Carly and Lucy Simon on Music, Fame, Sibling Rivalry and, Yes, James Taylor
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Version 0 of 1. When Carly Simon walked into the music room of her home on Martha’s Vineyard, shyly trailing her sister Lucy and carrying a guitar like a shield, it was easy to see her as the author of the lyrics: “She rides in the front seat; she’s my older sister.” Even rock stars have them. And for the next few hours, the Simon Sisters, as they were billed when they sang as a folk duo in the ’60s, spoke warmly but candidly about the powerful devotion and jealousy of siblings. Carly, 69, had the bigger career, winning a Grammy as best new artist for her solo debut in 1971, and following that up with a string of hits through the ’70s, including “You’re So Vain,” “Anticipation” and “Mockingbird” (with her husband at the time, James Taylor). Her song “Let the River Run,” for the 1988 film “Working Girl,” won a Grammy, Golden Globe and Oscar. But Lucy, 73, had the more settled home life. She took a break from music to marry David Levine, a psychiatrist, in 1967 and raise their two children. She returned to her career, in earnest, as the composer of the Tony-nominated score for “The Secret Garden” in 1991 and, now, as the composer of the musical “Doctor Zhivago,” which opened recently on Broadway. Carly divorced Mr. Taylor, with whom she had two children, in 1983, and was married to James Hart, a writer, from 1987 to 2007. Over kale salad and salmon, the sisters finished each other’s sentences with ease. And just when it seemed as if that guitar might have been a red herring, they sang a duet: “Wynken, Blynken and Nod,” the Simon Sisters’ biggest hit. Philip Galanes: So, three sisters and a brother. Tell me the family dynamic. What roles did you play? Lucy Simon: Joanna was the oldest. Carly Simon: The boss. LS: The imperial queen, absolutely gorgeous. Then me. My role was to be the sweet and accommodating one. CS: Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. LS: Then Carly came along and said, “What should I be?” So she became Carly. CS: I remember being introduced to our brother’s baby nurse. And Joey, that’s what we called Joanna, was so elegant and formal. “How do you do?” Then Lucy was introduced: very shy, very meek. I didn’t know where I fit in. All the roles had been taken. But I had just seen “The Jolson Story,” so I jumped up on the coffee table and tried to imitate Al Jolson. PG: It’s a fresh take on birth order: Younger siblings hunting for unclaimed turf. LS: It’s certainly what Carly did. PG: What about you? What happens when “the sweet one” isn’t feeling so sweet? CS: She got really pissed off! PG: So these were public roles? CS: And for our parents. LS: But being in the middle you learn to accommodate, to be the bridge. Carly was always the one who looked like she had character. CS: Oh, come on! Too much character — all hair and teeth. LS: Then came our brother, Peter, the youngest, our mascot. CS: He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. PG: You had a terrible stutter, Carly. Did that make it hard to play the clown? CS: The stutter didn’t come until I was 6. We were rehearsing a play we were going to put on for our parents, “Little Women.” What was Joey’s first line? LS: “Christmas won’t be Christmas without presents.” CS: And during rehearsals, I couldn’t get my lines out. I don’t know if it was anxiety or developmental. But I heard the grown-ups whispering behind the stage: “Is she going to embarrass herself? Is she going to embarrass us?” But just as that was happening, my cousin was supposed to lead a calf onstage. LS: A real calf. It was our neighbor’s, I think. CS: And when it was my turn to say my line, the cow made this gigantic moo and peed on the white curtain. So nobody was paying any attention to me, which was a great relief. LS: But the stutter made this extraordinary thing happen. When Carly got stuck on words, she had to find other ways to say things. CS: An original vocabulary. LS: Which you’ve done in your lyrics. She found deeper ways to say things. PG: Let me go back to something else you said: Your parents hoped you wouldn’t embarrass them. LS: We had some luminaries in the audience. James Thurber was coming. PG: I bet as the founder of Simon & Schuster, your dad had loads of literary friends. CS: But it was more than that. Our parents were so encouraging of our becoming artists. It was like a gift to have their friends around: Oscar Hammerstein and Richard Rodgers and Max Eastman. PG: But were you often afraid of embarrassing him? CS: We had very different relationships with our father. First Joey came, and she was Daddy’s young queen, then Lucy was his pretty princess. And I was the ugly Jewish girl down the block. PG: Sure about that? CS: That’s the way he made me feel. He wanted a boy when I came along; I was going to be named Carl. And he was very disappointed when I was a girl. There was also a possible relationship between my father and another woman when my mother was pregnant with me. And I think I took on a lot of her resentment. PG: It’s amazing it didn’t cause resentment between you and Daddy’s pretty princesses. CS: Oh, yes it did! PG: So, why did you start singing together as teenagers — as the Simon Sisters? CS: Because I was in love with her. Part of my being jealous of Lucy was wanting to be her. LS: We worshiped each other. CS: Oh, no you didn’t! LS: Maybe worship is the wrong word. But I was completely enchanted by you. PG: The family is so accomplished. Your father’s off starting a publishing house, and your mother played an important role in integrating Stamford, Conn., finding a house for Jackie Robinson and his wife. CS: Our mother was an extraordinary woman. LS: They both were strong people. PG: Did you feel the tug of every day, another accomplishment? CS: No. They weren’t stage parents, at all. LS: They encouraged us. We would go to cocktail parties and bring our guitar and sing. And people loved it. At one point, during summer vacation, we were maybe 14 or 15, we said, “Let’s see if we can pay our way by singing.” CS: So we went to Provincetown with one guitar and little matching dresses from the Pan American Shop. PG: Sounds sweet. CS: I was just copying her. I kept asking her to teach me the guitar. Lucy