Fab Foundations # 41: “Transition”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “Nowhere Man”
Album: Rubber Soul
Release Date: December 1965

I suppose a concertgoer like myself reveals his age when he attends about as many tribute-band shows as original-band shows in a given year. Indeed, over the past few years alone I’ve attended tributes to the Police, Neil Young, Bob Seeger, the Band, Chicago (not my choice), and Bob Dylan, among others. In my defense, these types of shows are happening more and more frequently for us Baby Boomers, and some of them are very, very good (of all the tributes I’ve seen, “The THE BAND Band” is most highly recommended – and no, that band name is not a typo). As is the reality with all of us, musicians burn out or get old and pass away (although they rarely retire), but their legacy can live on when covered by fellow musicians who love their music.

Ok, out of the gate I’ve admitted to attending these tribute events (at times choosing them over original-band shows when there is a conflict). However, for the longest time the only tribute shows I’d subject myself to were Beatles tributes (with a few notable exceptions, including several Blushing Brides concerts -Rolling Stones imitators – and a wonderful evening at the Middle East Club in Cambridge MA watching a tribute to the entirety of the Kinks album Preservation Act II). I was never floored by any of the Beatles tributes for the simple reason that they are all imitator shows (vs the real deal). But if you are going to be a Beatles cover band, you have to be really tight (and so it seems, you also have to find the rarity of all rarities: a good lefty bass player), and virtually all of the ones I have seen over many years have been just that.

The Beatles tribute shows I’ve witnessed have been many and pretty much all of them I’ve attended with my wife Nancy. Off the top of my head, there was the cover band “Help!”, which performed admirably on the beach sands of Hampton Beach on a lovely summer evening a few years back (after the show they staged a fun Abbey-Road-style walk across Ocean Boulevard for a photo-op).  There were a handful of times watching “Beatlejuice”, a cover band which included the late Brad Delp (of “Boston” fame) as front man (one reason for catching them on multiple occasions was that Nancy’s former roommate Deb was close friends with the guitarist). I recall one of these events was at a funky club in Exeter, NH. Another was at the VFW in Woburn on New Year’s Eve.

We have seen Beatles tributes at the Townend Public Library in Townsend MA (which included a fantastic rendition of “Oh, Darling” – the only time I’ve ever seen that one live); in Keene NH for the “Pumpkin Festival”; at a county fair in Milford NH; at the Bull Run in Shirley MA (our favorite haunt to see music); at the town common in our hometown of Pepperell MA; and at the Todd Rundgren-hosted “A Walk Down Abbey Road” at Harbor Lights Pavilion in Boston (which was the last time I saw John Entwistle live). I also attended a run through of the entirety of the “White Album” at the Berklee School of Music Performance Center with my good-buddy Mac, (which I discussed in a prior entry). Then of course, there was the original “Ringo Starr and his All-Star Band” tour, which in a way was a Beatles tribute too (and which I have also discussed in a prior entry).

The first Beatles tribute I went to may have been the best, at least in terms of the effect it had on me. It was the Broadway production Beatlemania, which I attended at the Colonial Theatre in Boston in 1977. One big reason it stands out was that it was the very first rock show I ever attended.  One moment I recall was sneaking into one of the small, closeup side-balconies with my brother, which is where we would take in most of the show (in hindsight, this maneuver set the ground rules for me at many other concerts and festivals 😉).

Beatlemania was a marathon; 29 songs were performed, all of them Lennon/McCartney originals (as I researched this over the week, I found it strange that not a single George Harrison composition was performed). The show was broken up into two acts, with an intermission in-between. The two acts were like night and day to me (or rather day and night). The first act showcased the younger, presumably innocent Beatles; well dressed, well mannered… a reflection of their touring years (’62-’66). The second act revealed an older, wiser, and more individualistic Beatles… a reflection of their post-touring years (’66-70).  Sound familiar? … (this breakdown was very similar to the breakdown between release dates of songs on the compilation “Red” album vs the follow-up compilation “Blue” album).

With the Beatles, it’s almost as if we all got two bands in one. I can’t think of any other band that fits that bill; a ‘before’ and ‘after’. A reincarnation. Most Beatles aficionados mark the release of Rubber Soul as the transition point between the two ‘acts’, as opposed to the end of touring, which came a wee bit later. Rubber Soul marked the end of the ‘innocence’ and the beginning of the ‘dynamic’, not only for the band, but for the Rock-music world as a whole. 

My cousin Tim Gilligan has made a compelling case for Rubber Soul as being the best of all Beatles albums. I can’t track Tim’s email from a few years back, where he made this case, but I do recall some of his talking points. One big one was that Paul McCartney was ramping up his leadership role both musically and in the general decision-making, as well as the overall guidance as to where the band was heading. This is a good point by Tim for any Beatles fan to chew on (or anyone interested in group dynamics), because it can be very difficult to break the status quo in any endeavor, especially when it’s as successful of a status quo as what the Beatles had figured out to that point. There is a risk factor…. such a change can work in one of two ways: It can break up a band (which is what eventually happened) or it can evolve things exponentially (which is what happened in the short term).

Rubber Soul was the Beatles personal “Cambrian Explosion”. Musical phyla evolve all over the place. For example “Norwegian Wood” was the first use of an Indian string instrument on a Rock recording (George Harrison on sitar); “Michelle” comes across as a rock ballad adopted from the then-bohemian streets of Paris; “In My Life” combined ballad with baroque;  “Nowhere Man” made early use of double tracking (John Lennon’s lead vocal); and “Drive My Car” sounds state-of-the-art in its harmonic roller-coaster vocal ensemble.

