(Personal reflections
inspired by Beatles songs)
Song: “Don’t Let Me
Down”
Album: Released as a B-side single (A side = “Get
Back”)
Release Date: April
1969
If there is any one Beatles concert I’ve ever imagined being at,
it’s their sparsely attended “rooftop” performance, which occurred on 30
January 1969 at their Apple Corp headquarters in London, England. Of course, the lack of a big crowd was not at
all due to a lack of interest, but rather to both the isolated venue and the
impromptu nature of the event. If not for the British Bobbies breaking it up
after 42 minutes (9 songs including 4 retakes) I believe the gradual swelling of people
both on the streets and in the neighboring buildings would have intensified to
the point of turning into that proverbial big crowd.
Regardless, the rooftop concert was an extremely unique outlier in
the Beatles live-performance history, which is what makes it so compelling. It
was the first time the band had performed a setlist of songs on a stage in 3
years, and it would be their last live performance ever. The original idea was to do a big public event
somewhere to showcase the new music they were producing (at the time dubbed the
“Get Back” sessions, many of these new songs would later be included on the
album Let it Be). But that idea fizzled (at least partly due to the fact
that George Harrison was already struggling with an understandable form of
stage fright) and so, this rooftop idea materialized in rather short order, in
turn adding another cool chapter to the Beatles late-60s mystique.
Anyhow, I’ve imagined (and I’m almost certain even dreamed) myself
on the London streets on that cold winter day; a young just-out-of-school, disheveled-white-collar
kid on his lunch break. I’m making my
way to my favorite cheap sandwich shop when above me I hear this amazing live music
slicing its way through the din of the workday hustle and bustle. The songs are all new
to my ears (which was indeed the case for anyone who was on those affluent,
business-district Mayfair streets near Soho that day). But to my amazement there
is no mistaking who is performing. It’s the Beatles! Holy Shit!
I mean HOLY SHIT! Where is this sound coming from? I suddenly realize I’m across the street from
Apple Corp and then I realize that this sound is loud enough to be out in the
open air. It must be on the rooftop!
My mind suddenly shifts. Lunch and apprenticeship are no longer in
my sphere of interests or concerns. I
must find a way to witness this event unfolding in a more up-close and personal
manner before it’s too late. I scan the
immediate vicinity and spot an alleyway. Dodging traffic, I make my way across Savile
Row and rush down the alley until I come upon a fire ladder on the building
adjacent to Apple. Problem is, this dangling ladder terminates some 10 feet
from the ground. Thankfully another
enlightened young fellow – who I had not seen until this moment - has come to
the same conclusion that I have about the state of affairs. We tag team. I
first hoist him up to the ladder and then he pulls me upward.
The two of us scramble hand over fist, 6 stories upward. As we do
so, that glorious Beatles music is getting louder. At the top of the fire
escape, we shimmy over and up to a ledge. Then we stand upon said ledge and to
our wondering eyes we see the Beatles performing right there in front of us…in
living color! A quick leap over several
more ledges and we are as close as one would ever want to be, fans in the front
row - the only row actually - of one of the most unique live events of all
time.
Strangely, one of the first things I notice are power chords and
cables strewn all over the lot. This event is wired for sound! At the same
time, I’m taking in the band. George is
closest to me, in some kind of fur-like jacket, looking rather cerebral. John is next to him. He appears similar to how I remember him a
year earlier on the “Hey Jude” show, also cerebral. Paul is next in the front line,
fully bearded and appearing oh so in the moment. Ringo has a bright red rain jacket on (turns
out it’s a red mac… what do I know?). He’s looking serene and tuned in. And oh,
is that Billy Preston on keyboards? Nice addition!
Again, it’s a cold day, but I feel as warm as toast. I find myself
connecting with these songs instantly, as if I’d heard them one thousand times
before. When I first tuned into this being the Beatles when I was down on the
streets, it was clear Paul was singing lead at the time (which I would later
find out were the first 2 takes of “Get Back”) and then on the way up the
ladder it was clearly John (first take of “Don’t Let Me Down”). As I settle in
on the rooftop now, it’s back to Paul singing lead. A stagehand is standing next to me. He tells
me he works for the Beatles as a sound guy and has been listening to them
rehearse these songs for weeks. He then
tells me the title of this song; “I’ve Got a Feeling”. I take in the groove and the lyrics. John
takes the lead on the bridge. The song has the feel of “A Day in the Life” in
terms of Lennon and McCartney alternating leads between verse and bridge. But
this time the roles are reversed. I turn
to my new ladder-climbing buddy. “Wow!”
Based on the lyrics, the next song sounds like it’s called “One
After 909”. The stagehand confirms my
assumption and then tells me this is one of the first songs that Lennon and
McCartney wrote together back in the late 50s, which they have never released.
He also tells me they intend on including it on the new album. The band is doing a lot of smiling and
nodding to each other. They are clearly having a blast, and now I’ve got the
inside scoop that it’s likely because they have such great old memories
associated with “One After 909”. How
cool is that?
I’m beginning to get a kick out of fact that the Beatles are pulling
this off on a workday in downtown London.
How rebellious can you get! At
the same time, I can see a few British Bobbies making their way around the
stage. But they let the music play on, at least for the time being. The band quickly
kicks into a song the sound guy next to me refers to as “Dig a Pony”. The Beatles sound tight, as if they’ve been
playing live endlessly for all these past 3 years. George’s lead-guitar playing
propels the song forward. He has clearly evolved in the years since they stopped
touring.
After another take on “I’ve Got a Feeling”, the band then does a
second take on the John Lennon song I heard while scaling the ladder…. “Don’t
Let Me Down”. Right off, I connect with
this one the most. Lennon’s singing is
passionate and pleading. This is clearly
a love song to Yoko Ono, who I just spotted sitting off to the side next to
George. As the bridge begins - “I’m
in love for the first time….” - I happen to be watching Ringo. The look on his face is priceless, as if he
is at that moment fully absorbing all the good things that this band stands
for. Paul McCartney’s bass playing is so
beautifully melodic. I’m inspired to one day play the bass so I can imitate it.
The Bobbies close in for the kill, but the Beatles launch into
“Get Back” for a third take before they can break it all up. This is another great song. Is McCartney trying to bring the band back to
their roots? (“get back to where you once belong”). Kinda makes sense after the sound guy told me
the story behind “One After 909”. Billy
Preston’s keyboard playing stands out here. Just fantastic all around. As the
song winds down, John Lennon makes a classic apropos understatement: “I
would like to say thank you on behalf of the group and ourselves and I hope
we’ve passed the audition”.
With that, the show ends. I
manage to make my way around the stage, high fiving and hugging every band
member. I even shake hands with one of
the cops, who turns out to be a Beatles fan (I know this, because he has tears
in his eyes). He then leads me and my
ladder-climbing buddy down the stairs, through the Apple lobby, and ultimately
out to the streets. What just happened? The two of us head to a nearby pub for
a beer and more importantly, to make sure we have not lost our minds.
Back to reality, I do recommend that if you have never seen it,
you check out the “Don’t Let Me Down” footage ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NCtzkaL2t_Y
) and particularly that Ringo moment I mention above. As I watch,
I’m of the belief that Ringo is sensing the end is near for the band and he wants
to savor this event for all its worth. He also knows this is a magnificent love
song. I concur.
As for this entry, well…. I hope I passed the audition.
- Pete
Sunday, February 23, 2020
Monday, February 17, 2020
Fab Foundations # 7: “The Real Deal”
(Personal reflections
inspired by Beatles songs)
Song: “I Should Have Known Better”
Album: A Hard Day’s Night
Release Date: July 1964
A majority of my formative memories are of the outdoor variety, including countless evenings out and about with my closest friends. There were rare occasions, however, when I would talk my compadres into spending an evening indoors at one of our homes to watch any in a then short list of rock and roll films. Most of these movies we would rent from what were at-the-time, state-of-the-art video stores. One repeat viewing for us was the Who’s the Kids Are Alright (my all-time favorite film). We also took in Neil Young’s Rust Never Sleeps, Led Zeppelin’s the Song Remains the Same, Pink Floyd’s The Wall, and the Who’s Quadrophenia, among others.
These films allowed us to stretch out our understanding of songs we loved that were featured in those films. The viewings were also a way to get to know the musicians better. All of this was a big deal to me. It would ultimately make the inevitable/eventual concert experiences of a number of these acts’ far more compelling than would otherwise have been the case. I suppose you could equate it to learning the history and geography of a city, country or region before travelling there. The additional knowledge gained beforehand makes the experience far more rewarding.
The Beatles as a band were involved in 6 films: A Hard Day’s Night (1964) Help (1965), Magical Mystery Tour (1967), Yellow Submarine (1968), Let it Be (1970) and the Anthology box set (1995). Over the course of this Fab Foundations series, I’ll be visiting (or revisiting) each of these movies. I’ll do this in chronological order, starting here with A Hard Day’s Night. My goal is not so much to critique these movies as it is to garner thoughts and ideas to write about (much like my approach to this Music and Memory blog site in general in relation to songs and albums).
On the latter-day bonus cd for A Hard Day’s Night, George Martin - who produced the sound-track album for the movie (of the same name), along with a vast majority of the Beatles musical catalog - states in an interview that he was originally attracted to the Beatles not so much as talent per se, but as people. As an early instance of this, he mentions that when he first met the band, he asked them if there was anything that they were not comfortable with in the studio room of EMI (where they would be cutting their first record). George Harrison responded “well, for starters, I don’t like your tie”.
I find this both hilarious and courageous. The Beatles had not even signed a record deal yet (and had already been rejected by a number of other record companies), and George Martin, who had quite the authoritative presence about him, was pretty much in control of all the cards. So, there was more than a little risk in such an offhanded comment. But this was who the Beatles were, and Martin found it refreshing.
In a nutshell, this is the type of uninhibited genuineness that is exhibited by all four band members in the film A Hard Day’s Night.
It was pretty clear to me as I watched George Martin make that statement about George Harrison that he was driving at something deeper. He was driving at what made the Beatles…. THE BEATLES! We all search for genuineness in the people we meet, the music we listen to, the art we observe. Real success in any endeavor comes hand in hand with letting your guard down, entrusting and respecting others involved in the process, and connecting with them on the level, and in ways aside from the obligatory professional one. It can be quite amazing how fast you can bond with someone you have just met in the work place when you approach the new relationship this way. It ends up opening all sorts of doors that would otherwise remain closed. Herein lies the upspoken deeper meaning in Martin’s reflection; this notion that we all have amazing gifts that will eventually be noticed by others, but to allow this to happen we first must shed the shackles of conformity and just be ourselves, which in turn lets others to be themselves too.
