it really means to be a folk troubadour in a modern world.
On his third studio album Stick Season, Noah Kahan writes about his home. That home is nestled in New England with its vivid autumnal colors that fade to leafless winter trees and vast swathes of nothingness between towns. The album's title comes from a piece of Vermonter slang referring to the solemn fall period of time between Halloween and the first snowfall.
The singer-songwriter was born in Strafford, Vermont, a town with a population of less than 2,000 people. If there's anyone who can bottle the feeling of isolation and breaking away from it, it's him. Kahan was known for his distinct indie pop sound before the release of Stick Season in October 2022, but he'll be proudly boasting his newfound folk sound when he plays a sold-out show at the Pavilion this Friday.
Though this show isn't the only sold-out date on the tour, I have a feeling there's a reason the Inland Northwest is showing up in hordes to see songs from Stick Season live: We can relate to his sentiments.
From the very first note of the album, it's clear that Kahan gets it. With a single pluck of a guitar string, he somehow manages to encapsulate the very essence of driving down Highway 902 and slowing down to 30 mph as you enter the Medical Lake city limits.
After a few repetitive riffs, Kahan's voice breaks through the sound with a simple phrase: "Breathin' in / Breathin' out." A meditative start to "Northern Attitude," a song filled with pleas for others to understand and accept Kahan's deepest flaws: "If I get too close and I'm not how you hoped / Forgive my northern attitude, I was raised out in the cold."
There are plenty of good things about growing up in a town like Medical Lake, or in Kahan's case, Strafford. Life is simple. Every face is a familiar one, and people rarely leave. Doors stay unlocked in the summertime as friends come and go in and out of houses. The world feels still as the sky turns orange at sunset.
But small-town living is a double-edged sword. After a few years, the town can feel like an echo chamber. Word spreads quickly. Nothing remains sacred. The rural charm wears off when there are no streetlights to guide you home at night.
In "Growing Sideways," Kahan repeats the chorus phrase, "I'm afraid I might never have met me." In many ways, the lifestyle associated with small towns doesn't allow for growth, change or the formation of personal beliefs.
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