Welcome to Track Chatter, where we choose a different song to discuss in depth. This entry is part of an ongoing series in which we reconsider songs by The Beatles. Can anything new be said about this band or its music? Have a look below and let us know what you think.
Aaron: Well, Lew, we’ve done it. It took longer than I thought it would. Our first post on The Beatles came almost exactly two years ago, and since then we’ve written about sixteen Beatles tracks. Did you think it would take that long?
Lew: I definitely did not expect or plan for it to take this long! There’s a John Lennon quote (which you may know) that goes, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans” – seems pretty appropriate here. I have to admit, I’m feeling a little conflicted now that we’re actually finishing it. I was looking forward to moving on to other topics, but I also feel weirdly like I’m going to miss talking about The Beatles. Maybe this is a loaded question, but how do you feel about seeing the end of this project?
Aaron: I’m a bit conflicted as well. When we first started the project, I sort of thought we’d burn through it in a few months, maybe 6 to 8 or so, and I was really excited. And while we were working on those first few entries, I got a real rush going back and listening to those older albums in full – it had been along time since I’d listened to all of Please Please Me or A Hard Day’s Night, for example – and in most cases, I was listening to the mono re-masters. That meant that in addition to hearing a lot of the songs again for the first time, I was hearing them in ways I hadn’t before, which was incredibly exciting. I think that sense of excitement comes out in those early entries in the way we write about something like the sound of Paul’s bass or the harmonies.
But as time passed and “life happened,” I sort of started to feel like perhaps we’d been a bit too ambitious. So I got worried we’d never finish and I found myself sort of wishing we’d started with a smaller project so that the pressure to do it all wouldn’t have seemed so immense.
However, now that it’s coming to an end, I do feel a bit wistful. I’ve so enjoyed the intensity of listening to each of these albums in preparation for each entry that I’ll be sad to see that go. However, I really do feel like my appreciation for The Beatles has not only intensified, but also that it’s a lot more grounded now. In that sense, I’m really excited about the conversations we’ve had.
How about you? Did the project change the way you listen to the band at all?
Welcome to Track Chatter, where we choose a different song to discuss in depth. This entry is part of an ongoing series in which we reconsider songs by The Beatles. Can anything new be said about this band or its music? Have a look below and let us know what you think.
Lew: It’s rare to hear the Beatles’ final album, Let It Be, discussed without an accompanying discussion of the famously difficult sessions that went into recording
the album, or the personal conflicts that ensued and ultimately led to
the break-up of the band. As a historical component of the Beatles’
eventual dissolution, it makes sense to view the finished album, and the
sessions that created it (as detailed in the movie of the same name) as
one artifact. That said, it’s unlikely that the album gets a fair shake
when situated against the arguments of whether Paul or John was right,
or whether Yoko really broke up the band. The truth is that it’s an
interesting album on its own merits, and might have indicated a new
creative period for the band if they had continued. Paul’s idea of going
back to basics had yielded results that weren’t as predictable as one
might expect. Rather than an obvious return to the songwriting style of Beatles For Sale or Help!, Let It Be filters a large part of its simplified approach through the more ambitious work of their later output – whether in a literal or reactionary sense – striking a balance between less complex arrangements and charting new territory (“One After 909” notwithstanding) compositionally.
“I’ve Got a Feeling” marries simplicity and complexity as well as any other song on Let It Be. On one hand, the musical structure is fairly basic, and the arrangement is pretty straightforward. At the same time, the song itself is a marriage between two song fragments, written by McCartney and Lennon, respectively. It’s a move that recalls the multi-part suite at the end of Abbey Road, but on a more modest scale, and I would say in a more organic way. I have to admit that it never occurred to me that the two sections of the song originated separately until I did some reading to prepare for discussing it here, which I think speaks to how well McCartney and Lennon were able to work together, even at this late date.
Aaron, there’s a lot worth discussing in “I’ve Got a Feeling,” but I guess I’m interested in starting with how you see it fitting into The Beatles’ work as a whole. Do you think it’s a new approach, or would you say that it fits in somewhere in the songs that precede it?
