Fab Foundations # 18: “Splendid Isolation”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “Across the Universe”
Album: Let It Be
Release Date: May 1970

"[The words] were purely inspirational and were given to me as boom! I don't own it you know; it came through like that.” – John Lennon in a 1971 interview, discussing the making of “Across the Universe” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=90M60PzmxEE ).

How much creativity, if any, can we really lay claim to? This is a question I’ve been asking myself recently being that I am of the ever-growing belief that our job in the inspiration process is to put ourselves in position to unleash those creative juices and then, miraculously - as John Lennon stated in the quote above - it all comes through you. Brian Wilson, Bob Dylan, and many other musicians/artists/writers have made similar claims.

Putting ourselves in position for creativity is what we can take credit for however, which takes knowledge, skill, experience, and a handful of positive character traits (trustworthiness, honesty, etc.) developed over time. There also needs to be a short-term convergence of both effort and what I like to refer to as “splendid isolation”, whereby you get lost in the moment and somehow are able to rediscover a sense of innocence, or rather, of who you really are. Prayer is a form of “splendid isolation”. So is meditation. Even just zoning out (my second grade teacher, Sister Margaret Ester called it “Cloud Nine”, and often accused me of spending her lectures there). If you can get these stars aligned, you’re ready to let it flow. My increasing understanding is that the more it plays out this way, the more magnificent the end product is going to be.

I’m sitting in my fireplace room right now trying to put myself in position to make creativity happen for this blog entry. I’ve had an entire day of isolation. Heck, it’s actually been more like a month and a half of isolation - living in this Covid-19 world - which has been the case for most of us. But isolation and splendid isolation are not always synchronized. For example, isolation can be tied to loneliness or anxiety, which are moods that do not lack communally in this day and age. But this type of downer isolation can also have splendid side effects on occasion. As I write this evening, I feel more connected with this more positive side-effect of isolation.

Ok, so, I’ve got that going for me.

Anyhow, back to my present setting. The house is very quiet right now. All 3 of us who are in Covid-19 isolation together - my wife Nancy, my daughter Charlotte, and I - are busy on our laptops.  I’m leaning back on a recliner in the corner of the room, which is where I’ve been blogging these days. As I mull over my talking points for this entry, I’m looking directly out the picture window. The last vestiges of dusky daylight allow for the multitudes of tall, silhouetted trees in the back yard to completely dominate my view of the outside world. I stop myself from writing for a few minutes to take it in.

In the 16 years that we have lived here on this wonderful 1½ acre plot in rural Pepperell, Massachusetts, we have done a pretty good job of letting nature take its course (as with prior-mentioned creativity, I do not consider myself the owner of the property; only a steward). We typically intervene only when attempting to replace invasive plants with native ones. The canopy around us is large enough to support hawk and owl nests. Tree frogs and woodpeckers - including the sizable Pileated Woodpecker of Woody Woodpecker renown - are common in the stands above us too. At ground level, we’ve seen fisher, deer, bear, and other significant four legged creatures wander through the yard. We’ve also been graced by an endangered Blanding’s Turtle, who lays her eggs out back every other year. We’ve heard rare whippoorwill too. Across the street the wetland is alive with spring peepers, which is reason enough for a routine visit by a very large black racer (which I once mistook for a broken tree branch).

Lyrics to “Across the Universe” begin to hit me:

“Words are flowing out

Like endless rain into a paper cup
They slither while they pass
They slip away across the universe”

The room lighting is on low; just low enough so that I do not feel like I’m completely in the dark (I suppose this is a subliminal gesture in attempting to unleash those creative juices). To my right is the well-used fireplace, which is dutifully flickering with flame. To my left is most of the room; at the far edge of which are 3 wide steps leading up into the common-space kitchen, which is also dimly lit. With darkness pretty much having settled in outside now, much of the illumination around me is currently emanating from my computer screen.

“Images of broken light
Which dance before me like a million eyes
They call me on and on across the universe”

I glance around the room. My laptop backpack rests on the couch in front of me. Strange that it’s been sitting there for over a month. Usually that personal attaché case is pretty active, making its way to and from work with me on a daily basis. Now that I think about it, that backpack has been my work and personal travel partner for decades now, having ‘seen’ countless trunks, campgrounds, airports, meeting rooms, conferences, and hotel rooms, from Juneau AK, to Whitehorse YT, to Edmonton AB, to Denver CO, to Albuquerque NM, to Vancouver BC, to Baltimore MD, to Charleston SC, to Quebec City QC, to Ottawa ON, to San Diego CA, to New Orleans LA, to International Falls, MN, to Winnipeg MB, to St. Johns NL, to Boise ID, to Salt Lake City UT, to Panama City, Panama, to San Jose, Costa Rica, and countless places in-between. Oh, the tales it could tell. It’s a quality product, incredibly looking pretty much like it did the day I purchased it; and made in the good-ole’ USA no less. For the time being, however, it just sits here on the couch, in similar fashion to the Grandfather Clock that is ticking away in the living room (which also has plenty of tales to tell).

Next to the laptop is a pile of “Wildlife Fact File” folder books. It had been many years since any of us in the family had thought of these, but my son Peter was home recently admiring them in the basement, and so I brought a handful up so Charlotte could reflect on them too. There are about 10 folder books with around 150 “fact cards” filed away in each of them. And each book has its own theme, be it Mammals, Birds, Reptiles, Fish, or other major animal orders. When the kids were young in the early oughts’ we would get a shipment of 10 cards bimonthly. Charlotte and Peter loved opening up those packets (so did I). At times we would spread the cards out all over the floors of the house. It’s those memories Peter was tapping into a few weeks back.

Beside me on the floor is an amazing wooden card box personalized for me by my sister Amy, who designed it for my 50^th Birthday. The box contains an assortment of warm cards and notes from friends and family, presented to me on that special day. The most amazing thing about it though are all the images that Amy had collected of my past, which are pasted on every nook and cranny of both the inside and outside of the box (including some Beatles stuff). The insight that Amy had in pulling all those wildly diverse linkages to my life continues to astound me 7 years later. How did she retain all that? (Love, that’s how). If a future descendent ever wants to get a synopsis of my life, well, other than this blog, they need look no further than that memory box.

“Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box
They tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe”

The bookcase next to the picture window is stacked with field guides, animal encyclopedias and trail maps (along with a handful of musician biographies), which testifies to my family’s ‘getaway’ priorities (as well as Nancy and my concert-attendance leanings). Aside from all those nature and music booklets, there is one shelf that is reserved for plastic models of whales and other sea creatures, seeing as leviathans have been a love of mine ever since I was a toddler (which my family has bought into). On the upper corner of the bookcase is a different model all together: The Creature of the Black Lagoon, which is representative of the monster models my brothers and I would construct and paint when we were young teens. 

“Sounds of laughter, shades of life
Are ringing through my open ears
Inciting and inviting me”

Along the wall that is opposite the bookcase is a lovely globe of the Earth, which is nestled in a handsome stand. Nancy got this for me as a Christmas gift early in our dating years. It too looks like it did the day I unwrapped it. The political boundaries do a darn good job of dating this globe (for example, Yugoslavia is depicted as a single country, and Germany is depicted as two countries) which only adds to its allure. Next to the globe is a turntable which my Dad gave me recently after reading one of my blog entries that mentioned my own turntable having been stored in the attic (sans a cartridge). It’s emblematic of my Dad (and my Mom) to think of such things: Generosity is at the core of who they are. On the wall behind the globe and turntable are an assortment of older photos of Nancy’s and my extended families dating back to our great grandparents. Charlotte and Peter get their own photo montage on a stand along the back of the aforementioned couch.

“Pools of sorrow, waves of joy
Are drifting through my opened mind
Possessing and caressing me”

Over the fireplace mantle is one of Charlotte’s many natural-world paintings; this one a New England forest landscape, which suddenly reminds me of my temporarily-vacated office, adorned with a number of bird-prints that Charlotte painted for me over the years. There is also a painting in my office of the treehouse that was omnipresent in our backyard for 15 years, which I asked Charlotte to document in her wonderfully unique way (before my having to dismantle it due to safety reasons this past fall…the platform is still there though!). These paintings are all masterpieces to me.

“Limitless, undying love
Which shines around me like a million suns
It calls me on and on across the universe”

On the fireplace hearth to my right is the voluminous Beatles Anthology book, which I have turned to on occasion for a bit of research these past 4 months of Fab Foundations blogging. As I sit here, I’m reminded now of what’s at the heart of why I’m writing this entry.

The refrain in “Across the Universe” goes “Nothing’s gonna change my world”; that last word ‘world’ meaning ‘being’ (as in “Nothing’s gonna change my being”). This thought connects me with all those images of my own life that surround me and flood my mind as I sit here in splendid isolation. Indeed, my life inspirations have been pretty consistent from a very young age. I’m guessing this is the case for all of us.

“Across the Universe” is undoubtedly John Lennon’s most spiritual song (be it with the Beatles or solo). The repeated Sanskrit mantra in the lyrics, “Jai guru deva, om”, literally approximates in translation to “Victory to God divine” (Wiki). Spirituality comes across not only in the lyrics, but in the vocals too, which are soft and contrite. Of all the Beatles songs I’ve ever heard; this one sounds the least Beatlesy, which makes it uniquely lovely.

George Harrison would sing many spiritual songs with - and more prominently without - the Beatles. Arguably, he did this more than any top Rock act other than Bob Dylan and Pete Townshend. As for John Lennon compositions, “Across the Universe” is the only deeply spiritual song that I can point to (side note: the only spiritual song I can point to for Paul McCartney is “Let it Be”, and it appears that this was unintended… more on that in a near-future blog entry). In fact, it’s easier to find the opposite with Lennon, seeing as he would rail against religion early in his solo career - with songs like “Imagine” and particularly “God” (a strangely heartfelt song that has me pondering what he is really saying). He did this to the point where he would inadvertently end up discouraging George Harrison from collaborating more with him.

Bob Dylan would end up reflecting on John Lennon’s spirituality (or lack thereof) on the very last album-oriented song he ever composed (to date at least): “Roll on John” off of Tempest (which I wrote about in Master Blueprints # 39). If you had to hang your hat on one spiritual song, however, “Across the Universe” is not too shabby.

I sit back, think a moment, close my laptop, and call it a day.

- Pete

p.s. This entry is dedicated in memorium to my great friend Mac’s younger brother T.R. “Across the Universe” was played at T.R’s funeral and I think of him whenever I hear the song.

Fab Foundations # 17: “L’Angelo Misterioso”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “When We Was Fab”
Album: Cloud Nine
Release Date: November 1987

I was precisely in the right age frame during the 1970s to truly long for a Beatles reunion, which is best understood when you put into context my not having experienced the real deal as it unfolded the decade before.  When the dream officially ended on that fateful December nite in 1980 (when John Lennon was murdered) I was 18 years old.  Those who were at least a handful of years younger than me - the generation who came of age in the 80s - didn't have much of a window to realistically hope for this possibility.  Those who were at least a handful of years older than me - the generation who came of age in the 60s - actually got to experience the Beatles phenomenon firsthand.  I was 7 years old when this seminal band broke up; a bit too young to take the phenomenon in on the fly.  Over the ensuing 10 years, I'd be incrementally making up for that in a vicarious sort of way, but the real deal remained elusive.

Well, when you don’t experience something firsthand, particularly when you long for it (and the window remains open), your imagination can run wild.

I’ve mentioned this before in these blog pages, but it’s worth repeating: Due to the Beatles disbanding when they did (at the tail end of 1969) they will forever be affiliated with the 60s era. Other musicians/bands came to an end around that time too: Janis Joplin, the Doors, Jimi Hendrix, the Byrds, Buffalo Springfield, and Creedence Clearwater Revival all come to mind.  These were all masterful acts, but the Beatles were the cream of the crop. It’s their face on that coin.

I believe that once we get past the political jostling (likely when all those who lived the counter-culture era are no longer around to weigh in) history will bear out that the 60s was a transformational decade for western society. Early proof of this was the 70s window I grew up in, which can well be defined as a post 60s “man, I wish I was there” wonderment era (how many other decadal torch-passing’s can make such a claim?). Some of this was related to curiosity. Some of it was mystery. And some of it was legacy: Should we carry the torch forward? Should we try to build on the ideal of what those hippies started? What was it like to be at Woodstock? How close were they to the Holy Grail?

