Fab Foundations # 43: “Intersessions”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

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

Those who have been reading this Fab Foundations series (thank you by the way) are aware that I have been slowly carrying through on my commitment to watching and reviewing all 5 of the officially-recognized Beatles movies in chronological order (a 6^th, Anthology, could be considered for inclusion too, but it was released after John Lennon’s death…I may or may not get around to reviewing it). I started with A Hard Day’s Night (Fab Foundations # 7), followed by Help! (FF # 14), Magical Mystery Tour (FF # 24), and Yellow Submarine (FF # 32). Here I will review Let It Be, the fifth and (likely) final review of this Beatles film pentalogy (I just learned this word).

One of the reasons I dragged this movie-review process out was that I was anticipating the remake of Let It Be, which as of this moment is being referred to as Beatles; Get Back. The remake was supposed to have hit the cinemas this past September but has now been delayed to late summer of 2021 (one need not imagine too long what that delay could be for), which is too late for me to include it in my Fab Foundations series. My hope was that I would get energized by the remake in a way that did not happen for me with Let It Be, which I watched many years ago while in college.

My memory of Let It Be was actually more akin to energy drainer. I recall that the movie was dark and disjointed, with a lot of internal squabbling among Beatles. Yoko Ono appeared glued to John Lennon’s hip (even during rehearsals), which annoyed me. George Harrison looked angry. Paul McCartney looked desperate. Ringo Starr looked fried. John Lennon looked distant and unengaged. The basic concept of the movie - that we would all get to see a great band in the studio, creating new music for a new album - was an incredible one (oh, how I wish the Who or the Rolling Stones would have allowed the cameras to roll in the studio for any number of their best albums). But there was no magic. There was no joy.

The Beatles; Get Back remake is supposed to be much more uplifting than Let It Be (the new producers having supposedly captured a number of inspiring moments from the reams of footage that were not captured in the first go around) but with that card off the table, I decided to give the original Let It Be a second chance. Easier said than done. I could not find it anywhere. Not in the library, not on Netflix, not in Red Box (online movie rentals). Not in several other means of cable access. It was nowhere to be found, which may have a lot to do with the Beatles not being all that impressed with the movie either. 

I had pretty much given up early this week and was trying to gear myself up to resorting to my memory of the film for this writeup. And then, as I was doing a bit of preliminary research, I stumbled upon a website that was discussing the new film. Lo and behold, posted a few paragraphs deep was a link to the entirety of the original  Let It Be ( https://www.videomuzic.eu/beatles-let-it-be-movie/?lang=en ). Alas, I could tackle it fresh. (Side Note: I’m not surprised when these kinds of things happen anymore: They have been happening throughout my 10-plus years of writing these blog entries).

And so, this past Wednesday, I kicked back, put on my headphones and watched Let It Be on my laptop. This time around, I found myself far less critical. Yes, much of that earlier negative reaction was still there in me, but my present-day evolved-Beatles-brain approached it all from a far more enlightened angle, and I can now see why a remake may have promise.  First off, Yoko did not bother me nearly as much because I concluded that she did not bother Paul, George or Ringo nearly as much as I’d originally thought -or was led to believe (Paul, in particular, seems genuinely fine with her there).

Ringo Starr’s drumming is professionally excellent throughout. George Harrison creates a highlight moment in the film, leading the band through his love song “For You Blue” (an ode to his wife Pattie Boyd).  John Lennon shines on the rooftop with his singing (particularly “Don’t Let Me Down”) wit (“I’d like to say thank you on behalf of the group and ourselves and I hope we passed the audition”) and overall presence.  In fact, the entire rooftop portion of the film is excellent, which eluded me all those years ago (I covered the rooftop ‘concert’ in “Raise the Roof” > Fab Foundations # 8).  Despite their growing apathy, George, John and Ringo remained enticed by the Beatles mystique and message. Something as special as what they collectively had can be very difficult to move on from.

But the best moments in Let It Be are Paul McCartney’s. He was running the show by this time, in part because he was still so passionate about the band and in part because the others were losing interest. We see him orchestrating and formulating and reflecting, and brainstorming, all in an effort to generate some more of that Beatles pixie dust. His effort and openness, singing heart-on-sleeve songs like “Two of Us”, “Get Back”, “Let It Be” and “The Long and Winding Road”, are truly courageous in the face of the rolling cameras and more than a touch of adversity emanating from his bandmates. His efforts are also heartfelt and inspiring.