Welcome to Track Chatter, where we choose a different song
to discuss in depth. This entry is part of an ongoing series in which we
reconsider songs by The Beatles. Can anything new be said about this band or
its music? Have a look below and let us know what you think.
Aaron: As is well
known by even most casual Beatles’ fans, Abbey
Road is actually the last album the band recorded, although its release was
followed by the (mostly) previously recorded Let It Be in 1970. As this project is considering songs from album
to album, we’ll stick to release dates rather than recording dates and consider
an Abbey Road track first. However,
it’s worth mentioning the recording order if only because it was during the
recording of Let It Be that the band
reached their nadir as a functioning unit and almost broke up on several
occasions (potentially denying us Abbey
Road). The irony of the situation is that Let It Be was supposed to see the band regrouping after the
fractured recording experience of The
White Album – a back-to-basics affair via which the lads would recapture
the joy of recording and just plain rocking out. As we’ll likely discuss in our
entry on Let It Be, that’s not what
happened. The sessions were caustic, the production was a shambles, and the
music was shelved. Abbey Road instead
became the back-to-basics album that the band was after. George Martin, after
something of a hiatus during the Let It
Be sessions, only agreed to return if he could be in charge, to which the
band was happy to acquiesce. And while the entirety of the recording stretched
out between January and September of 1969, most of the album was recorded
during the month of July, with Martin and longtime engineer Geoff Emerick at
the helm and the band mostly working together again like they rarely had in
years.
The process proved fruitful and Abbey Road is generally considered one of the band’s best overall
albums. It manages to capture the sounds and vibes of the late ‘60s rock scene
while remaining undeniably a record by The Beatles. Side One is practically a
late-era Beatles’ hit parade with tracks like “Come Together,” “Something,” and
“Oh! Darling,” whereas Side Two consists mainly of the famous and famously
experimental medley – eight songs spread out over sixteen minutes, all
seamlessly interwoven (in part by some of McCartney’s most free-wheeling and .
. . imaginative bass playing). And then comes one of rock’s first “hidden
tracks,” as “Her Majesty” followed fourteen seconds of silence and was not
originally listed on the US or UK albums or album sleeves.
Choosing a track from amongst all this that would qualify as
“lesser known” proved pretty much impossible, so we decided to follow that path
that we took with Help! and pick what
is perhaps the best-known track on the album, and one of the best known from
amongst the band’s entire catalogue, George Harrison’s “Something.” It’s the
song that Frank Sinatra famously called the “best love song ever written.”
In Revolution in the Head, Ian MacDonald
calls it the “acme” of George Harrison’s career as a songwriter and claims of
the song, “if McCartney wasn’t jealous, he should have been.”
There’s a lot to unpack there, Lew, so I’ll just toss out a
few general questions and you can tackle them (or not) in any way you want. Is
“Something” such a great song? It’s the second most recorded Beatles’ song
after “Yesterday” – does that tell us anything about its place in the band’s
canon (or even in Harrison’s canon)? And, to return to a question we’ve revisited
throughout the series, does it hold up?
Welcome to Track Chatter, where we choose a different song to discuss in depth. This entry is part of an ongoing series in which we reconsider songs by The Beatles. Can anything new be said about this band or its music? Have a look below and let us know what you think.
Lew: For our second track from The While Album, we turn our attention to Ringo’s contribution “Don’t Pass Me By.” This song bears the distinction of being Ringo’s first original composition to appear on a Beatles album. His prior vocal outings had been limited to covers and Lennon/McCartney compositions, making “Don’t Pass Me By” a fairly pivotal moment for Ringo, if not The Beatles.
“Don’t Pass Me By” was recorded on June 5, 6 and 12 in 1968, although there are references to the song going back as far as 1964. Paul and Ringo are the only Beatles to appear on the track, with Jack Fallon supplying the violin. Ringo and Paul both played piano tracks on the recording, both of which were recorded through a Leslie speaker.
