The 70-year-old singer-songwriter opens up about the kind of life she’s lived
Carly Simon is photographed in New York on April 24, 2008. (AP Photo/Jim Cooper)
On Carly Simon’s latest album, Songs From the Trees, the 70-year-old singer-songwriter offers a few hints on the kind of life she’s lived. The 30 songs she carefully plucked from her five-decades-plus career (taken from 25 studio albums) beautifully map out her eccentric family life, her perplexing coming-of-age and all the challenges that singledom, marriage and divorce bring to the table. This rich sense of nostalgia also informs Simon’s just-released memoir, Boys In The Trees. Here, the Grammy- and Oscar-winning artist opens up about both projects and fills in a few gaps.
A: There was something about the way we saw each other while we sang. At that time in our lives, we had an uncanny physical resemblance to each other—especially our faces and our lips. We stood at the same height and we were both lanky. In the waxy top of the ebony piano, there was a veneer that was just like a mirror. There was a reflection on it, which just blurred the outlines of our faces so you couldn’t tell who was who. We were looking at each other the whole time. It certainly had a heat—and a power—that keeps lasting.
A: I grew up not understanding what was true and what was not true. It gave me a sense of unreality. I was told that this man was not my mother’s lover—when he was. I was told he was there as a male babysitter for my brother so that he would learn sports and other manly things.
A: Probably. My mother was so ahead of it in many ways. She broke the Stamford colour barrier in 1954 [Jackie Robinson was a frequent guest of the Simons]. Also, I remember my mother saying to me at seven, “I wish I was a lesbian,” and I didn’t know what that meant at all. She explained it to me, and I remember chewing the cud on that. I remember writers being at our house when I was young—I remember Dorothy Parker called me over and said, “Come over here dear, let me tell you a story,” but I can’t remember what the story was.
A: I think James and I read between the lines about all our songs. There was this unspoken agreement that we did not have to delve into certain issues. We allowed each other a poetic licence … that we really appreciated in each other. I believe there is a certain part of oneself that is inviolable.
A: No, it came with elation! I had pre-Oscar anxiety. I was terrified of flying to L.A., and then there was the tension of being nominated and not winning. I thought I’d feel like a fool if I [attended] and I lost. You have to know that those people sitting in the auditorium feel horrible [when they lose]. They don’t really feel like, “Oh that’s wonderful that that other guy won.” I went to see a doctor beforehand and he put me on Prozac—remember Prozac?—and I made it to the plane, the auditorium and the stage and won the Oscar. I don’t know if it was the Oscar or the Prozac, but I was okay and had no depression for three years after that.
A: Well, it’s about the myth of Sisyphus. He is [a Greek king] who keeps rolling a boulder up a hill, and it keeps getting away from him and rolling back to the bottom of the hill. Then he pushes it up again. It also reflected the story of Nora Ephron and Carl Bernstein’s marriage, which inspired the song because I wrote it for the [soundtrack to] to the movie Heartburn, [which was based on their relationship]. It could have been a very weepy song ending but I [incorporated] “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” and sang it to the same accompaniment as “Coming Around Again.” So it ended up having this wonderful feeling about it. I’m interested in the human spirit—which, to me, is about having that never-ending hope.
A: I just went with my ears. “After The Storm” was a Brian Wilson-like experiment. I love that song. It was just me putting my fingers down on the piano and seeing what would happen. [Oscar-winning musician] Jack Nitzsche had heard it and called me up and started asking me how I thought of certain chords.
A: I was shamed because the song “Slave” was seen as not feminist, because, you know [the lyrics state], “I’m just a slave for your love.” I was trying to say, “Dammit, I’m not happy about being a slave to your love but I am!” When it came to interviews, sometimes I would get annoyed. Often I would just say, “This is the way it is.” Some people needed to be talked through the themes. I had to learn that there are some people who aren’t at the same level I’m at—whether I’m more advanced or backwards.
A: No. Of course not.
A: The advancements that women have made are very threatening to men in the job place. There haven’t been that many women in politics. If you look at the conventions, it’s kind of pathetic how many men are the heads of companies. On the other hand, I’m not sure what the reality should be. All men are created equal and all women are created equal as well, but [equality] seems much clearer when it comes to race issues. In the realms of man/woman, man/man, woman/woman love, it seems all up for grabs now. We are exploring so much, but I think we gotta go for the fight for all equality first. I’m a little old-fashioned—I like it when the man opens the door and I like it when a man pays for me. I particularly like it when they pay for dinner or whatever, because I’ve pretty much done the opposite, but for the exception of James [Taylor], where we split everything down the middle. I’ve been the larger money earner in practically all of my relationships. There’s equality and there are positive differences, which are complimentary.
A: I never identified with the feminist movement in a strong way. I just kind of lived it. I didn’t politicize it. I didn’t follow any written rules to what it meant to be a feminist. I had my own sense of what was right and wrong.
A: Well, there were a couple of cases where I was sexually assaulted that I didn’t write about in the book. I took an overly reasonable and non-combative stance because I was afraid what fighting someone off would do. I was afraid that things would get a lot worse.
A: Interestingly enough, that song was chosen for me—I didn’t write it. Spoiled Girl was the album I felt most put-upon. It was directed that I do those songs. I was told who to work with as a producer. After Spoiled Girl—which was a flop—I was given an ultimatum by my then manager. He said he’d gotten a good deal for me with Clive Davis—which was a $100,000 advance. I found out later it was an advance that should have been $2,000,000.
A: My favourite is my ex-husband Jim Hart. He’s an exquisite poet and my second husband. I tend to go for the Irish poets: Yeats, Dylan Thomas and, of the American poets, William Carlos Williams. I also love Auden. I’m a big fan.
A: With Nick, he felt worried I would leave him, if and when I was loved by a larger audience. With James, there was a positive competition in our work. We always tried to better the other. I always felt he bettered me no matter what he did because I looked up to him so much.
A: She’s told me that she gets raked over the coals. But anybody who’s as successful as Taylor is going to get raked over the coals for one thing or another. She could have gotten it for writing about mashed potatoes and the perfect gravy. She’s so wonderful that she was born for the job. She’s the perfect species for this time—in this century. She’s the ideal girl. Which is why they want to rake her over the coals.
A: I never remember it being easy. I’m so hyper-aware of how my body feels all the time. This book I read recently called Too Loud, Too Bright, Too Fast and Too Tight has told me my nervous system is overexposed and it’s not made for the stage. It’s like somebody whose eyes can’t go out into the sun because they are too sensitive to the light.
A: I’ve done all kinds of things. Once I flew this guy in to play an instrument called a didgeridoo, right on my belly, to calm me down. I didn’t write a chapter called Floundering in the book—to explain all the ways I have tried to combat this problem. I’ve tried everything. I had one therapist who ended up sending me a bill for $16,000 for a one-hour session just because he could. He made me stand in a room with my arms out and go around counter-clockwise saying “I love performing! I love the stage! I’m fine, I can do this!” So I have done kooky things to get over it.
A: I don’t think I’ve ever had an image that doesn’t correspond to something I feel comfortable with. I don’t have a persona. I didn’t have any trouble from the record company when it came to my image. We were generally in sync. They didn’t push me to have a sexy image. I tried to have a sexy image to compete with my sister, on my own. Even at the age of seven, I was always trying to look alluring to capture the attention of my father, who was also a photographer. I wouldn’t feel right putting on a lot of makeup or special clothes for the stage that had frills, feathers and masks. A lot of artists like Madonna and Lady Gaga have personas, and it makes it easier to get on stage because they don’t have to be themselves. I don’t know how to not be myself.