Again, it could easily be argued that the wonder of it all was personified in the Fab Four. Indeed, that 60s/70s demarcation line would not have been as stark if the Beatles breakup had not happened at just about the same time. 

It’s taken me more than 10 years of blog writing, but I now see that this 60s personification that was the Beatles (and to slightly lesser degree, those other musicians I have written about: the Rolling Stones, Neil Young, the Who and Bob Dylan) cuts to the core of what my Music and Memory musings are all about. Way back when, I wrote that, during the 60s, the music was just another part of the scene. But for those of us going through our formative years in the 70s, the music was the scene. It was central to our lives.

How so? Well, our stereos and speakers were much bigger, better and louder than what the 60s kids had. Our album collections grew and grew. Our car radios constantly blared musical sounds into the night air (nocturnal emissions). Our dorm-room discussions centered around a turntable. Our concert attendance mushroomed. And most important, our music was not only current; it also included much of the quality 60s output too. This was about much more than technology innovations and advancements. This was about supply and demand. It was about priorities.

All of this focus on music during my upbringing has allowed me to capture in word today what I experienced in sound yesterday. My music and memory are entwined, giving me the grace to write about it all.

The hope for a Beatles reunion was omnipresent in the 70s. Rumors of the possibility seemed to crop up routinely. Look over there; its Paul McCartney walking into the Dakota Apartments (in Manhattan NY, NY, where John Lennon lived) … and with a guitar in hand no less! And over here, its George Harrison playing guitar on a Ringo Starr album!  There’s George with John. Here’s Ringo with Paul. There’s George, Paul and Ringo, all in New York at the same time! They’re getting along, are they not? They’re scheming and planning?

There was all this mystique-related aura in the 70s air too. John Lennon was living in virtual seclusion in the late 70s, stamped with the newly designated term ‘house husband’. George Harrison retreated from the world stage; he the former Beatle in most need for privacy. There was Ringo Starr, struggling with substance abuse, in turn shutting himself off from the party scene (he would eventually overcome his dependencies, to the point where his impressive physical and mental state today significantly belies his age). Paul McCartney was pretty much the only one who was out and about; his personality and constitution able to deal with fame far better than his former band mates. Aside from Paul, however, it all had a Howard Hughes feel about it.

And so, throughout the 70s it was as if this entity that was the Beatles had passed on into modern folklore. But the fact of the matter was they were all still tangible and viable. We wanted more. We wanted a reunion. Bring us back to the 60s, you guys!

There were also other extenuating circumstances at play, including the mystery of the Canadian band Klaatu, who sounded an awfully lot like the Beatles. My close friend Pete’s older brother Paul (see Fab Foundations # 9) would have us listen to their music on self-made cassette tapes (recorded, I believe, from underground rock radio). There were no photos of Klaatu on Paul’s cassette sleeves. Were John, Paul, George and Ringo reuniting in secret?

There was ELO doing a great job emulating the Beatles sound too. Were the Fab Four showing up in the studio to help them record?

Saturday Night Live had fun with all this, offering the Beatles to reunite for $3000, with Lorne Michaels stating that the four of them could divide the 3K up any way they like (while hilariously suggesting they could give Ringo a relatively smaller cut in pay). George Harrison showed up on the live SNL set a few weeks later, stirring the pot and asking for his share. Later it came out that Paul McCartney and John Lennon watched from John’s Dakota home up the road, pondering a taxi ride to 30 Rockefeller Plaza. I watched Beatle George that night. A lot of people my age did. Was it really possible? Maybe an impromptu late night reunion after Weekend Update? Alas, it was not to be.

All in all, for us 70s Beatles fans, the dream of a reunion had a 2 prong effect: There was mystery and there was curiosity of what could be. It all added up to a yearning to experience what the prior generation had experienced. Through it all we enjoyed the solo efforts. But the reunion was the big prize. 

I believe this yearning has a lot to do with my interest in group dynamics, particularly in cases where there is a lot of history involved. It’s a big reason why I always found family reunions exciting (and why I can name every cousin off the cuff in my very extensive extended families, including where they place in the oldest-to-youngest pecking order in their individual families). It’s why I love getting the old hometown Franklin crew together (especially when all 8 of us can make it). It’s why I love connecting with my Canadian brethren, as happened just this past summer. It’s why I loved the Who reuniting in the late 80s and Simon and Garfunkel doing so in the mid-80s. It’s why I love the Rolling Stones endurance, as well as Neil Young’s with Crazy Horse. In all these cases my yearning has been satiated. But it never happened with the Beatles.

If yearning for a Beatles reunion in the 70s so stimulated my generational sensibilities (to this day), I’m wondering how much this has had an effect on my generation in general, and in turn how it has factored into our contributions to the world at large over the past 40 years or so.  Are we better in group dynamics than other generations because of that unique yearning? Does our passion for (at least) 2 decades of quality rock music factor into the equation? Does our longing contribute to our Faith? It’s difficult to answer such questions from the inside looking out (although I’m certainly trying). It may take other generations to round out an examination of the key sociological norms that make up the 70s era and how those norms have woven their way into our culture.

You would think George Harrison would have had the least interest in all the mystery and mystique of the Beatles as the 70s played out. But he did care, maybe even more than anyone in the end, which speaks volumes. We saw it on that SNL exchange. We heard it after John Lennon was killed when he released “All Those Years Ago” (a wonderful remembrance of Lennon), and later we would get to hear it again on “When We Was Fab” which was the second single released off of Harrison’s 1987 “comeback” album, Cloud Nine (I was one of many in great anticipation for this album prior to its release, purchasing the record the day it hit the shelves).

Cloud Nine was released on the 20th anniversary of Sgt. Pepper. George Harrison has fun with this and many other Beatles tidbits on the very creative video for “We Was Fab” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AVu6nPTVbBQ ).  Ringo is here, there, and everywhere in the video, displaying his charm throughout. Is that Paul dressed as “The Walrus”? (turns out this was not the case: he’s actually the person walking by the camera, in front of the walrus, which is even better). And there’s also the Beatles road manager Neil Aspinall walking by with John Lennon’s Imagine album tucked under his arm. The most amusing part of the video is when one of the arms coming out of Harrison’s jacket snatches the wallet from Elton John’s back pocket.  Paul Simon makes a cameo too. Fun stuff.

