John & Yoko Interview Box Set

For any Beatlemaniac out there, there is a new box set featuring extensive interviews with John Lennon and Yoko Ono during a period of enormous creativity from the former Beatle. If you've ever immersed yourself in the finer details of the Beatles history, this sounds like it would provide some excellent material for your geeky little head. Details on the box set including its content are found below.

This eight CD box set features John Lennon & Yoko Ono's five iconic conversations with Village Voice journalist and radio personality Howard Smith. These in-depth discussions about music, love, creativity, peace and politics illuminate the couple's transformation from Beatles into revolutionaries.

These interviews have been mastered from Smith's original audio recordings, which had been buried in the back of his West Village loft for 40 years. Never before released on CD.

May 28 - 29, 1969 - Live phone interview, the Bed-In Montreal (35 min)

Smith speaks on the phone with John & Yoko, who are in their suite at the Queen Elizabeth Hotel in Montreal. Among other things, they discuss selling Peace as a commodity, the Activist Movement, and Lennonʼs denial of being, nor intention of being, a leader.

Dec. 17, 1969 - Ronnie Hawkinʼs Ranch, Ontario Canada (89 min)

Smith traveled to Ronnie Hawkinʼs Ranch outside of Toronto to interview John & Yoko. While eating shrimp tempura, they discuss the ins and outs of recording with the Beatles, the bandʼs uncertain future, Woodstock vs. Altamont, and the impact of the Youth Movement.

Dec. 12, 1970 - Regency Hotel, NYC (86 min)

Smith interviews John & Yoko the day after the Plastic Ono Band albums are released, and they are in the midst of shooting 2 art films. They discuss the emotional process of their music including specific songs from the albums, their time in Janov therapy, how they handle fame, and whether the Beatles will ever get back together.

Sept. 9, 1971 - St. Regis Hotel, NYC (71 min)

Smith interviews John & Yoko on the day Lennonʼs album Imagine is released. They discuss the album, Onoʼs upcoming artist retrospective, Paulʼs, Georgeʼs and Ringoʼs own individual albums, the mediaʼs criticisms of their relationship, Johnʼs "working class" nature, and future plans.

Jan. 23, 1972 - The Lennonsʼ Bank St. apartment, NYC (86 min)

Smith drops by John & Yokoʼs West Village apartment on the day of a WPLJ Beatles marathon which can be heard at times playing in the background, often inspiring and directing the conversation. They discuss the experience of being a Beatle (and a Beatle wife) and the break up, stage fright and the emotional rollercoaster of performing, breakthroughs acquired in Janov therapy, love, and Revolution.

About Howard Smith:

Howard Smith is an Oscar winning film director, journalist and broadcaster. As a writer for more than 30 years, his articles have appeared in, among others, Playboy and The New York Times. Smithʼs weekly column "Scenes" in the Village Voice helped cement the paperʼs position within the emerging counterculture.
 

Squeeze - Argy Bargy

In high school, I worked as a lifeguard for the municipal pool during the summer months. The managers were usually a few years older than the guard staff, so every year they would come back from college during summer break and tell us how awesome university was while tempting us with their driver’s licenses and breaking out some bullshit pool hierarchy whenever we underage drinkers asked for a hand in buying some booze.

One of the things that they did share with us was the occasional mix tape featuring “college music” and other tracks from what students supposedly listened to while they were away from home, their cabinets filled with plastic Chinet plates, Graffix bongs, and copious amounts of Everclear grain alcohol.

Their music taught me that my concept of college life was completely off. I mean, how can you explain one manager’s love of Phil Collins and Supertramp? There was obviously nothing remotely smokeable coming from that dude’s dorm room and nothing to indicate that he was actually putting that collegiate independence to good use.

But another manager did have a few challenging tapes that he would bring to the pool, some of which actually fell outside of the idea of “mainstream.”

One afternoon, he popped in a cassette in the pool’s primitive stereo system that pumped music over the weatherproof speakers and provided customers with the hourly routine pool checks, where we would force everyone out of the pool at the top of the hour and see if we missed any dead bodies sinking to the bottom of the pool.

Playing a personal cassette over the p.a. system was a big no no. We were under some vague instructions to leave the radio tuned to the local top 40 station as it was enjoyed by more customers. But hear me when I say that after an afternoon, twirling your whistle in 90-degree Iowa humidity, the last thing you wanted to hear was Michael Sembello‘s “Maniac” four times during your shift.

So it was a great relief to hear a foreign, yet familiar sound of a Beatlesque guitar coming from the tinny fidelity of the pool’s all-weather speaker. It was hard to make out the words, but the voice sounded similar to that of John Lennon’s, singing about “Squinting faces at the sky / A Harold Robbins paperback.”

The record—Squeeze‘s Argy Bargy—continues to serve as one of my own musical clarions to announce the summer solstice. It is the closest that the band got to their well-deserved Fab comparisons while managing to point to a direction that may have ultimately transcended those lazy associations.

The song I heard that day, “Pulling Mussels From The Shell,” and the track that kicked off side two, “If I Didn’t Love You,” are the two most recognized gems from Squeeze’s primary songwriters, Chris Difford and Glenn Tilbrookn. They may have been college radio favorites at the time they were released, prompting my manager to tape a copy of Argy Bargy for his own collection, but the rest of the record was full of wonderfully smart pop songs that the manager agreed to let me tape with his dual cassette dubbing unit.

The source tape was his TDK SA90 cassette, which I used as well for my copy. It was a little more expensive than the cheap blank cassettes that I used, but I figured that the dude was in college, so he must know that chrome-oxide tapes sounded better than those normal bias ones.

The second-generation tape hiss wasn’t too bad, and I attributed it to the bitchin’ high-bias tape I bought and the treble-killing Dolby B noise reduction that I used during the high speed dubbing process. Upon playback, I noticed something weird during the awesome song “Vicki Verky,” a great slice of up-tempo acoustic Beatlemania towards the end of the album. In the middle of the song, the Squeeze composition suddenly dropped out and I could hear the familiar refrains of a Beatles song playing backwards for about 15 seconds. Always up for a game of Beatles trivia, I determined the vocal part of the chorus was none other than George Harrison and the song in question was “Love You To” from Revolver. How it ended up on my tape is unknown and why it plays the segment backwards is one of life’s mysteries.

But it gave my dub copy of Argy Bargy character and I kept that cassette even after I properly got my own copy on CD many years later.

What isn’t mysterious was how Argy Bargy managed to cross-generational boundaries. A few years later, I became one of the managers of that municipal pool, and one of my first acts as a big shot was to put in that tape of Argy Bargy, just like old times. Years later, one of the female lifeguards remembered that tape, and evidently inquired about it after I played it. She got the annunciation wrong, but I understood her perfectly when she asked if I could make her a copy of that “Argee Bargee” album that I used to play at the pool during the summer.

There was also my own father, who became a fan of Squeeze after allowing me the opportunity to play Argy Bargy in the car on our way to a short getaway one summer. To get through an entire album without my father advising, “Let’s listen to something else now,” was a rare event, but it was even rarer to have him request, “Put in that Squeeze tape!” when we ended up on the beach off a lake where my aunt and uncle lived in Illinois. Maybe the Fab melodies got to him, or maybe it was just the after effects of the lake that cooled the nuclear power plant nearby.

I think it’s the melodies; they’re as fresh today as they were thirty years ago. The melodies are the reason you’ll still catch a one of their most popular classics while shopping for groceries. In fact, “Pulling Mussels From A Shell” came up the other day while the iPod was on shuffle as I was cooking dinner.

