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

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “Magneto and Titanium Man”

Album: Venus and Mars

Release Date: May 1975

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Pete

This entry is dedicated to all my Canadian Brethren.

Fab Foundations # 28: “The Power of Persuasion”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “Handle with Care”

Album: Travelling Wilburys Vol. 1

Release Date: October 1988

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s really where persuasion exists; in love.

- Pete

Fab Foundations # 27: “Living in the Moment”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “Beware of Darkness”

Album: All Things Must Pass

Release Date: November 1970

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They take you where you should not go

While Weeping Atlas Cedars

They just want to grow, grow and grow

Beware of darkness”

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

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

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

George Harrison was already living in the moment.

- Pete

Fab Foundations # 26: “Shaggy Dog”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “Give Peace a Chance”

Album: Released as a single

Release Date: July 1969

I got my first Covid-era haircut a few weeks back. It was on the first day of barber-shop openings in Massachusetts. I desperately needed a haircut (even more so than normal for me) but ended up acting on this last minute with an on-a-whim phone call for an appointment to my longtime barber, Joe. Whaddaya know; he had one slot opened for late in the afternoon.

When the time came, I pulled up in front of his shop and waited outside until the customer before me came out (all this as directed by the sign on the door). I then walked in with my mask on. My first observation was that Joe appeared to be a bit discombobulated, which was understandable seeing as he not only had to wear a mask himself (all day); he had to wear a face-shield visor too (per regulations).  Joe greeted me while in the process of vacuuming and spraying down the barber chair with cleaner (more regulations). It was clear that he was in the early stages of processing this new normal in his profession.

After things settled down with Joe, I sat in the chair. We proceeded to talk about the crazy state-of-affairs, but we also talked music, as we always do. Indeed, Joe is a fellow Bob Dylan fan. He also loves Pink Floyd and the Who. Needless to say, we get along and are never short of conversation. Soon enough, to my relief, some of the loose strands of my Bozo hairdo started falling to the floor. Then, Joe got down to business with the finer precisions of his craft by first wetting my head with his water sprayer. Ahhh… well, this was what he thought he was using, because after dousing me and pulling out his scissors, he froze. In the mirror I can see shock in his eyes, and he soon tells me why: He just loaded my scalp with the cleaning fluid! Turns out the water bottle was next to the cleaning fluid bottle on his work shelf and, well, there you go (even with my poor sense of smell there was no way I could tell with my mask on).

Within seconds Joe has morphed from a person in shock to one in hysterics. He apologizes profusely through tears of laughter and offers my haircut for free (I refuse).  Joe then re-douses my hair (with water this time) and proceeds to give me a top-notch haircut (according to my Mom and my tough-critic wife).  Maybe Joe was inadvertently on to something? (side note: there is more to this comedy-of-errors storyline for anyone interested, but for this blog entry, I’ve gone far enough).

Another positive development in relation to that blunder (aside from the top notch haircut) is this writeup, because it’s how I got my primary talking point for it, which is …hair (and so, thanks Joe!). I got to thinking ‘ya know, I’ve written 325 entries on this blog site about Rock music and its effect on me, and yet, I’ve never really focused on the style, the attire, the appearance, the Hair’. Afterall, the Rock and Roll culture I grew up in has seen its share of hair styles and related attire, and I have certainly partaken in this range myself. Yeah, so let me think (pause)….although I’ve never embarked on the rarified path of a Punk mohawk or a Motown afro, I did my part for many styles including the middle-part, flat top, spike, Pete Townshend-style scruff (often), fully bearded (twice), mullet (yow!), and even a ponytail for a short spell. I also wore a bandana for months on end (while in Canada) and baseball caps backwards for equally long stretches (does that fit the Rock culture? Not sure).

It all started with long hair (in part a reaction to the ‘scuz’ cuts I’d have to get in grade school). I wore my relatively lengthy hair for a number of years in the late 70s. It was not as long as some guys my age, but pretty long (~ shoulder length). And it was long enough so that a neighborhood friend’s conservative Dad occasionally referred to me as a ‘shaggy dog’.  Now, this is interesting, because up to that point it was all about simply liking the way I looked. I’d never really thought of myself as making a statement. That dig was an eyeopener and ended up having the adverse effect of my friend’s Dad’s likely intention (to change me). In fact, at least in part due to that jab, that hair style became a part of my credentials over the ensuing years; a physical affirmation of measured rebellion against entrenched authority and structure. I live that rebellion to this day (although this is not always as clear in my appearance).