The more telling nostalgic reveal of “When We Was Fab”, however, is in the lyrics and the music. My favorite moment in the song is when George sings “And we did it all”.  At that moment, he sounds so tuned in to the immensity of what was. The song (and album) are also a teaser for what would soon morph into The Travelling Wilburys, seeing as Jeff Lynne is cowriter on “When We Was Fab” and coproducer of Cloud Nine. And so, we finally get that Beatles/ELO connection for real (Lynne would later produce the quasi-reunion songs “Free as a Bird” and “Real Love”, thereby connecting him with Paul and Ringo too). You could say George Harrison was the impetus behind all of it.

The 70s were a very unique period to grow up in. I’m very thankful to have been able to connect more strongly this week with some of the key reasons why. With that, I’ll call it an entry.

- Pete

p.s. “Cloud Nine” was where my 2^nd grade teacher Sister Margert Ester used to say I resided when she lectured the class. At the time I took this in derogatory fashion, which was the intent. Now, I’m thinking… it may have been an oblivious compliment. Thank you, Sister Margaret Ester, wherever you are!

p.s.s. The title for this entry “L’Angelo Misterioso” is a nod to Mike Carney, my Pepperell buddy, who pointed this George Harrison pseudonym out to me earlier this week (for contractual reasons, Harrison had to use the pseudonym to play guitar on the 1968 Cream song “Badge”, which he cowrote with Eric Clapton). Thanks, Mike. Great timing!

Fab Foundations # 16: “Pepper Core”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “A Day in the Life”
Album: Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
Release Date: May 1967

One big factor I have tuned into in this my personal ‘year of the Beatles’ is something rarely if ever discussed in any article or book that I’ve come across on the band ; that being that an element of the Beatles brilliance comes in layering. I relate this to the design of the Russian Matryoshka dolls: Broader musical compilations, such as albums, contain subsets of musical motifs such as a series of songs (or a particularly heavy song), which can also contain subsets, such as a given tune or verse. Last entry I mentioned the 2-song Matryoshka doll that is “I Will” and “Julia”, within the ‘doll’ that is side 2 of the White Album, within the ‘doll’ that is the entire Beatles discography. A few weeks earlier I hit on Abbey Road and all the layering that can be found there (see Fab Foundations # 12). In all these years writing about music and related personal memory, I have not thought of this notion of layering until now…even with Bob Dylan. It may be uniquely Beatle-esque.

The epitome of this notion of layering is “A Day in the Life”, which concludes Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Rolling Stone Magazine has rated this the best of all Beatles songs, which in my mind is justified, particularly after this week of special focus on it. I want to take Rolling Stone’s talking points a step further here, because I believe there are deeper reasons for this lofty position than the ones that very informative magazine has already explained (including key points that “A Day in the Life” is the signature statement of the Lennon/McCartney songwriting partnership, along with the general sense of “death and dread” that the song conveys in such transcendent fashion).

My big-picture understanding of that 1967 period in the Beatles saga is that both John Lennon and Paul McCartney were in search of a deeper and broader meaning to their music as they were closing in on what would end up the Sgt. Pepper album. This never fully materialized, at least to the degree it could have. I focused on this notion in Fab Foundations # 11, while coming up with my own conceptual narrative on what could have been. In that narrative I conjured up a rough sketch of a film of a fictional band forming during the heyday of the counterculture era in the mid to late 60s. I also wove every song on Sgt. Pepper into this plot (as well as “Strawberry Fields Forever” and “All You Need is Love” which were released as singles during the period).

The heart of my concept story is strongly correlated with “A Day in the Life” (which prominently stands out on the Sgt. Pepper album too). In my proposed film/story the leader of this counterculture band dies suddenly. As the news of this unfolds, I touch briefly on what was happening in the lives of each band member as they find out about the tragedy. In my imaginary movie, “A Day in the Life” is playing in the background during all of this. 

I now realize that I wrote this fictional story for more reasons than was clear to me last month. The fact of the matter is, I’ve never written a fictional story in all my years of blogging. It's not my style (I tend to see reality as far more amazing than fiction). And although it was fun to come up with the movie idea, I'd been thinking over the past month that there had to be more to it. Now I think I've nailed it, because by tackling “A Day in the Life” here, I've come to believe that John Lennon must have had a deeper concept in mind than what ended up being conveyed (perhaps the concept was fleeting). Of course, my take is just one of many possible narratives, but in thinking it through, I came to a better realization of the majesty of this song.

When I wrote that “Pepper Shaker” story a month or so ago, I was thinking primarily of Paul McCartney, who gets a bulk of the credit when it comes to how the very loose concept of Sgt Pepper came together. Here, I’d like to come at it from the Lennon prism by homing in on the cornerstone of the Sgt. Pepper album that is “A Day in the Life”: A gold nugget of a Matryoshka ‘what could have been’ (“A Day in the Life”) tucked inside a larger Matryoshka ‘what could have been’ (the album Sgt. Pepper).

If you have not done so already, it will help to go back to the broader rough sketch first before reading the remainder of this entry (see Fab Foundations # 11 > https://pete-gemsandbeyond.blogspot.com/2020/03/fab-foundations-11-pepper-shaker.html ).  To summarize, a young lady runs away from home with her boyfriend. They travel across the USA and end up in a commune run by a charismatic fellow (Sargent Pepper). The 3 discover a common interest in musical tastes and form a band. Soon 2 others join them.

The band makeup is:
Lead Guitarist: Lucy (in the sky with diamonds)
Lead Singer: Billy Shears
Drummer and band leader: Sargent Pepper
Keyboardist: Rita (the former meter maid)
Bass Guitar: Kris Kite (aka Mr. Kite)

Sgt Pepper and the “Lonely Hearts Club Band” get very popular. However, during a break in their work together - just after releasing their galvanizing hit song “All You Need is Love” - tragedy strikes when Sargent Pepper is killed in a car accident while visiting a close, highly influential (and altruistic) friend from the House of Lords, who lives in Blackburn, Lancashire, England. Pepper’s death is a profound loss, because of the timing as well as everything he stood for, including his peaceful and charitable nature, which had a tremendous positive effect on his multitude of fans (think JFK, or even John Lennon himself when he was murdered in 1980).

