Fab Foundations # 31: “Here’s a Twist: Plastic Props”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “Working Class Hero”

Album: John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band

Release Date: December 1970

In 1987 Rolling Stone magazine celebrated its 20^th anniversary with 4 special issues. The boldest and finest of these was the first: “The 100 Best Albums of the Last 20 Years”. From what I’ve researched, it was one of the first times any music-centric publication had ever attempted such a thing and would set a precedent for record retrospectives (and other retrospectives for that matter) that continues to this day.

Throughout the 80s, I read Rolling Stone religiously, from cover to cover (a crate or two of issues from that period still resides in my basement). Needless to say, I sucked this special issue up. It had a huge influence on me, affirming many of my own declarations regarding superb albums (the only thing I was miffed by was that Quadrophenia was not included in the canon). Better still, it introduced me to some great music from musicians I knew little to nothing about (including Richard & Linda Thompson, Graham Parker, and the Modern Lovers) as well as a handful of musicians/bands whom I’d already connected with to some degree, but still had a steep learning curve to round out my understanding of their significant contributions to the music world (for example, several of Randy Newman’s discs that had previously slipped my attention). Each album had a nice writeup explaining the reasoning behind its inclusion and its hierarchical position. It was all very classily done.

I recall now my being quite methodical in how I approached that magazine the day it arrived in my mailbox. There would be no rapid-fire page turning to see what made this special list and what did not. Instead, I treated each page as if it were made of gold leaf, examining every detail and then turning ever-so carefully. I liked how Rolling Stone approached the list by starting at #1 and working down to #100, instead of the other way around. Usually it’s better to “build up” to # 1, but here it worked the opposite because this was a very exclusive list, and so, starting at #1, you would get the overall gist of the concept right out of the gate. It was a concept that would not lose its luster all the way through to #100 (T. Rex’s Electric Warrior).

#1 you ask? None other than the Beatles Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. No surprise there, particularly if you’d been sucking in rock music back in the 70s and 80s as much as I had, which included faithfully tuning into “underground” rock radio stations such as WBCN on a regular basis. The writeup made a very good case though, and I generally agreed with the choice. However, if things continued along this “classic rock” trajectory, I would have been disappointed.

It did not.

Coming in at #2 was the Sex Pistols Never Mind the Bullocks. Wow! Ok, now this was suddenly getting very interesting. I began to understand that the formula being used by Rolling Stone was not so much about a popularity contest, nor was it strictly about staying power. Factoring into the formula were alternative albums that had the greatest effect on the music world at the time of their release. The writeup on Johnny Rotten and his fellow punks was spot on.

The Rolling Stones Exile on Main Street came in at #3. I was already a big Stones fan in those years but had not yet sunk my teeth into this incredible album, and so I was very curious. The insightful commentary fueled that curiosity. By the time I wrote my Stepping Stones blog series in 2012, I would fully understand why this all-time-best Stones album had been given such a lofty position (entry #17 of my Stepping Stones series explains how I became enlightened). Yes, an excellent choice.

Having tackled the top 3, I turned to the next page to see what #4 was, which ended up being the most pleasant surprise in that entire afternoon of page turning: John Lennon / Plastic Ono Band; Lennon’s first solo album after the Beatles break up. At that stage, I remember thinking that Rolling Stone must have put a lot of thought, effort, and coordination into this list. Plastic Ono Band would top the Beatles “White Album” (# 9), Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On (# 10), Bob Dylan’s Blood on the Tracks (# 12), and the Who’s Who’s Next (# 22). It would come ahead of many other fantastic choices too, as well as many that did not make the cut. During the months prior, in anticipation for the arrival of this special-issue retrospective, I wanted the list to include gems that the radio had not quite figured out yet. Clearly this was what was playing out.

Why did Plastic Ono Band get so highly ranked? I’m not going to try to resurrect that special Rolling Stone issue at this time to help me answer that question (although I know where it is). Instead I’m going to rely on the insights that I arrived at this week as I listened, which of course includes flashbacks from having played this album frequently in those bygone years (after all, flashing back is what this overarching Music and Memory blog site is all about).

Plastic Ono Band is one of the starkest albums I have ever heard, which goes a long way to help explaining Rolling Stone’s recognition of it. It lays out bare-naked John Lennon’s painfilled emotions at the time (the word “pain” is used in 5 of 11 songs on the album and could easily have been used in several others). Those troublesome emotions hit on a range of topics, particularly in relation to Lennon’s being robbed of a childhood through death (his Mom) and abandonment (both his parents). It’s a therapy album (“primal scream therapy” to be precise), and we all get to hear the patient bare his soul.

The album starts off with 4 tolls of a funeral bell, before John Lennon launches into the gut-wrenching (yet, magnificent) song, “Mother”, whereby he proceeds to say goodbye to her. In other words, “I’m done”. The album rarely lets up from there. “Isolation” could just as easily have been titled “Ostracization” …as in…’Yeah, well that’s what you get for going out on a limb with these hippie-like dreams of peace and harmony, and in the process abandoning your Fab persona’ (generic establishment voices speaking there). The song “Well Well Well” is the most difficult on the album to listen to emotionally, Lennon crying out in childlike agony as he grapples with a world closing in on him.  One song after another takes on these themes of isolation, abandonment, and pain (the only real bright spot is the song “Love” which has the feel of therapeutic success).