“That’s where I’ve heard this song from!” my wife announced, explaining that the song would frequently play at her store’s music channel, causing her to break into a spontaneous, “And I feel like William Tell,” in front of her co-workers who weren’t as familiar with the work of Squeeze.

The truth is, everyone should be a bit familiar with them, and I hope with additional spins of Argy Bargy my wife won’t begin to think of her place of employment the next time she hears their songs.

Because Argy Bargy is great enough that it should be honored with worthy memories. In fact, the band themselves point that out during “If I Didn’t Love You” with a line that has pretty much served as the Cliff Notes of my own musical obsession: “Singles remind me of kisses / Albums remind me of plans.”

A lot of both were created with this frequently overlooked gem.

This review originally appeared in Glorious Noise.

Incredible! Capitol Records Re-Releases Beatles' Yesterday...And Today With Infamous 'Butcher Cover'

Incredible!

With what can only be described as an almost unhealthy obsession, I may get to own my very own copy of The Beatles' album Yesterday...And Today with a reproduction of the infamous "Butcher's Cover."

Capitol Records-evidently still timid after the Capitol Records Vol. 2 box set, the one where they presented the titles Rubber Soul and VI as true mono mixes from the original sources, when in fact they were merely fold-down mixed of the newly mastered stereo versions-has decided to forgo a Vol. 3 box set entirely. Instead, the folks at the record company are releasing the American Beatles albums as a pricey box set (what else is new) and as individual offerings, albeit for a limited time.

While this is another case of Beatles' redundancy and probably not worth a hill-of-beans to the average fan of the Fab Four, for me it means an opportunity to obtain an official (and modestly priced) Butcher Cover of the band's Yesterday...And Today release, a cover that I have dreamed about for decades.

Sure, this is another case of owning another Beatles album after I already have multiple sources of every song on the release-including a 70's reissue of the title with the boring orange label-it is a chance to finally own one of the most bizarre covers ever to grace a major release, including a sticker to represent the regular "trunk cover" that replaced the offending cover.

It's an idea-not to toot my own horn, but "Toot toot!"- that I have suggested to family members, stray cats, and random co-workers for several years now.

Here's the story for all you dipshits that have no idea what I'm talking about: Capitol records released American versions of Beatles albums complete with different artwork and, on occasion, heavily processed mixes that included phony baloney stereo and lots of reverb. For dipshits like me, these are the titles and mixes that I grew up with.

On one particular release, Yesterday...And Today, the Beatles were photographed wearing butcher covers and holding plastic baby doll parts and random pieces of meat. It was "controversial" to some, but for others (like George Harrison) it was a stupid idea.

Anyway, some moron green-lighted this photo as the cover for the latest Beatles record and stores began to ask "What the fuck?"

So Capitol panicked and ordered the stores to return the offending covers, whereby they promptly destroyed or covered the artwork with a very homogeneous shot of the band standing around a fucking trunk.

When the public found out about this, they began seeking out the original artwork-even going so far as to peel back the replacement cover that was merely glued on to the original one.

To put this in a price perspective: an original Butcher Cover is mint condition can run in the tens of thousands. A covered copy can fetch several thousand in decent condition, and the ones that people have peeled (both effectively and poorly) can range from the hundreds to thousands and are the least sought after.

I was only able to come away with a poster of the cover, featuring the words "Incredible!" directly above the shot. This poster stayed in my bedroom growing up for many years, drawing attention from friends who came over. I remember George looking very crazed in the shot and I remember checking out prices for an original cover-in any state I could find-while contemplating just how silly it would be to fork over large chunks of cash for one measly record.

A friend who owned a few record stores in the Waterloo/Cedar Falls area had a copy of one (second state, if you give a shit) but was totally nonchalant about it, which prompted me to offer $50 for it.

He declined.

But now I can have my own copy for $15, albeit in the "milking it for all its worth" format of the compact disc.

I'm in!

I'm doing this solely for the cover, because it sounds like the mixes of the remaining American titles (Yesterday...And Today, Revolver-which cuts three Lennon tracks, making this title a pointless relic, Hey Jude, the soundtrack to Hard Day's Night and the documentary The Beatles Story) are all from the 2009 master tapes, not the original ones that Capitol based the records on back in the 60's.

In other words: these titles aren't even the proper mixes from the original masters, but newly created ones that are supposed to "enhance" the listening experience, whatever that means.

Which will have me stopping at the Y&T album as I'm not interested in hearing new "American" mixes, or whatever you want to call this clusterfuck of a moneygrab.

I suppose that it isn't that big of a deal since the controversial Dave Dexter Jr. mixes stopped with the U.S. version of Rubber Soul, making the remaining American titles mostly hatchet jobs of the original mixes.

Whatever. This box set will sell and completists will eat. it. up. Just as they do with any Beatles releases. And they'll also whine about how the original Vee Jay record wasn't included, or any of the other questionable titles that flooded the U.S. market before Capitol secured the rights.

Below is the Captiol Records video for this title as well as the company's press release.

Going Underground: Paul McCartney, The Beatles and the UK Counterculture

You can keep your San Francisco.

For my time machine, London circa 1966/67 sounds like it could have been ground zero for the counterculture, and a recent documentary examines this possibility.

Going Underground: Paul McCartney, The Beatles and the UK Counterculture takes a detailed look at Swinging London and the impact that Britain's radicals had on shaking the island country out of its Victorian slumber.

Press:

In the mid-1960s the often rigid and colourless British way of life was irrevocably transformed by the emergence of a cultural underground movement. Led by a loose collective of young radicals, they introduced new social, sexual and aesthetic perspectives. Operating out of the heart of London, their various activities, from 'The International Times' - a bi-weekly journal that no hipster could be seen without - to the psychedelic nightclub UFO, promoted alternative lifestyles and values, and sparked a social revolution.

This film not only traces the history of this underground scene, but also explores its impact on the pre-eminent British group of the era, The Beatles. Although they were well established by the time the movement emerged, Paul McCartney in particular, was closely linked with several of its key players, and through his exposure to cutting edge concepts brought ideas directly from the avant-garde into the mainstream.

Featuring many new interviews with key players from the time including; IT editor and long term friend of Paul McCartney, Barry Miles; founder of IT and UFO club organiser, John 'Hoppy' Hopkins; founder of UFO and Pink Floyd producer , Joe Boyd; Soft Machine drummer, Robert Wyatt; drummer from experimental improvisational collective AMM, Eddie Prevost; proprietor of Indica, the counter-cultural gallery, John Dunbar; Underground scenester, vocalist with The Deviants and IT journalist, Mick Farren; plus author of 'Days in the Life: Voices from the English Underground 1961 - 1971', Jonathon Greene; Beatles expert, Chris Ingham and Mojo jounalist Mark Paytress. Also includesrare archive footage, photographs from private collections and music from The Pink Floyd, The Beatles, Soft Machine, AMM and others.

Time Capsule Clutter

What you see in the photo to the side is a leap year miracle.

Actually, it is the contents of a sealed box that I found in my garage tonight. A reminder of my past that I had sealed in a box, forgotten, and then reminded of when my parents shipped it to me because they didn’t want it cluttering up their joint any longer.

I would have easily forgotten about the box, even after they sent it, but tonight curiosity got the best of me just like it did Brad Pitt in Seven.

There was no human head in my box, just some old music related garbage that I thought I would share it on this day that gives you the opportunity to live 24 hours longer.