Turns out the gardener at the cottage where Sargent Pepper is staying is a deranged fan (think Mark David Chapman), who rigs the vehicle Pepper has borrowed from his close friend, draining it of brake fluid and messing with the steering components. The accident is initially blamed on the notoriously bad road conditions in Blackburn (ultimately branded by the British newsprint for having 4000 potholes, which Lennon tapped into when he wrote the song). But the truth soon comes out, which makes Sargent Pepper’s death all the more tragic.

The ‘accident’, which includes a fire, is so horrific that early reports cannot identify the victim for lack of evidence. But because of the make and model of the car (traced to British Aristocracy), the press knows it’s someone important. This is what allows for buildup in the narrative that is “A Day in the Life”. It is only at the end of the song (and the sequence in my hypothetical film wherein the song plays out) when the full reality hits everyone. 

As mentioned, the band members are scattered about that day, and so each one gets the news in his/her own unique way (“A Day in the Life” > https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UYeV7jLBXvA ). Everyone is somewhere in Britain, because the band is set to perform a big show at Albert Hall in 2 weeks. First up in the sequence are Lucy and Billy, who are vacationing on the Ilse of Wight. In the film, the two of them are having a seaside breakfast, and reading the frontpage news about the car accident. They initially find the story bemusing, because of all the oddball interviews the media has with the crowd who had gathered around the accident:

I read the news today, oh boy
About a lucky man who made the grade
And though the news was rather sad
Well, I just had to laugh
I saw the photograph

He blew his mind out in a car
He didn’t notice that the lights had changed
A crowd of people stood and stared
They’d seen his face before
Nobody was really sure if he was from the House of Lords

Next up Rita, who is in London watching a midday ghastly film about WW1 trench warfare:

I saw a film today oh boy
The English Army had just won the war
A crowd of people turned away
But I just had to look
Having read the book

As Rita leaves the theatre, she sees the same news story on the newsstands. Unlike Lucy and Billy however, Rita puts two and two together, realizing that Sargent Pepper is staying with a friend from the House of Lords in Blackburn, Lancashire. The horror of reality begins to slowly set in with Rita, as well as us the audience, who are watching the movie (the camera slowly zooming in on her face). Flashback to a montage of great moments in Sargent Pepper’s life, particularly with the band and the fans (“I’d love to turn you on”) as the orchestra builds up to the bridge.

Next it’s Mr. Kite’s turn. He’s also in London, in his case working; taking on his secondary duties with the band as an audio-visual wizard (see Fab Foundations # 11). Kite arises late in his rental suite after a long nite, oblivious to the news, and takes the bus to Albert Hall. By this time the car-crash details are coming out on the news, including who the victim is. A friend relays the terrible news all at once to Kite:

Woke up got out of bed
Dragged a comb across my head
Found my way downstairs and drank a cup
And looking up, I noticed I was late
Found my coat and grabbed my hat
Made the bus in seconds flat
Made my way upstairs and had a smoke
And somebody spoke and I went into a dream

As the orchestra builds up again, the anguish on Mr. Kite’s face is palpable (Lennon’s vocal “AHHH!” in the background. In one alternate take he actually says “Oh, Shit!”). The film bounces between band members in real time in their variety of settings as the full reality hits them all, ending with Rita collapsing on the London streets next to a meter (symbolizing what Sargent Pepper meant to changing her life).

During the last verse and the final, intense orchestral build up, the film cuts to the rigging of the car by the deranged fan, and the actual car crash:

I read the news today, oh boy
Four thousand holes in Blackburn, Lancashire
And though the holes were rather small
They had to count them all
Now they know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall
I’d love to turn you on

That last drawn-out E note on the three pianos (Paul, John and Ringo, hitting the key in unison) plays out as the car is engulfed in flames.

There you have it: My alternative-version Pepper subplot story. This combined with the broader story in FF # 11 is my novice attempt at a script. Anyone know a good movie producer? 

- Pete (from Pepperell)

Fab Foundations # 15: “Going Back to the White Well” (2 of 4)

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “Martha My Dear”
Album: The Beatles
Release Date: November 1968

Continuing my White Album review song by song, here I tackle side 2. If you have not done so already, I suggest reading the introduction to Fab Foundations # 4 as a prelude to this entry ( https://pete-gemsandbeyond.blogspot.com/2020/01/fab-foundations-4-going-back-to-white.html ) seeing as it explains my personal introduction to the White Album on Christmas Day as a young teenager many years ago. I refer to that enlightening day on a handful of occasions here. The remainder of that entry (Fab Foundations # 4) tackles songs on side 1.

The White Album is extremely eclectic but for some odd reason I consider it the most album-oriented of all Beatles discs. That album orientation also applies to the 4 sides, each of which has a distinct feel. For me, side 2 has gained the reputation of being the "acoustic side". Also on side 2, animals are flying at you from all directions: Racoons, pigs, birds, dogs. Several of these creatures even emit their unique sounds in the music.  Other sides include animals too, such as elephants, tigers, and monkeys, but side 2 takes the wildlife cake.

Anyhow, there’s plenty else to delve into on side 2 as well. Below are some tidbits, based on thoughts that crossed my mind as I listened this week:

White Album, Side 2 (of 4)

“Martha My Dear” (Paul).  To connect with Paul McCartney’s melodic virtuosity, you need look no further than the opening piano sequence to “Martha My Dear”.  It’s about as catchy of a solo as you will ever hear in song, and it is also the perfect introduction to this predominantly acoustic side of the White Album.

How do you write such a pretty song about your dog?  Neil Young’s “Old King” sounds far more appropriate when it comes to singing about man’s best friend. But “Martha My Dear” works wonders for me. In fact, it’s one of my all-time favorite Beatles songs ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RXawa90YU2s ) in spite of the fact that McCartney is the only Beatle who plays any music on it (arguably George Harrison is there too on the final cut - he was there for at least one take - but this has been difficult for Beatles aficionados to confirm over the years).

One thing I love about the song is the slow introduction of instruments as “Martha My Dear” progresses: First there’s the piano intro, followed by vocals and soft strings, followed by tuba and trumpets, followed by the first of several bursts of the French horn, followed by guitar, drums and bass (all McCartney), followed by trumpets and clapping. The last 30 seconds or so winds down with more strings and some funky bass. All in all, it’s a multi-instrument baton-hand-off of positive energy.