Throughout my listening experience with “Don’t Pass Me By,” I’ve always considered it a fairly innocuous little tune. However, in preparing to write about it, I gave it a more careful listen and began to think that I may have been a little cavalier in dismissing it. I’m not sure if that stems entirely from the fact that I’ve historically been dismissive of Ringo in general, or if it has to do with the song itself. Nevertheless, I’d like to get some initial comments from Aaron before I diverge into my own feelings about the song. Aaron, you selected this track for discussion – were you just feeling like we owed it Ringo or do you have a closer connection to the song?
Aaron: In the immortal words of James Brown, “can we give the drummer some!” Why a Ringo tune? Well, there are a few reasons that are probably worth mentioning, although they may have little to do with this particular track and what makes it worthy (or not) of reconsideration. First, it was simply that the series is winding down and I thought it might be a good idea to spend some time considering Ringo as a singer. The Beatles are known for many things, one of which is for being a great vocal group. This reputation certainly doesn’t rest on Ringo’s performances, but he does sing lead on around twelve Beatles’s songs – almost one per album – so within the parameters of this series it might be worth taking a look at Ringo the singer (we’ve already made a pretty good argument, I think, about the often underrated quality of Ringo’s drumming). In that sense, we might use this opportunity to consider Ringo’s overall role as a singer in the group. Along those same lines, as the original impetus for this series was to consider “lesser-known” Beatles’ tunes, many of the songs Ringo sings on fall into that category. Of course, he sang on a few of the Beatles’ best known tracks – particularly “Yellow Submarine,” “With a Little Help from my Friends,” and, arguably in terms of popularity, “Octopus’s Garden.” But the rest of his songs, while hardly unknown obscurities, would hardly make the top of any Best-of lists.
What I love about “Don’t Pass Me By,” though is what a great performance it is. It’s true that Paul and Ringo were the only Beatles on it. But in some ways it exemplifies the way the band seemed to approach Ringo tracks. Going all the way back to “Boys” on Please Please Me, the band always seemed to bring heightened energy to the recording of songs on which Ringo was singing. Perhaps there was something about stepping away from the mic that freed up Lennon and McCartney to push themselves a bit (not that they needed it), but the songs on which Ringo sings are notable for their high level of energy and, in many cases, inventiveness. With “Don’t Pass Me By” that includes the somewhat lackadaisical and sloppy vibe that permeates The White Album, but underneath it is a pretty solid country-western tune with a bit of inventive flair.
What do you think, Lew? You mentioned that you’ve been reconsidering the song. Have you found anything about it that elevates it above being just more ho-hum Ringo filler?
Lew: Well, I'm not sure about the phrase “ho-hum Ringo filler,” although I think I get what you’re saying here. My (minor) objection to the phrase, I guess, is that I don’t think that “Don't Pass Me By” stands out as being a more inventive piece of songwriting than some of the songs that Lennon & McCartney wrote for Ringo to sing – on balance, I’d probably choose “With a Little Help from My Friends” or “Octopus's Garden” for sheer listening enjoyment. But, obviously, what makes “Don’t Pass Me By” notable is that it's a song written entirely by Ringo. This all might sound a little negative – that’s not really my intention so much as a fact of the situation. If you're in a band with John Lennon and Paul McCartney, your songs might tend to seem a bit small compared to the stuff those guys are throwing around. I guess I don’t have a lot to say about the performance at the moment, but I’d be interested to hear more about what is striking you about it.
In any case, I do like “Don't Pass Me By.” At best, I think it makes a nice juxtaposition between Ringo’s happy-go-lucky presentation and my own experiences of occasionally having waited in vain for girls to call (alas!). I think that’s what prompted my remark that I had been reconsidering it as a piece of songwriting. Once you get past Ringo’s slightly goofy demeanor, he’s writing about something that can be fairly agonizing.