As you can see, there are a few band stickers ready for sticking. At one time, I used to cover my stereo speakers with band stickers and the like. You’d get a ton of them if you worked in radio, and my punchy Acculab 4-way speakers that I purchased at K’s Merchandise back in 1983 were covered with ‘em. It was pretty punk rock back in the day, but when I turned into a Yuppie in the mid-90’s, I felt that I needed to do away with such nonsense so I scrapped them for a pair of Bose 301s.

Not that you give a shit about my speakers, I’m just sayin' that these were the stickers left over from when I began to think that my speakers looked tacky with them on it. Now, of course, I wish I still had those Acculabs. I’d blow out a tweeter or midrange speaker, schlep down to Radio Shack (a Tandy company), and buy a replacement.

You can see an awesome Barkmarket sticker (I also have a spare), a Mathew Sweet dinosaur from Altered Beast (got about four of those, all different colors), a Sonic Youth washing machine from, you guessed it, Washing Machine, and the obligatory Jesus Lizard sticker. I loved that band so much that I was too gun shy to put it anywhere. Hell, you could say the same thing about all of those stickers I guess.

Next up is a Beatles pin that I stole from the Wal Mart electronics department on the day The Beatles Anthology I was released. I remembered all of those promotional items that Capitol Records had back in the 60’s and I thought, “I’ll have a bit of that!” Of course, I’ll have to wait a few more years before this button will be worth anything, but I now regret not nicking another one just for good measure.

On the upper right hand corner is a promotional item for the Pixies. It’s a simple black and white postcard of the band, standing in front of a bar that shares their name. This would have been from their Trompe Le Monde record, and it’s the perfect example of a ridiculous expense that serves no purpose. Why Elektra records felt the need to print up hundreds of postcards and ship them to radio stations across the country is beyond me. It in no way provokes radio programmers to think “I should add that new Pixies single this week!” and it’s not eye-catching enough for anyone to save. Instead, I’m sure Elektra added the cost of such dim-witted ideas to the Pixies accounting so that they’re still paying them off today. Even though it wasn’t very eye-catching, I saved it because I love the Pixies.

In the center is the add that Spinal Tap took out in radio trade magazines to hype up Break Like The Wind, the band’s early 90’s reunion album. I thought the ad was hilarious, and they really did hold auditions as part of the promotion. If I recall, Mick Fleetwood won the competition. Incidentally, this piece of paper survived over 20 years, most of which was featured prominently on one of the tom toms on my drum kit.

There were other items found: local band fliers, a Grateful Dead bota bag flask, an official Beatles Yellow Submarine Zippo lighter, etc. But the strangest thing is probably that Squeaky Fromme collage sent to me by a friend. It has nothing to do with music (that is Charlie in the upper right hand corner of the small piece) and I have no idea why I saved it other than my irrational curiosity towards the Manson Family.

Even more inexplicable is why Paul Shaffer plays a keyboard solo during The Pixies’ network television debut on Late Night with David Letterman.

The Lost Chord Of Hard Day's Night

This is awesome.

Randy Bachman-yes the "Takin' Care Of Business" guy-gets a personal glimpse into the opening chord of "Hard Day's Night" directly from George Martin's son.

What's great is how you can hear how excited Randy is in telling this story, and the moment he puts together those chords, you end up feeling a little tingly inside

And even though you've heard that intro a thousand times, this clip will make it feel like the first time all over.

George Harrison: Living In The Material World

Nobody can question Martin Scorsese’s body of work, but there is growing evidence that his documentary work-specifically the films devoted to his generation’s pipers-is growing increasingly celebratory and decreasingly informative.

The word “forgettable” did not apply to a Scorsese film, but that is a good adjective for his last effort, Shine A Light, a late career concert documentary on The Rolling Stones. Shine A Light is not a very good indicator of how good the Stones were as a live unit, and it does not show them as anything but aging dinosaurs whose better days were well behind them.

He returns with Living In The Material World, nearly four hours of archival material pieced together to give us insight on this complex artist. The effort is deserved, as Harrison has probably been the most private of the members of The Beatles, with even his autobiography I Me Mine reading as a cherry-picked collection of memories that provide a basic overview of his life while not seeming overly concerned with digging too deep into touchy subjects.

Living In The Material World is no exception. Whether it is Scorsese’s own strategy or producer/spouse Olivia Harrison’s instructions to avoid controversial topics, the movie serves as a basic introduction to George while passing over his musical output with a vague eye.

You hear very little on the conflict between George and the rest of the Beatles, other than the common knowledge that his allotment of one song an album was beginning to be questioned.

Conversely, so little time is spent on his solo work the fact that after Harrison’s only post-Beatle masterpiece All Things Must Pass that there is little evidence to suggest that he had much to offer the music market after that record anyway.

Could it be that the dominance of Lennon/McCartney creativity during the Beatles prompted Harrison to work that much harder at his own craft and without it, he’d gotten lazy?

While I don’t expect a documentary to completely rail on the subject-particularly when the family is participating in its development-I do expect that it should be a fair representation of the subject.

Let’s be honest: I’m hard pressed to come up with an album’s worth of good George Harrison songs after All Things Must Pass and, to that point, even Scorsese agrees based on the song material he includes on this documentary. There is very little post-All Things Must Pass music underneath the endless praising and personal antidotes.

Even during the film’s first half, so much time is spent on explaining Stu Sutcliff’s role in the Beatle’s early development that you wonder, “Who is this documentary about?”

Added to this, the film spends an inordinate amount of time on John Lennon that you begin to wonder if Lennon’s own criticism of I Me Mine right before his murder made an impact on George’s life, to the point where the film goes out of its way on making sure John gets the proper credit.

And all of this makes you wonder if we really need four hours to tell the story of George Harrison.

Is, perhaps, the reason we knew so little about “the quiet Beatle” is because his first role was his finest? His comfort level and talents were best matched as the silent counter-balance to John and Paul and, without them, he began to notice the limitations of his own talents?

We’ll never know, particularly if Living In The Material World claims to be the definitive overview of George Harrison.

There’s a sticky feeling to it too, as we learn why Harrison felt such a connection to the Hindu religion, but we get little insight to the suggestion that Harrison was far from being the idealistic beacon that the film likes to hint at.

His friendship with Eric Clapton is given ample airtime, but very little is spent on the dynamic of Clapton’s approach to George’s first wife, Pattie, other than to describe the infidelity as nothing more than an off-shoot of the “freedom” within swinging London.

There is a bit of candid information at the end of Living In The Material World, when the severities of Harrison’s wounds resulting from the attack made on his life when an intruder stabbed him on New Year’s Eve, 1999.

Apparently, George was close to death after the attack and he is extremely lucky that his wife Olivia was there to beat the shit out of the assailant with a nearby fireplace poker.

All of this came after Harrison was undergoing cancer treatment, and there is a bit of suggestion that the attack also contributed to George’s health deteriorating, just before another cancerous growth was discovered.

The growth led to the Harrison camp getting involved with Dr Gil Lederman and his controversial cancer treatments in Staten Island. While there, Lederman managed to break the traditional doctor/patient role when the “good doctor” took Harrison’s frail hand to initiate a barely conscious autograph.

I use this story from the last days of Harrison’s life as an example. This may not have been the most glowing story of George’s life, but it was part of it and it serves as a perfect example of why Harrison shied away from the limelight that his career created. Even while he was dying, Harrison was forced to deal with fame when his primary focus should have been with his health.

It was a well-known story, but Scorsese leaves it for us to discover. And it makes us consider “How many other stories did Martin Scorsese leave out for the sake of making nice with the Harrison estate or for the sake of making his subject matter more like a deity?”

