(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!
Saturday, February 1, 2020
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
Sunday, January 19, 2020
Fab Foundations # 3: "Sing a Song in Sequence”
(Personal reflections
inspired by Beatles songs)
Song: “Here, There and Everywhere”
Album: Revolver
Release Date: August 1966
A few weeks ago, I wandered into a rock-music record store in downtown Lowell with my 21 year-old son, Peter. Yes, I said that right: ‘Record Store’. The kind you used to find on every Main Street in the country. Nothing but vinyl on the shelves. The old fashioned, turntable, disc-shaped kind of vinyl that any of us music lovers over the age of 50 still has nostalgia for any time we come across such media. This was Rock and Roll packaged in the way it was always meant to be.
Peter was curious and asked me to point out some of the better albums in the store’s inventory. First, I guided him over to the “R” section. It was not hard to find the large selection of “Rolling Stones” albums. I thumbed through until coming upon their superb double album Exile on Main Street. I slipped it out of the outer store sleeve and opened the inner album sleeve, showing Peter the song sequence and pointing out how each of the four sides has its own distinct feel (I wrote about this in my Stepping Stones series, # 17). I emphasized that to connect with the album optimally you need to approach it in this context. It was the way the Stones meant you to hear it. This was intriguing to Peter.
Next, we thumbed through the Beatles catalog until we came upon the “White Album”, which is also a double album. I pulled it out and opened it up. All the original items were there including the folded poster with a montage of photos of the band members in all their late-60s free-spirit glory. I showed him the lyrics to all the songs on the flip side of the poster, which was a novel concept back in the day. There were also the four individual smaller 9 * 11 posters of the band members, reflecting the individuality (vs collective) reputation of the album. I had those on every one of my numerous bedroom walls throughout the 70s and 80s. Again, I mentioned to Peter the distinct feel of each of the four sides.
We then poked through the Who section until we came upon the phenomenal concept album, Quadrophenia (yet another double album). We analyzed the picture sleeve: Jimmy the Mod on his scooter. I pointed out the Who members in each of the scooter’s 4 mirrors (each representing one of Jimmy's 4 split "Quadro" personalities). We then poked through the booklet, which is a nice photo summation of the storyline (I love the image of the Who coming out of the Hammersmith Odeon in London, likely after rehearsal, and Jimmy the Mod kneeling off to the side). We then wrapped up with a few other gems, including Neil Young’s Everybody Knows This is Nowhere and Bob Dylan’s Bringing It All Back Home. Van Morrison’s Wavelength album was playing on the turntable by the cash register. Peter had basically taken a stroll back to his Dads youth. It was a moment I shall not forget any time soon.
Classic albums are gratifying in many ways (including the analog sound, which is superior to anything digital). Put all the elements I just mentioned together, and what you really have are works of art. The most important element of all these is that song sequencing I showed to Peter on the Exile on Main Street album. The first time I ever got into song (aka album) sequencing was while listening to the Beatles Revolver in the weeks after purchasing it (one of my first album purchases back in my mid-teens). I’d never heard of musicians putting effort into this sort of thing, so I pretty much came to the realization on my own. One of the more interesting storylines about this album was that in those days - the mid-70s- what you would get would be the unique United States version of Revolver, which had 3 fewer songs on it than the British version (Revolver was the last Beatles album that the American record company, Capitol, would mess with). At the time, I was also unaware of this factoid. Why is all this interesting? Let me explain.
The 3 songs that were removed from the Capitol Records version of Revolver were all John Lennon songs; “And Your Bird Can Sing”, “Dr. Robert” and “I’m Only Sleeping” (all three would in turn be added to the fabricated Capitol album Yesterday and Today, which I had also purchased around the same time I acquired American Revolver, and which I actually have fond memories of in spite of this fact). “I’m Only Sleeping” was removed from the middle of the first side and the others were removed from the middle of side two.
