Paul Simon, Art Garfunkle, Bridge Over Troubled Waters, break-up

Paul Simon’s decision to quit the duo that made his name was so secretive not even Art Garfunkel knew about it.

For the rock generation, the 1960s was a decade of great promise and deep disillusionme­nt; a time of Camelot and the Vietnam War. The emotional toll was heavy — and much of the most memorable music reflected the volatility of a world that appeared all the more out-of-control because it was often seen through a drug-­infused haze.

The start of the new decade ­offered hopes of a second chance, and some of the most inspiring songs of 1970 resonated with comfort and ­reassurance. The Beatles stepped forward the first week in March with Let It Be, which ­promised sanctuary in times of darkness and doubt. James Taylor entered the charts six months later with Fire and Rain, a reflection on the ­turbulence caused in Taylor’s personal life by the suicide of a friend and his own heroin ­addiction. George Harrison followed in December with My Sweet Lord, a humble statement of spiritual quest.

Even in that distinguished company, Simon and Garfunkel’s Bridge Over Troubled Water stood out. The single was not only released first (the final week of January), but also it remained the most celebrated of those recordings a half-century later. The song topped pop charts around the world, including six weeks at No 1 in the US. It has been recorded by towering artists such as Elvis Presley, Aretha Franklin, Stevie Wonder and Johnny Cash. Next to Art Garfunkel’s, Paul Simon’s favourite vocal interpretation was Franklin’s.

On the heels of Mrs Robinson and The Boxer, the song triggered enormous added respect­ for Simon in the mainstream music community, ­especially the seasoned pros who composed the bulk of Grammy voters and who had been slow to embrace rock ’n’ roll.

To many of them, Bridge was an inspiring link to the ­supreme craftsmanship of the Great American Songbook tradition.

The album was an even greater triumph commercially, spending 10 weeks at No 1 and eventually selling eight million copies. In the midst of this success, however, Simon continued to wrestle with many of the same anxieties that had contributed to him writing the song. When Loraine Alterman interviewed him for Rolling Stone, she did not see in him any sign of someone celebrating his mushrooming superstardom. “Paul arrived wearing a blue loden coat with the hood turned up,” she wrote. ­“Beneath it he had on black trousers and a black shirt. He does not crave attention.”

In the same interview, Simon said he was thinking of moving into the woods, possibly in New England, because the farmhouse in Bucks County wasn’t secluded enough. And, he ­confided, he was so troubled that he was going to analysis three days a week.

For all the tensions with Garfunkel, Simon knew there could be a void when they went their separate ways. Art had been one of his best friends for most of his life, and Simon, so focused­ on his music, wasn’t quick to make new friends. He found himself depending more and more on his partner, Peggy Harper, for ­companionship and unwavering support in his desire to leave Simon and Garfunkel.

“I’d say, ‘I’m gonna leave,’ and she’d say, ‘Yeah, you should,’ ” Simon said later. “She’d say: ‘What do you have to be afraid of? You’re the one who writes all the songs.’ ”

With Alterman, he did speak vaguely about a future without Art. “It may sound strange, but time is running out,” he told her. “You go on to do things because, once you get to a certain point, you’ve got to ride your energy while you have it. As long as you have energy and curiosity­ and drive, you use it … [but] there are so many things I want to learn.”

Simon felt he couldn’t be more forthcoming about his future with Garfunkel during the ­Rolling Stone interview because he and Art still had a few remaining tour dates in April and May in Europe, a two-day stand at the Forest Hills ­Stadium on July 17 and 18, then the ­Grammy Awards ceremony, where Bridge was considered an early favourite for best album.

He didn’t want the distraction of people ­talking about the breakup, and found the ­sentimentality surrounding farewell events embar­rassing, especially for artists younger than 30. One other thing he didn’t tell Alterman was that he and Harper were engaged.

To keep Harper company, Simon invited his mother, Belle, to London when he and Garfunkel performed on April 25 at the Royal Albert Hall, one of the world’s great concert buildings. Before the show, Belle and Harper talked about Simon’s disappointment over feeling left out after Bridge at Carnegie Hall at a previous ­performance. Maybe, they hoped, Garfunkel would ­introduce him this time. It didn’t happen.

“Paul waits in the wings,” Belle said. “Art got great applause … He was very good, and the song was so great, so Art stood there, taking bow after bow, and he finally went up to the pianist [Larry Knechtel] and introduced him, and that was it! I’m sitting next to Peggy, and she’s like: ‘Why doesn’t he bring Paul out? Why doesn’t he bring the author out onstage?’ I’m saying the same thing.

“Paul’s got something big, a real terrific song, and [Art] doesn’t even have the nerve to give him the credit: ‘I sang it, it was me you loved, but here’s the guy who wrote it.’ Never did.”

Four weeks later, on May 24, Simon and Har­per were married in a civil ceremony in New Hope attended only by Belle, Simon’s ­father, Lou, and brother, Eddie.

Simon didn’t make a public announcement, whereas most pop stars would have milked the event for publicity — even inviting a select magazine or two.

“I don’t think there is any deep, dark reason for why I prefer privacy,” Simon said later. “It’s just part of my nature. I’m not shy. I’m comfortable around people, but I was never too keen on people looking in on what I was doing and ­reporting about me.

“To me, it takes another ­personality, something even beyond extrovert, to invite people to document your life and look at you and your life in the camera.”