Singles 45's and Under: The Beatles - I Want To Hold Your Hand

Case in point: here we have an original 45 of “I Want To Hold Your Hand” b/w “I Saw Her Standing There.” Note the nifty Capitol swirl! Note my declaration of “Wow!” wonderfully hand-written by yours truly at the age of three or four. Note how, even at that early age, the seeds of cataloging seem to be in place, thanks to my documentation of "1964" on the left side of the label.

The fading of the orange color represents my feeble attempts later on at trying to remove the markings with a pencil eraser.

Somebody do the legwork and tell me what this thing goes for in mint condition.

Aside from the horrendous condition of the label, the grooves of this single are completely shot, changing the color of the vinyl from traditional black to a near grey quality. This is probably due to a cheap needle from my old record player and a curious tradition of taping loose change to the top of the tonearm with Scotch tape.

One thing is sure: I played the piss out of this single when I was young, entranced by the power of rock and roll with no regard for how much the Beatles’ first American smash hit might be work in the decades to follow.

John Lennon & Yoko Ono - Double Fantasy

John Lennon would have turned 70 this month.

I know this because his birthday is less than a week away from mine, and I used to this that was a big deal.

His birthday marks the re-issue of John Lennon’s solo material. It got me thinking if I need new copies of Lennon’s solo output as I’ve already acquired what I want on cd. Is the fidelity good enough for another copy of Imagine or Plastic Ono Band?

But the one that caught my attention was Double Fantasy, and the promise of a “naked” version of the album. It’s a record that’s noteworthy as it was the first after Lennon’s domestic exile and the last of his life. Both of these things put the album in a much higher profile than, say, Mind Games.

I decided to revisit the record last week, during an impromptu game of Clue with the little man down in the man-cave. I raided the vinyl for the soundtrack and found my vinyl copy of Double Fantasy.

I discovered why it’s been decades since I’ve listened to that album/

Of course, a lot of it is because the album is mired in tragedy. I can’t think of the album without remembering that I got it for Christmas in 1980 and the room got quiet after I unwrapped the gift and held it up for the obligatory “Here’s what I got” announcement.

My grandmother who typically came to our house each Christmas probably made some comment about Lennon, thereby moving the rotation with some words of wisdom like “It’s so sad that their little boy won’t have his daddy anymore.”

She didn’t understand the impact that Lennon had on me, just like I didn’t understand that his impact on me probably wasn’t as major as someone who grew up with the Beatles. I’m thinking now of all of those bands that started after seeing The Beatles on Ed Sullivan.

But there’s another reason why it’s been so long since I’ve listened to Double Fantasy: it’s good but not great.

The controversial thing at the time it was released-and this is something that was discussed as far as the hallways of my middle school-was that Yoko Ono appeared on half of the tracks.

I’m not going to lie and suggest that her contributions to Double Fantasy are the entire reason for its lack of greatness, but it certainly helps.

I appreciate her impact on music and find her challenging material admirable, but in terms of the consistency of Double Fantasy, it’s the reason for its inconsistency.

Double Fantasy begins with the “I’m Back!” declaration of “(Just Like) Starting Over,” a breezy bit of middle-age rock with an obvious nod to the music of Lennon’s youth.

Immediately following is “Kiss Kiss Kiss” Yoko’s jarring new wave blast, an obvious attempt to show Yoko as the inspiration of the B-52’s ladies, at least until she starts reaching orgasm at the end of the song under the strains of guitar feedback.

These moments of audio back and forth become cumbersome, owing more to Lennon’s stubbornness than any declaration of love. If I were more responsive of Ono’s art, I’d find Lennon’s material as tame and mature. On the other foot, I’d find Ono’s music to be frustrating and too abrasive to mesh with John’s yacht rock pose.

Yes, Lennon’s material on Double Fantasy sound like they’re the work of a man who is about to begin his fourth decade, a man with such a vital history to rock and roll that a record mogul like David Geffen could do nothing else but sign an artist with the condition that his wife get half of the record.

Without the tragedy that is unfortunately bound to this record, Double Fantasy is nothing more than a record that teases us to consider what Lennon would do after he finished his domesticated comeback.

It’s that very tragedy that makes the record as memorable as it is.

The Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band Soundtrack

I’m beginning what I’ll call the Mother-In-Law series, which is merely a handful of long-players that she brought to me because she knows that I like music.
Evidently, this is a common phenomenon; I’ve heard that my cousin’s in-laws also hand over the occasional vinyl album and my father is also a fan of the “Here’s some scratchy old albums that you beat to hell when you were little” gift.
“I remembered that you liked The Beatles,” she said as she handed over the records.
As I noticed the familiar cover of the Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band Soundtrack and chuckled a little.
It was this album that ignited a passionate hatred for the Bee Gees, Peter Frampton and Alice Cooper and it caused me to think that Aerosmith may indeed have a problem with drugs.
Understand that I liked all of them up until that album-hell, I even tolerated the shitty I’m In You for Frampton-and now he does this to me?!
The movie is awful, but the soundtrack is just as bad with Aerosmith throwing out a decent cover of “Come Together” and Earth Wind & Fire offering a nice version of “Got To Get You Into My Life.”
These have proven to be the only two good tracks on the album,
Did I mention it’s a double?
Every thing else is just awful and with George Martin’s name on the project, it’s an embarrassment.
What I don’t understand is how even at that young of an age (12) I knew this thing was going to be a bust. So how did a group of smart adults let this thing get started?
Who knows? But Robert Stigwood dropped a fortune on this thing to the tune of “bankrupt” almost immediately after people started to notice that this thing smelled like a turd.
It worked for a moment; the album reference, Aerosmith, Alice Cooper, and that wild and crazy guy Steve Martin got us all excited to see the movie. The trouble was, nobody could remember what the hell the film was about only five minutes after we left the theatre.
I wish I could say the same thing for the soundtrack.

And Of Course Harry The Horse Who Dances The Waltz

My daughter and I share some eerie similarities. She’s four months shy of her third birthday and I’ve noticed some of the very same patterns that I displayed when I was her age: a fascination of water towers, a perverse sense of humor, and an obsession with music.
The boy, who’ll be seven in four months himself, is more of a sensitive cat with more of a “help me with this level of Mario Bros” kind of attitude. He too has an attraction for music, but he’s more of a ham and likes putting on a little show for everyone.
And while they’re both social animals, the girl does enjoy going up to her room alone sitting at her desk and playing music.
Unfortunately for me, her music consists of two cds: the aforementioned original cast to Hairspray, a children’s cd with a bunch of kiddy songs like “The Itsy Bitsy Spider,” and a substantial children’s playlist in both my and my wife’s IPod.
There is no “Itsy Bitsy Spider” on those, but there is a couple of Laurie Berkner songs, a few tracks from Yo Gabba Gabba and-gulp-a Hanna Montana song, or as the baby describes it “Hantana.”
Even though it was my credit card used to buy that Miley Cyrus gem, I’m still trying to assert my influence with the other tracks on the playlist and with a recent even spurred by my own memories as a child.
Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was in constant rotation in my 3-year-old bedroom, along with Jesus Christ Superstar and the Original Case Recording of Hair. My folks should have probably hidden both from me as Hair is way inappropriate for a three-year old (even though they don’t know about cunnilingus or fellatio) and Superstar just for the fact that the 39 lashes part freaked my shit.