George Harrison’s lead guitar playing on Rubber Soul is some of his Beatlesy best (especially the instrumental portions of “Drive My Car”, “Nowhere Man” “What Goes On”, “If I Needed Someone” and “Michelle”). John Lennon takes his rock-star status very seriously on this album (arguably as serious as he would ever be on a Beatles album) in penning “Nowhere Man”, “In My Life” and “Norwegian Wood” (personally, I recall “Norwegian Wood” being the first song on Rubber Soul to really catch my ear as a young teen. The lyrics put me right there in that bungalow with John Lennon and the mystery woman).

Paul McCartney display’s a very unique (for him) vocal delivery on “You Won’t See Me” (I’m reminded of the Undertones “Wednesday Week”). We get to hear Beatle Paul in a scolding tone here. Also, McCartney’s bass playing is some of his best on any Beatles album, particularly on “Drive My Car” and “The Word”, as well as his in-your-face fuzz bass on “Think for Yourself”. Ringo Starr stands out with his drumming on “The Word” and “Wait”. He also gets his first co-writing credit for “What Goes On” which would add another new twist to the Beatles allure at the time.

Most of the songs on Rubber Soul have a lyrical dark side (the only clear exceptions are “The Word” which is about universal love, and of course “In My Life” which is simply a lovely song in every way). In fact, all in all this may be the Beatles darkest album. “Norwegian Wood” hints at vengeful arson at the end of the song. “Nowhere Man” tackles uncertainty and doubt. The George Harrison tracks “Think for Yourself” and “If I Needed Someone” (which reveal an emerging songwriter) are similarly disillusioned; in these cases, in accusatory and dismissive ways. Same for Paul McCartney’s “I’m Looking Through You” and “You Won’t See Me”. Ringo Starr sings of rejection in “What Goes On”. “Girl” has the protagonist hanging on by the skin of his teeth in the face of a very strong woman. Don’t even get me started with “Run for Your Life” (the lyrics of which John Lennon later regretted writing). It’s all a barrage of blues in the guise of pop music.

Geez, whatever happened to “Love Me Do” guys?

It seems as if the Beatles got all this out of their system though, because Revolver, their next album, is far more upbeat in the lyrics (and yet, where Rubber Soul had a few exceptions, so too does Revolver in the opposite direction).  George Harrison once stated that Rubber Soul and Revolver could have been discs one and two of a double-album-set…that’s how alike they felt to him.  I agree musically, but not lyrically, unless that imaginary double-album was a concept album and then disc 1 could be “dark” and disc 2 could be “light” (a reflection of Joe Jackson’s Night and Day concept album).

One key song that got played at that mid-70s Beatlemania show was “Nowhere Man” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8scSwaKbE64 ). As a young teenager at the time, it grabbed my attention, and If I recall correctly, “Nowhere Man” hovered near the transition between Act I and Act II. This makes sense. Afterall, according to one Beatles researcher, “Nowhere Man” was the very first Beatles song to completely avoid boy-girl relationships. It would not be the last.

I’ve observed over the years that Beatles fans categorically fall into greater enthusiasm for either Act I or Act II of the Fab Four. My brother Fred is a Red Album guy (Act I). So too is Nancy. Me? … I’m a Blue Album guy all the way (if you have not figured this out already), although I do love to dabble with the early stuff on occasion. It may say something about one’s personality. I’ll have to think about that some more. In the meantime, it’s clearer to me now more than ever that Rubber Soul is the demarcation line. The transition. In another light, it’s where we can all meet…. Red and Blue album types; in peace and harmony.

(Thanks for your help with this one, Cousin Tim!)

 - Pete

Fab Foundations # 40: “A Novel Way to Pray”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “Give Me Love (Give Me Peace on Earth)”
Album: Living in the Material World
Release Date: May 1973

Here’s the perfect formula for forming a band:

The founder should have a chip on his shoulder. It would also help if he/she was a bit older than everyone else, in order to assert a certain type of leadership that guides the conscience and attitude of the band itself. Next on board should be a maestro; a natural-born musician who oozes melody and solidifies the reputation of the band as to its sound and style. This new bandmate should, soon after, introduce a friend to the founder who is a driven perfectionist and who at the same time brings spiritual depth and a moral compass to the group. Also, it would be all the better if this 3^rd individual be a bit younger than the rest too, in order to give the band a stronger connection with youthful innocence. Bringing up the rear should be a mate who everyone likes; turning the band into a family. Therein you have your formula for success.

Incredibly, this formula describes how both the Beatles and the Who came to be. Strangely enough there is also an in-order commonality in terms of the musical instrument each new member eventually brought to the table. Another commonality is the general length of time it took between each step in the band-formulating process. John Lennon and Roger Daltrey started these two incredible bands. After a series of short-term mishaps with footnote bandmates, they finally brought on board musical connoisseurs in Paul McCartney (Beatles) and John Entwistle (Who), each of whom would eventually drop his original instrument-of-choice for the bass. McCartney and Entwistle would in turn convince the band leader (Lennon and Daltrey) to include a young buck in the fold - George Harrison and Pete Townshend respectively - each of whom would turn out to be the lead guitarist. Give it a few years and the membership of each band would solidify with a beloved drummer: Ringo Starr for the Beatles and Keith Moon for the Who.

The rest is history. A budding sociologist could write a dissertation on this formula. Have at it!

With that said, this week I round out my “Solo September” mini-series (which admittingly has leaked into October) by delving deeper into the discography of that 3^rd ingredient in the Beatles formula (and arguably the most important when contemplating how popular they became); George Harrison. The spiritual/moral compass of the band never wavered in his otherworldly pursuits, all the way through to his dying days. That pursuit most manifested itself to the public in Harrison’s 1973 album Living in the Material World, which in essence is a long prayer.