Documentary after documentary and book after book have described John Lennon as not a happy camper in the mid-60s (Lennon himself refers to those years as his “fat Elvis period”), which at times was reflected in his output. All 3 songs that were removed by the American label were rather pedestrian in comparison to much of the rest of the album. They also lacked a sense of experimentation, and if John Lennon was known for anything while a Beatle, it was pushing the band into new territory. And yet, despite being in a self-described funk, Lennon could also have moments of innovation and brilliance in that period, which are reflected in his 2 contributions that remained on the album…. “She Said, She Said” and “Tomorrow Never Knows” (if Lennon’s “Rain” were included, which was written at the time, and showcases some of Ringo Starr’s best-ever drumming, it would have easily fit too).
In my mind, the Capitol-Record-version shakedown made the album work better. American Revolver was tight, and the songs flowed seamlessly, which was particularly the case with side two. I recalled this week how in my teens, I would love how “Good Day Sunshine” flowed beautifully into “For No One”, and in turn how the latter flowed into “I Want to Tell You”, and all down the line to “Tomorrow Never Knows”. There was something magical about it. Oddly, the record company got it right. Did they actually have someone there with a keen ear? Anyhow, kudos to whoever made that decision. Album sequencing being so novel in 1966 (the only other rock musician I can think of who was doing it then was Bob Dylan), I look at it this way: The Beatles got it 90% right and the record company gave the band’s artistic brilliance the finishing touches in a minimalist sort of way.
These days, we don’t have a working turntable to play records on at home (Note to self: I must get a new cartridge for my old turntable up in the attic). Alas, I would not be able to play my old Revolver album to connect with the Capitol-version song order (to my knowledge, the original Capitol version is no longer available in any form, unless you get an old copy). When I fetched the album in the basement however it was, to my slight surprise, a more recent version of Revolver which has those three John Lennon songs added back in. What happened to my earliest version of the album? I have no clue, but at that moment I did recall having pulled my current copy of the album out once or twice before and scratching my head when looking at the track list. The cd I was listening to in the car all week also had those 3 Lennon tracks. Yet, I wanted to listen to that original album order. I wanted to connect with those early memories of Revolver. On Monday morning this past week, I popped the cd into my car player and allowed my younger self to kick in as each song ended, anticipating the next one. And so, when one of those 3 John Lennon songs began to play instead, I immediately advanced the cd to the next song. Soon enough, it all fit like a glove and after several play-throughs, I began doing it unconsciously. I had my old album back (which I verified by doing a little research later).
Album sequencing is a dying art form. These days, individual songs are downloaded far more frequently than the albums they are on. Is this dying art form a bad thing? After all, most art forms are fleeting. New ones enter the fray. I can accept this, although, as I experienced with Peter a few weeks ago, I sense that there will be a lasting impression. This is the case with any great art form, is it not? If so, the album concept will persevere, even if only on the fringe-artistic edges of our society (I guess that’s me).
One of the most radiant of love songs from Paul McCartney - not only off Revolver but in his entire catalog – is “Here, There and Everywhere” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xdcSFVXd3MU ). As I listened this week, in the context of the original Capitol version of the Revolver album (song 4, side 1), I was pulled back in, floored by the beauty of the music and lyrics. As be the case with “Hey Jude” (which I am certain to write about in a future entry) this song fascinatingly appears to channel the then near-future life of his writing partner John Lennon, more particularly Lennon’s soon to be funk-ending union with his soulmate Yoko Ono (where with “Hey Jude” it was already playing out). All of this is only in my imagination, but when I read the lyrics “but to love her is to need her everywhere” I envision Lennon including Yoko in future studio sessions with the band, or “someone is speaking, but she doesn’t know he’s there" I envision the ‘she’ – or he for that matter – being Yoko and John, drowning out those around them, including Lennon’s bandmates. Is it a McCartney premonition of what was to come? That being John Lennon replacing his love for the Beatles with a new love (which would factor significantly in breaking up the band). Or, is it simply a generality love song of no one in particular, of the most infatuated kind?