But Sgt. Pepper’s?
Hell, I practically learned how to talk with that album.
Thanks to last year’s remasters, I now have two cd copies of Sgt. Pepper’s, so what better time than to give my daughter her very own copy of the album just like my parent’s did for me. The difference is that I really think my folks used music as a way to not have to deal with me whereas I’m using it as a way to turn my kinds into music obsessive weirdoes.
After all, it’s so much easier to walk around with a chip on your shoulder because of a Smiths’ song instead of any real life event.
I give her the disc and she looks at the cover.
“Is this yours, Daddy?” she asks inquisitively.
“Yes, but you can have it now.”
“Here you go, Daddy.” she says, trying to hand the disc back to me. She doesn’t understand what a rare event it is to have me give a part of my collection to someone.
After she figures out that she can keep my 1987 copy of Sgt. Pepper’s, she goes to her room to give it a spin. I hear her through the baby monitor the familiar words “It was twenty years ago today” and smile, thinking that I have done something meaningful.
Suddenly, before you can say “Billy Shears,” the song stops and I hear her fumbling with the cd player. She runs back into my bedroom and tries to give the disc back to me.
“Here you go, Daddy.” she offers. “I don’t like the Beatle bugs.”
I plead with her, explaining that there is more than one track to listen to. I tell her that “For The Benefit Of Mister Kite” is about a fun circus, suggest that the sitar in “Within Without You” is actually a kitty cat singing, and remind her that Ethan thinks “When I’m Sixty-Four” is a great song.
“I don’t like the Beatle bugs!” she repeats again, growing frustrated that I’m not taking her criticism seriously.
Finally, we compromise. I suggest that she keeps Sgt Pepper’s because “One day, you might like it.” I put it under her other two cds so that it doesn’t distract her from her true favorites and within moments I hear the familiar refrain “Good morning, Baltimore!” as she spins the Hairspray soundtrack for the millionth time.
At least I know that a splendid time is guaranteed for all when she’s ready for it.

John Paul George and Ringo

My cousin and I were also talking about the individual Beatles, specifically how annoying the Ringo songs were. I mean, God love him, he’s a Beatle and he’s an awesome drummer who’s just perfect for the band. He is one of the reasons why they are so legendary regardless of how technically good he was and regardless of how shitty he was as a singer.
There becomes a point in everyone’s life where various members of the Beatles are your favorite, and unfortunately, when Ringo is your favorite it’s because your mind hasn’t fully developed and logic skills aren’t completely in place.
Here's a timeline of the members of the Beatles and the age in which the average music lover begins taking notice of them


RINGO
Date Range: 4 – 12 years
Selected Discography: “Yellow Submarine,” “Octopus’s Garden,” “A Little Help From My Friends”
Comments: His limited range is perfect for kids. It’s cute, easy to follow along to, and just annoying enough to become the first piece of the Beatles’ catalog that you grow tired of around the same time you grow pubes, or around the time you figure out when he says “getting high with a little help from my friends” that he’s not talking about your buddy giving you a boost onto a tree branch.

PAUL
Date Range: 12 – 19 years
Selected Discography: “Michelle,” “Eleanor Rigby,” “Birthday,” “Hey Jude”
Comments: Let’s get one thing clear: Paul is a genius. His genius is how he was able to incorporate so many different styles into the pop arena while speaking to so many different people. You begin to realize just how catchy and clever his songs are around this time and they never really leave you, they just begin to annoy you about the time you’re packing for college.

GEORGE
Date Range: 19 – 21 years
Selected Discography: “Within You Without You,” “Taxman” “Love You To” “Something”
Comments: George’s songs sound weird and boring…until you hit college. Then you start smoking pot and then they sound brilliant. If you move on to LSD, even “The Inner Light” sounds genius! Revolver is where George really shines as John and Paul gave the green light for a whopping three of his songs. They’re what make that album such a masterpiece.

JOHN
Date Range: 1 – 100 years
Selected Discography: “Tomorrow Never Knows,” “Revolution,” “Come Together” “I Am The Walrus.”
Comments: Everybody loves John, and that bugs the hell out of Paul. To be fair, Paul probably had an equal or even a few more flat-out brilliant songs than Lennon, but John always seemed to take the band’s success with a huge chunk of reality. Fiercely independent, incredibly witty, and endlessly creative, John is the safe Beatle to like at any age and the only one where you will never be second guess. When you’re a kid, he’s the one that made funny faces. When you’re a teen, he’s the one that seemed to write the heavy songs. And when you’re in college, he’s the dude that buried Paul and married Yoko.

But seriously, the above list ain’t the rule and it isn’t the Bible. It’s just a fun way to put together the individual Beatles at the points in your life when you began to warm to certain members. It’s part of what makes this band such a lifetime companion, and what’s really weird to you youngsters is how you begin to repeat the list as you get older: you go through phases where you begin to re-appreciate McCartney. Then Harrison. Then Lennon again.
One thing is for sure though, once you leave the Ringo era, you never go back.

Meet The Beatles (Again)

Aside from some Queen and a brief period of IPod shuffling, the weekend has been all about the Beatles. At nearly every big box retail outlet, I was met with various Beatles promotion and on nearly every music website, there is something about the Beatles re-issues.
I could be very cynical about such things-this idea that we need to purchase shit that we already have-but there are a few things about the Beatle reissues that have brought about a bit of a hypocritical aura.
First of all, the do sound awesome. I went the cheap route, purchasing the albums post-Rubber Soul using a strategy devised by my cousin: the individual cds are on sale at the place with the red bulls eye and when you buy two you get a $5 gift card. So buy a pair and repeat. You’ll save a bit of scratch.
It was just the hype talkin’ a few weeks ago when I had an itchy finger for that mono set.
Second of all, I just realized that all of my Beatles shit that I have currently on cd I never paid for. It’s all promo stuff that I got while in radio, except The White Album, which is a first edition serial number that my dad got me for Christmas one year.
So technically, this is the first time that I actually bought any Beatles material on cd.
I devised a strategy when my wife and I were running errands over the weekend, explaining that we needed to stop buy said big box to get some laundry detergent, dishwashing detergent, pull-up diapers, Magical Mystery Tour and Revolver.
I also tried to explain to her how I was saving her money, but she didn’t seem to connect with that.
Over the weekend though, I figure out the real significance of this Beatles reissue. It isn’t really about the cds themselves. I’ve heard a lot of younger listeners state how they were going to pick up the music on ITunes, incorrectly thinking that the material would now be available there.
And really, cd sales are down so much now that not even the Beatles can turn around the sinking ship.
The real impact is with The Beatles Rock Band, the video game released on the same day. I saw a pair of brothers-probably aged 9 and 12-fiercly concentrating on “Yellow Submarine” at the Best Buy store. It was adorable, but it was also brilliant. In the process of following Ringo and George and watching animated (and historically incorrect-at one point, the band appeared to be playing the song in Shea Stadium) images of Beatlemania, they were becoming familiarized with the band’s material. Those 9 and 12 year olds may not have a copy from the big brother or parents to be passed down to them. Instead, they have a video game to learn the songs, and they’ll remember them too, long after their Xbox or PS3 or Wii has become obsolete.
Those songs will stay with them.

09/09/09

I can't help it.
I'm totally zany about this Beatles box set day even though I have nowhere near the funds or need to actually purchase it. To top it off, I want the mono version, primarily because I grew up on the stereo versions and am intrigued by the differences in the mix.
It started with Rarities, an album I still have, which was a collection alternate versions and mixes of various Beatles' song. It was the first time I became aware that differences between the mono and stereo mixes even existed-particularly on The White Album. The trouble was, mono was completely phased out by the time I began buying Beatles product.
Until now.
And for a limited time.
There was a brieft scare that the mono version of the box set was competely sold out, but evidently Capitol has shipped a few more units. Did I mention that it's about $50 higher than the stereo version?
A man can dream, can't he? Or maybe he can simply order the treasure trove without the wife finding out about it.