And yet, whenever I reflect on “Martha My Dear”, my mind always circles back to that piano intro. It reminds me of the first time I listened to the song in my parent’s dining room on that Christmas Day way back as a young teenager. It reminds me of lugging my milk crates full of albums to all the places I’ve lived in my life: Franklin, North Adams, Ottawa, Woburn, Waltham, Pepperell. It reminds me of my daughter’s favorite teddy when she was young (“Martha”). It reminds me of the fascination that comes with discovery and the joy that comes with knowing quality.

I only hope that dog of Paul’s appreciated it half as much as I have.

“I’m So Tired” (John). What better song to listen to and write about just before I call it a hard-days night (which is what I’m about to do now on this midweek evening). As with “Martha My Dear”, “I’m So Tired” grabbed me from the get-go. Many of John Lennon’s songs have a certain moody edge about them that draws me in, and this one is no exception (it’s the Rock and Roller in me). I’ve felt that way ever since the needle hit the first notes on that new Christmas turntable of mine. If “Martha My Dear” is unmistakably a McCartney composition (read: Upbeat), “I’m So Tired” is unmistakably Lennon in its edginess.    

I was well versed enough in my European early-explorer history when I first heard this song 45 years ago to know that Sir Walter Raleigh was a key figure in introducing tobacco to England. And so, Lennon’s quip in the lyrics about Raleigh being “such a stupid git” resonated with me right away. The line had such a creative improv feel about it, regardless of whether or not it happened that way. Tonight, as I listen, it still sounds improvisational. This was the thing about Lennon’s music: It often felt as if he was completely in the moment, which had a lot to do with his quick wit (another example in the song is when he shouts “no, no, no!” after pondering whether he should fix a midnight drink to help put him down for the count. Yet another is the second time he sings/shouts “I’m going insane!”). 

So here we have quite a contrast between the first song on side 2 and the second.  It’s a nice one-two punch of the Lennon & McCartney styles which is what made the Beatles so successful.  Somehow, these 2 songs work off one another despite the stylistic and mood differences. That in a nutshell is the majesty of the White Album.

Alas, on second thought, “I’m So Tired” appears to have the opposite effect of winding me down (which was likely the case for Lennon too). Perhaps I should cut to the closing lullaby on side 4 as the antidote.

“Blackbird” (Paul). Of all Beatles songs, I feel that this one connects most with what was happening in America in the late 60s. “Blackbird” empathizes with black females who were dealing with the racism and race riots of those turbulent times. I love the simplicity of this song, including the foot tapping (reminders of Pete Townshend doing something similar for the Who song “Music Must Change” … in his case walking with a microphone close to his feet).

What side 2 of the White Album initially did for me all those years ago was that it gave me a sense for how much artistic latitude the band members had with their producers and especially with each other at this stage in their common careers.  As with “Martha My Dear”, ‘Blackbird” is essentially a McCartney solo effort, with no other Beatle personnel accompanying him in the studio. All four Beatles would ultimately sign off on the final White Album product however, each knowing full well that the full ensemble was not there for not just these two songs, but many other tracks too. The fact of the matter is, how could any of them argue with such cumulative quality.

I find it oh, so appropriate that this song has thrived with time. Today’s younger generations appear to have latched on to it, using lyrical lines from “Blackbird” in their graduation remarks and the like. It’s a testament to how someone can hit a timeless nerve – often inexplicably - by tapping into a basic human essence. 

This ability to hit a timeless nerve of human essence is intrinsic in all of us, which was the great “Blackbird” take-home message for me in my own formative years. Perhaps that’s what the younger generations understand as well.

“Piggies” (George). Harrison could get pretty abrupt with his sentiments regarding the material world (see “Taxman”), which was quite eye-opening for a teenage Beatles fan. Being the hugely successful musician that he was at the time, I consider George Harrison courageous in this regard (same goes for John Lennon… see my last blog entry).  After all, he is leaving himself open to accusations of hypocrisy here. I sensed this very early on listening to “Piggies”. But the fact of the matter is, despite being monetarily wealthy, Beatle George was always able to dodge such criticism though his actions, because it was spiritual wealth he was after. 

Several years back, I attended a Roger Waters concert which was super-charged in its politics (and its amazing technical feats). Part of the show delved deep into Pink Floyd’s 1977 concept album, Animals, which tackles human failings such as greed, fear and demagoguery. The vast majority of Animals is comprised of 3 songs: “Sheep”, “Dogs” and “Pigs”; personifying these three negative character traits, which can occasionally throw world history into a steep downward spiral. I thought of Harrison’s “Piggies” as I watched it all play out at that incredible Roger Waters show.

“Piggies” is yet another song on the White Album with a very distinct sound (in this case baroque), which includes a harpsichord. However, as with all the other pieces to this album’s jigsaw puzzle, it magically fits. “Piggies” is the second song in a row (after “Blackbird”) to include animal sounds (which John Lennon zealously contributes to). This, along with the general acoustic feel of the song has it fitting in nicely on side 2.

“Piggies” left little to my young imagination back in the mid 70’s.  Pompous imagery jumped out at me then, just as it does now (it helps that Harrison sings the song with such acerbic wit). It’s never too difficult to conjure up something that’s always, sadly, all too real.

“Rocky Racoon” (Paul). McCartney gets center stage for a majority of side 2 of the White Album (5 songs in all, compared to 2 for Lennon and one each for Harrison and Starkey).  At the core of this output is “Rocky Racoon”, which is Beatle Paul’s attempt at a Bob Dylan-style ballad (I’m thinking particularly of the song “John Wesley Harding” which was released about a year earlier).  “Rocky Racoon” checks in at only 3:33, but feels longer, which is likely the effect of it being a song-story that does not repeat. 

“Rocky Racoon” is one of those “break you in” songs that Paul McCartney was so good at, especially for a kid’s mind. Once hooked with a song like this, you would be hit upon by deeper layers of song texture on Beatles albums, which all 4 band members would contribute to. But you had to start somewhere, and usually it was Paul who made it happen. I remember repeatedly listening to these lyrics way back when and trying to wrap my mind around the story. In hindsight, I don’t think there’s much to it, but it was intriguing to take in lyrics that referred to a showdown, a drunk doctor, and Gideon’s Bible.