The most melodic song on the album, “God”, is also the most jaded; John Lennon disassociating himself from just about everything, including Christianity, I-Ching, Buddha, Elvis, Zimmerman (Bob Dylan), the Queen of England, you name it. In the end, the only thing left is “Yoko and me”. The lashing out in the song culminates with “I don’t believe in Beatles!”. I knew when I first heard those lyrics that the subsequent line in the song, “the dream is over” (of a Beatles reunion ever happening), was a reality. The affirmation was so clear. For John Lennon it was all part of the therapeutic process, but for many Beatles fans it was a very cold shower indeed (which must have also been the case for Paul McCartney when he first heard it).

John Lennon clearly felt isolated at that time, but what he may not have realized was that a new generation of 70s kids (like me) were hearing him out, impressed by his courage and conviction in the face of intense adversity. I may not have been fully on board (particularly in relation to his lashing out at established Christianity), but I was there, man. I mean, if there was ever someone in a position to do so, here was a guy who could rest on his laurels. He’d conquered the world in the previous decade for goodness sakes! But he stuck with his artistic self – his true self – in order to stay on his personal path of wisdom. Who knows how it would have played out for John Lennon had he lived beyond the age of 40? The dust was already settling down for him by 1980 (when he was murdered).  I’d like to think that by facing his fears and traumas head on with Plastic Ono Band and other projects (including his second solo album, Imagine), that he would eventually come around to believing again in some of the good things he was then condemning.

It’s funny, but when I listened as a kid, songs like “God”, “Mother”, and “Isolation” were more about the quality of the music than they were about the pain of lyrics (although both factored into why I was so enthused to see that #4 recognition in Rolling Stone all those years ago). I’m willing to hear others out on this next point, but when it comes to an album like Plastic Ono Band, my thinking is that when you are in your formative years, your ears are more attuned to quality (the music) than the thoughts being conveyed through the lyrics, particularly if you have been blessed to have retained your youthful innocence up to that given point. Conversely, when I listen now to Plastic Ono Band, I connect more with the pain of the lyrics than I do with the quality of the music (although my life has been relatively wonderful) and so the songs tend to sound a bit more jarring.

The penultimate song on Plastic Ono Band is “Working Class Hero”, which fits right in with the general theme of the album, and maybe even defines it. The song (about the trappings of falling in line to the whims of the powers that be) is loaded with classic lines, but the one that draws me in the most is “They hate you if you’re clever and they despise a fool”.  I’d like to think that on the occasion when I’ve been put in that position - when my uniqueness has been challenged – that more often than not I’ve dealt with it appropriately.

The one line I’ve always struggled with in “Working Class Hero” is the one John Lennon uses to close the song: “If you want to be a hero, well just follow me”.  After all, isn’t that the type of thing that Lennon advises against in “God”? The lyrical line had a touch of hypocrisy about it. Well (well well), whaddaya know, this week I stumbled across the official video for “Working Class Hero”, which was not released until 2016. Check it out if you can because it’s a work of art ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iMewtlmkV6c ). Along with several other ‘modernized’ Beatles-related videos (including one for “Here Comes the Sun” and another for “What is Life”), this one is incredibly well-constructed.

Anyhow, if you watch, note the “Strawberry Fields” visuals at the beginning and ending (John Lennon’s escape from reality locale when he was growing up in Liverpool). These visuals align with the lyrics, particularly the ending with those aforementioned closing lines I was struggling with. The point is clear: Run with your childhood imagination. It will take you to glorious places that an overly-structured world could never hope to accomplish. Nicely done! In one fell swoop, my jadedness to those lines disappeared.

That same imagination was there for me on that thought-provoking day in the summer of 1987 when I slipped that special-issue of Rolling Stone magazine out of my mailbox. I was hoping my imagination would be satiated with imagination and insight in those pages. Rolling Stone did not disappoint. In turn, John Lennon did not disappoint them.

- Pete

Fab Foundations # 30: “Cover Story”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “Band on the Run”

Album: Band on the Run

Release Date: December 1973

My son Peter’s off-campus apartment had one solitary poster on the wall of the living room this past year: A blowup of the Beatles Abbey Road cover. Early this week, I tried to put this into proper perspective. Here’s one way to look at it: Seeing as that album cover was 50-years old last year when it adorned my son’s walls, it would have been comparable to me having a Duke Ellington or Benny Goodman album-as-poster on my dorm wall in the early 80s.  If such a hypothetical were to have actually happened, it’s likely I would have faced a bit of ridicule from my peers. Not so with today’s youth. Having the cover of Abbey Road on your living room wall this day and age is pretty hip. Yes, the Beatles are still very much alive and well, thank you.

The Beatles remain super popular not only because of their music. Another big reason is that they were at the heart of a pop-culture revolution that still remains quite viable. I grew up in an era when there was quality and value in most anything you could purchase, from comic books to baseball cards, matchbox cars to monster models, cereal-box prizes to lunch boxes. Even the coins in your pocket had worth beyond face value (in comparison to the drab chemical composition of today’s coins).

Vinyl albums were certainly a fixture in pop culture too, which included the picture sleeves. I used to love thumbing through people’s collections, if only to spot some album cover that blew my mind, be it one I was already familiar with, or one that I’d never seen before. Most of the musicians had fun with all of this. Some of my favorite covers include Bob Dylan & the Band’s Basement Tapes, the Allman Brothers Eat a Peach (the title a bit on the morbid side, seeing as Duane Allman had died just prior to the making of the album after hitting a peach truck on his motorcycle), the Who’s Who’s Next, Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here, and Neil Young’s On the Beach.