This truism feeds my fascination in what it takes to be successful in a group setting, such as what we witness with dynasties in the world of sports, or what some of us get to partake in with an unusually gifted team in a standard office work environment, or my favorite one to analyze…. a top-tier band. Genuineness is a large component of this powerful, albeit fragile dynamics of the group setting. My general fascination with group dynamics is why three of my five blog series focus on bands (vs. the two series that focus on musicians who are known more for their individuality: Bob Dylan and Neil Young). Outside of talent, those three bands had core reasons that could explain their success. For the Rolling Stones it was attitude. For the Who, it was in the conscious and subconscious ways that they pushed each other to excel at their craft (particularly on stage), and in the case of the Beatles, it’s all in that genuineness, which was spread out pretty evenly among all four band members.
The all-in authenticity of the Beatles increased exponentially the number of new doors they could open. This was proven again and again by the Fab Four as the 60s unfolded, whereby they would crank out one great accomplishment after another. The Beatles were the real deal because they were real with themselves, with each other, and with others. They caught lightning in a bottle finding and then feeding off one another, and they knew that as long as they stayed true to their collective authenticity, that the sky was the limit.
Ok, I guess I should talk a bit about the movie itself. To my knowledge, A Hard Day’s Night captures something no other film has before or since: Fever-pitched fan frenzy. The phenomenon was so unique, that someone had to come up with a term for it, which will forever be known as Beatlemania. It remains quite fascinating to observe - if only on film - be it through watching this movie or other concert footage of the period.
As I watched those screaming girls earlier this week, it got me thinking “wow, the state of mind that humans are capable of can sometimes be utterly impossible to comprehend”. Hmmm…perhaps not though. Here, I’ll give it a try: In that frenzied Beatlemania state, those teenage girls were displaying an early realization that something new and revolutionary was playing out in front of their eyes. Something they tuned into first. Something that would change the world forevermore. Something that would one day set me to writing hundreds of blog writeups, inspired while listening to rock and roll music, to try and capture it all in my own words.
And so, as I see it there are two big ticket items that A Hard Day’s Night brings to the table in terms of human nature: Beatlemania and that aforementioned door unlocking that comes with genuineness. These two concepts cut to the core of why this should always be considered a classic film.
My favorite scene in A Hard Day’s Night is near the beginning, with the Beatles performing “I Should Have Known Better” on the train ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=68cqDJvzJao&list=RD68cqDJvzJao&start_radio=1 ). It brings together and captures beautifully those two big ticket items. That’s Pattie Boyd sitting inside the freight cage with the band as they sing. Her brief stint in the movie (including another earlier scene) is a pleasure to watch, seeing as it was Boyd’s introduction to the Beatles, forever captured on film. Soon enough Pattie Boyd would be tied to the hip with George Harrison. And eventually, she would be the topic of some of the greatest love songs in Rock and Roll history (“Something” and “Wonderful Tonight”, among others).
Yes, the Beatles came across as comfortable in their own skin in A Hard Day’s Night. This is what appeals to people and reminds us of personal experiences we all hopefully share of the same nature.
- Pete
Song: “I Should Have Known Better”
Album: A Hard Day’s Night
Release Date: July 1964
A majority of my formative memories are of the outdoor variety, including countless evenings out and about with my closest friends. There were rare occasions, however, when I would talk my compadres into spending an evening indoors at one of our homes to watch any in a then short list of rock and roll films. Most of these movies we would rent from what were at-the-time, state-of-the-art video stores. One repeat viewing for us was the Who’s the Kids Are Alright (my all-time favorite film). We also took in Neil Young’s Rust Never Sleeps, Led Zeppelin’s the Song Remains the Same, Pink Floyd’s The Wall, and the Who’s Quadrophenia, among others.
These films allowed us to stretch out our understanding of songs we loved that were featured in those films. The viewings were also a way to get to know the musicians better. All of this was a big deal to me. It would ultimately make the inevitable/eventual concert experiences of a number of these acts’ far more compelling than would otherwise have been the case. I suppose you could equate it to learning the history and geography of a city, country or region before travelling there. The additional knowledge gained beforehand makes the experience far more rewarding.
The Beatles as a band were involved in 6 films: A Hard Day’s Night (1964) Help (1965), Magical Mystery Tour (1967), Yellow Submarine (1968), Let it Be (1970) and the Anthology box set (1995). Over the course of this Fab Foundations series, I’ll be visiting (or revisiting) each of these movies. I’ll do this in chronological order, starting here with A Hard Day’s Night. My goal is not so much to critique these movies as it is to garner thoughts and ideas to write about (much like my approach to this Music and Memory blog site in general in relation to songs and albums).
On the latter-day bonus cd for A Hard Day’s Night, George Martin - who produced the sound-track album for the movie (of the same name), along with a vast majority of the Beatles musical catalog - states in an interview that he was originally attracted to the Beatles not so much as talent per se, but as people. As an early instance of this, he mentions that when he first met the band, he asked them if there was anything that they were not comfortable with in the studio room of EMI (where they would be cutting their first record). George Harrison responded “well, for starters, I don’t like your tie”.
I find this both hilarious and courageous. The Beatles had not even signed a record deal yet (and had already been rejected by a number of other record companies), and George Martin, who had quite the authoritative presence about him, was pretty much in control of all the cards. So, there was more than a little risk in such an offhanded comment. But this was who the Beatles were, and Martin found it refreshing.
In a nutshell, this is the type of uninhibited genuineness that is exhibited by all four band members in the film A Hard Day’s Night.
It was pretty clear to me as I watched George Martin make that statement about George Harrison that he was driving at something deeper. He was driving at what made the Beatles…. THE BEATLES! We all search for genuineness in the people we meet, the music we listen to, the art we observe. Real success in any endeavor comes hand in hand with letting your guard down, entrusting and respecting others involved in the process, and connecting with them on the level, and in ways aside from the obligatory professional one. It can be quite amazing how fast you can bond with someone you have just met in the work place when you approach the new relationship this way. It ends up opening all sorts of doors that would otherwise remain closed. Herein lies the upspoken deeper meaning in Martin’s reflection; this notion that we all have amazing gifts that will eventually be noticed by others, but to allow this to happen we first must shed the shackles of conformity and just be ourselves, which in turn lets others to be themselves too.
This truism feeds my fascination in what it takes to be successful in a group setting, such as what we witness with dynasties in the world of sports, or what some of us get to partake in with an unusually gifted team in a standard office work environment, or my favorite one to analyze…. a top-tier band. Genuineness is a large component of this powerful, albeit fragile dynamics of the group setting. My general fascination with group dynamics is why three of my five blog series focus on bands (vs. the two series that focus on musicians who are known more for their individuality: Bob Dylan and Neil Young). Outside of talent, those three bands had core reasons that could explain their success. For the Rolling Stones it was attitude. For the Who, it was in the conscious and subconscious ways that they pushed each other to excel at their craft (particularly on stage), and in the case of the Beatles, it’s all in that genuineness, which was spread out pretty evenly among all four band members.
The all-in authenticity of the Beatles increased exponentially the number of new doors they could open. This was proven again and again by the Fab Four as the 60s unfolded, whereby they would crank out one great accomplishment after another. The Beatles were the real deal because they were real with themselves, with each other, and with others. They caught lightning in a bottle finding and then feeding off one another, and they knew that as long as they stayed true to their collective authenticity, that the sky was the limit.
Ok, I guess I should talk a bit about the movie itself. To my knowledge, A Hard Day’s Night captures something no other film has before or since: Fever-pitched fan frenzy. The phenomenon was so unique, that someone had to come up with a term for it, which will forever be known as Beatlemania. It remains quite fascinating to observe - if only on film - be it through watching this movie or other concert footage of the period.
As I watched those screaming girls earlier this week, it got me thinking “wow, the state of mind that humans are capable of can sometimes be utterly impossible to comprehend”. Hmmm…perhaps not though. Here, I’ll give it a try: In that frenzied Beatlemania state, those teenage girls were displaying an early realization that something new and revolutionary was playing out in front of their eyes. Something they tuned into first. Something that would change the world forevermore. Something that would one day set me to writing hundreds of blog writeups, inspired while listening to rock and roll music, to try and capture it all in my own words.
And so, as I see it there are two big ticket items that A Hard Day’s Night brings to the table in terms of human nature: Beatlemania and that aforementioned door unlocking that comes with genuineness. These two concepts cut to the core of why this should always be considered a classic film.
My favorite scene in A Hard Day’s Night is near the beginning, with the Beatles performing “I Should Have Known Better” on the train ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=68cqDJvzJao&list=RD68cqDJvzJao&start_radio=1 ). It brings together and captures beautifully those two big ticket items. That’s Pattie Boyd sitting inside the freight cage with the band as they sing. Her brief stint in the movie (including another earlier scene) is a pleasure to watch, seeing as it was Boyd’s introduction to the Beatles, forever captured on film. Soon enough Pattie Boyd would be tied to the hip with George Harrison. And eventually, she would be the topic of some of the greatest love songs in Rock and Roll history (“Something” and “Wonderful Tonight”, among others).
Yes, the Beatles came across as comfortable in their own skin in A Hard Day’s Night. This is what appeals to people and reminds us of personal experiences we all hopefully share of the same nature.
- Pete
Monday, February 10, 2020
Fab Foundations # 6: “A Concise Sacrifice”
(Personal reflections
inspired by Beatles songs)
Song: “Hey Jude”
Album: Released as a single
Release Date: August 1968
One aspect of the Beatles story that so many of us fans find uniquely compelling is their breakup. No other band’s demise even comes close. The Who breakup in the 80s was just depressing. Led Zeppelin’s was understandable (John Bonham’s death). The Rolling Stones quarreled in the mid 80’s and came close to splitting, which had a little more intrigue than how it went down with the Who and Zep (anytime Keith Richards gets angry, things get interesting). Simon and Garfunkel, the Kinks, Creedence Clearwater Revival, and the Band all have their unique parting-of-ways stories. So too many other groups. But none of these tales holds a candle to the Beatles dissolution.
There are many reasons for this special interest, not the least being that the Beatles broke up at a time when they were still at their creative peak, prompting the question, what would have happened had they stayed together? Another big reason is that the Beatles broke up at the very tail end of the 60s. Their story is well framed by that turbulent decade, which framed so many other big-ticket items, from assassinations, to war, to civil rights, to flower power, to campus take-overs, to hippies, to Monterey, to Woodstock, to Altamont. Indeed, the demarcation between 1969 and 1970 feels far more historical than Y2K. The Beatles calling it quits was a big piece of that.