The hairstyles and attire of many of us who loved Rock and Roll were outward projections of a quest for something much deeper on the inside however, which centered on peace, love and understanding. All the while, there was a deemphasis on the allure of material wealth in an attempt to free up the spirit for a greater truth. These generational priority shifts were personified in the trajectory of the Beatles story through the 60s, starting with their early focus on love songs, and then evolving through their all-inclusive business model (Apple) and their quest for spiritual enlightenment (transcendental meditation).

In the last year of the Beatles (1969), John Lennon, along with Yoko Ono, took this trajectory another big leap forward by diving headlong into the Peace Movement, which was significant in those times due to the war in Vietnam. By the mid-70s, I was taking in the Beatles story in rapid-fire fashion, and the piece of that story that was most intriguing to me was this John and Yoko thing. There were bold statements and nudity and rebellion and long, long hair, and bizarre practices such as ‘Bagism’ and ‘Bead-ins’.  What was this all about?

I want to take a bit of a side-step here which should help me get more to the point. Beatles Anthology is a must read for Beatles fans. The four Beatles get quoted throughout, but so too do a handful of their associates including George Martin (their record producer), Brian Epstein (their manager), Neil Aspinall (their road manager), Mal Evans (their longtime catch-all assistant), and Derek Taylor (their press officer). I have to say, of all these interviewee’s Taylor is the most candid and colorful (and that is saying something because everyone is candid and colorful in this book).

Four pages in the book (pg. 332-335) go into a nice bit of detail on the “Ballad of John and Yoko”, a song-story about their very public involvement in the peace movement. In this section, Derek Taylor explains most succinctly what was happening: “They had the (Montreal) bed-in for eight days (in the Queen Elizabeth Hotel). Hundreds of people came to the bedside. The questions were dealt with by John and Yoko in the full spirit of Apple (the Beatles record company), because they made themselves completely available to anyone on earth who wanted to come into the bedroom – provided they were not obviously carrying a blood-stained axe. People could come in and ask them questions. Maybe they came in thousands, it felt like it.”  

What grabs me here is “eight days” (a week?).  It’s hard to fathom being interviewed for one day by hordes of people while lying in a hotel bed, never mind eight days. And John and Yoko did this in Amsterdam too; their hotel room opened to the public from 9 am to 9 pm each day at each venue. I’ve watched parts of these “Bed-ins for Peace” (which were mostly filmed). Yes, there were empathetic visitors, but there was also cynicism and antagonism, primarily from “establishment” media types (Al Capp and Gloria Emerson for example). And although they came across as a bit awkward in their response at times (who wouldn’t?) the couple took much of it in stride, and always reeled the exchange back to the task at hand: Campaigning for peace. 

Then there was Bagism, whereby John and Yoko would cover themselves in a bag during interviews. The idea being that it would remove prejudice in the exchange (of skin color, looks, hair length, etc.), and force the interviewer to focus on the message alone (again, peace). There were other gestures too, including a giant billboard in Times Square that December which read “War Is Over (if you want it). Happy Christmas from John and Yoko”.  I believe all of this had a tremendous effect on the youth of the world (along with Martin Luther King’s similar non-violent protestations), which continues to play out today with the “Black Lives Matter” movement and other campaigns for peace, love and understanding. It certainly had this effect on me.

Of course, the John and Yoko efforts also played out in the music. Later, after the Beatles had broken up, this would manifest itself in John Lennon’s world-renowned song “Imagine”.  In 1969, however, Paul McCartney would get (non-participatory) partner credit for Lennon’s first concerted musical foray into his and Yoko’s endeavor; that being the song “Give Peace a Chance” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C3_0GqPvr4U ). If you have never seen this video before, it’s worth taking it in (it was filmed during their Montreal Bed-in).  John Lennon’s sense of humor comes out in the lyrics, but you can also appreciate his earnestness as you watch. It’s such a fascinating and unique video of a brief period in our recent history that in all likelihood will never be repeated.