The Beatles - Let It Be

I guess I forgot to read the memo where Let It Be is supposed to be a very devisive and much maligned record. I love it, and by that I mean that I love the original version, not the bitter “I’ll show those guys” mix that McCartney authorized under the title Let It Be…Naked which is just as guilty of the things that he complained about (mainly how his opinion wasn’t taken into consideration) as the original mix.
And while he may have a point about the mix of “The Long And Winding Road,” and it may indeed be better on his authorized Naked, it’s still not the version we’ve grown accoustomed to, so to paraphrase McCartney himself, let it be.
Naked sounds like a deliberate album, never mind the timing or financial motivation, while Let It Be sounds more like its original intention: a ramshackle attempt at getting back to where you once belong. Its also accurately provides a snapshot into the band’s fractured relationships at the time. Complete with inside jokes, bickering, and a complete lack of leadership, Let It Be gives fans a glimpse into the inner workings of rock’s greatest band of all time coming a part at the seems….and it’s fascinating.
Musically, the barely rehearsed feel of songs like “Dig A Pony,” “Two Of Us,” and “Get Back,” sound great, to the point where any other band released them, we’d be talking it up like it was their crowning achievement. But since it is the Beatles, the unfinished quality and the studio banter that segues some of the tracks together, there’s a lot of criticism and how incomplete it all is.
Fuck yes it’s incomplete! Let It Be is the bastard child that was maligned by George Martin, ignored by the band, and dressed up by Phil Spector who, to be completely fair, left most of the warts and all in the mix, with the exception of the total wax job he did on McCartney’s beloved “Long And Winding Road.”
The thing of it is, Sgt. Pepper’s and Abbey Road both sound like McCartney blueprints, so its telling at how, after thirty years, the fact that his input wasn’t saught out.
If you ask me, I’d say that Let It Be as it stands and as it was originally issued, serves as a fine document to the Beatles inner workings and is a worthy edition to their catalog; there are times when I place it higher than some of the band’s more acknowledged classics.
It’s an album that works well as the band’s final offering because it demonstrates the Beatles were exactly that: a band, complete with flaws, egos, and off-days. But they were a band whose “off days” were head and shoulders above their competition.

Free As A Bird

It seems like a lifetime ago, but on this day some twelve years ago, yours truly was working in radio. We actually played the records, or cds, back then. And we actually got excited about cds back then too.
There was hardly anything more exciting in 1995 than the idea of a new Beatles song. At first, it was thought to be some lost track, perhaps something from their early archives, that was recently discovered and going to be placed on the band's first collection of outtake/rare material called Anthology.
Westwood One, a radio network that fed the station various music content, announced that they would be the first network to provide the radio world premier of "Free As A Bird," the first "new" Beatles song in decades.
The satellite feed came during the evening, well after my afternoon-drive shift ended at six. As a Beatles fan, it seemed that I was required by Jesus to stay and capture the feed so that the station could begin broadcasting the track until we received a proper cd copy of it the following week. It was, essentially, a perfectly planned leak that was intended to build a buzz about the new Beatles track.
The new Beatles track called "Free As A Bird."
Surely, you must remember it, as it's frequently cited next to longstanding classics like "Hey Jude" and "Norwegian Wood."
Still drawing a blank?
Well count your blessings as "Free As A Bird," and it's companion "Real Love," are notable for the fact that they're stunningly mediocre and completely pointless.
But there I was, staying late with no possibility of overtime, monitoring the levels of a touchy satellite feed. While the song was playing, I kept thinking there was something wrong with the transmission as Lennon's voice sounded curiously brittle.
As I found out, it was becuase "Free As A Bird" isn't even a fucking Beatles song!
The idea that Lennon had left a poorly recorded and weakly performed track to have the rest of the band finish up while he was away is completely ludacris. Yet this is how they built hype around an album that really didn't need hyped to begin with.

I Buried Paul = Cranberry Sauce

Not only was Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band released forty years ago, but so did the rumors that Paul McCartney had died as well. It seems that in addition to "changing the world," the youth of the world also had plenty of time to sit around, smoke pot, and stare at the cover of Sgt. Pepper to the point where they started to believe their own stoned babble.
There's a part of me that would like to think that the rest of The Beatles caught wind of the circulating rumor and contributed to it. John, most notably in "Glass Onion" from The White Album, speaks to it with the "Here's another clue for you all: The Walrus was Paul" line. Common sense would think that at least some of the general public would consider that the band, particularly Lennon, were having a laugh at the entire topic.
Finally, on October 22, 1969, McCartney found himself properly addressing the topic during an interview, unexpectedly denying rumors of his death.
Conspiracy theorists may wish to consider the idea that this fake McCartney was already entrenched in discontent with the rest of The Beatles and that a break-up at that time was evident. So, in order to ensure future success as the fake McCartney solo artist, he proactively addressed the "rumor." The fake McCartney theory is completely plausible when one considers shit like Back To The Egg.
Strangely, my Father introduced the idea of the "Paul Is Dead" conspiracy when I was a young child. I was good enough to enlighten our elementary music teacher, herself a young, petite fresh-out-of-college-so-this-is-my-first-teaching-gig kind of woman who seemed genuinely too prissy to be part of the dope-smoking Beatles crowd.
There were two glaring examples of how she might have run with those crowds.
The first was that she had the business card of Ambulance in her Rolodex. Ambulance was a fairly visual hard rock band that toured the tri-state area in the mid-70's, playing the obligatory hard rock covers in between their own material. The business card label Ambulance as "Emergency Rock & Roll." Sidenote: the guitarist, who was aping a Rick Nielsen image, referred to himself as "Johnny Siren." I saw him walking down the street, years after I saw Ambulance play at the annual street fair, and screamed "Hey! It's Johnny! Johnny Siren!" at him, causing Johnny to quicken his pace. Ah, the perils of local stardom...
Anyway, the music teacher had Ambulance's business card in her Rolodex at school.
She also had a list on a legal pad. I went up and looked at it once when she was distracted.
"People surrounding freshly dug grave"
"Marijuana plants by grave"
"flower arrangement of left-handed bass guitar by grave"
"Hand above Paul's head"
I knew she was writing a list of clues that pointed to the death of Paul McCartney, although I will admit the pot plant clue was completely new to me at the time. I suppose that it's good that a sixth grader doesn't know what a pot plant looks like.
She caught me looking at the list and I asked the obligatory questions like "Is this about The Beatles?" and "Are these clues to Paul's death?" My knowledge on the subject startled her, but it must have placed me in a different category in her social skills. A few year later, she took my opinions about The Cars' debut album to heart and bought it.
"If you play "Revolution 9" backwards, it says "turn me on dead man" I offered.
The next day, she brought in her copy of The White Album and we played it backwards on the music room's industrial strength record player. If you put the speed selector in between the numbers, the turntable would stop and allow for you to hear what's being played on the speak. The action created a prevalent hum while doing it, but it wasn't bad enough for us not to hear "Turn me on, dead man!" in every backwards spin of the guy saying "Number Nine" over and over. You've got to spin it just right and totally believe in such bullshit, but it's there.
She added "Turn me on dead man sounds when "Revolution 9" is played backwards" on to her legal pad, making my suggestion an official part of her investigation.
I couldn't have been more proud of myself.