And then there were the Beatles, with some of the most famous album covers of all time. What follows are my top 5 Beatles-related picture sleeves, and some explanation of why:

#1: The Beatles: Abbey Road:  There is so much to view here. It was the end of an era; the Beatles crossing Abbey Road in St John’s Wood, London, from the known (the four of them as a collective entity) to the unknown (their soon-to-be future as solo artists).  All 4 of them have an aura about them. There’s a sense that they have reached the mountain top, and they indeed did, having just put one last-ditch concerted effort into a masterstroke of an album, this amid all the turmoil that surrounded them as the inevitable breakup loomed.

As many of my fellow Boomers know, there is a lot of fun to be had with this cover (which I had to bring to light for Peter and his roommates). The fun of it did nothing to squelch the rumors at the time of Paul McCartney’s death. In actuality it did everything to support those rumors. Afterall, is this not a funeral procession? We’ve got John Lennon, in the front, dressed quite dapper in an all-white suit, looking like a preacher. Behind him Ringo Starr, in a more standard black suit, he the lone representative of pallbearers. Next up, Paul McCartney, the corpse.  Paul is walking out of step, smoking his last cigarette, and barefoot (which is how many cultures bury their dead). Bringing up the rear is George Harrison in jean jacket and slacks; the gravedigger. Behind the Beatles is a car with the license plane “LMW 28IF”: Paul McCartney had just recently married Linda Eastman, and the initials LMW were interpreted as “Linda McCartney Widow”. The remainder meant that he would have been28 years old IF he were still alive. An ambulance is there too to maybe suggest that it was McCartney who “blew his mind out in a car”.  Freaky stuff, man!

No album cover is imitated more. Nancy and I attended a Beatles cover-band show on Hampton Beach several years ago, and after the show the band crossed Ocean Boulevard in single-file to take a stab at imitation themselves, as the crowd parted and took photos. Iconic. 

#2 The Beatles: Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band  

Sure, it was the music that grabbed me most when my parents purchased this album in the early-mid 70s, but the cover art was not too far behind. First and foremost, there were all those characters to identify (and this in a time when there was no Google assistance). You could learn a lot about modern history by spending just one hour researching the life of each person depicted.

And then it was the Beatles themselves, both the early-day version of the band (I like to think Ringo was doctored up to look like Pete Townshend) and the then super-modern psychedelia version; the Fab Four in their eccentric wardrobe, holding brass and woodwind instruments. I remember asking Dad about the instrument in John Lennon’s hand. He told me it was the French Horn, and that it was one of the most difficult instruments to learn. I found this very intriguing. It asserted for me the Beatles mastery of their craft, because now wasn’t just about guitars and drums; it was about anything they could get their hands on!

#3 The Beatles: Revolver

A masterful artistic rendering of the Beatles, which would play out much later in equally masterful ways for both the Rolling Stones (the cover of Tattoo You) and the Who (the cover of Face Dances). The eyes are what stand out here, particularly George Harrison’s. The artist (Klaus Voorman) does an amazing job of tapping into the soul of each Beatle through those eyes. Voorman was an ideal choice to do cover art, having been a very close friend of the band since the heady Hamburg years (he would later play bass in John Lennon’s Plastic Ono Band).

Many pop-culture writers point to Sgt Pepper as the album that unleashed a wave of classic 60s album covers, but it really started with Revolver. The album-cover also unleashed other artistic ventures including poster art for 60s and 70s concert events at places like Fillmore East (and West) and the Boston Tea Party. It was all creative, and unique, even classy. This fed into all those other elements of pop culture too (comics, etc.), already discussed.

#4 George Harrison: All Things Must Pass

Gnomes, and Beatle George looking as hippie as hippie could look. Please see Fab Foundations # 9 (“Liberated”) for further talking points about the cover.

#5 Paul McCartney and Wings: Band on the Run:   

Listening to this album all week for the first time in decades, and looking at the cover, prompted the idea for this entry. I remember first looking at it back in the 70s and saying to myself “hey, is that James Coburn?” (my fandom of Colburn at the time was based primarily on his role in The Great Escape).  Yes, it most certainly was, along with a number of other celebrity types, including, of course Paul and Linda McCartney.

The cover is great fun - depicting McCartney and friends depicted as prisoners caught in a spotlight during a jail break - but I also remember thinking way-back-when, where are all the band members, the rest of Wings? Turns out half the band up and quit just as Paul McCartney was pulling the album together (he would end up playing guitar, bass and drums on a number of tracks). But why celebrities? Why not family members or fans or studio assistants? Turns out there was a reason for this too.

I originally planned on putting “Let Me Roll It” on this week’s blog-entry pedestal, but the song did not grab me as strongly as it did all those years ago. Instead it was surprisingly the two big hits on the album that I enjoyed the most, (which are also the first two tracks): “Band on the Run”, and “Jet”, which was not at all the case when I first connected with the album several years after its release. The difference this time around was that I tapped more into the meaning of both songs.

“Band on the Run” sets the stage for the entire album. It’s essentially about how, the more famous you become, the bigger the target on your back. The Beatles certainly could attest to this in relation to drug busts, their albums being burned in southern bonfires, the Nixonian wire-tapping of the Lennon’s and the like. Here, Paul McCartney is pretty much asking the question, why? What negative vibes did we bring to the table? None! It was all positive, both in the music and the communal spirit. So why the backlash?

The lyrics in “Band on the Run” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RjlvdcBAKdg ) that captured my imagination the most this week were:

“If I ever get out of here

Thought of giving it all away

To a registered charity

All I need is a pint a day”

There was no way I could relate to these lyrics as a kid. I had not experienced the responsibilities of adulthood yet, which include both the good (success) and the bad (materialism) that can come out of it. I can relate now.

