REVIEW: Paul Simon's Quiet Celebration at Tanglewood
06/27-6/28 @ Tanglewood, Lenox, MA
Photo by Jake Edwards
The classics thrilled the crowd. Seven Psalms transformed them.
Paul Simon has earned the right to fill a summer night with old favorites. Instead, at Tanglewood, he did something far more daring. He leaned into silence.
For two unforgettable evenings on June 27 and 28, Simon brought his "A Quiet Celebration" tour to the Koussevitzky Music Shed, opening with a complete performance of his 2023 song cycle Seven Psalms before turning to beloved classics and carefully chosen deep cuts. The format was announced in advance, and while many fans undoubtedly arrived anticipating "Late in the Evening" or "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover," the true revelation was how completely Seven Psalms became the emotional center of the evening. The album, often described as "unlike any other Simon album," felt even more profound in the natural cathedral of Tanglewood.
There is a temptation to treat Seven Psalms as the opening act before the hits. That would be a mistake. Live, the seven interconnected movements become something closer to chamber music than folk rock, unfolding without interruption as Simon quietly wrestles with faith and mortality. His voice, softened by age but still light and melodic, no longer reaches for youthful perfection. Instead, every phrase carries the weight of someone who has lived every word he sings. Rather than diminish the music, that vulnerability blends in.
If there was one lesson from the evening, it was this: Paul Simon has stopped trying to outrun time. He has decided to sing beside it.
His remarkable 11-piece ensemble deserves enormous credit for bringing Seven Psalms to life. Rather than functioning as background musicians, the band operated like an improvisational collective, constantly listening and responding to one another. There were stretches where guitars, percussion, flute and African rhythms intertwined with such fluidity that the performance felt less like background and more like a jam band. The interplay occasionally felt like a performance akin to Dave Matthews Band or the adventurous spirit of the The Allman Brothers Band, except every flourish remained in service of Simon's spirituality instead of virtuosity for its own sake.
No one embodied that spirit better than Simon's wife, Edie Brickell. Her harmonies elevated several of the evening's most moving performances. "The Sacred Harp" shimmered with quiet grace. "Wait" became almost prayerful. During "Under African Skies," Brickell transformed an already beautiful song into one of the concert's defining moments. Her voice weaved effortlessly around Simon's with warmth and tenderness.
Then came the second act.
Yes, "Graceland" still sounded timeless. "Slip Slidin' Away" carried heartbreaking wisdom. The audience happily sang along to "Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard," "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover," and an unforgettable "The Boxer." The closing solo performance of "The Sound of Silence" proved that one man with an acoustic guitar can still command an audience more completely than any arena spectacle.
Yet somehow, those classics never overshadowed what came before. The classics thrilled the crowd. Seven Psalms transformed them.
That may be Simon's greatest accomplishment on this tour. Rather than using new material as an obligation before revisiting familiar songs, Seven Psalms quietly reframed everything that followed. Suddenly, decades old classics sounded less like nostalgic favorites and more like chapters in one long performance Simon has been having with audiences for over sixty years.
It helped that there may not be a better venue in America for this kind of performance than Tanglewood. Nestled among towering trees in the Berkshires, the Koussevitzky Music Shed feels less like an amphitheater than a natural extension of the surrounding landscape. Even before the first note, the venue encourages listeners to slow down. As daylight faded into evening, Simon's meditative songs felt as though they belonged there all along. The combination of artist and setting created something unusually intimate despite thousands in attendance.
One lyric from Seven Psalms lingers long after the applause fades: "The Lord is my engineer. The Lord is my record producer." On paper it reads with Simon's trademark wit. Live, it drew smiles before opening into something much deeper. That balancing act between humor, humility, and spirituality refines the entire evening.
This is not a victory lap. It is not a farewell tour disguised as nostalgia. It is an artist still evolving in public, still asking questions, still willing to challenge an audience that came expecting comfort listening.
At 84, Paul Simon no longer needs to prove he can revisit his past. With Seven Psalms, he proves something far more remarkable. Even after six decades of extraordinary songwriting, he is still capable of showing us a new way to listen. And beneath the pines of Tanglewood, that quiet celebration became one of the most moving concerts imaginable.