This song was actually one of my earliest introductions to the Folk/Country Ballad, which has me thinking that the Beatles either introduced me to or expanded my interest in a whole variety of musical genera on the White Album. Along with the Folk/Country Ballad, there was also Broadway Musical (“Martha My Dear”), Baroque (“Piggies”), Soul (“Savoy Truffle”), Avant Garde (“Number 9”), Blues (“Yer Blues”), Proto-metal (“Helter Skelter”), Hard Rock (“Back in the USSR”), British Music Hall (“Honey Pie”), Lullaby (“Good Night”), Spiritual (“Long, Long, Long”), Rhumba (“I Will”), and Country Rock (“Don’t Pass Me By”), among other styles.

Combine this genera-montage and the aforementioned layering and you have both depth and breadth with the White Album. This is why, in the end, this 4-sided disc may end up being the most timeless of all Beatles albums.

Was this the Beatles intention all along? Did they intentionally set out to hit us from all angles?

“Don’t Pass Me By” (Ringo).  As I first read the lyrics and song credits on the back of that perfect complimentary poster folded inside the White Album, I remember being a bit confused when I saw the name “Starkey” associated with this song.  It soon became apparent that this was Ringo’s real last name. I was immediately intrigued. Richard Starkey was stepping up his game. He typically sang lead about once per album, but here he was showing Beatles fans that he could also be a songwriter. How about that! 

The best thing about “Don’t Pass Me By” is that it fits right in with the quality of the other tracks on side 2.  This is what is so cool about this side of the album; all nine songs are on the same level of high quality. None stand above the rest. It was great that Ringo Starr could get his songwriter stamp in that mix.  As a result, the balance on side 2 is not only in song quality but it also relates to the harmony in band-member contribution as well.

Another thing that is great about “Don’t Pass Me By” is how rhythmic, pulsating, percussive and on-beat it is. In fact, on its own this song stands as the perfect musical statement to what Starkey brought to the Beatles. As with every song, album, musician and band I’ve focused on in this Music and Memory blog site, I pick up on some nice surprises when I pull it all together and start listening intently (so I can write something of substance). This year, one of my most pleasant surprises has been in gaining a better understanding of the importance of Ringo’s role in the Fab Four.

There’s more to it than meets the casual ear.

“Why Don’t We Do It in the Road”. (Paul).  John Lennon often gets the credit for unconventional Beatles songs, and he certainly has a few on the White Album. But so too does Paul McCartney, namely this one and “Wild Honey Pie” (which is on side 1, and which I have already critiqued).  How’s a 13 year old kid supposed to interpret this song? I’ll tell you how. He pictures himself and a group of friends drawing graffiti on a roadway under the cover of night. 

Ha! Yeah, it took a few years to figure “Why Don’t We Do It in the Road” out. Is this what Paul McCartney got out of his Maharishi experience in India?... a song about watching two monkeys’ getting down and dirty on the streets of Rishikesh. This reminds me of the differences in opinion between George Harrison and Paul McCartney on why the Beatles went to Northern India in the first place in early 1968. Paul was gearing up to write music in a remote setting. George was there to meditate.  It takes all kinds… especially in the makeup of a grade-A band.

I spent quite a bit of time in the dining room that Christmas Day of yore listening to my new White Album. I’m wondering if Mom tuned in as I listened to this one.

“I Will”. (Paul). I’ve always looked at these last two songs on side 2 as a subset within a side within an album.  At first glance it’s difficult to justify this, as the two songs are written by two different band members. Also, the first of the two, “I Will” is about a lover (Paul’s), where the second, “Julia” is about a Mother (John’s).  The commonality is that these two songs are the gentlest and most soothing on the entire album.

As I was listening to “I Will” with headphones on this week, I made out that the bass had a vocal sound to it, as if someone were imitating the instrument by singing the bass notes in place of the actual instrument. Sure enough, McCartney is vocalizing the bass lines here, and doing a darn funky job of it too. I had never picked up on this before. Classic!

The title “I Will” is such a positive proclamation, in similar fashion to saying “I Do” on the alter. The White Album covered the gambit of human emotions. There’s never too much or too little of any feeling you get listening to it. This one adds a touch of love to the mix, which interestingly is not as flouted a subject on this 30-song album as one would expect to hear on a Beatles album.

“Julia” (John).  A beautiful and heartbreaking song; John Lennon is trying to connect to fading memories of his long-lost mother. As far as I can discern this is Lennon’s first attempt (of many) to exorcise painful childhood trauma. I’m pretty sure I picked up on this not long after first listening.

Lennon was never one to try and stand out instrumentally on Beatles tracks. With their amazing musical abilities, Paul, George, and even Ringo could not avoid doing so on occasion, but for John it was very unusual. Since he’s performing here without anyone else (the only time he ever did this on a Beatles track), we get to hear Lennon’s guitar playing exclusively, which adds a nice touch to his multi-track vocals. 

By this time, I was fully immersed in the eclectic sound and feel of the White Album.  However, the fact of the matter was that I was only on 2^nd base. There was much more ahead. And so, there will be more of my continuing “Going Back to the White Well” reflections when I tackle side 3, likely in early summer. I can’t wait.

- Pete

Fab Foundations # 14: “Opening the Floodgates”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “Help!”
Album: Help!
Release Date: August 1965

The Beatles 2^nd movie Help!, released in 1965, was a dramatic departure from their first film, A Hard Day’s Night (see Fab Foundations # 7), which came out a year earlier.  Gone are the screaming girls chasing the band all over kingdom come, replaced by a real plot and evildoers out to get Ringo! Gone are commuter trains, replaced by planes and exotic locales. Gone the black and white footage, replaced by color. The one constant is the music, which for both movies is interspersed throughout; the band taking breaks from the breakneck action to perform on the spot at any given locale. Usually when this happened, the Beatles would find themselves in the eye of a metaphorical hurricane - as if picking up their instruments would suddenly insulate them from the madness all around, if only for a spell. 

I had not watched Help! until this week. Not a minute of it.  I’d seen plenty of still shots; the band skiing in the Alps…. George with his Artful Dodger hat on.  Beach scenes in the Bahamas. John, Paul, George and Ringo around a piano in a pile of snow.  I’d also read from a variety of sources that the movie was ok, but not as spontaneous as A Hard Day’s Night (true) and that the Beatles were too stoned during the making of Help!  to chalk this film up as another notch on the proverbial pole of their ongoing success story (I didn’t pick up on them being stoned all that much, although I am surely not denying it). 