Before I go further, I want to acknowledge my Cousin Tom Gilligan, who anticipated this week’s song of choice, “Give Me Love (Give Me Peace on Earth)” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s-KAvPbO8JY ). I can’t remember this ever happening in all the 340-plus blog entries I have written over the past decade. Tom has been such a wonderful supporter of this journey of mine, offering a never-ending supply of fantastic feedback. This time around Tom also adds “sounding board” to his repertoire of support, given his nailing my choice of song, and in turn reaffirming it. Thank you, Tom!

“Give Me Love (Give Me Peace on Earth)” opens Living in the Material World. It’s the only song on the album that ever-got regular radio time. It did this in grand fashion, reaching Number 1 on the Billboard charts upon release. The song is a beautiful plea-of-a-prayer to God with the title pretty much saying it all. I played it early and often all week and it never got old. I’m pretty sure it never got old for the man who wrote it either. Afterall, “Give Me Love (Give Me Peace on Earth)” is the only tune that George Harrison would perform in every one of his concerts from 1973 on. I think this says a lot about what the song meant to him.

Every other highlight on Living in the Material World is prayerful too (only one song on the entire album – “Sue Me, Sue You Blues” - does not fit the bill). My favorite of them all is “Who Can See It”, which includes what I consider to be George Harrison’s all-time best vocal delivery. In my mind, it is as close as anyone has ever come to achieving the majesty of Roy Orbison’s angelic vocals, aside from the “the Caruso of Rock” himself.

The title track laments the over-materialistic values of the western world and includes a nifty Ringo Starr drum solo just after Harrison mentions him by name – as well as his two other former bandmates - in the song. “Be Here Now” is a lovely song of conversion, which emphasizes living in the present. “Don’t Let Me Wait Too Long” is the most underrated song on the album…how this composition got overlooked by classic-rock radio is beyond me.  

The odes to God (aka prayer) pile up with “The Day the World Gets ‘Round”, “The Light That Has Lighted the World”, “Try Some, Buy, Some” and “The Lord Loves the One (That Loves the Lord)”. After all that spiritual bombardment, Living in the Material World fittingly closes with “That Is All” which has the soaring feel of a soul transitioning from Earth to Paradise. Be there no doubt after listening to this album; George Harrison’s lifetime aspirations were entrenched in God, faith, and the afterlife. He was one of the first Rock stars to include faith as a topic in song, and he did this repeatedly from the mid-60s all the way to the end of his mortal life.

It was oh-so appropriate that I should be listening to Living in the Material World all week, because my Mom spent the entirety of it in the hospital with an aneurysm (which was finally successfully operated on early in the week). There were many of us praying for Mom/Dot/Dorothy/Grandma and as the days rolled by, I realized that much of my own prayer was playing out while listening to George Harrison. Sometimes the stars align in amazing ways. This was certainly one of them.

The situation with my Mom in the hospital also had me doing a lot more driving than I typically have in these Covid times. Driving to and from work pre-Covid (a 40-minute commute) was always such an advantageous time for me to listen to music for this blog series. With the advent of Covid however, I’ve had to find other ways to set aside the listening time, including on a handful of occasions where I have resorted to a joy ride for old times “commute” sake.

Anyhow, the playing and replaying of Living in the Material World truly allowed me to get in tune with George Harrison’s message(s). Yes, it’s a pretty overt spiritual (even religious) message Harrison is preaching here. You could even say it borders on repetition and chanting in places. But in many ways, that’s what prayer is, and all that driving helped me to fall under its spell. It felt like saying the Rosary, and it put me at peace with the situation with my Mom by keeping me in the present, which is where you want to be in such times.

This mini-stretch of never-before-listened-to albums by the four ex-Beatles was something I was looking forward to from the very beginning of this Fab Foundation series. I started with John Lennon’s Walls and Bridges three weeks ago, which was followed by Ringo Starr’s eponymous Ringo album. Last week I tackled Paul McCartney’s Chaos and Creation in the Backyard. And here I close with George Harrison’s Living in the Material World. One big reason for my writing these blogs has been discovery, which is impossible with Beatles songs, seeing as I already knew virtually all of them. And so, I researched their solo albums, weeded out the ones I already knew, and came up with these four with the help of critical reviews.

My Mom is on the mend now. She even texted me a humorous image a few moments ago, which I must refrain from including here. There are so many people that have played a role in my Mom’s progress to date, be their contribution through professional know-how or prayer (or both), and I’d like to think that George Harrison’s singing and chanting helped too, which was amateurishly accompanied by my added backing vocals while driving to the places that matter most this past God-given week.

- Pete

Fab Foundations # 39: “Metaphorically Speaking”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “Jenny Wren”
Album: Chaos and Creation in the Backyard
Release Date: October 2005

It’s rare when I come at an album for these Music and Memory musings that is completely foreign to me. Usually I already know to some degree something about the record, including at least one or two songs. Not so the case this week. For in continuing my ‘Solo September’ sojourn (John Lennon 2 weeks ago and Ringo Starr last week), I decided to give the well-received Paul McCartney album Chaos and Creation in the Backyard a listen, which had completely slipped under the radar for me until this week (as is the case for many of McCartney’s albums). In terms of release date (2005), it will end up being the most recent focus of mine in this Fab Foundations series.

Out of the gate, Chaos and Creation in the Backyard paints an aura of mystique, this initial impression based entirely on the album title. The cover is a photograph of a very young Paul McCartney in the process of developing his guitar skills, all alone in his parent’s backyard. The photo was taken by his brother, Michael, from a hidden spot near the backdoor, unbeknownst to his guitar-strumming older sibling. I’ve seen this photo before. It’s a classic. Michael McCartney may have had a premonition. I mean, how many younger brothers would do such a thing, particularly at the age of 15?