Along with all his orchestrating, formulating, reflecting, and brainstorming, Paul McCartney was bumming out too. He knew the end was near. You can see the anguish in his face and hear it in his lyrics. It’s heartbreaking if you allow yourself to feel it. For example, on “The Long and Winding Road”, which is performed for the very first time in the film, he sings in the refrain:

“Many times, I’ve been alone
  And many times, I’ve cried
  Anyway, you’ll never know
  The many ways I’ve tried”

I hear this as a painful plea to his bandmates to try to get through this estrangement period and carry on (in true McCartney fashion, there is also a hope in “The Long and Winding Road” lyrics that love will eventually conquer all). Clearly, the Beatles were more than a band to Paul McCartney. Way more.

“Oh! Darling” was rehearsed during these sessions (which did not make the Let It Be film or album of the same name, but later appeared on Abbey Road). I’ve always heard “Oh! Darling” as an appeal directly to John Lennon:

“When you told me
  You didn’t need me anymore
  Well you know, I nearly broke down and cried
  When you told me, you didn’t need me anymore
  Well you know, I nearly broke down and died”

“The Long and Winding Road” and “Oh! Darling” are heavy, but the title song to the movie, “Let It Be” (one of the Beatles all-time greatest songs) is where we hear Paul McCartney’s anguish the most:

“When I find myself in times of trouble
  Mother Mary comes to me
  Speaking words of wisdom
  Let it be”

Before I go further with this chain of thought, I need to tackle a specific thought that’s been gnawing at me all year; that being that Paul McCartney has an almost nihilistic way of undermining his deeper-meaning songs. It started with “Yesterday”, where he has stated that the original title was “Scrambled Eggs” (“Scrambled eggs, oh my baby, how I love your legs”).  Not many musicians would admit to such lack of early inspiration to one of their most significant compositions. Then there was “Hey Jude”, where McCartney has led us to believe all these years that the song was written primarily about a young Julien Lennon, who was caught in the middle of his parent’s marital unravelling (John Lennon and Cynthia Lennon) after John met Yoko.  Yes, this may be at least partly true, but the song takes on a far more profound meaning when the listener hears it as being about his songwriting partner (which John Lennon himself has observed).

(It’s very likely that Paul McCartney is being extremely honest in these reflections, which actually makes it all even more intriguing in a subconscious sort of way.)

Things get really interesting though with his songs that have spiritual connotations. Faith seems to poke up in at least 3 of McCartney’s best compositions, particularly in relation to the Virgin Mary.  This starts with “Lady Madonna” where he sings “Children at your feet, wonder how you manage to make ends meet”.  Later, in his solo career, he penned the song “Jet” where he sings about “Ah Mater”, which is Latin for Mother Mary: “Ah, Mater, want Jet to always love me” (“Jet” being a veiled reference to his Father-in-Law”). 

But the “Mother-load” of Paul McCartney’s Mother Mary connotations is in “Let It Be” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lcA-qlMP11s ). Sure, McCartney has stated that the song is about his birth mother, Mary, whose death – when Paul was young – has always weighed heavy on him. Still “Let It Be” simply must go deeper than that. It’s too surreal not to be the case. It’s as faith filled a song as I have ever heard. I have no doubt it’s a prayer; Beatle Paul, traumatized by the Beatles breaking up, was searching for divine answers.  Catholics turn to Mother Mary for intersessions in “times of trouble”.  McCartney was baptized into Catholicism, although he has never publicly embraced it. Anyhow, there’s too much there for me to ignore it.

Why all the sidestepping about faith? Has Paul McCartney been intimidated all these years by his bandmates far more open faith-centric proclamations (I speak here of George Harrison and John Lennon, neither of whom stuck with their Liverpool Christian upbringing)? 

Did Paul McCartney’s prayer-of-a-song work?  I’m thinking yes it did indeed. I mean, he did get the brilliant Abbey Road as a final Beatles farewell after the acrimonious Let It Be. It was an inexplicable rebound if you think about it. And yet, it was the only way the Beatles could and should have ended.

In turn we all (including John, George and Ringo) benefitted from Paul McCartney’s appeal for divine intercessions. For that, I’m thankful.

