The Unlikely Muse of Mortality: Carly Simon’s Battle with Parkinson’s and the Echoes of Creativity
At 83, Carly Simon isn’t just defying Parkinson’s disease—she’s turning its chaos into art. Her new album, Comes in Waves, isn’t merely a musical release; it’s a manifesto of resistance against a body and mind that refuse to cooperate. What’s fascinating isn’t just her resilience, but how her struggle illuminates a universal truth: creativity often thrives not in spite of suffering, but because of it.
The Apathy No One Talks About
Simon’s description of Parkinson’s-induced apathy—“like a starfish drying in the sun”—is haunting precisely because it subverts our expectations. We imagine neurological diseases as physical cages, but Simon reveals a subtler torment: the erosion of desire itself. “It’s not sadness or laziness,” she insists. This distinction matters. Society often mistakes apathy for weakness, when in reality, it’s a neurological hijacking of motivation. From my perspective, this mirrors the stigma surrounding mental health: invisible struggles get dismissed as personal failures, not biological battles. Simon’s candor here isn’t just brave; it’s revolutionary.
Music as a Ghost That Refuses to Stay Silent
“Music has always known when to arrive,” Simon writes. This personification of art as a sentient force isn’t poetic hyperbole—it’s a psychological phenomenon. Studies show that creativity activates dopamine pathways, which Parkinson’s corrodes. In effect, Simon’s music isn’t just a distraction; it’s self-administered neurotherapy. But here’s the twist: her creative process has become fragmented, with songs “tucked away” for years. This mirrors the disease’s unpredictability. Yet, isn’t this the paradox of art? The same disorder that silences many becomes the fuel for those who channel it. Consider how Beethoven composed masterpieces while deaf, or how Parkinson’s itself has haunted figures like Muhammad Ali. Suffering doesn’t erase genius; it reshapes it.
The Family Legacy of Resilience
Simon’s grief over losing her siblings—and her brother Peter, a photographer who captured Martha’s Vineyard’s soul—adds another layer. Creativity in her family wasn’t a choice; it was oxygen. When she writes, “the future is now” for finishing old songs, I hear echoes of her brother’s documentary work: preserving fragments before they vanish. This raises a question: Is art a form of immortality, or just a desperate archive against oblivion? Simon’s answer seems to lean toward the latter. Her album isn’t about legacy; it’s about survival.
The Double Standard of Aging in Music
Let’s address the elephant in the room: why do we celebrate male rock icons like Mick Jagger (80 and touring) as “ageless,” while women like Simon face erasure? Her skin cancer surgery and self-consciousness about her face hint at a cruel reality—women in music are allowed to age only if they remain “invisible.” Yet Simon’s return isn’t a vanity project. It’s a middle finger to the idea that creativity has an expiration date. In my view, this album’s significance transcends music: it’s a rebuke to a culture obsessed with youth, proving that artistry deepens like wine, even when poured with trembling hands.
What This Really Means for the Rest of Us
Simon’s story isn’t just about Parkinson’s. It’s about the human capacity to adapt. Her words—“some days I’m so tired I can’t get the day moving”—could describe modern life’s collective exhaustion. Burnout, depression, chronic illness: they’re the silent epidemics of our era. But if Simon teaches us anything, it’s that creativity isn’t a luxury; it’s a lifeline. The lesson isn’t to “inspire” us with tales of triumph. It’s darker, messier: sometimes, the only rebellion left is to create something, even when your brain tells you to lie still like a starfish.
Final Thoughts: The Wave Will Come
Simon named the album Comes in Waves—a nod, perhaps, to the cyclical nature of both music and suffering. Waves crash, retreat, and return. So does art. So does hope. What’s striking is her lack of grandiosity: she doesn’t frame this as a comeback, but as a quiet insistence on existing. In a world that glorifies “grit” narratives, Simon’s story is a reminder that survival isn’t always pretty. Sometimes, it’s just showing up, exhausted and uncertain, and letting the music (or whatever keeps you alive) do the heavy lifting. Personally, I think that’s the most punk-rock thing any artist can do.