For those of us who take in all things Beatles, from books to documentaries, the band’s breakup had a certain inevitability about it not long after Sgt. Pepper was released in 1967. You can read the tea leaves from that point on. The “Get Back” sessions in 1969, which were filmed (and ultimately released as Let It Be), are enough to come to that conclusion, but there were plenty of clues in the music prior to that downer film, including the entirely of the solo-artist feel of 1968’s White Album (see Fab Foundations # 4). Later, Paul McCartney’s plea-of-a-song “Oh Darling” - which I interpret as an appeal directed at John Lennon – was another indication that the band was splitting apart. And the medley of songs on side 2 of the Beatles last studio album Abbey Road, which appropriately concludes with the song “The End” (and more specifically the brilliant closing line “and in the end, the love you take, is equal to the love…. you make”) is transcendent in this regard of closure.
For me though, the most compelling piece of the Beatles breakup story is Paul McCartney’s song “Hey Jude”, which may be the best song he ever wrote. The story goes that Paul came up with this song for John Lennon’s then 5-year old son Julian at the time when Julian’s parents, John and Cynthia, were getting divorced. I’m willing to run with this as being part of the narrative, but as I listen, and hear lyrics like “You have found her, now go and get her”, I think, ‘how could that be about young Julian’?
No, there’s way more going on here, much deeper kinds of things. For, however knowingly his intentions, Paul McCartney would end up expressing a sentiment in “Hey Jude” that we rarely get to experience in the meaning of a song, never mind a legendery one. It’s a sentiment of sacrifice; the act of giving up something valued for the sake of something else regarded as more important or worthy. Yes, in “Hey Jude”, I hear a man letting go of a cherished songwriting partnership, and in the process freeing up his partner for another “to perform with”, that person being Yoko Ono. John Lennon was falling for Ono big time; he was all in on every level, including the creative one. Knowing his bandmate well, McCartney could sense that soon there would not be enough room for both himself and Yoko at the heart of John’s artistic life. That’s my take anyway.
In the ~ 400 page tome that is The Beatles Anthology - the definitive story of the band in their own words - the quote that resonated with me the most was the following one by George Harrison:
John and I had a very interesting relationship. That I was younger, or I was smaller was no longer any embarrassment with John (by the mid-60s). Paul still says, 'I suppose we looked down on George because he was younger', That is an illusion people are under. It's nothing to do with how many years old you are or how big your body is. It's down to what your greater consciousness is and if you can live in harmony with what's going on in creation. John and I spent a lot of time together from then on and I felt closer to him than all the others, right through until his death. As Yoko came into the picture, I lost a lot of personal contact with John, but on the odd occasion I did see him, just by the look in his eyes I felt we were connected."
This is spot on, but from my perspective, it does not cover the entirety of the deeper dynamics among band members. For although all four of the Beatles communicated best through their music, it was Paul McCartney who seemed to have the biggest gap between his musical expression and the spoken word (this is not to be confused with his ability to deal with fame, which was better than the others). McCartney wasn’t horrible – in fact, compared to many people in the public eye, he was pretty darn good - he just was not as good as John, George and Ringo when it came to conveying depth of personality in non-melodic verbal communication. Seeing as we the public get such great insight into the Beatles personalities without ever knowing them personally - through the sheer quantity of documented material - I’m guessing this was probably the case behind closed doors as well. McCartney’s musical expression made up for this gap, though. Perhaps Beatle George did not factor this in.
“Hey Jude” was conceived not long after the Beatles returned home from their India retreat with Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Seeing as John and George stuck it out the longest in Rishikesh, India, it’s always been inferred that those two got the most out of the experience. Yes, it’s pretty apparent that both of them grew significantly around this time in finding ways to express their personal gifts. George’s music grew by leaps and bounds spiritually. John would soon flourish as a troubadour for peace and made bold statements in his music about the power of women. I think Paul grew in wisdom from his India experience too, it’s just that the effect was not as singular or clairvoyant as with John and George. But if you listen to his musical output in 1968 and 1969 - “Blackbird”, “Mother Nature’s Son”, “Let It Be”, “The Long and Winding Road”, much of the medley on side 2 of Abbey Road, and “Hey Jude” among other gems, you just have to tip your cap and acknowledge this fact.
Another significant factor in all the magnificent output by Paul McCartney during this period was John Lennon himself. Lennon challenged McCartney by being brutally honest, even cutting and jabbing at times. In doing so, he was making it clear that there would be no free passes, no dwelling on former success stories, no resting on laurels. It’s the type of challenge that could hurt someone deeply, and this certainly appeared to be the case with Paul (particularly after the band broke up). But McCartney rose to the challenge and – despite being in much more of a heavy environment than his personality was comfortable with – his musical output would prove to be broad and deep. I can relate to both sides of this story – Lennon’s and McCartney’s. I’ve been on both sides of that fence. It is pretty much a given with all the myriad of interrelationships we find ourselves engaged in in the course of our lives.
“Hey Jude” was an amazingly classy and dignified musical statement. Although the song’s lyrics are about John Lennon, I believe they say more about Paul McCartney. In other words, I ask myself more about McCartney as I listen than I do about Lennon. What does it say about a person when they are willing to make such a significant sacrifice? Quite a lot. John Lennon knew the true meaning of the song right off and was very impressed (I did not realize this until many years after I came to the same conclusion). Ultimately, the real barometer of a friendship is not so much how many fun times you have shared, it’s how much you are able to reveal your true self to that person. Paul McCartney pulled this off with “Hey Jude”.
The Beatles performed “Hey Jude” on the telly in 1968 - with David Frost hosting - not long after the song was released. For any Beatles enthusiast who has not seen this, it is worth a viewing (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A_MjCqQoLLA ). This was the first live performance by the Beatles in over a year. I love how, early in the video, Paul and George don’t even flinch at John’s antics (at the 19 second mark). Also, there’s the interplay between Paul and John at the 2:47 mark. Priceless. This is about as serious as I’ve ever seen McCartney in a performance. I also love the diversity of the audience that crowds in and sings along to the well-known closing refrain. It speaks to the spirit of the times.
Post breakup, Paul McCartney and John Lennon would take jabs at each other with biting lyrics in their respective songs “Too Many People” and “How do you Sleep”, among others. There will be more on that part of the story in a future entry. This week, I’m content to stick with the upside of the Beatles breakup, manifested in the magnificence that is “Hey Jude”.
- Pete
Song: “Hey Jude”
Album: Released as a single
Release Date: August 1968
One aspect of the Beatles story that so many of us fans find uniquely compelling is their breakup. No other band’s demise even comes close. The Who breakup in the 80s was just depressing. Led Zeppelin’s was understandable (John Bonham’s death). The Rolling Stones quarreled in the mid 80’s and came close to splitting, which had a little more intrigue than how it went down with the Who and Zep (anytime Keith Richards gets angry, things get interesting). Simon and Garfunkel, the Kinks, Creedence Clearwater Revival, and the Band all have their unique parting-of-ways stories. So too many other groups. But none of these tales holds a candle to the Beatles dissolution.
There are many reasons for this special interest, not the least being that the Beatles broke up at a time when they were still at their creative peak, prompting the question, what would have happened had they stayed together? Another big reason is that the Beatles broke up at the very tail end of the 60s. Their story is well framed by that turbulent decade, which framed so many other big-ticket items, from assassinations, to war, to civil rights, to flower power, to campus take-overs, to hippies, to Monterey, to Woodstock, to Altamont. Indeed, the demarcation between 1969 and 1970 feels far more historical than Y2K. The Beatles calling it quits was a big piece of that.
For those of us who take in all things Beatles, from books to documentaries, the band’s breakup had a certain inevitability about it not long after Sgt. Pepper was released in 1967. You can read the tea leaves from that point on. The “Get Back” sessions in 1969, which were filmed (and ultimately released as Let It Be), are enough to come to that conclusion, but there were plenty of clues in the music prior to that downer film, including the entirely of the solo-artist feel of 1968’s White Album (see Fab Foundations # 4). Later, Paul McCartney’s plea-of-a-song “Oh Darling” - which I interpret as an appeal directed at John Lennon – was another indication that the band was splitting apart. And the medley of songs on side 2 of the Beatles last studio album Abbey Road, which appropriately concludes with the song “The End” (and more specifically the brilliant closing line “and in the end, the love you take, is equal to the love…. you make”) is transcendent in this regard of closure.
For me though, the most compelling piece of the Beatles breakup story is Paul McCartney’s song “Hey Jude”, which may be the best song he ever wrote. The story goes that Paul came up with this song for John Lennon’s then 5-year old son Julian at the time when Julian’s parents, John and Cynthia, were getting divorced. I’m willing to run with this as being part of the narrative, but as I listen, and hear lyrics like “You have found her, now go and get her”, I think, ‘how could that be about young Julian’?
No, there’s way more going on here, much deeper kinds of things. For, however knowingly his intentions, Paul McCartney would end up expressing a sentiment in “Hey Jude” that we rarely get to experience in the meaning of a song, never mind a legendery one. It’s a sentiment of sacrifice; the act of giving up something valued for the sake of something else regarded as more important or worthy. Yes, in “Hey Jude”, I hear a man letting go of a cherished songwriting partnership, and in the process freeing up his partner for another “to perform with”, that person being Yoko Ono. John Lennon was falling for Ono big time; he was all in on every level, including the creative one. Knowing his bandmate well, McCartney could sense that soon there would not be enough room for both himself and Yoko at the heart of John’s artistic life. That’s my take anyway.
In the ~ 400 page tome that is The Beatles Anthology - the definitive story of the band in their own words - the quote that resonated with me the most was the following one by George Harrison:
John and I had a very interesting relationship. That I was younger, or I was smaller was no longer any embarrassment with John (by the mid-60s). Paul still says, 'I suppose we looked down on George because he was younger', That is an illusion people are under. It's nothing to do with how many years old you are or how big your body is. It's down to what your greater consciousness is and if you can live in harmony with what's going on in creation. John and I spent a lot of time together from then on and I felt closer to him than all the others, right through until his death. As Yoko came into the picture, I lost a lot of personal contact with John, but on the odd occasion I did see him, just by the look in his eyes I felt we were connected."