As for “Jet”, I used to turn the radio dial to another channel whenever this song came on. But I enjoyed it this week. Am I getting soft in my old age? Maybe a little, but again, it comes down to understanding the meaning now. Several years ago, Paul McCartney finally admitted the song was about his Father-in-Law (who he anonymously refers to as “Jet” in an effort to throw off the scent). Despite all of McCartney’s success, he was very intimidated by Linda McCartney’s Dad when they met and was in a never-ending quest for his approval in the early years.

Here too, I zeroed in on specific lyrics, in this case “Ah Mater, want Jet to always love me”.  Here is yet another hint as to Paul McCartney’s faith leanings, seeing as “Ah Mater” could easily be interpreted from the Latin term for Mother Mary (note to self: I must loop back to the song “Let It Be” for a faith-reflecting entry soon).

The Band on the Run cover says a lot about Paul McCartney’s personality. Of all the Beatles, McCartney had the most fun with his celebrity. This came through in many ways, and one of the most telling was in his efforts with album covers. It’s Beatle-Paul’s imagination that plays out for pretty much all the Beatles famous album covers, including the three hilted here in this entry: Revolver, Abbey Road, and Sgt Pepper (if this were a “top 6” it would have included the White Album, which also evolved through Paul, including the great folded poster tucked inside).

Enthusiasm of celebrity carried into Paul McCartney’s post-Beatles career too and even intensified. McCartney was the Beatle who embraced super-sized concert tours the most. He was the Beatle to reach across musical genera’s, connecting with other musical dignitaries in the worlds of jazz, big band, crooning, you name it. He was the Beatle who most embraced the world of filmmaking, in the process connecting with celebrity types in that realm too (although Ringo Starr did the same as an actor, as did John Lennon in his early years of fame).

I thought about this some during the past week, which got me thinking, in the group setting that was the Beatles, they all kind of balanced each other out with their personalities. No one personality became overpowering. But when each went off on his own, that individuality played out big time. This raised the question in my mind: Is it better to have the extreme of yourself squelched by working collectively with others, or is it better to take your individuality as far as it can go?

I think the former, but I’ll have to tap more into that thought at a later date. For now, all I really want to do is queue up Band on the Run one last time, stare at that album cover, and think to myself, “whatever happened to James Coburn anyways?”

- Pete

Fab Foundations # 29: “A Second Wind for the Young Dude in Me”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “Magneto and Titanium Man”

Album: Venus and Mars

Release Date: May 1975

In grade school, I was one of the youngest in my class, so upon setting off for continuing education at North Adams State College (now the Massachusetts College of Liberal Arts) in western Massachusetts on a late-summer morning in 1980, I was just several days past my 18^th birthday. Add 2 years, and I was still (barely) a teenager when I started my junior year a few weeks earlier than normal, having accepted an invitation to attend school at Carleton University in Ottawa, Canada, on an exchange program. I start this entry with this age-frame factoid, because it gives the remainder of the writeup the proper mindset for me to build on.

My time in Canada can best be described as rejuvenating. The two prior years in North Adams had exhilarating moments for sure, but in general those years tended to pull me away from….me. Freshman year, I was living off campus with four not-so-likeable roommates, who would end up being footnotes in my life (each of them difficult to connect with for a myriad of unique reasons, and now, as I think about it, they didn’t like each other either, which made it all the harder to make inroads). Sophomore year was a little better because I was on campus in a funky then-modern townhouse. My roommates were somewhat better too (one was a holdover from the year before).  But again, the comradery (or lack thereof) was nothing to write home about. I spent most of my free time that year hanging out with a group of seven guys I’d met the year before in another townhouse (address: TH #1). This was one tough crowd; we kept each other on our toes with wit and sarcasm. Yet, despite the bunker-mentality friendship among us, “TH1” gave me what I needed at the time, which was a distraction from a prolonged hometown-relation breakup (the only guy in the TH1 crew who could commiserate with me about this, Kurt, appropriately turned out to be a lifelong friend, which qualifies as my # 1 take-home from those two years – with #2 being my deep-dive into the music of the Who and # 3 being the education).

That North Adams environment worked for me for a spell, but it was not sustainable. Slowly I found myself drifting, losing touch with the Real Me; that young dude who exuded confidence only several years earlier. Much of that confidence was built on youthful innocence. Yes, it’s inevitable that we all lose this – at least to some degree - but for me it was happening too fast. Subconsciously, I knew that I needed to find the kid in me again before it was too late. This sixth sense gave me the courage that I needed to try something new, and so I researched foreign exchange programs (which was a relatively uncommon phenomenon in the early 80s) and landed myself in Canada’s Capital (I was also accepted to 3 other Canadian schools as part of a ‘package offering’ as well as one school in Australia…the latter – though very enticing - proving a bit too costly to travel to, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise).

Now, just because I was trying something new did not mean it was going to work. Sure, I knew Canada better than your ‘Average USA Joe’. Heck, I even knew Ottawa, having been blown away when I visited the city while on a family trip several years earlier (which gave Ottawa an upper hand over other Canadian locales when I had to choose the exchange-program school I wanted to attend). But living there was another matter.

