Paul Simon is a name synonymous with musical genius, a songwriter who has gifted the world with timeless classics. From the comforting lullaby of “Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme” to the infectious energy of “You Can Call Me Al,” his discography is a treasure trove. Even for guitar players and songwriters, tackling a Simon song, like the intricate “The Boxer,” is a rite of passage.
However, even the most ardent fans might find themselves scratching their heads at one particular track: “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover.” Musically, it’s undeniably catchy, and the narrative, though hinting at infidelity, is delivered with Simon’s signature storytelling finesse. Non-monogamy might be a topic of open conversation today, but back in 1975, when the song first hit the airwaves, its subject matter was undoubtedly provocative.
But here’s the rub, and the source of much amusement and debate: the song title boldly proclaims “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover,” yet it only explicitly lists a mere five. This discrepancy isn’t just a minor detail; it’s a significant gap between promise and delivery. It’s akin to the frustration of a movie trailer promising action-packed thrills only to deliver a slow-burn drama, or a commercial boasting a knife that can cut through anything, only to falter on a simple shoe.
While we might not all be Grammy-winning songwriters like Paul Simon, there’s a fundamental principle in creative work: deliver on your promise. Imagine a song titled “Rufus the Dog” that turns out to be about a cat – it simply wouldn’t resonate. Or a song called “Three Little Words” that only offers two. Precision and honesty in titling matter, especially to attentive listeners who appreciate the craft of songwriting.
“50 Ways to Leave Your Lover” directly states its premise in the title and repeats it emphatically throughout the song – six times, to be precise. Yet, when we listen closely, we can only identify five distinct “ways.” Let’s break them down to ensure we’re not missing anything:
- “Slip out the back, Jack”
- “Make a new plan, Stan”
- “Don’t need to be coy, Roy”
The subsequent line, “listen to me,” isn’t a method of departure but rather a directive. Even “Don’t need to be coy, Roy” stretches the definition of a “way to leave,” arguably leaning more towards advice than a concrete action. However, for the sake of argument, we can grant poetic license. The song continues:
- “Hop on the bus, Gus” (“don’t need to discuss much” is clearly still addressed to Gus)
- “Drop off the key, Lee” (“get yourself free” is presumably for Lee).
And there you have it – five. Is there a hidden sixth, seventh, or even fiftieth way cleverly concealed within the lyrics? It seems not. For some, this might feel like a lyrical oversight, a missed opportunity. Imagine if the song had been titled “Five Ways to Leave Your Lover.” It would have been accurate, albeit perhaps less intriguing.
To illustrate this point and perhaps offer a playful solution, let’s brainstorm some additional “ways” to reach the promised fifty. Let’s get creative and expand on the initial five, drawing inspiration from the original song’s rhyming pattern and name-based structure.
- Get on a bike, Ike
- Jump in the car, Mar (short for Marlon)
- Look for a train, Rainn
- Climb in the chopper, Hopper
- Hop on a ferry, Barry
Just like that, we’ve doubled the count in mere minutes. Some names might seem unconventional, but consider Hopper, reminiscent of the popular character from “Stranger Things,” or Rainn Wilson, known from “The Office.” And while Mar might be less obvious as a nickname for Marlon, it’s certainly plausible. If not, we can easily substitute it with “Jump in the Benz, Hans,” sacrificing a perfect rhyme for clarity, but maintaining the spirit.
Let’s continue this creative exercise and add another five to the list.
- Get on a ship, Rip (like Rip Torn)
- Hop on your cycle, Michael
- Jump in a cab, Ahab
- Go parasail, Dale
- Mount up a steed, Reed
Now we’re at fifteen! This set might require a bit more effort, particularly sticking to the transportation theme. And perhaps “Ahab” feels slightly out of place, but embracing diverse names adds a broader appeal. Expanding on this diversity, let’s introduce some names from different cultural backgrounds.