This is spot on, but from my perspective, it does not cover the entirety of the deeper dynamics among band members. For although all four of the Beatles communicated best through their music, it was Paul McCartney who seemed to have the biggest gap between his musical expression and the spoken word (this is not to be confused with his ability to deal with fame, which was better than the others). McCartney wasn’t horrible – in fact, compared to many people in the public eye, he was pretty darn good - he just was not as good as John, George and Ringo when it came to conveying depth of personality in non-melodic verbal communication. Seeing as we the public get such great insight into the Beatles personalities without ever knowing them personally - through the sheer quantity of documented material - I’m guessing this was probably the case behind closed doors as well. McCartney’s musical expression made up for this gap, though. Perhaps Beatle George did not factor this in.
“Hey Jude” was conceived not long after the Beatles returned home from their India retreat with Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Seeing as John and George stuck it out the longest in Rishikesh, India, it’s always been inferred that those two got the most out of the experience. Yes, it’s pretty apparent that both of them grew significantly around this time in finding ways to express their personal gifts. George’s music grew by leaps and bounds spiritually. John would soon flourish as a troubadour for peace and made bold statements in his music about the power of women. I think Paul grew in wisdom from his India experience too, it’s just that the effect was not as singular or clairvoyant as with John and George. But if you listen to his musical output in 1968 and 1969 - “Blackbird”, “Mother Nature’s Son”, “Let It Be”, “The Long and Winding Road”, much of the medley on side 2 of Abbey Road, and “Hey Jude” among other gems, you just have to tip your cap and acknowledge this fact.
Another significant factor in all the magnificent output by Paul McCartney during this period was John Lennon himself. Lennon challenged McCartney by being brutally honest, even cutting and jabbing at times. In doing so, he was making it clear that there would be no free passes, no dwelling on former success stories, no resting on laurels. It’s the type of challenge that could hurt someone deeply, and this certainly appeared to be the case with Paul (particularly after the band broke up). But McCartney rose to the challenge and – despite being in much more of a heavy environment than his personality was comfortable with – his musical output would prove to be broad and deep. I can relate to both sides of this story – Lennon’s and McCartney’s. I’ve been on both sides of that fence. It is pretty much a given with all the myriad of interrelationships we find ourselves engaged in in the course of our lives.
“Hey Jude” was an amazingly classy and dignified musical statement. Although the song’s lyrics are about John Lennon, I believe they say more about Paul McCartney. In other words, I ask myself more about McCartney as I listen than I do about Lennon. What does it say about a person when they are willing to make such a significant sacrifice? Quite a lot. John Lennon knew the true meaning of the song right off and was very impressed (I did not realize this until many years after I came to the same conclusion). Ultimately, the real barometer of a friendship is not so much how many fun times you have shared, it’s how much you are able to reveal your true self to that person. Paul McCartney pulled this off with “Hey Jude”.
The Beatles performed “Hey Jude” on the telly in 1968 - with David Frost hosting - not long after the song was released. For any Beatles enthusiast who has not seen this, it is worth a viewing (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A_MjCqQoLLA ). This was the first live performance by the Beatles in over a year. I love how, early in the video, Paul and George don’t even flinch at John’s antics (at the 19 second mark). Also, there’s the interplay between Paul and John at the 2:47 mark. Priceless. This is about as serious as I’ve ever seen McCartney in a performance. I also love the diversity of the audience that crowds in and sings along to the well-known closing refrain. It speaks to the spirit of the times.
Post breakup, Paul McCartney and John Lennon would take jabs at each other with biting lyrics in their respective songs “Too Many People” and “How do you Sleep”, among others. There will be more on that part of the story in a future entry. This week, I’m content to stick with the upside of the Beatles breakup, manifested in the magnificence that is “Hey Jude”.
- Pete
Saturday, February 1, 2020
Fab Foundations # 5: "Spreading your Wings”
(Personal reflections
inspired by Beatles songs)
Song: “Free as a Bird”
Album: Anthology 1
Release Date: November 1994
Early this week as I began listening to disc one of Anthology 1, which covers the Beatles early years before fame and fortune kicked in, a thought crossed my mind: In my top-tier list of favorite singer/songwriter acts, at least 3 of them - Bob Dylan, Neil Young, and the Beatles – set off while still in their teens to pursue musical dreams far from home (all 3 by the way get a year in review on this Music and Memory blog site). Bob Dylan made his way to Greenwich Village in New York City; a far cry from his home in Northern Minnesota. Neil Young travelled halfway across Canada from Winnipeg to Toronto. And the Beatles left their Liverpool, England home for a city in an entirely different country…. Hamburg, Germany to be precise. All three of these new locales were hip and happening at the given time periods (1961, 1965, and 1960 respectively); with numerous venues for aspiring musicians to possibly catch a break in and hit the big time. Each musician referenced here began his respective journey with nothing but a guitar and a pocketful of hope. They would all live in borderline squalor-like conditions for a time with any thought of a formal education quickly dissipating in the review mirror. Indeed, what they all had chosen to sign up for was the far more informal school of hard knocks.
I’ve read many accounts of those Beatles/Dylan/Young early years in books and magazines, and always find myself captivated. Throughout the week I’ve been thinking about the reasons why, seeing as I don’t know anyone else who gets into such “rockumentaries” to the degree I do. In light of this pondering, I’ve zeroed in on at least one big reason, which is that I find it fascinating to learn the stories of people who take the kinds of risks that these musicians did. The safe bet after all is to heed the words of your elders and get a continuing education or become an apprentice in a trade of some kind. Maybe join the armed forces. But to break off on your own in the hopes of making it as a musician? What percent succeed? Likely it’s a very small number. This is probably the advice that was ringing in the ears of Messrs. Lennon, McCartney, Harrison, Dylan and Young’s at the time they informed their respective authority figures that they were hitting the highway. They had reached the point where the thought of more school and a 9-5 day job afterwards was just not going to cut it for them.
I believe there is a little Woody Guthrie in all of us. Jump a box car and ride, destination unknown. When I was in my early-mid teens, I used to hike the train tracks with my friends. We explored all sorts of places along those rails, from ponds, to streams to wetlands, to large swaths of forest, with not a developed property in site. Most of our travels never ventured beyond the first road overpass, about 3 miles down, but there was one year when we would see how far we could go along those rails, never knowing just where they would lead us. Each time we took it a bit farther, finding ourselves hiking to a second, and then a third overpass. That 3rd overpass was about 10 miles from home. Foreign woods. Foreign surroundings (if you have ever seen the movie “Stand by Me” you can get a hint of what that experience was like). A knee-jerk take on why we did this would be that we were simply scoping out our fascination with the unknown. Very true, but the deeper angle on it was that we were subconsciously beginning the process of breaking away from the home nest and spreading our wings.
At the age of 23, I would take that wanderlust quite a bit further, backpacking across Europe for a summer with my good friend, Bob Mainguy. I worked three jobs to save for that trip, a good portion of which went to airfare and a Eurail pass. I recall my last evening at one of those jobs (bartending). The owner, who rarely spoke to the staff (other than management), approached me and said, “I heard you are leaving us to travel Europe”. After I confirmed this, he said something I’ll never forget (which I paraphrase here): “I am a rich man because I focused on making money when I was your age, but deep down, I wish I did what you are doing. Godspeed”. I was floored. That admission has resonated with me all my life and has factored significantly into how I have parented my children.
Bob and I covered a lot of European ground that summer of ’86, from the top of Norway to the bottom of Spain and Portugal. We lived on a shoestring budget, and often found ourselves resting our heads for the night in train stations, on park benches, or on sandy beaches. And yet, we were free. About as free as one can be, I would think. Such freedom can set your mind off in new directions. I recall near the end of the trip, we were in Ireland (Eurail included ferry service), hiking along the ocean-side cliffs of the Dingle Peninsula, when out of the blue I thought to ask Bob a rather deep question: In the future how would he want to be remembered by his children and his grandchildren? Bob was not quite ready for this, as one would expect considering that he was not even a husband yet, never mind a father or grandfather. And so, he gave a somewhat standard reply related to securing a legacy for being wealthy and wise.
Alas, I was looking for something more profound. Something I couldn’t really grasp myself. Something of the spiritual nature that connected me with what we had been experiencing over the prior months on that great journey of ours. Looking back, it was all about the freedom we were immersed in at the time. I’m thinking it was similar to how the Beatles felt in Hamburg before fame and fortune took over. I wanted to capture that feeling and cork it in a bottle, and then if a grandchild in the future were curious about me, all they would have to do would be to uncork that bottle and breath in the contents. It was one of the first moments when I felt that anything was possible. I still feel that way.
Side note: Recently, I asked a deeply spiritual friend of mine if seeking a legacy equated to a moral quest or conversely, was it being too self-centered? (I was struggling at the time with shifting sands in the workplace). He basically replied that it’s all in the motivation behind that quest. Good answer! I had a feeling that was the case. Seeking a legacy is not necessarily something that should be lumped with negative traits such as pride, avarice, or envy. If the end game is a just one, that drive from within can actually make you a better person.
In their Hamburg, Germany days, the Beatles were near destitute, but they were free. John Lennon has been quoted as saying this was the period when the band was performing at their rock and roll best. They were also very confident, as was Bob Dylan and Neil Young in their early years, when they did not have a pot to piss in. This week, listening to Anthology 1 for the first time, I was pulled in, taken by how solid and loose the Beatles already sounded in their fledgling years, when they were mostly covering material by other musicians. Truthfully, I thought I’d be glossing over this album and moving on swiftly to later Anthology series - which cover their “Fab” years and beyond - to find something to write about. But I kept listening and repeating again and again.
In some of the selections (over 30 in all) the Beatles sound like The Band when they backed up Bob Dylan in ’66 (at the time they were known as the Hawks). The Beatles solid rock sound was 6 years earlier then that famous Dylan “going-electric” tour. It was when rock music was still in its infancy. That’s pretty cutting edge stuff. And so, I take back anything I’ve ever said about the Beatles not being as gifted of a live act as some of the other bands I love. I just had to go back prior to “Love Me Do” - their first record-contract cut in 1962 - back before all the mop-top madness set in. It’s some quality music you hear from those earliest years. That’s what endless hours of performing in Hamburg did for the Beatles. They came back to Liverpool a well-tuned machine and quickly learned that no other band could touch them. Soon enough the word was spreading like wildfire, and long lines would be forming out the door to see the Beatles in places like the Cavern Club.