As I watched the “Give Peace a Chance” video for the umpteenth time this week (as I was wrapping up this entry) I spotted the “Hair Peace” sign behind John Lennon, which brought me back again to my “shaggy dog” years (or as John and Yoko dub it in the song; "Shagism").  I realize now that my priorities and values were already pretty well entrenched by then.  I’m sure there are many other factors, but high among them, I have a former Beatle to thank.

- Pete

This entry is dedicated to my daughter Charlotte, who carries the torch forward

Fab Foundations # 25: “Going Back to the White Well” (3 of 4)

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “Long, Long, Long”

Album: The Beatles

Release Date: November 1968

Continuing my White Album review song by song, here I tackle side 3. If you have not already done so, I suggest reading the introduction to Fab Foundations # 4 as a prelude to this entry ( https://pete-gemsandbeyond.blogspot.com/2020/01/fab-foundations-4-going-back-to-white.html ) seeing as it explains my personal introduction to the White Album on Christmas Day as a young teenager many years ago. Side 2 is tackled in Fab Foundations # 15 ( https://pete-gemsandbeyond.blogspot.com/2020/04/fab-foundations-15-going-back-to-white.html ).

My great friend, Mac and I attended a packed Berklee Performance Center in Boston on January 28, 2014 to watch local Rock musicians and Berklee faculty perform The White Album in its entirety (complete with orchestra pit, a rock-band section of the stage, and a parade of lead singers). It was extremely well done - invoking a sense of passion for the music by all who participated - and was something that I never thought I would see performed by anyone. In other words, it was special.

Side 3 was a highlight that evening because the general feel of that side fit in extremely well with the raucous mood of the event. Afterall, three of the songs on side 3 are among the hardest rockers on the entire album (“Birthday”, “Everybody’s Got Something to Hide Except Me and My Monkey”, and “Helter Skelter”) and two others are HEAVY (“Yer Blues” and “Sexy Sadie”).  The remaining two songs (“Mother Nature’s Son” and my favorite on Side 3 “Long, Long, Long”) are serene, beautiful and impassioned, which was needed to give the Berklee crowd a bit of a reflective break from the fever pitch that was playing out all around us with the other 5 songs during that stretch of the magnificent White Album performance. 

What follows is my critique of Side 3 of the White Album, track by track. As the case with the other 2 related entries, the main songwriter’s first name is in parenthesis (who needs a last name with this band?):

White Album, Side 3 (of 4)

“Birthday” (Paul). There are but a small handful of modern musicians/bands who have made big-event-days-of-the-year their own through song to these ears. Let’s see, off the top of my head there’s the Grateful Dead with “U.S. Blues” (4^th of July) and Arlo Guthrie with “Alice’s Restaurant” (Thanksgiving). And then there’s the Beatles, who pull this off with 2 big-event songs; the already-covered “Your Mother Should Know” (Mother’s Day) and of course “Birthday”. If the Beatles “Birthday” could contribute to a laying down of the weary tune that is “Happy Birthday” for the foreseeable future, we would all be the better off (although in the Steeves family we do spice up that old refrain with some improv and a classic add-on tag).

I love all the vocals in this song, lead and otherwise.  There’s the early Paul McCartney slightly faded count from 1 to 8 (which makes “Birthday” perfect for any kid turning 8-years old). The song really begins to soar midway through when John Lennon takes the tension-building lead for a short spell, singing the threepeat “Yes where going to a party party”, after which the buildup is released in the music and with Paul McCartney singing “I would like you to dance” several times. McCartney’s singing here is filled with celebratory bravado and a touch of lunacy. The ladies in the studio that evening, Yoko Ono and Patti Boyd Harrison chime in too, responding to McCartney’s request with a lovely and ethereal soprano-pitched “Birthday”.  All this gives the song a feel of live immediacy. Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that studio session.

When daughter Charlotte and son Peter were younger this song would be cranked to the max on the mornings of their birthdays. From that moment it was 3 minutes of frenzied spinning and twirling of them in the air - while singing myself - which would leave me exhausted by the end of it. This breathless state was of no matter to the kids, who would insist I do it again… and again. I obliged as long as I could bear it, often finding my second and third winds (finding that new burst of energy was less of a problem the years they turned eight years old).