- Just say goodbye, Dai
- Sing a new tune, Shun
- Start up a-bikin’, Eiken
- Don’t let her see you, Ryu
- Don’t say where you flew to, Takutu
These names, with Japanese origins, broaden the scope and demonstrate that finding rhymes and names is far from an insurmountable task. We’ve now reached twenty “ways,” and it hasn’t taken an unreasonable amount of time.
Moving away from specific themes for a moment, let’s focus on simply reaching the fifty mark.
- Pop off to Spain, Rainn
- Give her some dough, Mo
- Leave her in the can, Dan
- Explain that you don’t love her, Glover
- File for divorce, Horse
“Horse” might raise eyebrows as a name, but nicknames exist, and creative license allows for such playful choices. Nicknames, in fact, could be a fertile ground for generating more “ways.”
- Pop off to the beach, Teach
- Leave while she’s nappin’, Cap’n
- Make off like a thief, Chief
- You don’t need to kvetch, Stretch
- Run away when she stumbles, Mumbles
- Tell her you don’t choose her, Bruiser
- Leave her at the new mall, Too Tall
With nicknames, adding seven more becomes relatively straightforward. Reaching well past the initial five, we see the potential for fulfilling the “50 Ways” promise. Of course, expanding to fifty ways would necessitate additional verses, which is a task beyond simply listing names and rhymes. Perhaps the song could incorporate multiple characters at a party, each offering their “way” to leave, creating a more dynamic and less repetitive narrative.
A quick detour: the line “Pop off to the beach, Teach” might be interpreted as suggesting a teacher-student dynamic in the relationship, which could be problematic. However, if “Teach” is simply a nickname, this interpretation can be dismissed. This highlights the subjective nature of lyrical interpretation.
Continuing our quest for fifty, let’s explore rhymes that are less than perfect, known as “rich rhymes.”
- Leave her at the gym, Jim
- Get in a van, Van
- Leave her near a cliff, Cliff
- Leave her something you drew, Drew
- Jump in a scooter, Scooter
- Sneak off in the rain, Rainn
These “rich rhymes” expand the possibilities and are considered legitimate rhymes in songwriting. And yes, “Rainn” reappears, but recurring names can create a sense of character continuity, much like how characters reappear in longer narratives.
- Head to the park, Mark
- Leave her at the office, Rufus
“Mark” and “Rufus” emerge organically, demonstrating the intuitive nature of songwriting. Even slant rhymes can be incorporated, especially when considering the flexibility of vocal delivery.
- Leave her in the bath, Wyeth
- Don’t tell your friends, Hans
- Get out of town, John
- Write her a letter, Eddie
- Hop in a boat, Noah
Slant rhymes, when sung with skillful vocalization, can sound like perfect rhymes. For instance, “boat” and “Noah” can be subtly manipulated to create a near-perfect rhyme.
Finally, for the last five, let’s even venture into anachronisms, incorporating modern concepts.
- Hop in a Lyft, Jeff
- Call up an Uber, Ruben
- Contact a rideshare, Moishe
While rideshares didn’t exist in the 1970s, creative license allows for such temporal leaps, especially when aiming for a comprehensive list of “ways.”
And for the final two, let’s get a bit more dramatic and then surprisingly practical.
- Fake your own death, Seth
- Express your concerns, listen to hers, see whether they can be resolved, and if they can’t, then work to come to a mutual separation agreement, Brent
Fifty! From the humorous to the extreme to the surprisingly mature, we’ve reached the promised number. The last entry, a lengthy and nuanced approach, stands in stark contrast to the snappy, rhyming “ways” that precede it, adding a touch of unexpected realism and humor.
While “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover” might playfully mislead with its title’s numerical promise, its enduring appeal lies in its musicality, lyrical wit, and memorable rhymes. The “missing” 45 ways, though absent from the original song, are readily imaginable, as demonstrated by this playful exploration. Perhaps the song’s genius isn’t in literal accuracy but in its clever setup, its catchy delivery, and the enduring conversation it sparks about expectations, promises, and the art of songwriting itself.