Aaron: You’re certainly right that, in terms of songwriting, it would be hard for Ringo ever to top the Lennon & McCartney team (although, just to clarify, it was Ringo who wrote “Octopus’s Garden”). But there’s something about it – something plaintive about Ringo’s delivery, or the simplicity of the lyrics – that has always struck me. It’s long been one of my favorite tracks on The White Album, even positioned, as it is, alongside so many killer tracks. I’ve come along way round on Ringo’s singing. When I was a kid and a teenager, I thought it was balanced somewhere between goofy and bad, but I think that’s in part to do with everybody telling me that all the time. But as I’ve aged, Ringo has, for me, slotted into that group of rock singers, particularly North American singers, who don’t have the greatest voice but who can manage to convey the feeling behind whatever lyric it is they’re singing. To be sure, he’s no Dylan or Neil Young. But I think his delivery works in a way that the other Beatles liked constructing songs around – I mean, Paul and John must have known what a good song “With a Little Help from My Friends” was, but they chose to give it to Ringo for some reason. Perhaps because his sad-dog persona fits so well, or at least so ironically, with the lyrics.
As for Ringo’s own stab at lyrics, in this case, I think they might be better than they seem on first listen. The song is a bit goofy in the way it takes a typical country tune and adds all that White Album detritus of studio sound and weird instruments. And it’s also got that goofy-Ringo vibe. But try to imagine a stripped-down, acoustic version or maybe even a balls-out rock version, and even the “lost your hair” lyric might work.
I’ve got a couple other thoughts about the lyrics, but anything else you want to get in about the tune, or Ringo, or (gulp!) drummers?
Lew: I think you make a good point about Ringo’s vocal delivery – it’s effective at times, and partially so because he’s not a great singer. Actually, my biggest issue with him as a vocalist isn’t so much about his ability as a singer – I’ve given the nod to people who had far greater issues with pitch, etc. If anything, it’s what I’d call a marked lack of dynamics or inflection in his takes that gets to me sometimes - he doesn’t sound invested. It reminds me of a twelve-year-old singing in choir. Maybe that’s a bit harsh, but maybe it gets my point across.
The lyrics aren’t bad at all. Actually, when I was getting ready to start this entry, I came across the notion that “lost your hair” was a piece of British slang at the time that meant someone was very upset. I had always assumed it was intended to describe the effects of the car crash, but maybe it’s just a dated idiom. In other respects, I think he manages to convey the feeling of doubt, which I think I’ve mentioned, that comes with waiting to hear from your crush (or whatever) and the feeling of contrition that comes when you realize that the horrible scenario that you’d been constructing in your insecurity was doing him/her a disservice. What else did you want to say about the lyrics?
Aaron: In the end my thoughts on the lyrics aren’t all that profound. It’s just that I’ve always read the song, in part, as a lament about the band. I know it’s a bit of a stretch, but with the state of things in 1968, perhaps not much of one. It was during the recording of this album that Ringo quit the band for a bit, feeling lost in the sea of animosity that was starting to overwhelm the other band members (Ringo seems to have been the one member of the band who pretty much always got along with all the rest of them). So while I know that, on its surface, it’s an anxious love song, I always got the vibe that the love was directed in part towards his band mates and best friends whose relationships were all unraveling in front of his face. And some how, to me anyway, Ringo’s monotone delivery really brings out the plaintive nature of that reading.
But, like I said, that’s probably a stretch as nothing in the lyrics themselves really point to that interpretation. Any thoughts from our readers? As always, we’d love to hear what any of you think about this track, Ringo the singer, Ringo the drummer, or anything else that might come to mind.
Coming soon: Getting closer to the end, we decide to swing big with a George Harrison track from Abbey Road, and an REM Quick Take.
Welcome to Track Chatter, where we choose a different song to discuss in depth. This entry is part of an ongoing series in which we reconsider songs by The Beatles. Can anything new be said about this band or its music? Have a look below and let us know what you think.