Paul McCartney meets John Lennon

Today in 1957, a young John Lennon met an even younger Paul McCartney for the first time, immediately starting a chain of events that would lead them to become two of the creative forces behind the greatest rock and roll band of all time. What was it about that first meeting that prompted the duo to forge ahead, challenging each other in the process to create beyond the means that their individual backgrounds typically allowed? It would seem that the two started (like many of us) as obsessive fans of music, the ones who viewed rock and roll as a form of escape.
What blows my mind is how utterly random an event like this can be. Imagine if something happened, preventing either John or Paul from meeting the other.
Then imagine how fate can work for you: maybe your own John or Paul sitting next to you on the bus.
Or consider the impact of how we listen to music today may have on promoting the possibility like this even happening. As the actual method of delivery becomes more isolated, will we have fewer examples of people finding common ground in their music? Will there be less opportunities to share experiences, both auditory and visual, when new music is discovered? Would John and Paul simply nodded and moved on as they passed each other, quietly listening to their respective passions in the solitude of an earbud?

Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band 40 Years Later

Below is the Beatles article that was published yesterday in Glorious Noise. I suppose that a lot of my support of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band comes from the fact that it was one of the first albums I ever listened to repeatedly. Our family lived in a small town in Shenandoah, Iowa. It's the same place that the Everly Brothers got their start, in case you're wondering. In my room, I had a hand-me-down portable record player, several dozen 45s, and about 4 or 5 albums. All of this music was my parent's but it somehow found its way into my bedroom; Mom and Dad had an 8-track stereo strategically located high on the fireplace mantle, well out of my reach. Half of the albums that I had were by The Beatles and a strong argument that I learned how to talk with the help of Meet The Beatles, Beatles VI, and Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. In those days (I would have been three) I was drawn to Sgt. Pepper more because of it's unusual sounds and whimsical imagery, which seemed perfectly logical to the mind of a toddler. 40 years later, there's a lot more press celebrating its release, but I've also noticed a lot more criticism of it from critics and fans alike. Most of the criticism and complaints, it seems, has the luxury of 40 years of progression that was, ironically, initiated with the release of this landmark album. Here's the article from Glorious Noise:
It was forty years ago today that The Beatles released Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band and changed the face of pop and rock music. In the time since then, the album has faced a tremendous amount of examination and its place in history has come under increased scrutiny and debate.
There are a growing number of music fans and critics that challenge Sgt. Pepper’s rank as not only the definitive statement of the Beatles, but the notion that the album is ground zero for conceptual pop/rock music; the building block of anything that strives to be more important than perhaps the original intent of the genre allowed it to be.
I wholeheartedly agree that there are indeed better albums to be found among The Beatles’ catalog, but I am not ready to distance myself from the fact that Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band remains not only as the first album new fab four converts should acquire after discovering them, but it’s also…and still…the greatest rock and roll album of all time.
And that smug little part of your brain that made you want to automatically argue with me is, in fact, the direct result of Sgt. Pepper itself.
There is some truth that the album doesn’t contain some of the band’s best individual contributions. Sgt. Pepper is obviously Paul’s baby: out of the twelve tracks, over half are McCartney’s and it’s been well documented that he’s responsible for the overall “concept” of Sgt. Pepper. It is, admittedly, a very loose concept that doesn’t go much beyond the title track, the bookending reprise, and the alter ego cover art depictions. Don’t go trying to find additional threads to tie things together; consider what happened to Robert Stigwood when he tried to make a screenplay out the Sgt. Pepper theme in 1978.
It’s also true that some of the material from Sgt. Pepper isn’t on par with the band’s more acknowledged classics. I mean, “When I’m Sixty Four” ain’t no “Hey Jude.” (Hell, Paul wrote the thing when he was fucking sixteen, so how could it be better?) Lennon’s “Good Morning, Good Morning” isn’t on par with “Tomorrow Never Knows,” and even “Being For The Benefit Of Mr. Kite was completely ripped from a turn of the century circus poster.
At the same time, “A Day In The Life,” “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds,” and “Within Without You” are perhaps three of the greatest Beatle songs ever, with the lyrics effortlessly matching the wide-eyed production strategies.
But then again, Sgt. Pepper isn’t about the lyrics, is it? It’s about how the trainwreck-on-paper of sequencing “When I’m Sixty Four” after “Within Without You” somehow works, how the strings of “She’s Leaving Home” manages to turn a sappy tale of a teenage runaway into high drama, and how 24 measures of orchestral crescendo ended up becoming the greatest album closer ever.
The attention is in details like this, and it’s obvious that the band spent a lot of time with George Martin working on those details between December 6, 1966 and April 1, 1967. With the Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds clearly used as a reference point and Pink Floyd’s The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn its schizophrenic doppelganger (that was, literally, down the halls from them while they were recording), Sgt. Pepper surpasses both in terms of scope, passion and relevance.
It’s not my place to debate what I feel is the best Beatles album (if you want to, I’m choosing Rubber Soul), but I do feel the need to support the album that is, like it or not, the clear pinnacle of the band’s achievement. Meet The Beatles (or With The Beatles for you picky Anglophiles) may have matched Sgt. Pepper in terms of popularity and influence, but it didn’t change the perception that (for better or worse) rock music was actually a legitimate form of art. Until that point, there was always a certain amount of pomposity towards rock and roll. Sgt. Pepper touched on so many different genres, and did so quite effortlessly, that it forced the arrogant to reconsider rock’s place and consider it as more than just fodder for uncultured teenagers.
All of this, it seems, has been thrown out fairly recently, in favor of some tired 13th generation “kill your idols” bullshit that seems to attribute Sgt Pepper’s continued praise with some baby-boomer conspiracy theory.
One of the leading proponents of this movement is Jim DeRogatis, who compiled a book a few years ago that attempted to “reconsider the classics.” The book lobbied a long deserved rebuttal against the tired old rock critics that continually cite the same old classic albums that seemed to appear every time an obligatory list of the greatest records of all time was created.
DeRogatis contributed to the festivities by focusing his ire on Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.
Jim, who’s three years older than me, uses boomer nostalgia as a main focal point of his argument. I could give two shits about how boomers perceive themselves, their generation, and the albums that they communally namecheck. Whatever they want to deem as their generational soundtrack is up to them. All I know is that on June 1, 1967, the greatest rock and roll band in history released the greatest album ever recorded.
DeRogatis goes on to take a couple of shots at the lyrics (a deficiency that I’ve mentioned), but then goes a step further by suggesting that the underlying theme of Sgt Pepper, essentially, is to “embrace the past” and to “celebrate the values of your parents.” Never mind the fact that most people start to do this even without the help of The Beatles, the key that Jim misses is that the theme is four young men acknowledging the myriad of influences they encountered growing up. The impressive thing is how they attempted to reproduce these references as honestly as they could within the confines of a forty minute long player.
Whether it’s Indian music, whimsical psychedelia, classical music, theatrical pieces, whatever; The Beatles seemed content with coming up with a final product that’s both commercial, challenging, and stunningly original.
The nostalgia argument is even funnier coming from DeRogatis, an admitted Wilco and Flaming Lips fans, two bands that are completely devoted to nostalgia. Seriously: Wayne Coyne owes his entire career to the record collection of his older brother and I’m willing to bet DeRogatis gets a boner for the majority of the titles that the “cutting edge” writers in Kill Your Idols attempt to deflate.
Like I said before, it was Sgt. Pepper that actually provided people with the idea that there was a market for rock and roll criticism to begin with. Looking for a publication solely devoted to rock music before Pepper? Good luck; they didn’t exist. But look at the periodical landscape after Sgt. Pepper and you’ll notice a hell of a lot of magazines devoted to the coverage and criticism of rock music. It appears that a lot of people enjoyed talking about how awesome Sgt. Pepper was and decided to continue to do it with other albums and artists.
So how ironic is it that the very format spawned by the Beatles’ eighth album later turned to hungrily cannibalize it. And for what? Essentially because a few record geeks, cooler than you and I, collectively displayed their bitterness that Sgt. Pepper again ranked higher than their beloved Odessey And Oracle?
At the risk of sounding like that clichéd “there’s a reason why they call it classic rock” line there’s a reason why Sgt. Pepper continues to place high on those “greatest albums of all times” lists:
Because it fucking rules.
It’s easy to forget this, and with each passing year the argument to keep the album in high regard gets even more difficult. We’re seeing new generations without any idea who The Beatles were, let alone their contributions. Yet we continue to hear their influence every time some unsigned band takes advantage of ProTools’ unlimited recording tracks or whenever a band considers a string quartet for their own magnum opus.
There will always be a little piece of that Lonely Hearts Club band, but time, technology and cynicism are doing their part at trying to dismantle the album’s relevance.
But listen to it again, closely, within context, and you’ll hear it’s true: Sgt. Pepper not only taught the band to play, he taught them to play beyond their own abilities.