John and Yoko is a story for another blog entry though. To close here, I’ll briefly mention another memory of this week’s celebrated song on that celebrated Revolver album. At a close friend’s wedding many years ago, the bride and groom (my friend) approached my wife, Nancy and I before their nuptials and pleaded for our last-minute input on what should be the wedding song for her to walk down the aisle to (why they waited this late in the game would make sense if you knew my friend). Immediately, “Here, There and Everywhere” came to Nancy’s mind. And so it was.
Yes indeed, the Beatles are always Here for the celebration, There for the taking, and Everywhere for the moment.
- Pete
Song: “Here, There and Everywhere”
Album: Revolver
Release Date: August 1966
A few weeks ago, I wandered into a rock-music record store in downtown Lowell with my 21 year-old son, Peter. Yes, I said that right: ‘Record Store’. The kind you used to find on every Main Street in the country. Nothing but vinyl on the shelves. The old fashioned, turntable, disc-shaped kind of vinyl that any of us music lovers over the age of 50 still has nostalgia for any time we come across such media. This was Rock and Roll packaged in the way it was always meant to be.
Peter was curious and asked me to point out some of the better albums in the store’s inventory. First, I guided him over to the “R” section. It was not hard to find the large selection of “Rolling Stones” albums. I thumbed through until coming upon their superb double album Exile on Main Street. I slipped it out of the outer store sleeve and opened the inner album sleeve, showing Peter the song sequence and pointing out how each of the four sides has its own distinct feel (I wrote about this in my Stepping Stones series, # 17). I emphasized that to connect with the album optimally you need to approach it in this context. It was the way the Stones meant you to hear it. This was intriguing to Peter.
Next, we thumbed through the Beatles catalog until we came upon the “White Album”, which is also a double album. I pulled it out and opened it up. All the original items were there including the folded poster with a montage of photos of the band members in all their late-60s free-spirit glory. I showed him the lyrics to all the songs on the flip side of the poster, which was a novel concept back in the day. There were also the four individual smaller 9 * 11 posters of the band members, reflecting the individuality (vs collective) reputation of the album. I had those on every one of my numerous bedroom walls throughout the 70s and 80s. Again, I mentioned to Peter the distinct feel of each of the four sides.
We then poked through the Who section until we came upon the phenomenal concept album, Quadrophenia (yet another double album). We analyzed the picture sleeve: Jimmy the Mod on his scooter. I pointed out the Who members in each of the scooter’s 4 mirrors (each representing one of Jimmy's 4 split "Quadro" personalities). We then poked through the booklet, which is a nice photo summation of the storyline (I love the image of the Who coming out of the Hammersmith Odeon in London, likely after rehearsal, and Jimmy the Mod kneeling off to the side). We then wrapped up with a few other gems, including Neil Young’s Everybody Knows This is Nowhere and Bob Dylan’s Bringing It All Back Home. Van Morrison’s Wavelength album was playing on the turntable by the cash register. Peter had basically taken a stroll back to his Dads youth. It was a moment I shall not forget any time soon.
Classic albums are gratifying in many ways (including the analog sound, which is superior to anything digital). Put all the elements I just mentioned together, and what you really have are works of art. The most important element of all these is that song sequencing I showed to Peter on the Exile on Main Street album. The first time I ever got into song (aka album) sequencing was while listening to the Beatles Revolver in the weeks after purchasing it (one of my first album purchases back in my mid-teens). I’d never heard of musicians putting effort into this sort of thing, so I pretty much came to the realization on my own. One of the more interesting storylines about this album was that in those days - the mid-70s- what you would get would be the unique United States version of Revolver, which had 3 fewer songs on it than the British version (Revolver was the last Beatles album that the American record company, Capitol, would mess with). At the time, I was also unaware of this factoid. Why is all this interesting? Let me explain.
The 3 songs that were removed from the Capitol Records version of Revolver were all John Lennon songs; “And Your Bird Can Sing”, “Dr. Robert” and “I’m Only Sleeping” (all three would in turn be added to the fabricated Capitol album Yesterday and Today, which I had also purchased around the same time I acquired American Revolver, and which I actually have fond memories of in spite of this fact). “I’m Only Sleeping” was removed from the middle of the first side and the others were removed from the middle of side two.
