Paul Simon at the Palladium

A couple of years ago I went to a huge show of Paul Cézanne’s paintings at Tate Modern, full of anticipation. I left feeling disappointed. Too many bowls of apples, too many Montagnes Sainte-Victoire. It was indigestible. One of each would have had more impact. The disappointment was nothing to do with Cézanne or his obsessions. For the consumer, sometimes less is more.

That was my consolation last night, leaving Paul Simon’s concert at the London Palladium at the interval, which occurred after the presentation of the complete Seven Psalms song cycle, 33 minutes long, which I wrote about when the album was released in 2023. The early departure — missing an hour and a half of what he promised would be “a bunch of hits” — was caused by the intense discomfort of sitting in the front row of the Grand Circle, the Palladium’s uppermost level. The view was wonderful; the effect of being jammed into the seat excruciating. In a sold-out house, no alternative accommodation was available.

It was, however, possible to ignore the pain for the duration of Seven Psalms, which began with the sound of cloud chamber bowls ushering in “The Lord”, whose acoustic guitar strum might, 60 years ago, have turned into a “Mrs Robinson” or a “Cecilia”. I won’t repeat what I had to say three years ago, but I will note that the pleasure was redoubled by seeing it performed live, with a wonderful band recruited for his Quiet Celebration tour: Mark Stewart and Gyan Riley on guitars, Bakithi Kumalo on bass guitar, Andy Snitzer on reeds and keyboard, Mark Rossi on piano and percussion (including cloud chamber bowls), Jamey Haddad on percussion, Matt Chamberlin on drums, Nancy Stagnita on flute, Caleb Burhans on viola and Eugene Friesen on cello.

Of course Simon’s voice is limited now in range and power, but Seven Psalms was written by a man on the verge of his ninth decade and is suffused with an awareness of mortality. Like his grey suit and black T-shirt and shoes, it was entirely age-appropriate. So that was absolutely fine — and his duets with his wife, Edie Brickell, on “The Sacred Harp” and the closing “Wait” were extraordinarily tender and touching.

I’d bought the tickets after reading an excellent review of the Glasgow show by Mark Beaumont in The Times (other fine pieces followed from Ludovic Hunter-Tilney in the FT and Kitty Empire in the Observer). Of course I had to resort to the grey market of Viagogo, which meant they were expensive. So it was hard to leave early, knowing that I’d miss a set including “Mother and Child Reunion” and “The Late Great Johnny Ace”. But I’d seen his younger self doing the hits many years ago and, anyway, the deep resonance of Seven Psalms was more than enough to absorb and contemplate on the journey home.