As another great songwriter, Kris Kristofferson once exclaimed, “Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose”. That’s one way to look at it. Regardless, it’s a lofty state of mind we all strive for, whether we realize it or not. John Lennon tapped back into that state of mind in the late 70s, singing on a demo tape the lyrics to a new number he was formulating at that time: “Free as a Bird”. Much later - 14 years after Lennon’s death to be precise - the three remaining Beatles received a copy of that recording from Yoko Ono, and used it to rally their pooled talents, putting a final stamp on the foursome’s collective legacy ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ODIvONHPqpk ). This song is the first one you hear on Anthology 1, before the earliest of recorded Beatles music kicks in. An end-as-beginning sort of thing. A connecting of the freedom dots.
I like to imagine that Paul, George and Ringo received that demo from Yoko in a bottle, which was only accessible by first uncorking and then breathing in.
- Pete
p.s. Challenge: How many Beatles songs can you reference in the "Free as a Bird" video? No cheating!
Song: “Free as a Bird”
Album: Anthology 1
Release Date: November 1994
Early this week as I began listening to disc one of Anthology 1, which covers the Beatles early years before fame and fortune kicked in, a thought crossed my mind: In my top-tier list of favorite singer/songwriter acts, at least 3 of them - Bob Dylan, Neil Young, and the Beatles – set off while still in their teens to pursue musical dreams far from home (all 3 by the way get a year in review on this Music and Memory blog site). Bob Dylan made his way to Greenwich Village in New York City; a far cry from his home in Northern Minnesota. Neil Young travelled halfway across Canada from Winnipeg to Toronto. And the Beatles left their Liverpool, England home for a city in an entirely different country…. Hamburg, Germany to be precise. All three of these new locales were hip and happening at the given time periods (1961, 1965, and 1960 respectively); with numerous venues for aspiring musicians to possibly catch a break in and hit the big time. Each musician referenced here began his respective journey with nothing but a guitar and a pocketful of hope. They would all live in borderline squalor-like conditions for a time with any thought of a formal education quickly dissipating in the review mirror. Indeed, what they all had chosen to sign up for was the far more informal school of hard knocks.
I’ve read many accounts of those Beatles/Dylan/Young early years in books and magazines, and always find myself captivated. Throughout the week I’ve been thinking about the reasons why, seeing as I don’t know anyone else who gets into such “rockumentaries” to the degree I do. In light of this pondering, I’ve zeroed in on at least one big reason, which is that I find it fascinating to learn the stories of people who take the kinds of risks that these musicians did. The safe bet after all is to heed the words of your elders and get a continuing education or become an apprentice in a trade of some kind. Maybe join the armed forces. But to break off on your own in the hopes of making it as a musician? What percent succeed? Likely it’s a very small number. This is probably the advice that was ringing in the ears of Messrs. Lennon, McCartney, Harrison, Dylan and Young’s at the time they informed their respective authority figures that they were hitting the highway. They had reached the point where the thought of more school and a 9-5 day job afterwards was just not going to cut it for them.
I believe there is a little Woody Guthrie in all of us. Jump a box car and ride, destination unknown. When I was in my early-mid teens, I used to hike the train tracks with my friends. We explored all sorts of places along those rails, from ponds, to streams to wetlands, to large swaths of forest, with not a developed property in site. Most of our travels never ventured beyond the first road overpass, about 3 miles down, but there was one year when we would see how far we could go along those rails, never knowing just where they would lead us. Each time we took it a bit farther, finding ourselves hiking to a second, and then a third overpass. That 3rd overpass was about 10 miles from home. Foreign woods. Foreign surroundings (if you have ever seen the movie “Stand by Me” you can get a hint of what that experience was like). A knee-jerk take on why we did this would be that we were simply scoping out our fascination with the unknown. Very true, but the deeper angle on it was that we were subconsciously beginning the process of breaking away from the home nest and spreading our wings.
At the age of 23, I would take that wanderlust quite a bit further, backpacking across Europe for a summer with my good friend, Bob Mainguy. I worked three jobs to save for that trip, a good portion of which went to airfare and a Eurail pass. I recall my last evening at one of those jobs (bartending). The owner, who rarely spoke to the staff (other than management), approached me and said, “I heard you are leaving us to travel Europe”. After I confirmed this, he said something I’ll never forget (which I paraphrase here): “I am a rich man because I focused on making money when I was your age, but deep down, I wish I did what you are doing. Godspeed”. I was floored. That admission has resonated with me all my life and has factored significantly into how I have parented my children.
Bob and I covered a lot of European ground that summer of ’86, from the top of Norway to the bottom of Spain and Portugal. We lived on a shoestring budget, and often found ourselves resting our heads for the night in train stations, on park benches, or on sandy beaches. And yet, we were free. About as free as one can be, I would think. Such freedom can set your mind off in new directions. I recall near the end of the trip, we were in Ireland (Eurail included ferry service), hiking along the ocean-side cliffs of the Dingle Peninsula, when out of the blue I thought to ask Bob a rather deep question: In the future how would he want to be remembered by his children and his grandchildren? Bob was not quite ready for this, as one would expect considering that he was not even a husband yet, never mind a father or grandfather. And so, he gave a somewhat standard reply related to securing a legacy for being wealthy and wise.
Alas, I was looking for something more profound. Something I couldn’t really grasp myself. Something of the spiritual nature that connected me with what we had been experiencing over the prior months on that great journey of ours. Looking back, it was all about the freedom we were immersed in at the time. I’m thinking it was similar to how the Beatles felt in Hamburg before fame and fortune took over. I wanted to capture that feeling and cork it in a bottle, and then if a grandchild in the future were curious about me, all they would have to do would be to uncork that bottle and breath in the contents. It was one of the first moments when I felt that anything was possible. I still feel that way.
Side note: Recently, I asked a deeply spiritual friend of mine if seeking a legacy equated to a moral quest or conversely, was it being too self-centered? (I was struggling at the time with shifting sands in the workplace). He basically replied that it’s all in the motivation behind that quest. Good answer! I had a feeling that was the case. Seeking a legacy is not necessarily something that should be lumped with negative traits such as pride, avarice, or envy. If the end game is a just one, that drive from within can actually make you a better person.
In their Hamburg, Germany days, the Beatles were near destitute, but they were free. John Lennon has been quoted as saying this was the period when the band was performing at their rock and roll best. They were also very confident, as was Bob Dylan and Neil Young in their early years, when they did not have a pot to piss in. This week, listening to Anthology 1 for the first time, I was pulled in, taken by how solid and loose the Beatles already sounded in their fledgling years, when they were mostly covering material by other musicians. Truthfully, I thought I’d be glossing over this album and moving on swiftly to later Anthology series - which cover their “Fab” years and beyond - to find something to write about. But I kept listening and repeating again and again.
In some of the selections (over 30 in all) the Beatles sound like The Band when they backed up Bob Dylan in ’66 (at the time they were known as the Hawks). The Beatles solid rock sound was 6 years earlier then that famous Dylan “going-electric” tour. It was when rock music was still in its infancy. That’s pretty cutting edge stuff. And so, I take back anything I’ve ever said about the Beatles not being as gifted of a live act as some of the other bands I love. I just had to go back prior to “Love Me Do” - their first record-contract cut in 1962 - back before all the mop-top madness set in. It’s some quality music you hear from those earliest years. That’s what endless hours of performing in Hamburg did for the Beatles. They came back to Liverpool a well-tuned machine and quickly learned that no other band could touch them. Soon enough the word was spreading like wildfire, and long lines would be forming out the door to see the Beatles in places like the Cavern Club.
As another great songwriter, Kris Kristofferson once exclaimed, “Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose”. That’s one way to look at it. Regardless, it’s a lofty state of mind we all strive for, whether we realize it or not. John Lennon tapped back into that state of mind in the late 70s, singing on a demo tape the lyrics to a new number he was formulating at that time: “Free as a Bird”. Much later - 14 years after Lennon’s death to be precise - the three remaining Beatles received a copy of that recording from Yoko Ono, and used it to rally their pooled talents, putting a final stamp on the foursome’s collective legacy ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ODIvONHPqpk ). This song is the first one you hear on Anthology 1, before the earliest of recorded Beatles music kicks in. An end-as-beginning sort of thing. A connecting of the freedom dots.
I like to imagine that Paul, George and Ringo received that demo from Yoko in a bottle, which was only accessible by first uncorking and then breathing in.
- Pete
p.s. Challenge: How many Beatles songs can you reference in the "Free as a Bird" video? No cheating!
Saturday, January 25, 2020
Fab Foundations # 4: “Going Back to the White Well” (1 of 4)
(Personal reflections
inspired by Beatles songs)
Song: “Dear Prudence”
Album: The Beatles
Release Date: November 1968
On the early morning of my first Christmas as a teenager (or was it my last as a pre-teen?) I opened a note under the tree instructing me to “GO TO THE DINING ROOM!”. Any time that Santa left a such a note under the Christmas tree it meant something BIG for one of us– something to be found in another room, the basement, or even the garage - which could be anything from pets to bikes to matchbox racetracks (all set up and ready to race). On this occasion, my gift was sitting on the dining room table. I unwrapped it in lightning speed and, lo and behold, a stereo system lay before me, complete with turntable and speakers. I was elated. Of all the gifts I’ve had the pleasure to receive in my lifetime, it is very likely the one I would use the most.
Now, no new turntable would be complete without a record to play on it, and of course, Santa thought of that too. Upon unwrapping, I could see the album was all white; so stark in its plainness that I still recall the moment. I also recall that I’d never laid eyes on it before. Not soon after, I observed that this was a double album, with cool posters and lyrics in the inner sleeve (see Fab Foundations # 3). What I was in the early stages of taking in was the Beatles self-titled ninth studio album, which a vast majority of Beatles fans worldwide will forever refer to as “The White Album”.
The White Album was the third Beatles album to be welcomed into the Steeves household, after Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band and the greatest hits “Red Album”. Both of those albums belonged to my parents (although my siblings and I played them as much as they did). But this White Album was all mine. My first Beatles album. In this regard, Santa made a very interesting, and likely under-researched choice. For, despite its color, this White Album was no virgin, and a far cry from those young, presumably innocent mop tops who burst on the scene in 1962-63. No, in the ensuing months I would not be incessantly listening to the relatively wholesome sounds of songs like “I Want to Hold Your Hand” and “Love Me Do”. The sounds I would be listening to would be much heavier late-60s sounds. And for as mind-blowing as the music was for a young teen like me, the lyrics were even more so.