Documentary after documentary and book after book have described John Lennon as not a happy camper in the mid-60s (Lennon himself refers to those years as his “fat Elvis period”), which at times was reflected in his output. All 3 songs that were removed by the American label were rather pedestrian in comparison to much of the rest of the album. They also lacked a sense of experimentation, and if John Lennon was known for anything while a Beatle, it was pushing the band into new territory. And yet, despite being in a self-described funk, Lennon could also have moments of innovation and brilliance in that period, which are reflected in his 2 contributions that remained on the album…. “She Said, She Said” and “Tomorrow Never Knows” (if Lennon’s “Rain” were included, which was written at the time, and showcases some of Ringo Starr’s best-ever drumming, it would have easily fit too).
In my mind, the Capitol-Record-version shakedown made the album work better. American Revolver was tight, and the songs flowed seamlessly, which was particularly the case with side two. I recalled this week how in my teens, I would love how “Good Day Sunshine” flowed beautifully into “For No One”, and in turn how the latter flowed into “I Want to Tell You”, and all down the line to “Tomorrow Never Knows”. There was something magical about it. Oddly, the record company got it right. Did they actually have someone there with a keen ear? Anyhow, kudos to whoever made that decision. Album sequencing being so novel in 1966 (the only other rock musician I can think of who was doing it then was Bob Dylan), I look at it this way: The Beatles got it 90% right and the record company gave the band’s artistic brilliance the finishing touches in a minimalist sort of way.
These days, we don’t have a working turntable to play records on at home (Note to self: I must get a new cartridge for my old turntable up in the attic). Alas, I would not be able to play my old Revolver album to connect with the Capitol-version song order (to my knowledge, the original Capitol version is no longer available in any form, unless you get an old copy). When I fetched the album in the basement however it was, to my slight surprise, a more recent version of Revolver which has those three John Lennon songs added back in. What happened to my earliest version of the album? I have no clue, but at that moment I did recall having pulled my current copy of the album out once or twice before and scratching my head when looking at the track list. The cd I was listening to in the car all week also had those 3 Lennon tracks. Yet, I wanted to listen to that original album order. I wanted to connect with those early memories of Revolver. On Monday morning this past week, I popped the cd into my car player and allowed my younger self to kick in as each song ended, anticipating the next one. And so, when one of those 3 John Lennon songs began to play instead, I immediately advanced the cd to the next song. Soon enough, it all fit like a glove and after several play-throughs, I began doing it unconsciously. I had my old album back (which I verified by doing a little research later).
Album sequencing is a dying art form. These days, individual songs are downloaded far more frequently than the albums they are on. Is this dying art form a bad thing? After all, most art forms are fleeting. New ones enter the fray. I can accept this, although, as I experienced with Peter a few weeks ago, I sense that there will be a lasting impression. This is the case with any great art form, is it not? If so, the album concept will persevere, even if only on the fringe-artistic edges of our society (I guess that’s me).
One of the most radiant of love songs from Paul McCartney - not only off Revolver but in his entire catalog – is “Here, There and Everywhere” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xdcSFVXd3MU ). As I listened this week, in the context of the original Capitol version of the Revolver album (song 4, side 1), I was pulled back in, floored by the beauty of the music and lyrics. As be the case with “Hey Jude” (which I am certain to write about in a future entry) this song fascinatingly appears to channel the then near-future life of his writing partner John Lennon, more particularly Lennon’s soon to be funk-ending union with his soulmate Yoko Ono (where with “Hey Jude” it was already playing out). All of this is only in my imagination, but when I read the lyrics “but to love her is to need her everywhere” I envision Lennon including Yoko in future studio sessions with the band, or “someone is speaking, but she doesn’t know he’s there" I envision the ‘she’ – or he for that matter – being Yoko and John, drowning out those around them, including Lennon’s bandmates. Is it a McCartney premonition of what was to come? That being John Lennon replacing his love for the Beatles with a new love (which would factor significantly in breaking up the band). Or, is it simply a generality love song of no one in particular, of the most infatuated kind?