Aaron: Released late in 1968, The Beatles is an album whose reputation rests almost as much on its non-musical aspects as on the songs themselves. Perhaps best known as The White Album (to which we will refer to it here, for simplicity’s sake), it is the band’s only official double album, it was the first Beatles’ album released on their new Apple Records label, and it was the last of their albums to be released in both mono and stereo versions. Those are the facts. It’s also known as the album that almost broke the band up – with each member becoming more concerned with his own songs than with recording as a “band,” a unit of four guys giving their best to each number. The divisiveness that came to the surface during the recording of the album led Ringo to quit the band temporarily (because of this departure, Paul plays drums on “Dear Prudence” and, maybe, “Back in the U.S.S.R.”). Our purposes here are to talk more about the songs than the biographies, but it is worth noting that after ten years of being together nearly constantly and five years of being the biggest band in the world, the strain was starting to show and such powerful egos in such close proximity were starting to cause caustic rather than inspirational sparks to fire.
One aspect of personality that does play an important role, however – in terms of both the album itself and this week’s track, “Everybody’s Got Something To Hide Except for Me and My Monkey” – is the re-emergence of John Lennon as a powerful creative force within the band. Over the previous three albums, John had certainly contributed key tracks, but it had been Paul who was in many ways the driving force behind the band’s sound and development. On The White Album, John’s presence is powerful, and his ability to present a unity of personality within a widely diverse group of songs is almost staggering. I think an argument could be made that it’s on The White Album that John Lennon first becomes “John Lennon,” the post-Beatle who can write songs of savage ferocity or surreal humor, or simple reflections on love and daily life, without ever seeming like he’s trying on different sounds just for the sake of it.
Coming halfway through side three, “. . . Me and My Monkey” is one of Lennon’s most exuberant, all-out rockers from throughout his Beatles’ career. What do you think, Lew . . . is it fair to call The White Album more of a Lennon album than the previous few albums? And how does this track fit into (or undermine?) that contention?
Lew: I think John Lennon's songwriting is definitely the most focused work on The White Album, and I would strongly agree with your statement that The White Album marks the emergence of John Lennon the solo artist. He really doesn't sound like he’s writing from within The Beatles. I think The Beatles post-Rubber Soul albums, great as they are, operate in a lot of respects from a position of self-consciousness – that is to say, they were trying to make albums that they thought The Beatles should make (or thought that people thought The Beatles should make), and writing songs accordingly. I don’t think many of the John Lennon songs on The White Album have that feel at all, with the obvious exception of “Glass Onion,” which can probably be seen as a sort of final, overt kiss-off to those expectations. But, on the other hand, I think a track like “Everybody’s Got Something To Hide Except for Me and My Monkey” is casting off that sense of expectation deliberately in the sense that it simply doesn't acknowledge them. As opposed to being overtly philosophical, “Everybody’s Got Something To Hide Except for Me and My Monkey,” becomes philosophical in its simplicity and sense of rocking, escapist fun. The higher you fly, the deeper you go, as it were.
Aaron: Interesting take. I see where you’re coming from with what you say about the band’s self-consciousness, but I wonder if there wasn’t more going on than that. I think they were pretty much caught up in whatever it was or whatever it meant to be “THE BEATLES,” and so on one level I imagine there was some pressure to live up to that. On the other hand though, it seems like at some point, their innate sense of playfulness started manifesting itself in a kind of rebellious urge to confound expectations, to push away from what it meant to be The Beatles, and even, at some points, to undermine those expectations. I’m thinking of all that chatter that starts to appear on the albums where they poke fun at themselves and the song they’ve just played. On top of all that was their obvious love of experimentation, which we’ve discussed several times before. From Rubber Soul (or even Help!) onwards, they seem to have been more willing to follow those different strains in their musical personalities and, perhaps, by the time of The White Album, their personalities had diverged to the extent that those experiments were more personally motivated than band motivated. I think what that meant for Lennon was that, influenced by Yoko, he wanted to experiment – so came songs like the multi-form “Happiness is a Warm Gun” or the musique concrete of “Revolution 9.” But I also think he just really wanted to rock out, for the first time in a long time. So comes the hard blues of “Yer Blues” and the wonderful exuberance of “Everybody’s Got Something To Hide Except for Me and My Monkey.”