To some guests that day, the wedding felt sudden and inevitable. In the broadest sense, Harper represented for Simon a piece of the comfort he was longing for in Bridge. If fame hadn’t brought him peace of mind, Simon thought marriage and an eventual family might, especially the warm, nurturing family life he had treasured as a boy.

People around Simon had concerns. One of the reception guests said he could understand why Simon married Harper. She was pretty, and she was on his side. But the guest could also see even then why the marriage probably wouldn’t last. Simon needed her at that moment, but he was really married to his music, which would be a major challenge for Harper.

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Two months later, Harper was in the audience as Simon and Garfunkel stepped onstage at their hometown venue, Forest Hills Stad­ium, for the first of what would be their final two ­concerts as a dedicated team; every time they’d sing together onstage from then on, it would be for a benefit, television appearance or a one-off reunion tour.

By all accounts, the evening was lovely, and there wasn’t an inkling of a pending breakup in the Billboard review: “Take a full moon in the sky, a balmy summer breeze, a flying­ Frisbee and a glowing sparkler; add two young guns, one in dungarees, one with a guitar and a baseball cap. Put them onstage before 14,400 people, and you have a sight to remember. If the two guys are named Simon and Garfunkel, that is, and the stage is the Forest Hills Tennis Club.”

Mort Lewis, the pair’s manager, wasn’t fooled. Watching Paul and Art walk to the ­parking lot after the second night’s concert, then pause, shake hands, and go their separate ways, he sensed it was over. In subsequent years, he often asked himself if he should have stepped in and tried to talk Simon out of walking away from the team. And he always came to the same conclusion: no.

Lewis respected Simon too much to intervene. “I knew he wanted to be on his own,” he said. “He needed to grow.” Besides, the affable manager had been around the music business for a long time. He had seen all sorts of great jazz outfits break up over the years. Hell, even the Beatles had broken up a few months earlier. Life goes on.

True to his private nature, Simon didn’t ­announce his decision publicly the way Paul McCartney had after leaving the Beatles. He didn’t even tell Garfunkel. One possibility is that he was trying to hedge his bets in case he didn’t find his solo career as rewarding as he expected, but Simon rejected that notion.

Garfunkel and Simon at the Grammys in 1971. Picture: Popperfoto/Getty Images

“Making an announcement isn’t something that I ever thought of,” he recalled. “I wasn’t into that kind of thing. I remember when I first met Derek Taylor and found out he was the Beatles’ press secretary. I thought to myself: ‘Why would you even want a press secretary?’

“With Artie, there was no reason to talk about it. When he agreed to make Carnal Knowledge, something was broken between us. There was no way I was going to change my mind, and I certainly didn’t want to get into a fight about it. I just wanted to move on. We were finished.”

Simon continued to see Garfunkel socially during the summer. He not only invited him to the wedding but also accompanied him to a screening of Catch-22 shortly before the Forest Hills dates. There was so little public suspicion of a breakup that no one sensed anything strange three weeks after those final shows when Simon appeared at nearby Shea Stadium without ­Garfunkle. It was the Summer Festival for Peace all-day concert, designed to raise money for anti-war candidates in the autumn 1970 midterm elections.

Fans and pop historians would spend decades­ trying to figure out what went wrong, but clues were scattered all around. The breakup has been blamed variously on raging egos, grating personality differences and Garfunkel’s decision to pursue a film career.

In retrospect, each of these factors contributed to Simon’s ­decision, but they weren’t, even collectively, ­ultimately responsible for it.

As Quincy Jones and critic turned ­manager Jon Landau pointed out, Simon was too ­talented and ambitious a songwriter and ­record maker to limit himself to writing songs for ­Garfunkel to sing. The relationship was too ­restrictive. Simon wanted the freedom to move beyond the mostly soothing folk strains that lifted Simon and Garfunkel to superstar status in rock. He heard a whole new world of music in his head and wanted to pursue it.

“There are a lot of factors that comprise great artistry, including passion, musical curiosity, and fearlessness,” said Jones, who would follow Simon’s career for more than 50 years. “And the first rule of being an artist is you’ve got to protect­ all three. If Paul hadn’t left Garfunkel, a piece of that artistry could have died. He did what he had to do.”

There was one more bit of Simon and Garfunkel­ business at the start of the 1970s. At the 13th annual Grammy Awards ceremony on March 16, 1971, at the Hollywood Palladium in Los Angeles, thanks to the Bridge Over Troubled Water album, the duo entered the night with more nominations (seven) than anyone in Grammy history, but the competition was strong. James Taylor and the Beatles were also up for best ­record and best song (Fire and Rain and Let It Be, respectively).

It proved to be no contest. In the nationally telecast program, Simon became the first artist to sweep the three most prestigious Grammy­ categories: best album, best record and best song. He shared the first two with ­Garfunkel, but the song honour was his own.

Together the pair was also given Grammys for best contemporary group vocal and best ­arrangement ­accompanying vocals. Simon also won for best contemporary song (Bridge again), and Roy Halee was honoured for best engineered­ ­recording. At the end of the night, Simon and Garfunkel stood at the pinnacle of American pop music. To anyone watching them accepting their awards, their future together looked ­unlimited. But it was an illusion.

This is an edited extract from Paul Simon, The Life, by Robert Hilburn, 415pp ($39.99), published by Simon & Schuster.