John and Yoko is a story for another blog entry though. To close here, I’ll briefly mention another memory of this week’s celebrated song on that celebrated Revolver album. At a close friend’s wedding many years ago, the bride and groom (my friend) approached my wife, Nancy and I before their nuptials and pleaded for our last-minute input on what should be the wedding song for her to walk down the aisle to (why they waited this late in the game would make sense if you knew my friend). Immediately, “Here, There and Everywhere” came to Nancy’s mind. And so it was.
Yes indeed, the Beatles are always Here for the celebration, There for the taking, and Everywhere for the moment.
- Pete
Saturday, January 11, 2020
Fab Foundations # 2: "In the Beginning”
(Personal reflections
inspired by Beatles songs)
Song: “Michelle”
Album: Rubber Soul
Release Date: December 1965
One of the unique peculiarities of my extended family is that there is not a single descendant of “Flower Power” age (which I equate to being in your collegiate years during the late 60s – early 70s). This is particularly striking to me, because my extended family is very large. My paternal grandparents had 5 children and my maternal grandparents had 12. Between the two there were over 70 grandchildren. My Mom was one of the youngest in her large family, which rounded out in the early 1940’s (my Dad’s family was a bit older). My oldest cousins are not much older than I, born in the mid to late 50s. This leaves a gap of about 12 years or so, within which that Flower Power (aka Age of Aquarius) generation was born.
And so, in terms of family, my parents had no strong ties to the counter-culture movement. This can also be said for their taste in music. Neither my Mom or Dad gave much thought to the fledgling years of Rock and Roll. Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Ray Charles, Little Richard, and Jerry Lee Lewis were not on their radar. My Dad loves classical music, particularly Mozart. He’s also big into symphony orchestras. My Mom grew up to musicals and other sing-alongs from the 30s and 40s, which her family would emulate around their piano. Their music, along with wholesome early-70s soft-rock radio play (“Summer Breeze”, “A Horse with No Name”, “Precious and Few” etc.) was what I was exposed to in my pre-teen years.
Which makes it kinda fascinating to me that my parents would introduce Beatles music into our home (see Fab Foundations # 1) around the time of my adolescence. Simply reading my first 2 paragraphs here, you would think this to be a big leap for them. But my parents are not the type you can shoehorn into a class or category of culture. They can be flexible and adaptable because they are grounded in faith, hope and love, which has had a rather significant influence on me.
The other piece of that puzzle, however, was that the Beatles and their Rock & Roll contemporaries were beginning to prove by that time (early 70s) that they were not going away any time soon. Their music had staying power, which continues to be proven to this day. Anything with staying power eventually makes its way across generational divides. There is a strong corollary to my parents’ story here. The Beatles and a handful of their contemporaries (several of whom I’ve already written about in this blog) are also adaptable, and they also are grounded in faith, hope, and love.
My adolescence also coincided with the family move to 17 Park Road, Franklin Massachusetts, an old Victorian house with a sprawling porch wrapped around it, nestled on a hill near the center of town. Before moving there from a few blocks away, the entire house had to be gutted, remodeled, and painted. I did not think of it as home until about six months in. Not soon after, it became everyone’s home; friends, cousins, neighbors. My parents still live there. Not long ago, an older cousin who had moved to Texas after college, was back East visiting family and arrived at 17 Park Road for a Christmas party. As we talked, he mentioned what a wonderful home it was. I realized at that moment that the house was new to his eyes. I stared at him somewhat incredulously: “You mean to tell me you’ve never been here before? Everyone-and-their-brother has been to this house!”.
Yeah, that about sums up the vibes of 17 Park Road.
Being about twice the size of our prior home, there was space to get away from the hustle and bustle of family life if you wanted. I am the oldest of six, and so this was a welcome commodity. One place to escape was the living room/dining room space, which was often closed off in the winter, seeing as Dad, in protest of OPEC oil prices, shut off the radiator heat and went full bore with wood stoves (my brothers and I got very good at chopping wood in those years). The family record player was in that living room in the early Park Road years (my soon to be Santa-delivered record player had not arrived yet… but that’s a story for another time), along with my parent’s album collection, which by that time included the Beatles “Red Album” (1962-1966). Ignoring the chilly air, I’d close myself off in that space and listen, read the album sleeve, and listen some more.