Speaking of which . . . what makes the song so damned much fun?
Lew: I see what you mean when you say that the band had been pushing against whatever expectation they felt to be The Beatles. I definitely would not make the argument that elements of Revolver, Sgt. Pepper and so on weren’t meant to challenge their listeners. On the other hand, I think that the playfulness you mentioned is part of the presentation. I think there was a sense of letting the audience in on a joke – “Haha! We’re The Beatles and we're challenging your expectations. Isn’t it fun and whimsical?” – whereas, on “Glass Onion,” John is basically saying, “you were never in on the joke, stop assuming you know anything about me.” Anyway, I don’t mean to bog down our discussion of a great song, since that is our ostensible purpose.
So, what does make EGSTHEMAMM (haha!) such a fun song? Well, first of all it’s got a fantastic hook. Or, more properly, it’s got several of them – at least one memorable guitar part, and pretty much every vocal part in the song. Not only that, the guitar has a great overdriven sound of the kind that would be right at home on a Led Zeppelin or AC/DC album. Maybe that’s a bit of a broad overview, though – what makes the song fun for you?
Aaron: Well, the hooks are a big part of it. From the way the opening groove quickly switches pace to something much more frantic – with that relentless ride cymbal and Lennon crying out “come on, come on” – through the ending fade out that seems to come too soon, the song is exhilarating in its exhortations to . . . well, whatever it is the song’s really exhorting us to do. I like the guitar riff over the verse and the way it seems just . . . almost . . . not quite out of time with the drums. I love the way the drumbeat seems tied to the ride cymbal, but also not. And I love the way Lennon sings the whole thing just one step down from a shout. It gives the whole song a chaotic vibe – it’s teetering on tipping over into a garbled mess, but the band keeps hold of the reins and never lets it tumble. Which is really interesting because the lyrics, in a way, are about finding a sort of peace with the world. While they’re rooted in The Beatles’ trip to India, they also have a zen-like quality to them (“the deeper you go, the higher you fly”). So in a sense the song becomes a frantic, exuberant celebration of calmness and clarity. Even though the lyrical playfulness is much simpler than it was on “Walrus” (perhaps because of this), I find it more exciting. And as much as I really like The Beatles, this is one of their few songs that make me want to get up and do, go, run, jump, fly . . . even more so than most of the wild songs of their early years.
And I agree about the guitar sound. While the band had been pushing the performance they could get out of their and Abbey Road’s equipment, it seems like it’s really on The White Album that they find the sound of “modern” rock, at least as it would be played up through the punk years or so. And it’s mostly on Lennon’s songs where the drive for that sound can be noticed. Do you think that’s accurate?
Lew: I think you’re accurate on all counts – your analysis of the song from the bottom up is actually quite a bit better than the way I had gotten around to thinking of it, so thanks for bringing some clarity to the discussion. When I was listening to it recently, I was thinking about that guitar part during the verse. It is definitely a cool syncopation. I see what you mean about it sounding almost out of time with the drums – the interaction between the guitar and the ride cymbal is very close to chaos. Of course, that’s part of what makes the song so great, because when it drops into the chorus (pre-chorus?), everything suddenly locks together. It’s a great juxtaposition, in which each part really justifies the other – much like the contrast between the lyrics and the way John sings the song that you pointed out. One of the most impressive things about the lyrics, for me, is how minimal they are. There really aren't more than a few phrases in the song, but between the beat and the vocal take, everything seems to take on a much greater significance. It’s almost a disservice to the song to call it “evocative,” because what it evokes really precludes that kind of vocabulary for me, but it is one of those songs that reminds me of why parents used to be concerned about their kids listening to rock music – a lot of things seem possible for the two and a half minutes that you’re listening to it.