This article originally appeared in Glorious Noise

The Beatles-The Capitol Albums Vol. 2

Let it be known that Capitol Records was run by fucktards forty years ago. Let it be known that Capitol Records continues to be run by fucktards in 2006. Here’s how I’ve come to this conclusion.
In early 1963, Capitol Records passed on signing The Beatles. The douchebag that made this decision later helped “produce” some Beatles albums. And by “produce” I mean he helped carve up British Beatle albums, re-sequence them, and then repackage them (at the rate of four albums a year) to American audiences.
So Americans were treated to vastly different versions of Beatles albums, and it wasn’t until 1987 when Capitol decided to re-issue the Beatles albums on compact disc that most of us learned that there was no such thing as “Meet The Beatles,” “Beatles ’65,” or “Beatles VI.” Instead, we were greeted with The Beatles “With The Beatles,” “For Sale,” and some album that had the same photograph as a greatest hits compilation album released after they broke up. Confused yet?
Here’s the rub: a lot of us grew up on the American versions. We loved those shitty sequenced things with their echoey “new improved Capitol full dimension simulated stereo” mix; it’s completed badassed to have all of the instruments on one speaker and only the vocals on the other. Hell, you could even turn the balance on your stereo and prove to the world you sang better than Ringo.
I thought that Capitol got it right in ’87 when they made (with the band’s and George Martin’s direction) the decision to let the American versions fall entirely out of print and only release the British counterparts from then on.
Beatlemaniacs are funny. They’ve been bitching ever since then that they can no longer get the albums that they grew up with. Knowing that Beatlemaniacs will buy a turd if was in the shape of John, Paul, George, or Ringo, Capitol re-issued all of the early American albums in a God-awful priced box set. In April of this year, they released the second installment of this series, and this is where it gets interesting.

As with “The Capitol Albums Vol. 1,” Volume 2 contains the stereo version followed by the mono version. Within an hour of “Volume 2’s” release, a Beatlemaniac noticed that the mono version of “Rubber Soul” wasn’t the original mono version of “Rubber Soul.” And it wasn’t just one person. Within hours, message boards devoted to the Beatles were blazing with angry fans that knew there was a huge difference between “Rubber Soul” mono circa 1965 and “Rubber Soul” mono circa 2006.
For those of you who don’t know the difference, here it is:
-->The 2006 mono version of the song “I’m Looking Through You” has a false start at the beginning of it. The original mono version doesn’t.
-->On the original mono version of “Norwegian Wood,” you can hear a cough 38 seconds into the song. On the latest version, there’s no cough.
That’s pretty much it.
Now, in defense of the Beatlemaniacs, it’s pretty cool that they figured those two very minor things out. Hell, I would have totally missed it. But they didn’t and they created such a stink on those boards that hundreds of ‘em contacted Capitol Records and asked “What are you fucktards doing?” Capitol responded and said that they essentially just bounced down the stereo mixes of two of the albums (“accidentally”) and didn’t used the original mono mixes. Then the Beatlemaniacs asked Capitol: “Well, what are you fucktards going to do to make it right?”
Knowing that Mark David Chapman was once a Beatlemaniac, Capitol records provided the fans with a recall plan that is easy to find on Beatlemaniac message boards, but nearly impossible on both the Capitol Records website and on the Beatles official website.
I won a contest at work that included a gift card and I, for reasons I’ll explain in a moment, decided to buy “The Capitol Albums Vol. 2” with it. The reasons are entirely nostalgic, just as they were when I bought “Volume 1” earlier this year. Well, that and I really didn’t have to pay much for either one of ‘em, unlike a real Beatlemaniac who probably pre-ordered the shit and has a Japanese copy of the same thing
And wouldn’t you know it: my copy has a false start and doesn’t have a cough. And wouldn’t you know it: I’m totally going after those fucktards at Capitol to get my correct version of “The Capitol Albums Vol. 2.” I mean, I’m totally obsessed with this; it’s the first thing I listened for when I opened the fucker up. I blame the message boards for this as they, literally, devoted more words to this topic that the total number of words in our Constitution. And you know how riled up things got after that was written.
So the nostalgic reasons are 1.) I completed ruined my parent’s copy of “Beatles VI” as a kid, but not before playing the piss out of it and 2.) I grew up listening to, and fell in love with, the American version of “Rubber Soul.” It’s slightly different than the British version: George’s “If I Needed Someone,” Ringo’s “What Goes On,” and the opener “Drive My Car” are gone, replaced with “It’s Only Love” and “I’ve Just Seen A Face.” In fact, I think that it’s actually better than the British version; it’s a more folk-rock approach that perfectly demonstrates a watershed in the band’s career while maintaining a thematic consistency from start to finish. And while I’d still give the British version five stars, after all, it’s “Rubber Soul” we’re talking about here, the American version remains the only bastardized version that is just a hair above what was available across the pond.
The original motion picture soundtrack to “Help” is included, and it’s a dandy if you enjoy hearing Beatles songs interrupted with “exclusive instrumental music from the picture’s soundtrack.” About ten people on those Beatles-fan message boards that I referred to earlier, actually admitted to liking these fucking things. Me? Not so much.
“The Early Beatles” disc is essentially the “Introducing The Beatles” album that was released by Vee Jay records a week before “Meat The Beatles” hit the shelves, which pissed off Capitol to the point where they eventually got the rights back from this small Chicago indie and re-issued it under their own packaging. The music is swell, but all you’re really talking about with “The Early Beatles” is a different cover on the front.

I’ve got to point out that these Capitol discs are, currently, the only versions that have been recently re-mastered. They sound great, fake stereo echo and all, and they remind us that someone needs to get off their ass and re-master the “proper” Beatle albums. This is a tough thing when you consider someone who may not actually own a Beatles album and want to; I couldn’t recommend to them spending the bones for either one of “The Capitol Albums” and I couldn’t suggest dropping down a few bones on a product that, essentially, hasn’t been touched with state of the art mastering techniques in nearly twenty years. The word is that it will happen shortly, so hold on to that wallet Shorty, and wait for Johnny Appleseed, the head of Apple Corps, to figure out that those Beatlemaniacs have got money just burning a hole in their pockets.