I can’t think of any other band releasing anything remotely like the extraordinary White Album. I mean, here was a band that had long-prior established itself as an even-keeled ensemble coming out with an album that sounded more like a collection of solo material (albeit with three amazing musicians backing the given lead guy up). Who does that? No band I know other than the Beatles. No band could get away with it except the Beatles. And so, where all other Beatles albums lead me to other great bands like the Who, the Kinks, and the Rolling Stones, the White Album would eventually lead me to other great individualist musicians like Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Van Morrison, and Leonard Cohen. It would also lead me to the large troth of post-Beatles solo albums after their breakup (being a big reason why selections from those albums should fit nicely into this Fab Foundations series).
Seeing as I’ve so thoroughly enjoyed listening to the White Album all week (a rediscovery of sorts), I’ve decided I need to tap into it slowly. I’ll do this by tackling the record one side at a time - in order - and spreading my four blog entries out as much as possible, turning to other songs and albums in the interim, but coming back to that White Well each time I get the thirst (in which case it could all be over by the end of February 😉). I’ll be breaking down my four related entries by song – also in order - jotting down notes and talking points as I listen on headphones. Why do it this way? Well, every one of the 30 songs on the White Album has had an impact on me at one time or another. It’s hard to choose favorites, but I’ll do my best to pick one from each side (as the given blog entry representative).
Seeing as this album has that solo feel I just mentioned, I’ve added the lead singer (in 29 of 30 songs on the album, also the principle songwriter) in parenthesis after the title of each song, which will help to emphasize my talking points.
White Album, Side 1 (of 4)
“Back in the USSR” (Paul). Right out of the gate, that passenger-jet-engine was a telltale sign that the Beatles were back in the here-and-now after a year grooving out on a psychedelic magical-mystery-tour bus through strawberry fields with the likes of the Egg Man, Sgt. Pepper and a walrus (while staring at Lucy in the sky). This song flat out rocks. In fact, its jet fueled. As a teen in the mid-70s it was kinda funny to listen to. I remember thinking, “hmmm, maybe people can find ways to have fun behind the Iron Curtain after all”. In those days Russia and other Communist-bloc countries were a big black box, and very hard to connect with or even visit, particularly for musicians and other artists who wanted to strut their stuff. I well remember the ’72 Summit Series between Canada and the Soviet Union. It was like a war on ice. The games in Russia felt so foreign to watch. Those NHL Stars of yesteryear could have been playing on Mars; it would not have felt much different from watching them in Moscow.
I had a history professor in college, Dr. Connerton, who once stated that, in order to understand Russia, you first had to understand Germany. Before that however, you had to understand France, and before that you had to understand England. And so, the Beatles were at least one step ahead of me in this regard (even more so, considering the amount of time they spent in Hamburg in their fledgling period). Although it’s a bit of a goof off song story, I do give credit to “Back in the USSR” in helping to evolve my worldview. It made me less Joseph-McCarthy-fueled fearful of that ominous Russian Bear.
Some of the Beatles best backing vocals are on the White Album, including here with the Beach Boys-loving exclamations “ooh, ooh, ooh and dub, dub, dub”, and particularly that magnificent 3-peat “Back in the US, back in the US, back in the USSR” at the 1-minute mark (which I consider the peak-moment of the song). It sounds like a lot of fun was had by one and all (as opposed to the reputation this album has as a rather tense affair). Oh, and has anybody ever noticed how rapid-fire George’s guitar notes are just after the 2 minute mark (backing “show me round the snow peak mountains way down south….”)? It rivals Mark Knopfler’s closing guitar riff on “Sultans of Swing” in terms of finger speed.
“Dear Prudence” (John). Although John Lennon had already been pushing the Beatles into new experimental directions over the previous few years (“Tomorrow Never Knows”, “Strawberry Fields”, “I Am the Walrus”) it’s here on “Dear Prudence” where he first sounds as he would from this point on (including his solo material post Beatles). It’s as if he’s been transformed. He looked it too. Lennon’s was the individual poster inside the White Album sleeve that spoke to me the most as a young teen, and it’s that poster that would adorn my bedroom walls quite a bit longer than the other three.
This is one of those rare-gem of a tunes where the music and lyrics fit perfectly with one another. A lot of great songs get it close. This one nails it ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wQA59IkCF5I&list=PLycVTiaj8OI80AsTGjYJAPi7-i8kTH-Bq&index=2 ). The singer (John) is pleading with “Prudence” to wake up and smell the roses. I remember thinking way back when that it felt almost childlike in its yearning for clairvoyance through the din for this girl. It was only many years later that I realized that this was indeed the truth behind the song, which is about Mia Farrow’s sister Prudence, who was part of the entourage that went to India, along with the Beatles, in early 1968 to meditate with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, and who was taking the experience a bit to the extreme (in turn concerning others on the road trip, including John Lennon).
This song is an entirely different experience than “Back in the USSR”, but somehow the one just flows into the other (a pattern which continues to work brilliantly throughout the album). I love how the fade-in guitar at the beginning of “Dear Prudence” contrasts with the fade-out at the end of the song. The bass line is McCartney at his funked-out best (he is underrated as a bass player in my mind). The bridge is my favorite (of many) on the album: Those “Look around, round, round, round, round” backing vocals simply take you somewhere else in an instant. Perhaps Rishikesh, India? I can’t say, as I’ve never been, but as a young lad, I was swept away from my Franklin, Massachusetts bedroom to some far off land as I listened; that’s for certain.
“Glass Onion” (John). When I first started listening to the White Album, I had no idea about the “Paul is dead” rumors, or people reading into Beatles lyrics, playing songs backward for clues and the like. Hence, the lyrics here - which have fun with all that - were somewhat of an anomaly to me. Still, this was John Lennon, and from having already taken in “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” off Sgt. Pepper, I knew he liked to play with words. These lyrics would ultimately have me scoping out more of the Beatles catalog, including the single “Lady Madonna” and “Fool on the Hill” off Magical Mystery Tour (both songs are referenced in the lyrics).
“Glass Onion” would extend my fascination with the notion of a solo John Lennon. Yup, the previous song (“Dear Prudence”) was no fluke, and this trend would continue with Lennon’s other numbers on side one…. heck, the rest of the album for that matter. It would not be long before I would purchase Shaved Fish at a flea market, which is an album of the best cuts from John Lennon’s first 3 solo albums (I was not aware of this fact at the time, I thought it was an original studio album). “Glass Onion” could have fit on that album.
The drumming stands out here for me; very Ringo-esque. Now I realize why. Ringo quit the band for a short time just as the Beatles began recording the White Album, and so it’s Paul McCartney who plays the drums on the first two songs (“Back in the USSR” and “Dear Prudence”). Again, the bridge stands out. It’s pulsating and powerful, and at the tail-end, showcases John Lennon’s gift for deep throated wailing (something he shares with Kurt Cobain and few others).
A final thought that came to mind while listening to “Glass Onion” this week: I distinctly recalled being very orderly as I listened to the White Album for the first time in the family dining room on Christmas Day 45 or so years ago. “Glass Onion” will always be the third song on the White Album for me because it was the third song I listened to. No bouncing around for this dude. In fact, I had no idea as I listened to this song what was in store for the remaining 27 songs listed on the sleeve. What I did know was that I was instantly impressed with what I’d already heard from “Glass Onion” and the two songs that preceded it. This was an exciting indication of what remained. I was beginning to feel like I was unearthing a treasure chest that was looking bigger and bigger with each cleared shovel full of earth.
“Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” (Paul). This is the only song on the White Album that sounded familiar that Christmas morning, likely having made its way onto my Mom’s AM radio dial. Having a healthy relationship with his Dad may have contributed to why Paul McCartney would occasionally write songs about domestic bliss (read: “When I’m Sixty-Four, “Penny Lane”, "Your Mother Should Know"). This is McCartney in all his positive-nature, glass-half-full glory (which would occasionally irk others in the band who thought at times that he had blinders on).
Be it a rose-colored-glasses song or what have you, “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La Da” fits, both here on side one of the White Album and generally, in the entirety of the Beatles catalog. Paul’s songs could often be a counter point to John’s lyrical take on life, which was frequently more on the downer side of the ledger (“Yer Blues” on side three is a classic example of this). This chemistry between the two is a big part of what made the Beatles work and tick and it’s a big reason why the Beatles were (and remain) so incredibly popular. In other words, they covered the gambit of outlooks and moods (when you include George’s spiritual take on life this is even more of a truism). It’s all there combined on “A Day in the Life” …but that’s a story for another time.
I’ve read that Paul McCartney was tireless in his pursuit to get this song just right with endless takes, which apparently led to some consternation in the band. However, this final-released version does not have the feel of being on the edge of frustration/exhaustion (as opposed to, say, “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” which was also endless in takes). The Beatles sound like they are having a blast, particularly John and George. When I listened again to the song this week, I was reminded of the backing vocals, which are rich in spontaneity. Whoever repeats “ring” and “sing” in high pitch just after McCartney sings those words in the lead vocal sounds like a happy little leprechaun (the same high pitched vocal is used to say “thank you” at the end, which leads me to believe it’s Lennon in all 3 occasions, because that closing remark sounds a bit more like him). Also, when Paul sings “Desmond lets the children lend a hand” we hear backing vocals “arm”, and “leg!”. Fun stuff. And then there’s all the “ha, ha’s” and “ho, ho’s” throughout…like a bunch of kids running around a happy home. The only other band I know that displayed this type of fun spontaneity were the Who.
Domestic bliss. Yeah, why not.
“Wild Honey Pie” (Paul). Not to be confused with “Honey Pie” on side 4. Strangely this very short song can be addictive. It’s almost drone-like. The kind of mantra you would hear in Buddhism, African drum beats, or Native American pow wows. A wee bit trance inducing. Just the fact the Beatles could get away with this sort of thing on a mass-produced album (never mind side two’s “Why Don’t We Do It In the Road” and of course side four’s “Revolution 9”, both which I’ll get to in other entries) is proof of their uniquely historic stature in the music world.
The Beatles were known to push the envelope on long-length of songs, but here they push the envelope in the others direction, seeing as “Wild Honey Pie” checks in at under a minute. The multi-overlay lead vocals are indistinguishable to any one Beatle (other than Paul’s “I love you” at the end), which is due to all that overdubbing. Turns out, it’s all McCartney (I looked it up).
As a kid, I found it cool that such a short, simple song could be included on such a complex album. It felt like a power-to-the-people statement: Conservative corporate-industry standards be damned! Funny how political awareness can be stimulated from such simplicity.