Aaron: I love that – “a lot of things seem possible for the two and a half minutes that you’re listening to it” – what a great way to describe what a good pop song should do! And it links up with another thing I love about the song, which is how effortless it seems, even though the band apparently rehearsed it for several days before landing on a take that they liked. The lyrics play a large part in that, and it goes back to what I was trying to get at before about the emergence of “Lennon” (or, as some would have it, simply the re-emergence of John Lennon) – he’s not trying so hard here. He’s a rocker, a psychedelic guru, a cynic, a proponent of some sort of peaceful mysticism, a political commentator, the lover of Yoko Ono, and so much more. These aspects of his personality will continue to clash in his music throughout the early ‘70s, but at the same time he seems more at peace with the contradictions, more willing to follow the individual muse of each particular song wherever it will take him. So on The White Album, even though the subject matter and form of his songs are quite diverse, they all sound organic and of a whole. And in some way, the lyrics of “ . . . Me and My Monkey” seem to be commenting on that sense of ease, like, it really does seem that either he’s nothing left to hide, or he’s just plain tired of hiding whatever it is. It’s completely untrue for his personal life, of course, but perhaps it’s an accurate assessment of his artistic mind for much of the late ‘60s and early ‘70s.
Lew: I think you’re right in saying that Lennon is much more at peace here, artistically speaking, than he is in earlier work. Of course, as you’ve also pointed out, his personal life was in a comparative state of upheaval. As a songwriter, however, he seems to have reached a point where he's somewhat more comfortable. I want to qualify “comfortable” as being different from “complacent” – I don't mean to imply that he was coasting on past accomplishments. But, I think we're seeing him, starting with The White Album, as someone who has a certain level of artistic confidence and trust for his instinctive decisions. That kind of confidence can cut both ways, but in this case, it makes for a great pop/rock song.
Aaron: And with that, we’ll leave off and let our readers weigh in with anything they might have to say about “Me and My Monkey,” The White Album, Lennon’s evolution as an artist, or anything else you all might want to add.
Coming Next: We’ve decided to dedicate two weeks to The White Album while shaving YellowSubmarineout of the mix. YS is not necessarily a bad album – and it includes the excellent “Hey Bulldog,” which we think fits nicely with the above conversation – but while it is considered a Beatles’ album proper, it is also made up of half instrumentals and several reissues, so it can’t really be considered a fully formed artistic statement like the rest of the band’s albums.
So next time around, we’ll finally make a visit with Ringo, then we’ve got Abbey Road and Let it Be and that’ll see us wind down the first phase of Track Chatter.
Welcome to Track Chatter, where we choose a different song to discuss in depth. This entry is part of an ongoing series in which we reconsider songs by The Beatles. Can anything new be said about this band or its music? Have a look below and let us know what you think.
Lew: In late 1967, The Beatles followed Sgt. Pepper’s with Magical Mystery Tour. Magical Mystery Tour was a concept, generally thought to have been initiated by Paul McCartney, which produced a promotional film and a group of songs that functioned as material for the score and musical performance interludes contained within the film, as well as the content of the album by the same name. The Beatles began work on the project shortly after the death of their longtime manager, Brian Epstein, during which time Paul became increasingly active as the band’s leader and de facto manager. Needless to say, it was a time of turmoil for the band.
The film itself was a massive critical failure, in terms of its reception by the press and the public. It’s worth noting that a portion of the public’s initial negative response may be attributable to the fact that Magical Mystery Tour was filmed in color, but broadcast on BBC TV in black and white, which robbed some of its intended visual impact. Nevertheless, I think it’s also viable to say that the Magical Mystery Tour project as a whole began to reveal some weaknesses within The Beatles’ organization, greatly exacerbated by the loss of Epstein’s leadership and business savvy, which were affecting their creative output.