 - Pete

Fab Foundations # 42: “A Market Correction”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”
Album: The Beatles
Release Date: November 1968

Back in April, Boston Globe Correspondent Stuart Miller wrote a nice piece on the Beatles in recognition of their official disbandment 50 years ago to the month. Miller’s article centered around the results of an exhaustive survey he performed over the course of the prior months, whereby he asked participants to list their 30 favorite Beatles songs in order. Miller then took the feedback (he cut it off after 64 participated), developed a ranking scheme, and compiled it. His tally of the top 180 Beatles songs of all time was included in his article, where he also discussed his overall findings.

One of the key findings in Stuart Miller’s article was a big surprise to him; that being the song that came in at # 2: “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YFDg-pgE0Hk ). This song only got three # 1 votes, but through Miller’s ranking scheme (30 points for # 1, 29 points for # 2, and so on) it climbed almost all the way to the top (only “A Day In the Life” beat it out, which included thirteen # 1 votes).

As I close in on the final handful of Music and Memory blog entries over the upcoming months, I have to say “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” has been my biggest song-surprise of this Fab Foundations year too.

As has been the case with every one of these Music and Memory series (Rolling Stones, Neil Young, Who, Bob Dylan, Beatles), I inevitably bumped into several already-familiar songs this year that blew me away in novel ways. Sometimes it’s just the music that hits me from a new angle, and other times it’s more profound than that. The short list of surprises this year includes “Because”, “Back in the USSR”, “Birthday” and “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”. I’ll get to more talking points about that last song (this week’s spotlight tune) soon enough. Right now, however, I’d like to take a deeper dive into the how’s and why’s of what it is that has some music hit you fast and furious, while other music is more of a slow drip of greatness.

The test of time is always telling. Pecking orders of value can end up being shuffled around and ironed out in more natural ways than initially conceived (or even fabricated). This is clearly the case in the art world, including literature, paintings, films, poetry, and music. Viewpoints change. New generations weigh in. Stereotypical opinions are overcome. Case in point, Rolling Stone magazine just released its latest top 500 albums of all time. Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band came in at # 24.  Not bad. However, back in 1987, when Rolling Stone first did such a “top” list, this renowned album came in at # 1. More to the point, in that hot-off-the-presses “top” list, Sgt Pepper finished behind two other Beatles albums (Abbey Road at # 5, and Revolver at # 11), with several others nipping at its heals (the “White Album” at # 29 and Rubber Soul at # 35).

How do these sorts of things happen? What is it that accounts for this type of ‘market correction’? Why do cultural moods shift when it comes to value?

Back when I started blogging, I got a recommendation from my good friend Pat Shea to read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Pirsig. The book was an eyeopener. A main theme was the protagonist’s quest for Quality (in keeping with the book’s approach I capitalize the word here).  In a nutshell the answer to his quest was in a blending and balancing of rational sources of wisdom (science, reason, and technology) with seemingly irrational sources of wisdom (faith, love, trust). I tend to agree and find myself fortunate in this regard.  My observation has been that it’s the rare person who strikes the right balance between their quest for scientific answers to the world’s problems with their quest for faith-based answers (which essentially cuts to the core of the meaning of “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”).

We humans have an instinctual 6^th sense for Quality (whether we turn to it or not is another matter). Yes, we have individual tastes as well, but when a song like “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” climbs to the # 2 slot on a well-planned survey of Beatles songs, it’s more than just about individual tastes. That’s high enough up the ladder to consider that some type of cultural correction is going on.

Focusing more on that Sgt Pepper slip down the best-ever charts, which I believe is a correction in the opposite direction. A big part of the reason for this correction is related to hype. Sgt. Pepper made such a giant splash when it was released in 1967 that the ramifications lasted a good 20 years. It was a splash of psychedelia and technicolor and flower power and long hair. It germinated the summer of love. Most of the critics jumped on the bandwagon.

Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was a lot of things, but some of it was a wee-bit superficial. When you looked under the hood there is less of a message to Sgt. Pepper than one would hope. There certainly is depth in a handful of songs, including “A Day in the Life”, “Within You Without You”, and “She’s Leaving Home” (and maybe even “A Little Help from My Friends”). But much of the rest of the album is just plain fun. Mind you, there’s nothing wrong with fun. It’s just that, this sort of statement must ultimately run its course when it comes to ‘game changer’. It turns out for Sgt. Pepper that, after the dust settled, there was a shelf life in relation to its super-hyped, crème-of-the-crop reputation. This is because there was a limit to its level of Quality.