“The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill” (John). This is the first protestation I can think of that John Lennon put to song. It’s about Lennon being outraged by a fellow visitor to the Maharishi’s retreat in India who took a side trek while there to hunt and kill an endangered tiger in the jungle (which he succeeded in doing). I picked up on this a bit as a teenager. I remember the vivid imagery from the lyrics (the impact of watching Disney’s “The Jungle Book” as a young boy certainly helped), although Lennon was able to keep the core meaning of the song somewhat obscure in his own uniquely sarcastic and cryptic way (he’d get much more out-in the open clear in his protestations soon enough, starting with “Revolution 1” on side four of the White Album and continuing on into his 70s solo career – which would ultimately get him into hot water with the Nixon administration).
At the time of my taking in the White Album for the first time, I was an active member of of Greenpeace, with Dad kindly paying my dues (I had a Greenpeace-mailed “Save the whales. Boycott Japanese goods!” poster on my bedroom wall in those years). I think it’s a big reason why I was able to have those insights into the songs meaning.
Lennon shouts “All the children sing” 3 times in this song, and each time he exclaims it in a uniquely different way. I love that uniqueness. The ‘children’ respond each time with the double refrain “Hey Bungalow Bill, what did you kill, Bungalow Bill”. I can hear Ringo and Yoko the most (memorably, Yoko also takes lead vocal for a brief spell with “not when he looked so fierce”).
Who was that masked woman?
“While My Guitar Gently Weeps”. (George). Ok, this is when the album first takes a musical turn to the very serious, in similar fashion to how George Harrison pulls it off on Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band with “Within You Without You”. Through his spirituality, George gained a reputation among Beatles fans for asking the tough questions we all must face if we aim to be virtuous (a good attentive listen to “Beware of Darkness” off All Things Must Pass is enough to come to that conclusion). For example, in “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” we have the lyrics “I look at you all, see the love there that’s sleeping”, and “I don’t know why nobody told you, how to unfold your love” (so sadly true for many of us), and “I don’t know how someone controlled you. They bought and sold you” (also, sadly true), among a few other equally deep lines. Eric Clapton channels these lyrics soulfully well in his gently-weeping lead guitar playing. This was heavy, heavy stuff for a young teenager.
Early on, it was easy to tell the difference between John and Paul vocals. Not so between John and George. What helped was that all George’s songs were credited to him alone (as opposed to the Lennon-McCartney writing team). I always loved the singular “Harrison” credit following his song titles on Beatles albums. It just stood out and made it easy for me to connect to him. The Lennon-McCartney tandem credit on the other hand made it more difficult to dive deeper into their individual psyche at first (I would ultimately prevail over that hurdle though).
George’s moaning at the end of “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” is mournfully eerie, putting a final stamp on the fact he’s not messing around here. Harrison was only 25 at the time, which goes to show you can gain deep wisdom at a young age if you focus on the right things.
“Happiness is a Warm Gun”. (John) This song has the feel of 4 short ditties combined into one, much like what the Beatles would master a year later, on Abbey Road side two. At the core of “Happiness is a Warm Gun” is another Lennon protest, this against America’s infatuation with firearms. This central theme (reflected in the song title) is combined with other far more obscure concepts at the onset of the song which I’ve never invested much time into interpreting (they’re fun to sing along to though!).
Again, I love the backing vocals, these ones offered up by Paul and George. There’s the “bang, bang, shoot, shoot” refrain, which is splendid, but soon topped with the “ohhh, yeahh” replies to Lennon lines such as “when I hold you in my arms” (you being a gun), “and I feel my finger on your trigger” and “I feel nobody can do me no harm”. Those backing vocals sound dreamy and twisted, as they should, seeing as Paul and George (and Lennon himself in the lead) are play-acting the role of the gun-toting obsessives they are actually railing against (the type of anti-character play that Randy Newman would soon master with songs like “Political Science”, “Short People” “Yellow Man” and “Its Money that Matters”).
On that Christmas morning all those years ago, “Happiness is a Warm Gun” would conclude one of the most wildly diverse 30 minutes I’d ever experienced to that point in my young life. It wouldn’t take long to topple though. All I had to do was flip the album over and begin side two.
Alas, that part of the review/reflection must wait another time. In the meantime, I’m sure the White Well will remain full to the brim, ready at any time for my bucket to dip back down into its nectar-rich depths.
- Pete
Song: “Dear Prudence”
Album: The Beatles
Release Date: November 1968
On the early morning of my first Christmas as a teenager (or was it my last as a pre-teen?) I opened a note under the tree instructing me to “GO TO THE DINING ROOM!”. Any time that Santa left a such a note under the Christmas tree it meant something BIG for one of us– something to be found in another room, the basement, or even the garage - which could be anything from pets to bikes to matchbox racetracks (all set up and ready to race). On this occasion, my gift was sitting on the dining room table. I unwrapped it in lightning speed and, lo and behold, a stereo system lay before me, complete with turntable and speakers. I was elated. Of all the gifts I’ve had the pleasure to receive in my lifetime, it is very likely the one I would use the most.
Now, no new turntable would be complete without a record to play on it, and of course, Santa thought of that too. Upon unwrapping, I could see the album was all white; so stark in its plainness that I still recall the moment. I also recall that I’d never laid eyes on it before. Not soon after, I observed that this was a double album, with cool posters and lyrics in the inner sleeve (see Fab Foundations # 3). What I was in the early stages of taking in was the Beatles self-titled ninth studio album, which a vast majority of Beatles fans worldwide will forever refer to as “The White Album”.
The White Album was the third Beatles album to be welcomed into the Steeves household, after Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band and the greatest hits “Red Album”. Both of those albums belonged to my parents (although my siblings and I played them as much as they did). But this White Album was all mine. My first Beatles album. In this regard, Santa made a very interesting, and likely under-researched choice. For, despite its color, this White Album was no virgin, and a far cry from those young, presumably innocent mop tops who burst on the scene in 1962-63. No, in the ensuing months I would not be incessantly listening to the relatively wholesome sounds of songs like “I Want to Hold Your Hand” and “Love Me Do”. The sounds I would be listening to would be much heavier late-60s sounds. And for as mind-blowing as the music was for a young teen like me, the lyrics were even more so.
I can’t think of any other band releasing anything remotely like the extraordinary White Album. I mean, here was a band that had long-prior established itself as an even-keeled ensemble coming out with an album that sounded more like a collection of solo material (albeit with three amazing musicians backing the given lead guy up). Who does that? No band I know other than the Beatles. No band could get away with it except the Beatles. And so, where all other Beatles albums lead me to other great bands like the Who, the Kinks, and the Rolling Stones, the White Album would eventually lead me to other great individualist musicians like Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Van Morrison, and Leonard Cohen. It would also lead me to the large troth of post-Beatles solo albums after their breakup (being a big reason why selections from those albums should fit nicely into this Fab Foundations series).
Seeing as I’ve so thoroughly enjoyed listening to the White Album all week (a rediscovery of sorts), I’ve decided I need to tap into it slowly. I’ll do this by tackling the record one side at a time - in order - and spreading my four blog entries out as much as possible, turning to other songs and albums in the interim, but coming back to that White Well each time I get the thirst (in which case it could all be over by the end of February 😉). I’ll be breaking down my four related entries by song – also in order - jotting down notes and talking points as I listen on headphones. Why do it this way? Well, every one of the 30 songs on the White Album has had an impact on me at one time or another. It’s hard to choose favorites, but I’ll do my best to pick one from each side (as the given blog entry representative).
Seeing as this album has that solo feel I just mentioned, I’ve added the lead singer (in 29 of 30 songs on the album, also the principle songwriter) in parenthesis after the title of each song, which will help to emphasize my talking points.
White Album, Side 1 (of 4)
“Back in the USSR” (Paul). Right out of the gate, that passenger-jet-engine was a telltale sign that the Beatles were back in the here-and-now after a year grooving out on a psychedelic magical-mystery-tour bus through strawberry fields with the likes of the Egg Man, Sgt. Pepper and a walrus (while staring at Lucy in the sky). This song flat out rocks. In fact, its jet fueled. As a teen in the mid-70s it was kinda funny to listen to. I remember thinking, “hmmm, maybe people can find ways to have fun behind the Iron Curtain after all”. In those days Russia and other Communist-bloc countries were a big black box, and very hard to connect with or even visit, particularly for musicians and other artists who wanted to strut their stuff. I well remember the ’72 Summit Series between Canada and the Soviet Union. It was like a war on ice. The games in Russia felt so foreign to watch. Those NHL Stars of yesteryear could have been playing on Mars; it would not have felt much different from watching them in Moscow.
I had a history professor in college, Dr. Connerton, who once stated that, in order to understand Russia, you first had to understand Germany. Before that however, you had to understand France, and before that you had to understand England. And so, the Beatles were at least one step ahead of me in this regard (even more so, considering the amount of time they spent in Hamburg in their fledgling period). Although it’s a bit of a goof off song story, I do give credit to “Back in the USSR” in helping to evolve my worldview. It made me less Joseph-McCarthy-fueled fearful of that ominous Russian Bear.
Some of the Beatles best backing vocals are on the White Album, including here with the Beach Boys-loving exclamations “ooh, ooh, ooh and dub, dub, dub”, and particularly that magnificent 3-peat “Back in the US, back in the US, back in the USSR” at the 1-minute mark (which I consider the peak-moment of the song). It sounds like a lot of fun was had by one and all (as opposed to the reputation this album has as a rather tense affair). Oh, and has anybody ever noticed how rapid-fire George’s guitar notes are just after the 2 minute mark (backing “show me round the snow peak mountains way down south….”)? It rivals Mark Knopfler’s closing guitar riff on “Sultans of Swing” in terms of finger speed.
“Dear Prudence” (John). Although John Lennon had already been pushing the Beatles into new experimental directions over the previous few years (“Tomorrow Never Knows”, “Strawberry Fields”, “I Am the Walrus”) it’s here on “Dear Prudence” where he first sounds as he would from this point on (including his solo material post Beatles). It’s as if he’s been transformed. He looked it too. Lennon’s was the individual poster inside the White Album sleeve that spoke to me the most as a young teen, and it’s that poster that would adorn my bedroom walls quite a bit longer than the other three.