“Yer Blues” (John). As the case with the transition from “Martha My Dear” to “I’m So Tired” on side 2, we hear another major mood swing here.  But again, in the uniquely wonderful and strange ways of the White Album, it works. “Yer Blues” is the second song on the album where John Lennon is expressing the trauma and pain of being parentless (the first, “Julia”).  Here we hear some of the most personal gut-wrenching lyrics in all of Rock and Roll (Pete Townshend’s “Empty Glass” also comes to mind). 

There was no filtering in John Lennon’s music, which reflects his personality.  Lennon was an artist through and through, to the degree that non-artistic endeavors that most of us take for granted as being part of our daily lives, such as fiscal responsibility or being tactful and prudent appear to have been completely foreign to him. Oddly, this was one of his many endearing qualities and it was what made him brilliant at his craft.

John Lennon performed “Yer Blues” in a concert setting of sorts, just around the time the White Album came out. He did this at the one-off Rolling Stones Rock and Roll Circus event (this filmed event was not released by the Rolling Stones for decades due to them being disappointed in their own performance).  At that event, Lennon enlisted a super band to perform with him: Keith Richards on bass, Eric Clapton on guitar, and Mitch Mitchell on drums. It’s strange watching Lennon on stage with other musicians besides the Beatles, which got me thinking that one thing he and Paul McCartney had in common was that both appear to be - at least to some degree - loners.  George Harrison and Ringo Starr were friend magnets but McCartney and Lennon would ultimately rely on their soul-mate wives (Linda McCartney and Yoko Ono) for deep friendship (to push this point a bit; I often read quotes where McCartney says things like ‘we were friendly with so and so” where Harrison would say it more like ‘Brian Jones was my friend’. Lennon himself rarely commented on friendships). 

A sense of this sort of isolation permeates throughout “Yer Blues”.

One thing that this song has in common with “Birthday” is that live immediacy.  I imagine that what we hear when we listen to “Yer Blues” is precisely how those in the studio heard it on the day it was produced. No overdubs, no corrections.  A pure, unadulterated live sound.   

“Mother Nature’s Son” (Paul). Ever since I was a very young lad, I’ve been an animal lover.  This song contributed to me rounding out that love of animals to the rest of the natural world.  John Denver would later master the art of celebrating the Earth’s splendors in song, but here we hear one of the earliest ruminations on the topic in the rock genera. 

Given a fresh spotlight, I would think “Mother Nature’s Son” could reemerge out of the wilderness as a theme song for this day and age, seeing that one thing I’ve noticed a lot of these past few Covid months is kids out and about on bicycles, in yards playing, and even in the woods. It reminds me of the 70s.  I was unequivocally an outdoor kid way back when, and so were all of my friends. In such an environment, you would never know when a chance encounter with nature would lead to a bit of enlightenment.  It may have been some bizarre bug making its way up a tree trunk, or a parade of ants making their way along the crack in a sidewalk, or a baby bird scurrying through the yard having fallen out of its nest, or a giant snapping turtle emerging out of the edge of a field, or a sprout shooting its way out of an acorn. You have to give these encounters a chance though, and the only way to do that is get outside.

It was clear with the White Album that the Beatles had moved on from the 1967 psychedelia that was Sgt Pepper and Magical Mystery Tour.  The stripped down feel of this album has proven to thrive the test of time much better than its kaleidoscopic predecessors. There’s a rootsy honesty that emanates in the music, which can be taken literally when it comes to “Mother Nature’s Son”.

“Everybody’s Got Something to Hide Except Me and My Monkey” (John). When I first got into this song, I had no idea it was about John Lennon’s relationship to Yoko Ono. I simply thought Lennon had a pet monkey.  The lyrics were relatively inconsequential to me though. I was much more intrigued by the pace and pulse of the song.

The best parts of this song are the spontaneous ones. There are Paul McCartney’s background “Whoo”s throughout, which are great, but the best of the spontaneity comes near the end of the song including all the staggering “come on, come on” lyrics that the entire band chimes in on. My favorite moment though is the quick John Entwistle-esque 3-second bass run that McCartney plays during that stretch. It may have singlehandedly opened my mind up to that instrument, which I have since picked up myself. 