The first song I really locked into was “Michelle”. I suppose it could then be said that “Michelle” is the foundation for this blog site. Why “Michelle”? Well, it so happened that I was infatuated with a girl named Michelle at that time. However, there was way more to it than that. This song was sophisticated…. the melody, the lyrics (half in French), the instrumentation, everything. It put me in a different world. I was no longer just sitting in the family living room. I was connecting to something much bigger and broader. I had the distinct sense that I was tapping into a universal sensation. My innocent, insular world was beginning to break apart.
“Michelle” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WoBLi5eE-wY ) paved the path for far deeper dives into the Beatles (and others) catalog in the years to come. It’s primarily a Paul McCartney song (John Lennon contributed to the bridge) which has had me thinking these past months – as I prepped for this series – that McCartney played a vital role for many of us Beatles fans as a bridge to the great beyond of Lennon, Dylan, Townshend, Young, Reed, Richards, Davies, Waters, and others. Breaking out of innocent, insular lives was not going to be done by diving into the deep end. That would have been too much of a quantum mental leap. No, a process was needed, and McCartney guided us in.
This past Thursday and Friday, I spent, appropriately, in the French-speaking city of Montreal, Quebec, with my daughter Charlotte, who is getting her master’s in biology at McGill University and needed to initiate an Environmental Policy course before continuing the course and her field research in Panama this coming semester. The two of us left home in Pepperell, Massachusetts at 3 am, drove up through New Hampshire and Vermont on a beautiful moonlit nite, and watched the sunrise over Lake Champlain as we island hopped our way to the Northeast corner of New York (Rouses Point), and the Canadian border. I dropped Charlotte off at her class on the MacDonald Campus, and not long after, checked into the funky little AirBnB we stayed at on the western corner of the island of Montreal.
I was too exhausted to write…. but not to listen. I queued up “Michelle” on the laptop. The music resonated through that charming, immaculate, French-suburban home ("Michelle, Ma belle"). I was alone with my thoughts which brought me back to those solitary evenings in the living room of 17 Park Road. A then and now moment of sorts. Oh, what has transpired since! It’s the stuff that hundreds of Music and Memory blog entries could be written about.
- Pete
Song: “Michelle”
Album: Rubber Soul
Release Date: December 1965
One of the unique peculiarities of my extended family is that there is not a single descendant of “Flower Power” age (which I equate to being in your collegiate years during the late 60s – early 70s). This is particularly striking to me, because my extended family is very large. My paternal grandparents had 5 children and my maternal grandparents had 12. Between the two there were over 70 grandchildren. My Mom was one of the youngest in her large family, which rounded out in the early 1940’s (my Dad’s family was a bit older). My oldest cousins are not much older than I, born in the mid to late 50s. This leaves a gap of about 12 years or so, within which that Flower Power (aka Age of Aquarius) generation was born.
And so, in terms of family, my parents had no strong ties to the counter-culture movement. This can also be said for their taste in music. Neither my Mom or Dad gave much thought to the fledgling years of Rock and Roll. Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Ray Charles, Little Richard, and Jerry Lee Lewis were not on their radar. My Dad loves classical music, particularly Mozart. He’s also big into symphony orchestras. My Mom grew up to musicals and other sing-alongs from the 30s and 40s, which her family would emulate around their piano. Their music, along with wholesome early-70s soft-rock radio play (“Summer Breeze”, “A Horse with No Name”, “Precious and Few” etc.) was what I was exposed to in my pre-teen years.
Which makes it kinda fascinating to me that my parents would introduce Beatles music into our home (see Fab Foundations # 1) around the time of my adolescence. Simply reading my first 2 paragraphs here, you would think this to be a big leap for them. But my parents are not the type you can shoehorn into a class or category of culture. They can be flexible and adaptable because they are grounded in faith, hope and love, which has had a rather significant influence on me.