On the flip side there is a song like “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”, which has always been recognized as a great composition, but not necessarily a cultural crème-of-the-crop tune.  “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” was nested deep in the 30-song double White Album; an album which was not unanimously praised by critics upon release in the way that Sgt. Pepper was. And where Sgt. Pepper was a revolution in studio innovation, pop culture, musicality and sound, the White Album was none of these things. 

Also, as opposed to the release date of Sgt. Pepper (May 1967), by late 1968, great rock music was cropping up all over the place (in part, thanks to Sgt. Pepper). Jimi Hendrix, Aretha Franklin, the Velvet Underground, the Band, Pink Floyd, the Who, the Rolling Stones, Jefferson Airplane, Van Morrison, the Byrds, the Rolling Stones, and so many others were cranking out fantastic music on a regular basis by this time. The Beatles were now simply part of the musical landscape rather than the landscape itself.  Finally, “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” was a George Harrison song, and as late as 1968, Harrison was still trying to establish his own reputation as a serious songwriter while under the shadows of the supersized Lennon/McCartney songwriting team.

The good thing: Such conditions can put a song in prime position for a latter-day climb up the “best-ever” charts.  Most of the time, such conditions won’t work for a given song or album, because that record is, in the long run, mortal. Its Quality has already been realized. Its potential has already been tapped (or even over-tapped). There’s nowhere else you can go with it. Not so for “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”. It’s one of those songs that clearly had a lot of upend. To me, it is on a very short list of Beatles songs that hit Pink Floyd and Who levels in terms of pure intensity (the others that come to mind include “I Want You [She’s So Heavy]”, “Oh, Darling”, “Helter Skelter” and “Don’t Let Me Down”). Songs of this ilk may run a bit longer than your standard 3-minute ditty, but rarely do they run longer than 7 minutes…. and man do they pack an additional wallop in that relatively-short extra time span.

As I’ve stated before, it has been a long while since I have listened to Beatles songs as intensely and extensively as I have this year (I want to say at least 40 years). That’s proven to be a good thing. Revisits to past experiences can have a very different effect than the initial exposure, which has much to do with all the life that has been lived in the interim. Way back when, I mostly heard Eric Clapton’s brilliant lead guitar while listening to “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”. This time around, I hear much more the lyrics. George Harrison wrote many serious songs in his lifetime, and “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” ranks right up there in the serious department. In fact, you can feel this song through the lyrics alone.

Paul McCartney’s musical contribution to “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” cannot be overstated. He is there, in the moment for his bandmate (although it took a while for George Harrison to get his attention). McCartney’s opening piano line is just as lovely as the Eric Clapton guitar solo. His harmony vocals shine too, and his bass sets the undertone to the mood. The other virtuoso musical element to the song is George Harrison’s lead vocals, which is lock step with the feel and meaning behind each-and-every line, verse, and chorus. And Harrison’s moaning at the end has the same eerie feel as the lost souls in the ‘Jacob Marley’ scenes to several of the movie adaptations of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.  

“While My Guitar Gently Weeps” was already partly reviewed by me in Fab Foundations # 4, which was a general overall review of side 1 of the White Album. But as the year progressed, I felt that it needed its own entry.  In that Fab Foundations # 4 entry I mentioned that, through his spirituality, George Harrison gained a reputation among Beatles fans for asking the tough questions we all must face if we aim to be virtuous. In “My Guitar Gently Weeps” Harrison frames these questions more as dejected statements of fact. This is particularly poignant in the 2 bridges:

“I don’t know why nobody told you

How to unfold your love
I don’t know how someone controlled you
They bought and sold you”

 And….

“I don’t know how you were diverted

You were perverted too
I don’t know how you were inverted
No one alerted you”

The “you” being anyone who does not reach their potential, or even come anywhere close to it (i.e. most of us). Truer words could not be spoken

 Eric Clapton channels these lyrics soulfully-well in his gently-weeping lead-guitar playing. Again, brilliant.

George Harrison was only 25 at the time he wrote “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”, which goes to show you can gain deep wisdom at a young age if you focus on the right things.

Quality in this case, had been found.

- Pete

Fab Foundations # 41: “Transition”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 - Pete

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

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

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

Here’s the perfect formula for forming a band:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Pete

Fab Foundations # 39: “Metaphorically Speaking”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Pete

Fab Foundations # 38: “Say Cheese”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Pete