If I thought more about it though I would have realized I was on to something, because one big reason I thoroughly enjoyed Ottawa upon my first visit - aside from the Rideau Canal, Parliament Hill, Embassy Row and the museums - was the warmth by which my family and I were greeted by my Mom’s (and in turn, my) second cousins, who managed the Lord Elgin Hotel downtown and gave us an insider tour of the city like no other. Turns out my relative’s demeanor was not the exception in Ottawa – or Canada for that matter – it was the rule. And so, what I did not realize as I packed my luggage for that Great White North journey was that I’d hit the jackpot with my underlying objectives; rediscovering the 1970s homeboy in me, including that wonderful young-dude innocence I was searching for.

Canada is a relatively young country by world standards…. it’s only been independent from Great Britain since 1867. One thing I learned that school-year in Ottawa was that the newness of the country is reflected in the youthful spirit of the people. I typically get a slight pull in the opposite direction when meeting people from long-established countries like France, Spain, Egypt, or Greece. At the risk of over-generalizing, people from those countries often come across as more aged and wiser to the ways of the world than I, which has its benefits, but also its drawbacks. Relative to this, I frequently find that, like most of us, folks from these older countries feel it necessary to go to bat for their nation’s past, in a patriotic sort of way. Every longstanding country has a storied past, some of it good, some of it not so much. Canada is on the low end of the storied spectrum, which works well for its people. In other words, there’s not a lot of baggage.

I showed up on the Carleton University campus at the beginning of a week-long orientation, which included a tug-of-war over the Rideau Canal (which months later I would be skating on) and a super-sized pub-crawl competition across the city. It was all a blast. The early arrival worked well in another way too: I would end up meeting my suite-mates and other fellow floor-mates at a casual clip, as they came trickling in steadily throughout the week. This gave me a chance to connect with most of them on a case-by-case basis.

The first person I met in any substantive way was my suite-mate Steve Vance, who gave me the immediate impression that my Ottawa relatives were not alone in their warm ways.  Steve was a lovable giant of a guy (still is) and loyal (almost to a fault). We hit it off right away, he, taking me under his wing as his “American” buddy, and me willing to listen before being heard (Canadians appreciate this from their neighbors to the South, particularly when we are on their home turf). As the week went on, I would connect with a handful of other guys who would prove to be longstanding friends, including Luc, Pat, Tom, and Ed. I’d have to write a dissertation to explain the chemistry that formulated between us in the subsequent weeks and months and years. For the sake of the standard length of these blog entries however, I’ll leave it at that.

One of the last suite-mates to arrive that week was Bob Mainguy, fancy cowboy boots and all. Within four years, the two of us would be travelling across Europe together for an entire summer, but in those first few days we were gauging each other out. One thing I homed in on while gauging was Bob’s meagre record collection; 5 or 6 albums at best. This was not because Bob could not afford records, it was because, well …. he had a lot to learn about music. I came to this conclusion pretty quickly after posing a few basic questions to Bob about his Rock & Roll interests, which got some very naïve feedback (to this day, we laugh about this gulf in our musical interests).

One album Bob had in his collection (the only one I remember) was Paul McCartney & Wings Venus and Mars. This piqued my curiosity, seeing as it was an album that I did not know much about by an extremely popular musician who I admired. I asked if I could pop it on the turntable. The music played in the background as we talked over it, but then a song got my attention. It was the 5^th cut on the disk; “Magneto and Titanium Man” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gHz_7e7yluM ).  I remembered the song from somewhere in my past, and I liked it. I grabbed the album cover and proceeded to look at the inner sleeve, as I was always wont to do when listening to music I liked back in the day.

Frequently over the ensuing weeks, when visiting Bob in his room, I would pop that album back on the turntable, if only to listen to “Magneto and Titanium Man”. Something was stirring inside me. It was that something I’d left behind when I set off for North Adams two years earlier. What first came to light in this reconnect was the most obvious, relating directly to the song and its title: Comic books. Along with several of my closest friends back home, I was an avid comic-book collector for about 5 years, which ended abruptly (both physically and mentally) when I left home. One comic book I collected was the X-Men, and anyone who knows about this mutant group knows that Magneto is their most arch of arch-villains. I told Bob about my comic collection. He then told me about his.

That rekindling of my comic-book memories was just the tip of the iceberg because Bob, Steve, Luc and many other of my fellow dorm-mates turned out to be interested in most anything I had to tell them, and I willingly reciprocated the interest. There was no posturing. No grandstanding. No mind games. They got me into “poker dice” (one of the coolest competitive games I’ve ever played). I got them into the Who. They got me into a brand new Canadian game called “Trivial Pursuit” (man, I should have put stock in that one). I got them into wearing bandanas. They got me into Hull, Quebec City (Winter Carnival) and Arnprior. I got them into Boston, Vermont, and Cape Cod. They showed me how to crack open a bottle of beer on a fire hydrant. I showed them how to crack open a beer with my teeth (not recommended for you kiddies at home).

There was NHL Hockey to immerse into (which was part of the scene in North Adams too, but not quite as intense). Wayne Gretzky was king of Canada’s world at the time (looking back, it’s fascinating that he was often excluded as a player-choice in gambling pools because he was so prolific). The Bruins ended up with the President’s Trophy that year - which gave me bragging rights the whole season - but they would end up losing to the eventual Stanley Cup Champion New York Islanders in the playoffs. My conversations with my hockey-loving brethren - which included a mutually-rich understanding of NHL history - was extremely rewarding (several Montreal Canadien and Toronto Maple Leaf fans in the dorms were surprised that I knew so much about their teams). 