Chaos and Creation in the Backyard was the first studio album of Paul McCartney’s to be released after George Harrison’s death four years earlier. This may at least partly explain the unusually reflective and intimate tone of the record (considering the reputation of the man who composed it). It’s a solid disc, with McCartney overdubbing virtually all the instruments (which had me wondering why he did not do more of this sort of thing after the Beatles broke up).

This album sounds like a cross between Pete Townshend’s “Scoop” releases (to the degree that I think PT should have been credited somewhere) and late-career R.E.M. (particularly their album Up), with a dose of Beatles (“Jenny Wren”) and Wings (“Promise to You Girl”). It’s a bit eerie. A bit moody. A bit freelance. I gave myself a pat on the back after I read up on the producer, Nigel Godrich, who, as it turns out, also produced R.E.M.’s Up. It appears Godrich, like Daniel Lanois (who has worked with Bob Dylan, Neil Young and U2), is a producer who has a big effect on the final sound and feel of an album.

A number of songs off Chaos and Creation in the Backyard stood out to me at one point or another this week, which made it tough to emphasize any particular tune for this entry. The opening number “Fine Line” is standard fare musically (in comparison to other songs on this album), but the lyrics are deep for Paul McCartney. In this song, we get to hear McCartney in the unusual-for-him role as preacher, he sermonizing (presumably to a prodigal-son type) that there is a fine line between chaos and creation, recklessness and courage, etc. The take home message for me here is that McCartney sounds as if he is taking his ‘survivor’ role seriously, ready to embrace and carry the ‘profound’ torch forward for both John Lennon and George Harrison.

When I first listened, I sensed a direct George Harrison lyrical touch to the 5^th cut, “Friends to Go”. Later, when I Googled the wiki summary of this album, I saw that the song was both influenced by and dedicated to George. How about that! I guess I’m even more locked in to all things Fab this year than I previously thought (a second, and final self-pat on the back). Side Note: It is so very cool that Paul McCartney tried to put himself in George Harrison’s shoes for this song; It is a wonderfully unique approach to eulogizing a friend, and I would love to think I can learn from it.

“How Kind of You” (the song that had me most thinking of R.E.M., particularly in relation to the instrumental bridges) is a nice touch, the lyrics expressing thankfulness toward someone who stands up for you during tough times. It’s reminiscent of Ben E. King’s “Stand by Me”, Natalie Merchant’s “Kind and Generous” and the lesser known “You Stand by Me” off the Who’s Endless Wire. On the flip side of this sentiment, the ominous “Vanity Fair” expresses hurtfulness and betrayal.

The closing number “Anyway” has spiritual undertones, if only based on the opening melody, which is note-for-note aligned with “People Get Ready” by the Impressions. Good stuff. Four other songs on Chaos and Creation in the Backyard - “Too Much Rain”, “A Certain Softness”, “Promise to You Girl” and “This Never Happened Before” - all appear to be love songs to McCartney’s then-wife Heather Mills. “At the Mercy” came across as a song about facing your fears. Add it all up and it’s clear that Paul McCartney runs the gamut on this album, much like John Lennon did on his Plastic Ono Band and Imagine albums in the early 70s.

I suppose the song that grabs me the most is “Jenny Wren” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U9GvXFphCFc ). I say ‘suppose’ because I’ve only listened to this album for one week, which is enough time to know it has significant depth, but not enough time to know where the deepest pools are. The song title is Dickensian, Jenny Wren a disabled character in Charles Dickens last novel, Our Mutual Friend.  I’m not going to pretend to critique that novel, which I have not read (although I have read several of Dickens novels). What I can say is, the song makes a connection. It delivers a message. And like any great tune, it leaves much to the imagination. The song-style is similar to “Blackbird” and “Mother Nature’s Son”, further revealing Paul McCartney’s special gift for the melodic touch.

Which brings me back to the album title. There is so much wallop here for me. I mean, I love my own backyard, but I never really thought of that special open space as a metaphor for life, which all along I believe was Paul McCartney’s intent to convey. In other words, Beatle Paul wanted the listener to reflect on aspects of their lives that remind them of their own backyards. What is it about our backyards that is unique? The remainder of this entry tackles that question.

Ok, so when my family and I moved to Pepperell, Massachusetts 16 years ago, I had a certain priority order in what I was looking for. Priority #1 was the region; I was in search of a region that had a lot of woods and protected land, and that was also part of a broader wildlife corridor. Priority #2 was the backyard, more so than the house itself.  My thinking was the house was more malleable than the yard. I needed to run with that.

When we found what we were looking for, I went to town in the backyard. My first order of business was to fill the perimeter with native plants and to weed out any invasives. This was done primarily to attract the local fauna, but soon I realized I was doing this for sustainability reasons too; planting natives that could take care of themselves in the long run when it came to pests, or at the very least allow for a natural balance of things. It turned out that the less I disturbed, the more I could observe. Whaddaya know: A backyard metaphor for life.

From there it was a series of projects, including a trail into the woods, a tree house, a woodshed, a basketball court, a compost bin, a fish pond, a firepit, a toolshed, and a stone walkway (shaped like a stream from the fish pond to the house). Within a few years we had made this backyard our own.

The one place I can completely retreat mentally is next to the fish pond, which includes a small waterfall. I can sit there and zone out for hours. The fish, amphibians, birds, reptiles, mammals and invertebrates all do the busy work around me.  We’ve had many friends and family visitors hang by the fish pond with us over these 16 years, as well as by the firepit nearby. It’s great to share the experience. I see it as a celebration of life. Hmm, …there’s another backyard metaphor.

We have never applied chemical fertilizer to our lawn. The general rule is to keep it green, free of bare patches. That’s about it. Other than that, it’s up to the grass, crabgrass, and moss to compete with one another. Therein lie a few more life metaphors.