The other piece of that puzzle, however, was that the Beatles and their Rock & Roll contemporaries were beginning to prove by that time (early 70s) that they were not going away any time soon. Their music had staying power, which continues to be proven to this day. Anything with staying power eventually makes its way across generational divides. There is a strong corollary to my parents’ story here. The Beatles and a handful of their contemporaries (several of whom I’ve already written about in this blog) are also adaptable, and they also are grounded in faith, hope, and love.
My adolescence also coincided with the family move to 17 Park Road, Franklin Massachusetts, an old Victorian house with a sprawling porch wrapped around it, nestled on a hill near the center of town. Before moving there from a few blocks away, the entire house had to be gutted, remodeled, and painted. I did not think of it as home until about six months in. Not soon after, it became everyone’s home; friends, cousins, neighbors. My parents still live there. Not long ago, an older cousin who had moved to Texas after college, was back East visiting family and arrived at 17 Park Road for a Christmas party. As we talked, he mentioned what a wonderful home it was. I realized at that moment that the house was new to his eyes. I stared at him somewhat incredulously: “You mean to tell me you’ve never been here before? Everyone-and-their-brother has been to this house!”.
Yeah, that about sums up the vibes of 17 Park Road.
Being about twice the size of our prior home, there was space to get away from the hustle and bustle of family life if you wanted. I am the oldest of six, and so this was a welcome commodity. One place to escape was the living room/dining room space, which was often closed off in the winter, seeing as Dad, in protest of OPEC oil prices, shut off the radiator heat and went full bore with wood stoves (my brothers and I got very good at chopping wood in those years). The family record player was in that living room in the early Park Road years (my soon to be Santa-delivered record player had not arrived yet… but that’s a story for another time), along with my parent’s album collection, which by that time included the Beatles “Red Album” (1962-1966). Ignoring the chilly air, I’d close myself off in that space and listen, read the album sleeve, and listen some more.
The first song I really locked into was “Michelle”. I suppose it could then be said that “Michelle” is the foundation for this blog site. Why “Michelle”? Well, it so happened that I was infatuated with a girl named Michelle at that time. However, there was way more to it than that. This song was sophisticated…. the melody, the lyrics (half in French), the instrumentation, everything. It put me in a different world. I was no longer just sitting in the family living room. I was connecting to something much bigger and broader. I had the distinct sense that I was tapping into a universal sensation. My innocent, insular world was beginning to break apart.
“Michelle” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WoBLi5eE-wY ) paved the path for far deeper dives into the Beatles (and others) catalog in the years to come. It’s primarily a Paul McCartney song (John Lennon contributed to the bridge) which has had me thinking these past months – as I prepped for this series – that McCartney played a vital role for many of us Beatles fans as a bridge to the great beyond of Lennon, Dylan, Townshend, Young, Reed, Richards, Davies, Waters, and others. Breaking out of innocent, insular lives was not going to be done by diving into the deep end. That would have been too much of a quantum mental leap. No, a process was needed, and McCartney guided us in.
This past Thursday and Friday, I spent, appropriately, in the French-speaking city of Montreal, Quebec, with my daughter Charlotte, who is getting her master’s in biology at McGill University and needed to initiate an Environmental Policy course before continuing the course and her field research in Panama this coming semester. The two of us left home in Pepperell, Massachusetts at 3 am, drove up through New Hampshire and Vermont on a beautiful moonlit nite, and watched the sunrise over Lake Champlain as we island hopped our way to the Northeast corner of New York (Rouses Point), and the Canadian border. I dropped Charlotte off at her class on the MacDonald Campus, and not long after, checked into the funky little AirBnB we stayed at on the western corner of the island of Montreal.
I was too exhausted to write…. but not to listen. I queued up “Michelle” on the laptop. The music resonated through that charming, immaculate, French-suburban home ("Michelle, Ma belle"). I was alone with my thoughts which brought me back to those solitary evenings in the living room of 17 Park Road. A then and now moment of sorts. Oh, what has transpired since! It’s the stuff that hundreds of Music and Memory blog entries could be written about.
- Pete
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