The young dude in me was back. The fact of the matter was, I still had quite a bit of it in me. Thankfully, I had been reinvigorated by my new-found friends. These Canadian buddies let me be myself.  Counter-intuitively, this helped me grow in many ways. I was released from the shackles of conformity and self-doubt. I could see clearly now. There would be no turning back.

Upon returning to Ottawa after winter break, I brought along my X-Men comic-book collection (~ 50 comics in all). First Bob, and then Steve, ate the entire series up in short order (I envied the fact that they could read the comics back to back, where I would have to wait a month for each release). Many years later it would be oh so cool to see this super-hero group explode on the big screen (side note: Stan Lee came up with the concept of an ostracized mutant group to subliminally point out the immorality of discrimination to the youth of the world. It worked for me).

Living on the Carleton University campus that year was somewhat like being in a comic book. I was the one guy in the entire complex from the States and I took this situation seriously, knowing I was representing an entire country with my presence. There was a lot interest in me. One guy called my “Yank”, another half-jokingly referred to me as the “F**cking American”.  For the most part I kept my “American” opinion to myself. Heck, I didn’t even like the term “American”. Some of my Canadian brethren felt that way too. “Aren’t we all Americans” a friend stated one time. She had a point. I found out Canadians got frustrated that people from the States knew little or nothing about Canada, where Canadians knew quite a bit about us (even the Canadian news had significant coverage of things happening in the States). And so, I listened. I believe I served my country well in the process.

Why do I discuss this all in my blog series? Well, it all ties into my 70’s upbringing, which is core to this blog site’s mission. Without that reawakening year in Canada, I would never have gained the proper perspective to roll something like this out.

Venus and Mars was an enjoyable revisit this week. Other songs I reconnected with on it were “Rock Show”- which has vocals in the bridge that may very well have inspired the cult-classic Rocky Horror Picture Show - and “Listen to What the Man Says” which may be the most overt (or even the only) song that Paul McCartney ever sang about God.

But as was the case all those years ago in Bob’s dorm room, it was mostly about “Magneto and the Titanium Man” this week. It’s a joy of a song to listen to. I recommend it, especially for you fellow comic-book lovers out there. Clearly, Paul McCartney was a comic-book fan too: Magneto was well known in comic circles, but not so the more obscure Titanium Man or Crimson Dynamo (another villain sung about in the lyrics of the song). 

What I got most out of listening this week, however, was the reassurance that the young dude in me is still alive and thriving. My Canadian experience is a big reason why.

- Pete

This entry is dedicated to all my Canadian Brethren.

Fab Foundations # 28: “The Power of Persuasion”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “Handle with Care”

Album: Travelling Wilburys Vol. 1

Release Date: October 1988

After listening to All Things Must Pass all of last week, I am feeling on a roll with Beatle George, so I’ll stick with him for another entry.

The nicest Beatles-related surprise for me in this ever-growing post-Beatles (PB) period we live in, was not John Lennon’s last studio album (although that was a very pleasant surprise after his 5-year “house husband” hiatus from releasing music to the public), or their near-Beatles quasi-reunion (sans John, who may have been there in spirit) to record 3 tracks for Anthology 1 in 1995, or the fabulous “Concert for George” after Harrison’s death, or Paul McCartney and friends masterful performance of the latter-part of the Abbey Road side-2 medley at the “Concert for Montserrat” in 1997. No, it was none of these. Rather, it was George Harrison’s 2^nd wind with the Travelling Wilburys. 

The Wilburys were such a wonderful breath of fresh air in 1988, after nearly a decade of music being dominated by big hair and techno pop.  Just the fact that five of the coolest musicians on the planet – George Harrison, Bob Dylan, Tom Petty, Roy Orbison, and Jeff Lynne – decided to unite as a super group was in and of itself surreal.  What really made it great, however, was the music they wrote together, which may have on its own prompted the death spiral of 80s plasticity. 

George Harrison looked so comfortable as a member of the Travelling Wilburys. Makes sense, doesn’t it? After all, he grew up in a super band. He knew what collaboration meant. George was also very close with his fellow Wilbury’s, particularly the guy who probably knew the least of what it was like to be an equal-member ensemble: Bob Dylan. The longstanding relationship between Harrison and Dylan is, in my mind, what made the Travelling Wilburys work. Only Beatle George could bring out the “bandmate” in “The Bard”.

It should come as no surprise that of the Fab Four, it was Beatle George who Bob Dylan grew closest with. George Harrison’s quiet demeanor, integrity, and quest for a higher spiritual meaning in life are all traits that would appeal to Dylan.  Harrison also had an underdog status in the Beatles, which seems to appeal to Bob Dylan as well, seeing as he grew closer to both Brian Jones and Ronnie Wood than he did to their dominant songwriting bandmates, Mick Jagger and Keith Richards.

George Harrison had another character trait however, and that was an uncanny ability to persuade. It may not have worked so well in the leadership structure of the Beatles, partly because George was the youngest in the group and partly because his song-writing ability took longer to develop than the team of Lennon & McCartney (hence the underdog status). Harrison’s persuasive powers were evident early on, however. He convinced the Beatles to travel to India to practice Transcendental Meditation with the Maharishi (where many of their great “White Album” songs were written). After the Beatles broke up, his Concert for Bangladesh in 1971 was the first ever superstar Rock fundraiser.  George did most of the recruiting, including getting a then-reclusive Bob Dylan to sign on. 