This all adds up to leaving plenty of time for exploration, which can be done almost anywhere in the yard if I look hard enough. Thanks to Paul McCartney, I’ll never think of my backyard in quite the same way again. Chaos and Creation… just the way I like it.

- Pete

Fab Foundations # 38: “Say Cheese”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “Photograph”
Album: Ringo
Release Date: November 1973

In queuing up Ringo Starr’s 1973 self-titled album Ringo for the first time this past Sunday, I continued on my "Solo September" listening sojourn, tackling unheard-until-now solo albums from each of the four ex-Beatles (last week I launched this sub-series with John Lennon’s Walls and Bridges album). I was very much looking forward to this one and Ringo did not disappoint, seeing as the album is chock-full of solid up-tempo music that had me tapping my feet all week. Indeed, upon the release of Ringo, three years after the Beatles disbanded, Starr proved he could produce a hit-laden album with the best of em’, including his typically far-more-prolific ex-bandmates.

I’ll get to the music on Ringo soon enough. The first thing that grabbed my attention though - in relation to this album - was when I read the liner notes on the sleeve and saw just how many great musicians contributed their talents to it. Which musicians you ask? How about John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, Marc Bolan, Robbie Robertson, Levon Helm, Garth Hudson, Rick Danko, Steve Cropper, Billy Preston, Randy Newman, Nicky Hopkins, Klaus Voormann, Jim Keltner, Bobby Keys, David Bromberg, Harry Nilsson, Martha Reeves, Merry Clayton, and Linda McCartney. Can any other album top that list for rock-star quality and quantity? None that I can think of.

As discussed before in these pages, Ringo Starr has always been a magnet for the stars (hence his adopted surname?), proving this ability time and time again, particularly on all his “All-Starr-Band” tours. In this way, Ringo may have been at the height of his powers in 1973. Case in point, Ringo is the only post-Beatle album on which all 4 ex-bandmates would perform on (although never the 4 together on one song). And they all brought their “A” game. Here we hear Ringo Starr bringing out the hilarity in John Lennon (“I’m the Greatest”) the “Big Hit” in George Harrison (“Photograph”) and the confessional in Paul McCartney (“Six O’Clock”). It’s as if Starr shuffled the deck and assigned everyone a fresh personality. Perhaps that’s part of the attraction everyone had for the man; he pulled them out of their own skin.

The only musician who plays on every song on Ringo other than Starr himself is Klaus Voormann on bass (give a listen to Voormann’s ‘vrooming’ bass on “Oh My My” – did he get lessons from Bill Wyman of “Paint it Black” vrooming fame?). This had me doing some research, seeing as I’d just last week listened to Voormann’s sweet bass playing on John Lennon’s Walls and Bridges. I also recalled that he had played bass on Lennon’s Plastic Ono Band and George Harrison’s All Things Must Pass. It turns out Voormann played bass on virtually all of Lennon’s solo albums, a good many of George Harrison’s (primarily his 70s output) and several more of Starr’s (and seeing as Paul McCartney already had the bass part covered, its no wonder that collaboration did not happen). He was also the bassist for Manfred Mann in the late 60s.

I find this interesting and unique; Voormann as a key connect-the-dots persona in the Beatles lives. He was there for them musically, artistically, and personally. In tandem with his fellow German, Astrid Kirchherr (who passed away earlier this year), Voormann became close friends with the Beatles during their hard-rocking heady days in Hamburg, before the band made it big. Both Klaus and Astrid were artsy types. Kirchherr would go on to take some of the earliest masterful photos of the Beatles, whose membership at the time included both Stu Sutcliffe (who Astrid would fall in love with for a spell before Sutcliffe died of a brain hemorrhage at the tender young age of 21) and Pete Best (who would soon be replaced on the drum stool by Ringo). Voormann would eventually move to London, live with George Harrison and Ringo Starr for a spell, and end up designing one of the Beatles most famous album covers, Revolver. During those years (1963-66), he would also learn how to play the bass.

I’d like to think I connect with many a musician, but there are only a handful where I end up wanting to learn a lot more about than just their music (pretty much the ones I’ve written about in these blog pages these past 10 years). Here is where I find myself diving into the stories of the “extras” in their lives. After all, no great success story is possible without the support staff. The Who had a particularly eclectic cross-section of personalities in their circles, all of whom appear to have had a genuine love for the band. There’s Irish Jack, Bobby Pridden, Peter “Dougal” Butler, Chris Charlesworth, John “Wiggy” Wolff, Glyn Johns, Leo Sayer, Simon Townshend, Ted Astley, Kit Lambert, Chris Stamp, Rabbit Bundrick, Jeff Stein, Rachel Fuller, and Zak Starkey to name a few. Look them up. They played many disparate rolls, yet the one thing they have/had in common is that their stories are very Who centric.

In the case of the Beatles, along with Klaus Voormann, Astrid Kirchherr and Stu Sutcliffe, there’s Brian Epstein, George Martin, Yoko Ono, Linda McCartney, Pattie Boyd, Mal Evans, Neil Aspinall, Mick Jagger, Eric Clapton, Billy Preston, Derek Taylor, Ravi Shankar, Jane Asher, Peter Shotton, Peter Brown, Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, Elliot Mintz, Joe Brown, Barbara Bach, Olivia Harrison, and Tony Bramwell, to name a few. The Beatles were loyal to those who helped them before they were famous, and that loyalty was reciprocated, particularly in the cases of Evans, Aspinall, Epstein, Voorman, Kirchherr, Shotton and even Martin.

