Simon & Garfunkel were in a weird spot in early 1966. They had a hit with "The Sound of Silence," but it was basically a fluke—a producer had overdubbed electric instruments onto an old acoustic track while Paul Simon was over in England. It worked. Suddenly, they weren't just a failed folk duo anymore. They were stars. But they needed to prove they weren't one-hit wonders. They needed an identity. That identity arrived in October 1966 with the release of Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme.
It’s a record that smells like incense and old library books.
Most people today know the title track, "Scarborough Fair/Canticle," because it’s been played in every grocery store and elevator for fifty years. But if you actually sit down and listen to the whole thing, it’s remarkably prickly. It’s not just "pretty" music. It’s anxious. It’s cynical. It’s a snapshot of two young men from Queens trying to make sense of a world that was rapidly tilting on its axis.
The Sound of 1966: More Than Just Folk
When you drop the needle on this album, you aren't just hearing folk music. You’re hearing the birth of high-fidelity studio experimentation. Bob Johnston, the producer, gave them the space to get weird. Before this, folk was supposed to be "pure"—just a guitar and a voice. Simon & Garfunkel threw that out the window.
Take "7 O'Clock News/Silent Night." It’s easily the most jarring thing they ever recorded. You have this beautiful, pristine rendition of a Christmas carol, but underneath it, a radio announcer (Charlie O'Donnell) reads the news. He talks about the Vietnam War, the death of Lenny Bruce, and the civil rights movement. The contrast is devastating. It’s a technique that feels modern even now. It’s a collage. It forces the listener to realize that you can’t have "peace" without acknowledging the chaos right outside your door.
Honestly, it’s kind of a miracle the label let them do it.
Why the title matters
The title Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme comes from the lyrics of "Scarborough Fair," but these herbs weren't just chosen because they sounded poetic. In medieval times, these plants represented virtues: strength, faithfulness, and courage. By weaving "Canticle"—an anti-war poem Paul Simon had written earlier—into the melody of a traditional English ballad, the duo created something that felt ancient and urgent at the exact same time. It wasn't just a cover song. It was a protest.
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The Perfectionism of Paul Simon
Paul Simon is a notorious perfectionist. You can hear it in every bar of this record. Unlike their previous work, which felt a bit rushed, every note on Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme is intentional. He was writing about the "dangling conversation" and the "borders of our lives."
- "The Dangling Conversation" is probably the most "college" song ever written. It’s about two people who have nothing left to say to each other, sitting in a room surrounded by books they don't read. It’s bleak.
- "The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin' Groovy)" is the total opposite. It’s almost aggressively happy.
- "Patterns" explores the idea that we are all trapped in loops we can't escape.
The range is wild. You go from a song about a mental breakdown ("A Simple Desultory Philippic") to a song about a poem written on a subway wall.
One thing people often miss about this era of their career is how funny Paul Simon could be. "A Simple Desultory Philippic (Or How I Was Robert McNamara'd into Submission)" is a total send-up of Bob Dylan. He’s mocking the whole "protest singer" persona while participating in it. It’s meta before meta was a thing. He even name-checks Mick Jagger and The Beatles. He was clearly feeling the pressure of being compared to Dylan, so he decided to lean into the joke.
The Technical Brilliance of Art Garfunkel
We talk a lot about Simon’s songwriting, but we have to talk about Art Garfunkel’s voice. This album is where the "Garfunkel Sound" really solidified. It’s that breathy, ethereal tenor that seems to float just above the guitar strings.
On "For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her," Garfunkel carries the whole thing. There’s no harmony. It’s just him. The way his voice breaks slightly on the high notes creates this sense of vulnerability that most singers would kill for. It’s not just technical skill; it’s an emotional resonance. He doesn't just sing the notes; he inhabits the space between them.
Critics at the time weren't always kind. Some thought the album was too "precious" or "over-produced." They were wrong. What they saw as over-production was actually the beginning of the "studio as an instrument" movement that would culminate in Bridge Over Troubled Water a few years later.
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A Cultural Artifact of the 60s
If you want to understand what the mid-60s felt like for the intellectual crowd, this is the record. It wasn't the psychedelic explosion of San Francisco. It wasn't the grit of the Velvet Underground in New York. It was the sound of the New York coffee house moving into the penthouse. It was sophisticated.
It also marked a major shift in how albums were constructed. This wasn't just a collection of singles with some "filler" tracks. It was a cohesive piece of art. Aside from "Homeward Bound" (which was added to the US version to boost sales), the tracks feel like they belong together. They share a certain DNA.
The legacy of the "Big Three" songs
When people think of this album, they usually go straight to:
- Scarborough Fair/Canticle
- Homeward Bound
- The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin' Groovy)
But the "deep cuts" like "Cloudy" or "Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall" are where the real meat is. "Flowers Never Bend" is a masterclass in acoustic guitar fingerpicking. It’s fast, intricate, and perfectly synchronized. It shows that they weren't just singers—they were formidable musicians.
Addressing the Misconceptions
One major misconception is that Simon & Garfunkel were just "soft" folkies. If you listen to "The Big Bright Green Pleasure Machine," you’ll hear a pretty biting critique of consumerism and advertising. They were cynical. They were biting. They were frustrated with the superficiality of the "swinging sixties."
Another myth is that they were always at each other's throats during this recording. While their later relationship was famously fractious, the sessions for Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme were actually quite collaborative. They were young, they were finally making money, and they were excited to see what the studio could do. The tension that eventually tore them apart hadn't fully calcified yet.
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What This Album Teaches Us Today
What can a record from 1966 teach someone in 2026? A lot, actually.
In a world of "content" and 15-second TikTok sounds, this album is a reminder of the power of the long form. It’s a reminder that you can be quiet and still be heard. You don't have to scream to be relevant. Sometimes, a whisper is more powerful.
It also teaches us about the importance of roots. Paul Simon spent time in England learning traditional folk songs like "Scarborough Fair" from singers like Martin Carthy. He took something old and made it something new. He didn't just copy it; he transformed it. That’s how culture evolves.
How to Experience This Album Properly
To really "get" this record, you shouldn't listen to it on shuffle. You shouldn't listen to it while you’re doing chores.
- Find a quiet room. This is headphone music.
- Listen to the mono mix if you can. The stereo mixes of the 60s often panned the vocals hard left or right, which can be distracting. The mono mix is punchier and more direct.
- Read the lyrics. Simon’s wordplay is dense. There are internal rhymes and literary references that you’ll miss if you’re just skimming the surface.
- Pay attention to the silence. The gaps between the notes are just as important as the notes themselves.
Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme remains a benchmark for folk-rock. It proved that "pop" music could be intellectual, political, and beautiful all at once. It wasn't just a step forward for Simon & Garfunkel; it was a step forward for the entire medium of the long-playing record.
If you're looking to explore their discography further, the next logical step is to track down the live recordings from 1967. You'll hear these same songs stripped of their studio polish, revealing just how strong the songwriting was at its core. You might also want to look into the work of Jackson C. Frank, a friend of Simon's whose song "Blues Run the Game" heavily influenced the mood of this era. Exploring the British folk revival scene of the mid-60s will provide the necessary context for why "Scarborough Fair" sounded so radical to American ears at the time.