And it worked again in the late 80s in his recruitment for the Travelling Wilburys. At the time, Harrison was in the process of a minor career revival with the then-recent release of his “comeback” album, Cloud Nine (which was where, by the way, my 2^nd grade teacher, Sister Margaret Ester, would often derogatorily tell me I resided). George was interested in playing the game again, in much the same manner as John Lennon was just before he was murdered. Normally, George Harrison’s nature would be to recoil against the notion of a supergroup and the fanfare that would come along with it. But here he was diving headlong into it. This likely fascinated Bob Dylan and rest of the Wilburys. Here most certainly was a strange twist of fate. An ephemeral George-mood to capture before it disappeared. How could you resist.

The five Wilburys weave their uniquely-gifted talents beautifully on their first album The Travelling Wilburys Vol. 1 (the only album they did with Roy Orbison, who died not soon after its release). It comes across in their writing styles, which (thank goodness) was captured on film (this can all be can be viewed on the DVD component of The Travelling Wilburys Collection). One thing I got from watching the video was that the five of them were all learning from each other’s approach to songwriting. George Harrison, in very Beatles-like fashion, wrote some of his lyrics by compiling them from newspaper clippings. Jeff Lynne took cues from a drumbeat. Roy Orbison erected novel approaches to his lovely vocals with each take of a given song. Tom Petty took in everything around him and applied on impulse. Bob Dylan immersed himself in his hand-written notes, which evolved rapidly and masterfully into lyric and song (in the process amazing his bandmates).

The blending of talents comes through from the very beginning of the album, and it all gets funneled through George.  “Handle with Care” was the first song the Wilburys constructed together.  Everyone shines on it. The song has an upbeat tempo and some positive affirmation, but it also has heavy lyrics to contemplate, including “reputations changeable” and “I’ve been fobbed off and I’ve been fooled”.  These are not happy-go-lucky pop lyrics. This is harsh reality speaking; about how you can suddenly find yourself in a vulnerable situation after years of success. As George Harrison and company sing in the refrain, its times like this where we need good love the most (a sentiment which is also reflected in the song title).

The official video for “Handle with Care” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1o4s1KVJaVA ) was very alluring when it first came out on MTV, for anyone who grew up in the 70s and loved Rock music (side note: Who/what is that shrouded figure behind drummer Jim Keltner at the 2:30-2:33 clip? It captures my attention). George Harrison looks elated to be singing in an equal ensemble again. Tom Petty and Jeff Lynne look mesmerized, almost in shock that this is happening. Roy Orbison’s vocals are as angelic as ever. Bob Dylan is cool, calm and collected, and we get to see in this all-too-fleeting band that he could be a team player. The vocals are the best part of the video. They all take center-stage at one moment or another. They all do their part to lift the song up to higher ground.

The Travelling Wilbury’s opened so many doors for me. My interest in Bob Dylan skyrocketed afterwards. So too did my concert attendance. I still say that 1989 was the pinnacle of live Rock music, and I was sucking it all in, attending multiple shows, both big and small throughout that magical year. It also kindled my then simmering belief that anything is possible. Maybe it did so for the Who and the Rolling Stones too, each of whom reunited not soon after (both bands were a big part of that 1989 concert-attendance magic-carpet-ride of mine).

George Harrison gets much of the credit for forming the Travelling Wilburys (with some credit going to Jeff Lynne) and so, in turn one could make the argument that he injected a second burst of wonderful energy into the Rock-music world and Western-youth culture in general (the first of course was with the Fab Four). In subsequent years, we would see the birth of grunge and the revival of both Bob Dylan’s and Neil Young’s songwriting mastery. That’s what such success does: It creates a chain reaction.

The power of persuasion can be a wonderful thing (it can also be disastrous if used in Machiavellian ways). I contemplated this some over the past week. George Harrison was loved by many people, including his fellow Travelling Wilburys. He had a soft touch. He had humor. He had empathy. He had knowledge as to the real meaning of life. All of these contribute to inspiring other seekers of truth and to them wanting to be with him and to do wonderful things themselves.

Most of all, however George Harrison knew love…. a Beatles “keyword”.

That’s really where persuasion exists; in love.

- Pete

Fab Foundations # 27: “Living in the Moment”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “Beware of Darkness”

Album: All Things Must Pass

Release Date: November 1970

Those who know me (or read this blog) are likely aware that my musical interests are not averse to taking the proverbial elevator to the sadder, deeper, darker, and soul-searching floors in the ‘tower of song’ (to use a Leonard Cohen analogy). Yes, I love the upbeat, positive-energy stuff just as much as anyone, but I can also immerse myself into heavy, heartbreaking music like “Nothin” by Townes Van Zandt (about being desensitized), “Withered and Died” by Richard and Linda Thompson (about betrayal), “Sail Away” by Randy Newman (about the plight of African Slaves in the 18^th century) or “Our Town” by Iris Dement (about a hometown losing its character to over development), among many others. Same goes for songs about the struggle to find a deeper meaning in life (Pete Townshend’s “Keep Me Turning” and “Empty Glass” come to mind). And so too the darker stuff such as “Dead!” by Carolyn Sullivan (about suicide) and “The Future” by Mr. Cohen himself (which explores the savage mindset of an amoral demagogue). Many of the Bob Dylan tracks I wrote about (in my Master Blueprints series from two years ago) delve into these territories as well, as do a handful of my Neil Young selections (my Forever Young series from six years ago).