Why has this Ringo blog entry veered off on a side trail to my now writing about “support staff”? I pondered this too, and then it struck me, and I can summarize that light bulb moment in one word; “Photograph”. This song was Ringo Starr’s greatest hit, and one of the catchiest tunes of all time. Yes, all it took for me was to type the song title in the 3rd paragraph above and the next thing you know, I’m off the beaten path (listening to “Photograph” frequently this week may have had something to do with it too). Or am I? Afterall, these thoughts all tie together …. Ringo’s friend-filled, star-studded life. Photographs of memories. The Beatles. The people in our circles. The Ringo album cover (very Sgt. Pepper-esque).

Who are the people in your bubble (circle, sphere) that made it happen for you? Who are your “support staff”? I know who they are for me. They are those who have had a positive connection with me beyond the superficial level, many of whom read this blog. I thought of all of you as I listened to “Photograph” this week, as well as those who “won’t be coming back any more”, including close friends Ed Suen and Bob Bouvier, as well as my Aunt Ginger and so many others; aunts, uncles, grandparents, in-laws, cousins, colleagues, and friends. You are the people that have made it happen for me. You are the “bread winners” in my life.

“Photograph” was co-written by George Harrison. It’s the only song that has ever been officially credited to “Starkey and Harrison”. Ringo sang this song at The Concert for George, a very special event that memorialized Starr’s Fab-Four bandmate not long after he had passed. Parts of Starr’s performance are captured in this video ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IhDKHo2wapM ) which also features photographic memories of many others in Ringo’s circles, including of course John Lennon and Paul McCartney.

Ringo (the album) is solid through and through. The Band (of Bob Dylan fame) plays on the pastoral-sounding “Sunshine Life for Me” (oh, to be a fly on the wall to witness that ‘Big Pink’ crew jamming on this tune with Ringo and George Harrison - who wrote the song). “I’m the Greatest”, “Photograph” and “Six O’Clock” each include wonderfully-familiar backing vocals from Ringo’s ex’s (John, George, and Paul respectively) “You’re Sixteen” brings me way back. “Oh My My” may be the most touching song on the entire album, which appears to be about Ringo’s adolescent years in a hospital bed (with a variety of ailments), rising above the pain and sadness with the occasional late-night boogie and a little bit of slide. “You and Me (Babe)” signs off the album in classic uber-confident Ringo fashion (similar to how he opens it up with “I’m the Greatest”).

By week’s end, it all came back to “Photograph” for a handful of extra plays. And with it the memories, which had me pulling out photo albums of days gone by. Do me a favor this weekend and poke through your old photos. Relive some of your great memories and with them, your support staff. You may find yourself rekindling something that’s been squirreled away for far too long. Something just dying to come back to the fore.

I include a few of mine here for some inspiration. Be sure to play “Photograph” as you view.

- Pete

Fab Foundations # 37: “Lost Weekend”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “Nobody Loves You (When You’re Down and Out)”
Album: Walls and Bridges
Release Date: September 1974

I have listened to a wide spectrum of Beatles music in my lifetime, including much of their solo material. However, I must admit that my explorations into the Fab’s vast song-composition catalog falls far short of being comprehensive (although I do believe I am pretty darn close to comprehensive in relation to the band’s pre-breakup ensemble years). Indeed, a fair percentage of their post-Beatles material has passed me by to date, which I consider a significant piece of the Fab puzzle. In my defense, there is a lot out there. John Lennon produced 10 studio albums after the Beatles broke up. George Harrison produced 12. Paul McCartney’s output is at 25 and counting. Ringo Starr’s output stands at 18. That’s a boatload of music to take in.

And so, here begins a four-part sub-series of this Fab Foundations narrative where I tackle some of the unheard-until-now stuff.  I’ve done this with all four of my other Music and Memory series (which are based on the music of the Rolling Stones, Neil Young, the Who, and Bob Dylan respectively), but this one has a somewhat unique feel to it. I mean, aren’t we Baby Boomers supposed to know all of the Beatles music, be those songs produced collectively or separately (in which case, they would often request assistance from one another)? I exaggerate here, but there is a bit of truth to that query based on the fact that John, Paul, George and Ringo were, for all intents and purposes, the pop-music spokesmen of our generation. For me, this truism gives these new/old song discoveries from their collective catalog a bit more of a “wow” factor (and as I’ve stated before in these pages, for whatever reason, I love squirreling away unheard music for future consumption, which is playing out now).

As always, I approach this discovery process from the album perspective. I’ve already done my homework, reading up on music-critic reviews to determine which elusive-to-these-ears discs to be the crème of the crop. Now that those discs have been scoped out and secured, I’m ready to roll. Over the next four weeks, I’ll be listening to one album from each of the Fab Four’s solo output that I have never listened to before (to my knowledge). My hope is that I can gain some new insight into the brilliance of what made this foursome tick, as well as what allowed them to connect so amazingly with the world – particularly my 1970’s teenage world - in such profound ways.

I will start with John Lennon, declaring right off that this 4-part-sub-series concept is hardest with this renowned musician, because of the four Beatles, I’ve listened to just about everything Lennon has produced. And yet, there is one significant solo album of John Lennon’s that has slipped through my fingers: Walls and Bridges, which was released in 1974. Several originals on this album were very familiar as I listened this week, including “Whatever Gets You Through the Night” and “# 9 Dream”, but much of the remainder of Walls and Bridges was new to me. I found this hard to believe, but hey, them’s the facts. Part of me was ecstatic though: New music? …John Lennon? …. Yeah!

First, I’d like to say something about the album cover. It’s adorned with John Lennon drawings from his childhood. As I scanned earlier this week, one drawing caught my eye. It’s the lower half of a man’s face which has an uncanny resemblance to what Bob Dylan looks like today. I throw this in here mostly as a side note, but I just had to get it out there.