was my guitar mentor. Eventually, we both got guitars, and then it was no holds barred. LS: We didn’t even bother with the matching dresses after that. PG: I read that you had terrible stage fright, Carly. CS: It was more when I was without Lucy, but I was always very nervous. We both were. But it was your knees and my fingers, right? LS: No, it was my voice. Carly would be nervous before we went onstage, and I would try to calm her down. Then we got to the microphone, and I clamped up. Couldn’t sing! CS: It came across as perfect vibrato. PG: You harmonize beautifully. CS: A lot of people just can’t do it. LS: They’re very musical, but they can’t find it. CS: And we harmonize naturally. LS: So much of what I love about my work on “Doctor Zhivago” comes from my work with Carly, finding the harmonies in duets and trios and quartets. PG: Did you have big musical ambitions at the time? CS: Not really. We were both in school. Lucy was at nursing school, and I was at Sarah Lawrence. And we sang in Europe for the summer of ’65 and for a couple of years after that, and then I gained a lot of weight. That’s the way I see it, anyway. PG: I promise you: Weight gain did not kill the Simon Sisters. LS: What happened is, I fell in love and got married and had children. PG: Is it true that Judy Collins introduced you to your husband? LS: Absolutely. PG: Between that and Carly writing “Anticipation” while waiting for a date with Cat Stevens, did you two know any not-famous people? LS: Our lives were like Forrest Gump! PG: In the late ’60s, could you not envision being a wife and mother as well as singing? LS: Maybe. But the other thing is that Carly is an incredible solo performer. I wasn’t. CS: You didn’t have the opportunity. LS: I chose a domestic situation. PG: Are you still married? LS: Yes. 48 years later. There’s a funny “Doctor Zhivago” connection. My husband was divorced when I met him, and we lived together for a year. But he was too scared to get married again. Then we went to see the “Zhivago” movie. CS: I didn’t know this! LS: A couple of days later, he said, “When should we get married?” I’d been waiting a year for him to ask. He said, “That schmuck Yuri Zhivago let that beautiful girl out of his life, and I’m not going to let that happen to me.” And we were married three weeks later. CS: And 40 years later, she wrote a gorgeous score for the Broadway show. PG: And you became a star. I would be acid green with envy if my sister became a superstar. Were you? LS: My daughter Julie was a year old when Carly’s first album came out. Carly wanted me to hear it. So I brought Julie down to her apartment and listened to this amazing music with my daughter on my lap. I think I turned my sibling envy into maternal pride, a thrill that I would want my daughter to have this incredible work and outlet. Maybe I was in denial. PG: Did it take long to get used to the new family order, Carly, from ugly sister to rock star? CS: I still can’t do it. I felt guilty all the time for succeeding. And it replicated itself with my first husband, James [Taylor]. When my big single “You’re So Vain” came out, it went from 39 on the charts to No. 1 in a week, which was awesome. But they had stupidly put James’s record out at the same time, and I thought he had a much better song, “Don’t Let Me Be Lonely Tonight.” He had to be a good sport and say, “That’s terrific!” But I’m sure he was dying inside. PG: You didn’t enjoy your success? CS: I never wanted to be out in front. I wanted to be standing next to the guy or girl who was successful. PG: Well, it didn’t work out that way. But it was a royal marriage with James, at least. CS: It was a fishbowl. And when we had kids, there were always photographers outside, taking pictures of us, whether we were in a good or bad mood. It bothered James more than it bothered me. So I would try to comfort him. Of course, there were many other things wrong with the relationship. But my God, I loved him so much. I loved James the minute I saw him on the cover of Time magazine. And I will never love anyone again so much or in the same way. PG: Did I get this all wrong? Was it you who was envious — of Lucy’s stable marriage? CS: Absolutely! I would have given anything for it. LS: But we’ve been able to protect ourselves, as sisters, from anger and ferocious jealousy by putting ourselves in different areas of music. Joanna was an opera singer. And after a try at folk rock, I placed myself in musical theater. We’re not in competition with each other. PG: But your work shares certain qualities. I don’t know a more honest song about relationships than “The Way I’ve Always Heard It Should Be.” And the score for “Zhivago” is filled with honest emotional moments. LS: That is something I can do: translate an emotion into music. And it’s the music that carries the love story in “Zhivago,” which is my strength as a composer. CS: I think music may be stronger than any of the other arts for that, than dance or painting or theater. There’s something intangible and mysterious about music. It can get you more; you can sob more. It’s got a stronger engine. PG: I had a professor who said it was related to the heartbeat. LS: I think that’s right. PG: Do you show each other your work in progress? LS: We do. CS: Lucy is very much my go-to person and always has been. LS: I would say the same thing about Carly. We’ve always been able to connect and calm each other. CS: I certainly don’t have anyone else. PG: You’re working on a memoir now. Have you been showing it to Lucy? LS: It’s extraordinary! All the chapters are these terrific short stories or lyrics. Poems that tell the story of a moment in her life. I’ve been reading them as she sends them, and I’m just staggered by the beauty and originality of her writing. PG: It sounds a little like what Lucy’s done: taken a sprawling canvas, a huge novel by Pasternak, and whittled into small moments of theater. CS: It’s amazing. LS: The creative team saw “Zhivago” as a story of three men in love with one woman, and two women in love with one man. And the trick was balancing those love stories with the war. But it’s been so important to us, because love and art really do survive revolutions and wars. That’s what Pasternak was vehement about. CS: Now, should we eat or should we sing? PG: Yes! |