In relation to all this, the Beatles can be viewed as either at the intersection of my generation’s broad musical interests or at the fork in the road. I’ve learned over the years that music-lovers who are top heavy on the Beatles (particularly their early stuff) and their Pop musical sound and style typically don’t delve too deeply into those aforementioned moodier song-story emotions. Afterall, the vast majority of Beatles songs are love-centric and positive (although you can find sadness, pain and soul searching in the lyrics of Fab songs such as “Long, Long, Long”, “Yer Blues”, “Julia”, “Yesterday” and even “Let it Be”). One could even make a good case for love songs being the Beatles schtick (not a bad schtick to be labelled with if you ask me).

There is a lot more of the “moody” in the music of the Fab Four though; one just has to turn to their solo stuff, particularly early 70’s compositions by John Lennon and George Harrison. Lennon’s Plastic Ono Band and Imagine albums have plenty of it (the very first thing you hear on Lennon’s first post-Beatles release, Plastic Ono Band, is an ominous bell tolling just before he launches into his aching song “Mother”). As for Harrison, one need not look much further than his first solo foray, the triple-album set that is All Things Must Pass, which is chock-full of it. And no song off that album defines ‘deep, dark and soul-searching’ any better than “Beware of Darkness”. Despite the heavy subject matter and the ominous title, it’s a downright lovely song ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pPuFDaPC5XM ).

Before I dissect “Beware of Darkness” a bit, an interesting thought crossed my mind this week pertaining to how George Harrison wrote songs that addressed the deep, dark, sad and soul searching aspects of our humanity. Harrison consistently comes at sadness and pain from the perspective of having conquered it. He writes and sings about these struggles in relation to others, not himself. The yearning in his music was always for others to see the light. This started with his lone contribution to Sgt. Pepper – “Within You Without You” - but really manifested itself with “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”. Later, this angle explodes on All Things Must Pass.

It’s an interesting perspective coming from someone who writes music rooted in the Blues. Most of the musicians in the genera who sing deep songs such as these are either lamenting missed opportunities, yearning for something they can’t find or incriminating someone for getting in the way of the enlightened path. Some may see Harrison’s style as preachy, but I never have. If you are in the spiritual know, the best thing you can do is spread the good word, yes?  Jesus did it. Saint Paul did it. Mahatma Gandhi did it. Martin Luther (and Martin Luther King) did it. Bob Dylan still does it (taking it to “shouting from the rooftop” proportions during his “Trouble No More” years in the late 70s and early 80s). And George Harrison did it too. So too, many other missionaries, visionaries and troubadours.

“Beware of Darkness” fits the mold of this George Harrison approach to spiritual songwriting, and maybe even goes as far as defining it. Harrison is imploring his listeners to heed his sing-song advice by steering clear of earthly illusions. Each verse rolls out yet another troubled path to avoid (falling swingers, thoughts that linger, soft-shoe shufflers, greedy leaders). If you listen to the lyrics, I’m sure you can associate all of these failed paths with some story you are aware of, be it personal or public-knowledge based. For me, each verse came across this week as an assortment of Batman villains, be they Jokers, Riddlers, Penguins, or Eggheads. Such characters personify the negative quality traits in most of us.

When I remove all other thought and allow myself to completely take in the essence of  “Beware of Darkness” there is no moment more poignant than in the bridge where Harrison transitions from the warning in the title of the song to a second warning: ‘Beware of sadness’; that it can hit you and hurt you, and then he pleads “that is not what you are here for”.  That plea is so naked and pure. The studio version captures a beautiful moment in the history of Rock and Roll, and it reaches out in the best way possible to those Beatle-George lovers who are spiritually bereft (but seeking).

George Harrison is referring to teachings of Buddhism and Hinduism in “Beware of Darkness”, but it’s all very consistent with the tenets of Christianity as well (my Faith) which emphasizes a oneness with God to the sacrifice of self. Throughout his discipleship (from the mid-60s on) George Harrison would emphasize getting past the illusion of our modern world and to live in the moment.  The past and future are of no matter. Again, consistency with my Faith: Let the Spirit dwell within you. To do that you have to live in the here and now. Only then can you be at peace.

In the part of the song where George Harrison is cautioning against falling into the trap and allure of greed (more specifically “greedy leaders”) he sings:

“They take you where you should not go

While Weeping Atlas Cedars

They just want to grow, grow and grow

Beware of darkness”

These lines have always been a bit cryptic for me (although I do love songs that challenge you with the lyrics), but now I understand better. Atlas Cedar (Cedrus Atlantica) are a species of North African cedar tree that can grow quickly and to very large sizes (up to 130 feet).  The analogy here is the image of a leader who can never be satiated.  The more he gets the more he wants. Power tends to corrupt; absolute power corrupts absolutely. The “weeping” adjective is a nice touch. Like the Weeping Willow, Atlas Cedar branches droop. What Harrison could be referring to here is that such power plays are not natural in the grand scheme of things. And so, they ultimately weigh you back down on the edges.

One great thing about the Beatles is that they all came across as very comfortable in their own skin. In other words, they were natural (as opposed to those “greedy leaders”), and none of them more so than George. Of course, there are many telling videos of this (few of us have been documented as much as the Beatles). A favorite of mine is one from early in the Fabs stardom, where a fan asks Harrison: “what do you and Ringo do while John and Paul are writing all those songs”. George responds, “we play marbles” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5JhQeiGAnOk ).

It’s not only what he says, but how he says it. George Harrison is very straight faced and relaxed. Not a hint of envy (towards John & Paul) in his voice. Despite his age (he was only 20 years old at the time), it’s a rather world-weary response. Although this is a comedic clip and predates Harrison’s formal relationship to his chose faith path, it’s a tiny bit of harbinger of that path.

George Harrison was already living in the moment.

- Pete