Much of Walls and Bridges was written near the tail end of John Lennon’s “Lost Weekend” (which lasted more than a year); a period of time where he was estranged from his wife Yoko Ono and their New York home, living fast and hard on the opposite shore (California) with fellow party-hearty enthusiasts, including Harry Nilsson, Alice Cooper, Keith Moon, Ringo Starr and Micky Dolenz (what’s with all the drummers?). A then modern-day Rat Pack. A motley crew prepared to bring down any club that made the unfortunate decision of admitting them.

Looking back, Walls and Bridges was a pivotal album for John Lennon, tackling a major transition in his life. The songs bear this out. We hear Lennon reflecting on his transgressions to the degree that he would come out of this Lost Weekend a new man. Over the subsequent 5 years he would go into professional seclusion, focusing entirely on repairing his relationship with Yoko. In the process, they would bear their only child together, Sean. John Lennon’s focus on fatherhood was so intense that a term from that period of his life would be freshly coined in Beatle-fan circles; that term being “house husband”. This was a big deal to the younger generation of the times, which of course included me. It was a new angle on how to approach life for many of us; a new debate on what was important, and what was not.

If there was any time you were going to have a lost weekend in Rock and Roll circles, this period – the mid-70s - was it. Rock music was at it’s “I am a Golden God” peak. Living legends of the industry were out and about, particularly in New York City and Los Angeles. John Lennon connected with just about every heavy-hitter musician of the day, and the music on Walls and Bridges reflects this. I hear at least three songs that connect me with other classic music of the 70s. There’s the magnificent “Old Dirt Road”, which brings to mind the Rolling Stones “Fool to Cry” (Lennon’s song predated that Stones song by 2 years). “Whatever Gets You Through the Night” has Elton John’s 70’s style written all over it (not the least reason being Sir Elton sings backing vocals on this song). And then there is “Nobody Loves You When You’re Down and Out”, ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aaMLCruhQKY  ) which sounds oh so much like the beginning and end of Pink Floyd’s Animals concept album (which Walls and Bridges also predated by several years). I don’t see any of these other efforts as plagiarizing. I just see them as having been inspired by John Lennon. Yes, there was a lot of cross pollinating happening on the mean streets of LA and NYC in the mid-70s.

“Lost Weekends” have always been intriguing to me; be they related to John Lennon, Richard Manuel, Pete Townshend, Keith Richards, Neil Young, Graham Parsons or friends in my own circles. Even myself. Lost weekends can be on the edge of brilliance, loneliness, hilarity, foolishness and lunacy, often the lot of them blended together into one big bowl of unpredictability. There is risk involved to both health and hearth, which is why many avoid such escapades (honestly, I can’t blame them). But at the same time, in a nonsensical way, lost weekends can be cleansing and cathartic if you find a way to rise up through the ashes.

I still connect with this “Lost Weekend” world on the odd occasion. Most consistently this plays out at annual forays to my great friend Mac’s cottage in Humarock (a tiny coastal hamlet in Scituate, Massachusetts) with a number of childhood friends. Those experiences have not been averse to Rat Pack mentality. The saving grace has always been the long-term friendship we all share and… the beach. With the friendship, I’m forever rejuvenated by an endless parade of inside jokes. It’s almost as if we have created our own language. The laughs come early and often. Many of these laughs can be downright hysterical.

The beach is another matter. A short stroll there puts you in another much more contemplative mindset. These breakaway retreats to the ocean are needed amidst all the hullabaloo. Looking back, they give my memories of Humarock a proper balance and deeper meaning (a good example of this is that I’ve come up with a handful of blog-entry ideas there). My guess is that John Lennon did something similar in his crazed year on the west coast. Something like it would have been critical in his preparation for that next phase of his journey as house husband (which would turn out to be his last phase).

Walls and Bridges is aptly named. Lost weekends can find you building a wall around yourself, such as happens to the protagonist in Pink Floyd’s The Wall.  But mix in enough of those beach-like breakaways and you just might be able to get glimpses of the brilliant bridges you can build in the days, weeks, months and years beyond.

- Pete

Fab Foundations # 36: “A Bum Rap”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “Live and Let Die”
Album: Released as a single
Release Date: June 1973

Pete Townshend once took a stab at defining Rock and Roll:

"If it screams for truth rather than help, if it commits itself with a courage it can't be sure it really has, if it stands up and admits that something is wrong but doesn't insist on blood, then its rock and roll."

I embrace this definition. There are many popular songs that sound like rock music, but in the end if you can’t assign that underlying meaning to the song, then in my mind it’s on the outside looking in. There has to be some risk involved. Some juicy element that makes the listener ponder. An angle on hope or yearning. Songs with these elements will survive the test of time. The others will just fade away (if they have not done so already).

Somewhat randomly off the top of my head I thought of a cross-section-list of songs that would, on musical merits alone, fall in the genera of Rock and Roll. However, in terms of Pete Townshend’s definition, some of these songs may not necessarily fit the criterion. Which ones do and which ones don’t? …

“Mr. Tambourine Man” (Bob Dylan); “Johnny B Goode” (Chuck Berry); “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” (Queen); “Have a Cigar” (Pink Floyd); “Purple Haze” (Jimi Hendrix); “Smells Like Teen Spirit” (Nirvana); “Slip Kid” (Who); “White Punks on Dope” (Tubes); “Southern Man” (Neil Young); “Dude Looks Like a Lady” (Aerosmith); “Smoke on the Water” (Deep Purple); “What’s the Matter Here” (10,000 Maniacs); “Willie the Wimp” (Stevie Ray Vaughan); “Stairway to Heaven” (Led Zeppelin); “It’s Only Rock and Roll” (Rolling Stones); “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” (AC/DC); “Back on the Chain Gang” (Pretenders); “Up on Cripple Creek” (Band); “London Calling (Clash); “Rock Lobster” (B-52’s); “Lola” (Kinks); “Come Together” (Beatles).  