This is one of those rare-gem of a tunes where the music and lyrics fit perfectly with one another. A lot of great songs get it close. This one nails it ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wQA59IkCF5I&list=PLycVTiaj8OI80AsTGjYJAPi7-i8kTH-Bq&index=2 ). The singer (John) is pleading with “Prudence” to wake up and smell the roses. I remember thinking way back when that it felt almost childlike in its yearning for clairvoyance through the din for this girl. It was only many years later that I realized that this was indeed the truth behind the song, which is about Mia Farrow’s sister Prudence, who was part of the entourage that went to India, along with the Beatles, in early 1968 to meditate with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, and who was taking the experience a bit to the extreme (in turn concerning others on the road trip, including John Lennon).
This song is an entirely different experience than “Back in the USSR”, but somehow the one just flows into the other (a pattern which continues to work brilliantly throughout the album). I love how the fade-in guitar at the beginning of “Dear Prudence” contrasts with the fade-out at the end of the song. The bass line is McCartney at his funked-out best (he is underrated as a bass player in my mind). The bridge is my favorite (of many) on the album: Those “Look around, round, round, round, round” backing vocals simply take you somewhere else in an instant. Perhaps Rishikesh, India? I can’t say, as I’ve never been, but as a young lad, I was swept away from my Franklin, Massachusetts bedroom to some far off land as I listened; that’s for certain.
“Glass Onion” (John). When I first started listening to the White Album, I had no idea about the “Paul is dead” rumors, or people reading into Beatles lyrics, playing songs backward for clues and the like. Hence, the lyrics here - which have fun with all that - were somewhat of an anomaly to me. Still, this was John Lennon, and from having already taken in “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” off Sgt. Pepper, I knew he liked to play with words. These lyrics would ultimately have me scoping out more of the Beatles catalog, including the single “Lady Madonna” and “Fool on the Hill” off Magical Mystery Tour (both songs are referenced in the lyrics).
“Glass Onion” would extend my fascination with the notion of a solo John Lennon. Yup, the previous song (“Dear Prudence”) was no fluke, and this trend would continue with Lennon’s other numbers on side one…. heck, the rest of the album for that matter. It would not be long before I would purchase Shaved Fish at a flea market, which is an album of the best cuts from John Lennon’s first 3 solo albums (I was not aware of this fact at the time, I thought it was an original studio album). “Glass Onion” could have fit on that album.
The drumming stands out here for me; very Ringo-esque. Now I realize why. Ringo quit the band for a short time just as the Beatles began recording the White Album, and so it’s Paul McCartney who plays the drums on the first two songs (“Back in the USSR” and “Dear Prudence”). Again, the bridge stands out. It’s pulsating and powerful, and at the tail-end, showcases John Lennon’s gift for deep throated wailing (something he shares with Kurt Cobain and few others).
A final thought that came to mind while listening to “Glass Onion” this week: I distinctly recalled being very orderly as I listened to the White Album for the first time in the family dining room on Christmas Day 45 or so years ago. “Glass Onion” will always be the third song on the White Album for me because it was the third song I listened to. No bouncing around for this dude. In fact, I had no idea as I listened to this song what was in store for the remaining 27 songs listed on the sleeve. What I did know was that I was instantly impressed with what I’d already heard from “Glass Onion” and the two songs that preceded it. This was an exciting indication of what remained. I was beginning to feel like I was unearthing a treasure chest that was looking bigger and bigger with each cleared shovel full of earth.
“Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” (Paul). This is the only song on the White Album that sounded familiar that Christmas morning, likely having made its way onto my Mom’s AM radio dial. Having a healthy relationship with his Dad may have contributed to why Paul McCartney would occasionally write songs about domestic bliss (read: “When I’m Sixty-Four, “Penny Lane”, "Your Mother Should Know"). This is McCartney in all his positive-nature, glass-half-full glory (which would occasionally irk others in the band who thought at times that he had blinders on).
Be it a rose-colored-glasses song or what have you, “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La Da” fits, both here on side one of the White Album and generally, in the entirety of the Beatles catalog. Paul’s songs could often be a counter point to John’s lyrical take on life, which was frequently more on the downer side of the ledger (“Yer Blues” on side three is a classic example of this). This chemistry between the two is a big part of what made the Beatles work and tick and it’s a big reason why the Beatles were (and remain) so incredibly popular. In other words, they covered the gambit of outlooks and moods (when you include George’s spiritual take on life this is even more of a truism). It’s all there combined on “A Day in the Life” …but that’s a story for another time.
I’ve read that Paul McCartney was tireless in his pursuit to get this song just right with endless takes, which apparently led to some consternation in the band. However, this final-released version does not have the feel of being on the edge of frustration/exhaustion (as opposed to, say, “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” which was also endless in takes). The Beatles sound like they are having a blast, particularly John and George. When I listened again to the song this week, I was reminded of the backing vocals, which are rich in spontaneity. Whoever repeats “ring” and “sing” in high pitch just after McCartney sings those words in the lead vocal sounds like a happy little leprechaun (the same high pitched vocal is used to say “thank you” at the end, which leads me to believe it’s Lennon in all 3 occasions, because that closing remark sounds a bit more like him). Also, when Paul sings “Desmond lets the children lend a hand” we hear backing vocals “arm”, and “leg!”. Fun stuff. And then there’s all the “ha, ha’s” and “ho, ho’s” throughout…like a bunch of kids running around a happy home. The only other band I know that displayed this type of fun spontaneity were the Who.
Domestic bliss. Yeah, why not.
“Wild Honey Pie” (Paul). Not to be confused with “Honey Pie” on side 4. Strangely this very short song can be addictive. It’s almost drone-like. The kind of mantra you would hear in Buddhism, African drum beats, or Native American pow wows. A wee bit trance inducing. Just the fact the Beatles could get away with this sort of thing on a mass-produced album (never mind side two’s “Why Don’t We Do It In the Road” and of course side four’s “Revolution 9”, both which I’ll get to in other entries) is proof of their uniquely historic stature in the music world.
The Beatles were known to push the envelope on long-length of songs, but here they push the envelope in the others direction, seeing as “Wild Honey Pie” checks in at under a minute. The multi-overlay lead vocals are indistinguishable to any one Beatle (other than Paul’s “I love you” at the end), which is due to all that overdubbing. Turns out, it’s all McCartney (I looked it up).
As a kid, I found it cool that such a short, simple song could be included on such a complex album. It felt like a power-to-the-people statement: Conservative corporate-industry standards be damned! Funny how political awareness can be stimulated from such simplicity.
“The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill” (John). This is the first protestation I can think of that John Lennon put to song. It’s about Lennon being outraged by a fellow visitor to the Maharishi’s retreat in India who took a side trek while there to hunt and kill an endangered tiger in the jungle (which he succeeded in doing). I picked up on this a bit as a teenager. I remember the vivid imagery from the lyrics (the impact of watching Disney’s “The Jungle Book” as a young boy certainly helped), although Lennon was able to keep the core meaning of the song somewhat obscure in his own uniquely sarcastic and cryptic way (he’d get much more out-in the open clear in his protestations soon enough, starting with “Revolution 1” on side four of the White Album and continuing on into his 70s solo career – which would ultimately get him into hot water with the Nixon administration).
At the time of my taking in the White Album for the first time, I was an active member of of Greenpeace, with Dad kindly paying my dues (I had a Greenpeace-mailed “Save the whales. Boycott Japanese goods!” poster on my bedroom wall in those years). I think it’s a big reason why I was able to have those insights into the songs meaning.
Lennon shouts “All the children sing” 3 times in this song, and each time he exclaims it in a uniquely different way. I love that uniqueness. The ‘children’ respond each time with the double refrain “Hey Bungalow Bill, what did you kill, Bungalow Bill”. I can hear Ringo and Yoko the most (memorably, Yoko also takes lead vocal for a brief spell with “not when he looked so fierce”).
Who was that masked woman?
“While My Guitar Gently Weeps”. (George). Ok, this is when the album first takes a musical turn to the very serious, in similar fashion to how George Harrison pulls it off on Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band with “Within You Without You”. Through his spirituality, George gained a reputation among Beatles fans for asking the tough questions we all must face if we aim to be virtuous (a good attentive listen to “Beware of Darkness” off All Things Must Pass is enough to come to that conclusion). For example, in “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” we have the lyrics “I look at you all, see the love there that’s sleeping”, and “I don’t know why nobody told you, how to unfold your love” (so sadly true for many of us), and “I don’t know how someone controlled you. They bought and sold you” (also, sadly true), among a few other equally deep lines. Eric Clapton channels these lyrics soulfully well in his gently-weeping lead guitar playing. This was heavy, heavy stuff for a young teenager.
Early on, it was easy to tell the difference between John and Paul vocals. Not so between John and George. What helped was that all George’s songs were credited to him alone (as opposed to the Lennon-McCartney writing team). I always loved the singular “Harrison” credit following his song titles on Beatles albums. It just stood out and made it easy for me to connect to him. The Lennon-McCartney tandem credit on the other hand made it more difficult to dive deeper into their individual psyche at first (I would ultimately prevail over that hurdle though).
George’s moaning at the end of “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” is mournfully eerie, putting a final stamp on the fact he’s not messing around here. Harrison was only 25 at the time, which goes to show you can gain deep wisdom at a young age if you focus on the right things.
“Happiness is a Warm Gun”. (John) This song has the feel of 4 short ditties combined into one, much like what the Beatles would master a year later, on Abbey Road side two. At the core of “Happiness is a Warm Gun” is another Lennon protest, this against America’s infatuation with firearms. This central theme (reflected in the song title) is combined with other far more obscure concepts at the onset of the song which I’ve never invested much time into interpreting (they’re fun to sing along to though!).
Again, I love the backing vocals, these ones offered up by Paul and George. There’s the “bang, bang, shoot, shoot” refrain, which is splendid, but soon topped with the “ohhh, yeahh” replies to Lennon lines such as “when I hold you in my arms” (you being a gun), “and I feel my finger on your trigger” and “I feel nobody can do me no harm”. Those backing vocals sound dreamy and twisted, as they should, seeing as Paul and George (and Lennon himself in the lead) are play-acting the role of the gun-toting obsessives they are actually railing against (the type of anti-character play that Randy Newman would soon master with songs like “Political Science”, “Short People” “Yellow Man” and “Its Money that Matters”).
On that Christmas morning all those years ago, “Happiness is a Warm Gun” would conclude one of the most wildly diverse 30 minutes I’d ever experienced to that point in my young life. It wouldn’t take long to topple though. All I had to do was flip the album over and begin side two.
Alas, that part of the review/reflection must wait another time. In the meantime, I’m sure the White Well will remain full to the brim, ready at any time for my bucket to dip back down into its nectar-rich depths.
- Pete
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)