Paul Simon: A Legendary Musician's Journey to Graceland and Beyond

You don’t have to wade far into the river of iconic musicians before you find Paul Simon. His name’s been stitched into the fabric of American music for decades. He started with Art Garfunkel, a grade school friend, and together they wrote songs that still feel like they’re playing somewhere in the background: “The Sound of Silence,” “Mrs. Robinson,” “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” They split, eventually. Creative differences, Garfunkel’s acting ambitions. It happens.

Simon went solo, and that’s when things got interesting. Still Crazy After All These Years, The Rhythm of the Saints, and Graceland—especially Graceland. That album changed things. It’s one of the few I’d put in a top ten list without hesitation.

There was criticism, of course. Simon recorded Graceland during apartheid, and some accused him of cultural appropriation. I’ve never been sure how that applies to music. Music’s always been universal. Simon didn’t steal anything; he collaborated. Joseph Shabalala, Youssou N’Dour, Forere Motloheloa, General MD Shirinda, Lulu Masilela, and Johnson Mkhalali. More than three dozen African musicians shaped that record. It’s their voices, their rhythms, their fingerprints all over it.

I think about how often we try to divide things now, who gets to make what, and who gets to be inspired by whom. But Graceland is proof that music doesn’t work that way. It’s not a closed system. It’s a conversation. Graceland opened up a world of sound that most American listeners had never heard before.

“Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes,” “You Can Call Me Al,” “Graceland.” Those songs aren’t just catchy. They’re layered, and they’re strange. They’ve stayed with me longer than most. Simon’s evolution—from folk-pop to global fusion—feels like a map of what music can do when you let it wander. I can’t imagine the world without Graceland, and without the way it changed how I listen. Without the way, it made space for something unfamiliar and beautiful.

There’s a lot about the music scene today that owes something to Paul Simon. Not just the sound, but the spirit. The willingness to reach across borders. To collaborate. To risk being misunderstood. His legacy isn’t tidy; it’s as complicated as it is lasting. And Graceland remains one of the clearest examples of what music can be when it’s allowed to stretch.