I’ll let you be the judge on that list (for me, three of them fail and one teeters on the border), but I will weigh in on one song for this entry, which may give some insight to my stances on that cross-section list. That song is “Live and Let Die” by Paul McCartney and Wings. I’ve been thinking about this tune in context with the Pete Townshend definition of Rock and Roll all week. In fact, I’ve been thinking about this off and on all year. Indeed, “Live and Let Die” has been percolating in my head throughout this entire Fab Foundations series. I can’t explain why, but it has. It was never about whether this McCartney hit is a great song, which is my standard reason for choosing any given composition for my weekly narrative (although I do believe it is a very good song). No, it was always about that Pete Townshend-initiated “is it Rock and Roll or is it not” question.

Paul and Linda McCartney wrote “Live and Let Die” for the 1973 James Bond movie of the same name. It actually takes top billing, opening the film in grand fashion (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBC1FquIrZo). Was it composed just for the fun of it? To make a bit of cash on the side? To booze and schmooze with Hollywood royalty? I’m not ruling those options out as being part of the McCartney’s motivation. But there are elements at play here that lead me to believe there is more to it than that.

Well alrighty then, does “Live and Let Die” fit Pete Townshend’s meaning of a rock song”? My initial inclination was “on the contrary”. After all, this song declares shallow human traits, including those of being cutthroat, self-centered and defeatist. The title of the song alone is sinister enough, and the lyrics back it up. Take this line: “what does it matter to ya, when you got a job to do ya gotta do it well. You gotta give the other fella hell!”. Earlier in the song it’s as if the protagonist gives up on being compassionate. Yow! Yes, the music is powerful, but all-in-all does the song “stand up and admit that something is wrong”? Does it “commit itself with a courage it can’t be sure it really has”?

In actuality yes, it does (in a veiled sort of way).

Sometimes a song needs to tell the truth by taking the counterpoint/low-road position. Randy Newman is a master at it, having composed brilliant tunes such as “Political Science”, “Short People” “Yellow Man” and “Its Money that Matters”. These songs are all from the perspective of the anti-hero. However, when you think about it, what better way to point out the nasty than to take on the musical roll yourself? 

Paul McCartney is the last musician I would have expected to write the lyrics to a rock song like “Live and Let Die” though. I mean, the guy is the consummate believer, isn’t he? This is why “Live and Let Die” can be so strange to hear if you know anything about the musician who penned it (even if the song was written for a spy movie). Does this sound like McCartney:

“When you were young
And your life was an open book
You used to say live and let live
(you know you did you know you did you know you did)
But if this ever changin’ world in which we live in
Makes you give in and cry
Say live and let die”

It shows me that Paul McCartney is more complex than what many Rock music fans give him credit for. Here’s an interesting thought: Which Beatle stood for the meaning of the utopian 60s the most? Maybe it was George with his spiritual awakening? Or John with his political stance for peace? Perhaps it was Ringo with his ability to always bring out the better person in those around him (“peace and love, folks”)? Or was it Paul with his laid-back persona that oozes hope.

I posed this question to several Beatles forums on Facebook this week and got back over 100 responses. It was roughly what I expected: 76 votes for John Lennon (55%), 22 votes for George (16%), 6 votes for Paul (4%) and 5 for Ringo (3%). There were also 25 votes for ‘all 4 of them’ (18%). Oh, also 2 votes for Pete Best and 1 for Stu Sutcliffe (go figure). Not to mention 1 that basically said, ‘You Suck!’ (I would have been disappointed if I didn’t get one of those).

I ran this question by Beatles fans because, although I would typically agree with this breakdown, I had a bit of a lightbulb moment this week as I listened to “Live and Let Die”. It is such a real and insightful song. It helped guide me to the notion that maybe Paul McCartney gets a bum rap when it comes to authentication. Such a question as the one I posed drives at the heart of the matter.

Dig under the surface, and more of the 60s-persona-light shines on Paul McCartney. He was after all the Utopian spirit behind the money-hemorrhaging corporation that was Apple Records. And more than John, George, and Ringo, Paul McCartney incorporated all forms of modern art into his life in the late 60s. McCartney was also the Beatle out-and-about the London scene during that time too (he was an early enthusiast of the Syd Barret-lead Pink Floyd in their wild stage-experimentation years), while the other 3 Beatles were immersed in domesticity. You have to drill deeper into the Beatles story to connect with these facts. Deeper than most are willing to do.

Yes, “Live and Let Die” is a dour song. Here’s the paradox though: Only someone with Paul McCartney’s hopeful outlook on mankind could write such lyrics and sing them in such a deeply-reflective way. From his rosy perspective, McCartney was able to view the darker side objectively. I’m not saying he was blind to negativity and self-centeredness…life experience to that point clearly factored to his opening eyes, including the Beatles rancorous “divorce”. But the concept was foreign enough for him to see it for what it was and compose a narrative around it.

With all this in mind, the song fits the Pete Townshend definition of a Rock song.

The Beatles contributed significantly to the idealism of the 60s. They all bought into it. And they each had to change aspects of who they were to get there, none of them more so than Paul McCartney. I know this because when I read of the Beatles younger days, the band member who reminds me the most of myself (in my younger days) is McCartney. Like Paul, I could be opportunistic and cunning and shrewd. Maybe I still got a little of that in me at times, but I do my best to squelch it. This, because even though I came of age in the 70s, I too have bought into the spirit of the 60s. In fact, anyone who takes their 70s’ teen-years seriously is really just a child of the 60s. Live and let live, folks! Live and let live.

-  Pete