All in all, I enjoyed Help! and found myself chuckling quite often as I watched. One constant I found pretty darn funny was how the four of them never seem suspicious of the bad apples all around, even as the audience can see it plain as day. They are always jovial and good natured, right up to the moment when all hell breaks loose. This obliviousness is endearing in its trustfulness. My take-home summary: If you want to see the origins of what would become The Monkees TV series, or even the always-entertaining action scenes in the 60’s sitcom Batman, watch Help!

There are 2 highlight songs on the Help! soundtrack/album, and they are both John Lennon penned tunes: The title track ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Q_ZzBGPdqE ) and “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away”.  These songs would find Lennon - and in turn the band - in transition. There’s some real honest-to-goodness depth here. Beatle John is announcing for the first time through song that he’s done with the all-is-good all-the-time ruse and that he is ready to show us his true colors. From a historical perspective, these two songs are big-time musical declarations in the context of both the world of Pop and the then fledgling counterculture (the latter of which Bob Dylan was already knee deep in spawning, albeit with a relatively niche audience).

How can I explain this another way? Ok, so imagine if you will, listening to the song “Help!” for the first time in your formative years. This was the case for me and many others who came of age in the mid-70s.  Up until then I’d experienced what the Beatles music could do to stimulate the notion of falling in love, having listened primarily to their pre-Help! love songs to that point (on “The Red Album”). This was certainly a big deal in and of itself. But suddenly, here were lyrics like:

“When I was younger so much younger than today
I never needed anybody’s help in any way
But now these days are gone and I’m not so self-assured
Now I find I’ve changed my mind; I’ve opened up the doors”

Combine these with lyrics from “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away” like:

“Everywhere people stare
Each and every day
I can hear them laugh at me
And I hear them say
Hey, you’ve got to hide your love away”

….and you’ve got a recipe for self-reflection, which is a quantum leap toward having the potential for being more a part of the solution than part of the problem.

The fact of the matter is that by most accounts, John Lennon was really crying out for help in 1965. By that time, he was already feeling trapped by the Beatles. Go figure! The band’s leader had it all, didn’t he? Fame, fortune, tapped-talent, adulation. This is where that self-analysis kicks in. Lennon was realizing that he was turning into someone he was not, and he hated it. In his song “Help!” he reveals the willingness and courage to share this sentiment with his fans.

This is the type of honesty that gave my generation a significant boost in taking the Western world back toward reality. Much had been swept under the rug in prior generations, which was somewhat understandable given what they had been through with World Wars and the Great Depression. But there’s a time for everything, and the 60s movement was a time to bring back the notion of facing stark truths about who you really are, however challenging, daunting or humbling those truths may be. Yes, it was a time for liberation.

From 1965 onward, the Beatles brought the Pop world into the liberation fold (“Pop” here meaning mainstream youth music; a catchy wing of rock and roll). Beforehand these ideals were strictly heard in the Beatnik/Folk music scene. Bob Dylan almost singlehandedly pulled those cultural Folk norms into Rock and Roll by “going electric” (starting with his big 1965 hit “Like A Rolling Stone”). With “Help!” and “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away”, it could be argued that John Lennon began the process of exponentially expanding youth interest in those norms. Soon enough the western world would be witness to a full-blown counterculture movement. That’s a big deal.

This transition in John Lennon’s music may be even more important than that, however. Lennon’s liberation ‘buy in’, through those two solid new songs in 1965, could even be at the root of where the USA and much of the free world stands today in terms of our two-sided polar political differences. Whatever his intentions may have been, Lennon helped spur the ‘left’ side of the spectrum to gain traction in our society (the counterculture was overwhelmingly a left-leaning movement). Beforehand, left-ideals of liberation were closer to a fringe element of society than a viable political choice, most tangible in the aforementioned folk scene. Afterwards, the floodgates would open up. Kids were tuning in. Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Neil Young, Leonard Cohen, Pete Townshend, Jerry Garcia, Joni Mitchell, and many other musicians would all find a platform they could build on.

Later we would see it play out in film as well, with movies like The Graduate (if there is ever a scene that spookily showcases a conservative’s expectations of a young lad trying to find his way, it’s that “Plastics!” poolside advice given by Mr. McGuire to young Benjamin, which accomplishes this with one word). One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest is another one. So too, Easy Rider, among many others (I’m not much of a film buff but I’m sure others reading this could tease more movies from that period). These were movies where young people were trying to be themselves in the face of strong cultural forces of conformity.

Real-life downer events, like Vietnam and the 3 big assassinations in the 60s (JFK, RFK and MLK), did not dampen this counterculture movement. On the contrary, they added fuel to the firestorm (by the way, Bob Dylan’s new release “Murder Most Foul” is an uncanny encapsulation of all this, up to and including our current COVID crisis).

I’m of the belief that the pendulum has swung so much in the intervening 55 years, that it’s the left that is of the majority today. Because of this, the right has to be louder and more power-hungry than ever to maintain the status quo (more recently you can add fake news and propaganda to the list).

“Help!” and “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away” are in the upper echelon of all Beatles songs. The latter was a tune inspired by Bob Dylan’s songwriting (John Lennon’s own words). It captures the cultural shifts of those times in 2 short minutes. When I first listened all those years ago, I did not do so as intently as I should have and so I’d assumed for the longest time that the title is a self-declaration. But that’s not what’s happening. The title is in reference to others poking fun and ridiculing the song’s protagonist; others uttering those words in the title. With this mental correction of mine, the song’s meaning would finally fit right in with the changing winds of those times; the transition from smothering your true emotions to setting them free.

For the longest time, I’d thought that the Beatles ‘enlightenment’ transition started with their album Rubber Soul, followed by Revolver. But I had never really based that conclusion on the lyrics of songs on those albums. My thinking was based more on the evolution of their sound. Now, having listened closely to “Help!” and “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away” I can see that the transition really started on the album before Rubber Soul…. which again, is Help!. At that stage (1965), it may have only been John Lennon though. If so, the other Beatles would be along for the ride soon enough. With this in mind, I will have to listen to those 2 follow-up albums with a more finely-tuned ear now.

I’ve got some homework to do.

- Pete