Kodachrome

Hey there, Zoo Freaks, the Zoo Crew just dropped the needle on this bright little number from Paul Simon, "Kodachrome," off that 1973 album There Goes Rhymin' Simon, and man, does it still light up the speakers like a summer afternoon drive down a long stretch of highway. You can catch the full ride over at THE ZOO anytime you need a dose of that freeform rock spirit. This track has a way of sticking with you, all those vivid colors and that easy bounce, and the stories behind how it came together make it even richer when you know a bit of the backstory from the man himself and the folks who helped cut it.

Paul Simon was messing around with a melody he had titled "Going Home" or something close to it, figuring it was just another placeholder while he worked out the words. He has said in interviews over the years that he knew right away that title was too plain, too ordinary, the kind of thing a hundred other songs already carried. Then the word "Kodachrome" just popped into his head, that trademark Kodak film name with its bright, saturated feel, and suddenly the whole thing shifted. He told folks later that once the title locked in, he had to figure out what it actually meant to him, and it turned into this appreciation for the way color film makes the world look a little more alive, a little more hopeful, even when the real picture might be a shade grayer. That opening line about thinking back on all the crap he learned in high school, and how it is a wonder he can think at all, he has called the most interesting part of the whole song. It lands with that casual shrug that a lot of us recognize, the sense that school taught a bunch of stuff that never really stuck the way real living did.

The recording story is one of those happy accidents that rock and roll history loves. Simon headed down to Muscle Shoals Sound Studio in Alabama because he had heard the rhythm section, those Swampers, on the Staple Singers' "I'll Take You There," and he figured he wanted that same groove. He booked four days just to cut "Take Me to the Mardi Gras," expecting it to take that long to get the feel right. They knocked it out in a couple of hours, so with the clock still running and the money already spent, they kept rolling. Simon sat down with his guitar and played a handful of unfinished tunes for the guys, letting them pick which ones they wanted to work on. They jumped on "Kodachrome" right away. Drummer Roger Hawkins later talked about how he got that distinctive loping feel by taking an old two-inch tape box, stuffing it with newspaper, and hitting it with hard vibes mallets until the sound cut through just right. It was not the usual drum kit approach, but it gave the track that relaxed, rolling bounce that still feels like cruising with the windows down. They ended up cutting a good chunk of the album there, including "Loves Me Like a Rock," with the Dixie Hummingbirds adding that gospel lift.

One little detail Simon has chuckled about in later talks is the line "everything looks worse in black and white." On the original album version that is what he sings, but when he performs it live he often flips it to "better." He has admitted he cannot quite remember which way he first wrote it, and he changes it depending on the mood. It fits the song's playful take on memory and how we color the past. There was also the practical side: Kodak owns the Kodachrome trademark, so the album had to note that, and over in Britain the BBC would not play it because of the product name, so it never went out as a single there. And that line about the Nikon camera works because the syllables sit right in the melody; try swapping in another brand and it just does not roll off the tongue the same way. Fans have shared stories online about how the track captures that selective way we hold onto the sunny parts, the way a good photograph can make a ordinary moment feel like the whole world is lit up.

Now, how did Paul Simon even get to the point where he was down in Alabama cutting hits like this? He came up in Queens, New York, born in 1941 in Newark before the family moved. His dad was a bandleader and teacher, his mom taught English, so music and words were around the house early. When he was about eleven or twelve he met Art Garfunkel at school, and they started singing together, doing those close harmonies like the Everly Brothers they both dug. By high school they were calling themselves Tom and Jerry, cutting a little single called "Hey Schoolgirl" in 1957 when they were still teenagers. It got some airplay, cracked the charts, and landed them a spot on American Bandstand right after Jerry Lee Lewis. They thought they had it made, but the follow-ups did not catch the same way, so they drifted apart for a while. Simon headed to Queens College, kept writing and doing demo work around the Brill Building, learning the studio side by stacking voices and cutting tracks for other people. He and Garfunkel eventually found their way back together, signed with Columbia as Simon and Garfunkel, and the rest is that long stretch of albums that changed how a lot of folks heard folk and rock blended together. After the duo split, Simon stepped out on his own with that same careful ear for detail and a willingness to chase sounds wherever they led him, which is exactly how he ended up with the Swampers and a song that started as "Going Home" and became something brighter.

You can dig deeper into all of this over on the official site at paulsimon.com, where they keep the catalog and the stories straight. He is active on Facebook at facebook.com/paulsimon, posting updates and bits of the road. The Instagram is instagram.com/paulsimonofficial, and the X account is x.com/PaulSimonMusic. For the hardcore fans who have been trading bootlegs and talking setlists for years, the site at paul-simon.info has threads going back a long way on the album and the sessions. There is also a lively Facebook group called the Paul Simon Discussion Group at facebook.com/groups/425765750813737 where people share old photos, concert memories, and the odd deep cut. Those places keep the conversation going the way good radio used to, just with a little more room to type.

That is the thing about "Kodachrome." It is not just a hit that peaked at number two and stuck around on the radio. It is a snapshot of a guy who started as a kid cutting a doo-wop single with his school buddy, learned the ropes the hard way in the studios, and then chased the right musicians down South when he heard a groove he wanted. The Zoo Crew has spun it plenty of times for the Zoo Freaks, and every time that opening line hits it feels like an invitation to remember the parts that still shine, even if the rest of the picture has faded a bit. Keep it rolling, keep the colors bright, and we will be right here with the next one.