“Everybody’s Got Something to Hide” takes me back to the comment I made earlier (for “Yer Blues”) about the pure artist in John Lennon.  He actually explains it pretty well in these lyrics. Lennon was if anything about as honest and open as they come (brutally so at times). Here we hear him complaining a bit that this level of honesty was not always being reciprocated by others around him… even by his bandmates.  This is a sentiment to contemplate in our own lives. Is there such a thing as too much truthfulness when it comes to a relationship? I’m of the growing belief that there is not.

“Sexy Sadie” (John). Here we hear John Lennon lashing out in classic Bob Dylan style.  On the receiving end, none other than the Beatles then-Guru, Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, who Lennon ultimately suspected was more compromised with human weaknesses than the Maharishi was willing to admit. Lennon’s original lyrics for the song were much harsher than what ended up on record, thanks to George Harrison, who talked his fellow Beatle out of the worst of the vitriol (Harrison also disagreed somewhat with Lennon’s conclusions on the Maharishi).

One of my favorite passages in the Beatles Anthology tome was John Lennon talking about the Beatles 1968 trip to India to study transcendental meditation with the Maharishi. One comment he makes was that those who were there (including a number of other famous people such as Donovan, Mike Love, and Mia Farrow) seemed to be in competition to see who could “get cosmic first”.  Lennon then goes on to say, “what I didn’t know was that I was already cosmic”.  I can relate to that!

There’s nothing that stands out musically regarding “Sexy Sadie”. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice song and all. However, as with many of John Lennon songs from Revolver forward, his interest appears to be more in what he was saying and how he was saying it then in the musical accompaniment. And so, to enjoy this song you need to focus on Lennon’s vocal delivery, which is what I did from the first time I ever listened.

“Helter Skelter” (Paul).  If not for being hijacked by a bad group of people in California, this song would have the deserved reputation as aptly describing the mindset of a kid in an amusement park.  Can’t you just picture it playing loudly as you cruise around in the bumper cars, or spin wildly out of control on the tilt-a-whirl or zero-gravity rides?  (I’m thinking this has occurred for me at least once).

As the case with “Birthday” and “Back in the USSR”, this Paul McCartney song rocks hard. In this case it’s long too. In fact, the song rocks so hard and long that, when it finally concludes (after several false endings), Ringo Starr yells out those famous impromptu words “I’ve got blisters on my fingers!”. That utterance never gets old. (Side note: can anyone name any other utterances that made it on a record in the heat of the moment? Two spontaneous utterances I can think of are “Alright Wilson, pick it” (on Neil Young’s “Losing End”) and “I saw ya” (on the Who’s “Happy Jack”)).

Being a workaholic and perfectionist, Paul McCartney could push his fellow Beatles to the limits and beyond at times (another recollection of this is of his endless takes for “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer”, which John Lennon actually blew off).  From a fans perspective we should be grateful for that quest for perfection seeing as “Helter Skelter” is a fast moving joy of a ride.

“Long, Long, Long”. (George). The Beatles save the best for last on side 3, at least in my mind. In fact,, I’ll go as far as saying that “Long, Long, Long” is the most underrated of all Beatles songs ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e9vUCdfwlgw ).  It always slips under the radar when their music is being rated. One big reason for this is that it is a deceptively subtle song. The other reason: It’s the only Beatles song that is explicitly about God, which, unfortunately, many of the counterculture struggle with. Not me.

Passion shines in “Long, Long, Long”. It’s basically a love song to God. I thought about this some over the week. At a time when John Lennon was getting overwhelmed with his love for Yoko Ono, the same thing was happening with George Harrison, but in a different light. Beautiful things were happening all around the Beatles camp, but at the same time it was all creating deep fissures between band members, because none of these developments were interrelated to the band itself.

Why do I love this song? Well, aside from it being about God, the music, lyrics and singing in the bridge is exquisite. When Harrison sings “so many tears I was searching”, so many tears I was wasting, oh, oh!”, I feel it to my very soul. Listen close to McCartney efforts on the Hammond Organ here too. Beatle Paul was bonding with his longtime brother in arms. The closing of the song has a nice touch too. George adds an extra verse “you know that I need you” that breaks out of the song structure and adds intimacy at the same time.  Wonderful.

Well, there you have it; my critique of side 3 of the White Album. I hope you connect with at least some of my insights.  I already look forward to doing the same for the fourth and final side.

- Pete