However poorly the film was received, the album Magical Mystery Tour contains some definite classics. The title track, “Fool On the Hill,” “I Am The Walrus,” and “Hello Goodbye” among others, are fascinating and relatively unique pieces of songwriting within The Beatles catalogue. For this entry, we’ll be discussing my personal favorite of the bunch, “I Am the Walrus.” “I Am the Walrus” sees John Lennon at his most abstract, tossing images and references about with relative abandon. If “She Said She Said” can be described as expressionist, the term is even more apt here. While “I Am the Walrus” is generally characterized as psychedelia, the lyrics contain a cynicism or aggression that’s relatively unusual in the psychedelic music of the era. Aaron, we’ll be talking about the arrangement and production as we get further on, but I’d like to start by talking about the lyrics. It’s easy to write them off as a post-modern pastiche of images; I’m wondering if you find any continuity within them, or if you even think that there’s a need for that?
Aaron: Before I answer your question, I’d just like to mention that Magical Mystery Tour also contains two songs – “Strawberry Fields Forever” and “Penny Lane” – that were previously released as part of a double-A-side single in February of 1967. They were the first songs recorded during what would become the Sgt. Pepper’s sessions, but were released as singles under record company pressure. Because of long-standing UK tradition, they could not be released on the next album (Sgt. Pepper’s) so were included on its follow-up, Magical Mystery Tour. I only mention this because in working on this project, I’ve come to the conclusion that “Penny Lane” is a nearly perfect Beatles song in almost every way conceivable (do I exaggerate?) and would like to urge everybody reading to revisit the song, especially if you haven’t considered it in a while.
But back to “I Am the Walrus.” Well, I don’t think the lyrics bear a close reading on our part because a lot of that would consist more of reading into rather than analyzing. The song is one of the rare examples in The Beatles’ catalogue of lyrics completely devoid of any clear narrative or point. “She Said She Said” was obscure and expressionist, to be sure, but at least one could say, well, there’s this girl, right, and she’s talkin about death and all, and, well, it gets the singer to thinking about when he was a boy and all that. Whereas, with “I Am the Walrus,” it’s very difficult to point to the song and say that it is about anything. Having said that, for the first time in this series, I think the lyrics bear reprinting in full (if that’s all right with you, Lew). Here they are:
I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.
See how they run like pigs from a gun, see how they fly.
I'm crying.
Sitting on a cornflake, waiting for the van to come.
Corporation tee-shirt, stupid bloody Tuesday.
Man, you been a naughty boy, you let your face grow long.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g'joob.
Mister City Policeman sitting
Pretty little policemen in a row.
See how they fly like Lucy in the Sky, see how they run.
I'm crying, I'm crying.
I'm crying, I'm crying.
Yellow matter custard, dripping from a dead dog's eye.
Crabalocker fishwife, pornographic priestess,
Boy, you been a naughty girl you let your knickers down.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g'joob.
Sitting in an English garden waiting for the sun.
If the sun don't come, you get a tan
From standing in the English rain.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g'joob g'goo goo g'joob.
Expert textpert choking smokers,
Don't you thing the joker laughs at you?
See how they smile like pigs in a sty,
See how they snied.
I'm crying.
Semolina pilchard, climbing up the Eiffel Tower.
Elementary penguin singing Hari Krishna.
Man, you should have seen them kicking Edgar Allan Poe.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g'joob g'goo goo g'joob.
Goo goo g'joob g'goo goo g'joob g'goo... (etc.)
As a coherent statement, they don’t seem to make much sense on the surface, and maybe they don’t (there are plenty of web sites out there speculating on the song’s many possible meanings, for those interested). But I don’t think they’re as random as they might seem at first. As far as I’ve been able to tell, Lennon wrote the majority of the song’s music in one, day-long session. The lyrics, on the other hand, he worked on for weeks. That alone belies the notion that they are some sort of stream of consciousness overflow of spontaneous feeling. It’s worth noting the conflux of events in Lennon’s life that surround the song’s writing. As you mentioned above, Lew, this came soon after Brian Epstein’s death – in fact, it’s generally accepted that “I Am the Walrus” was the first new song completed after his death – and Lennon was arguably closer to Epstein than were any of the other Beatles. Furthermore, Lennon was nearing the end of his two-year LSD binge, and he was also becoming more attuned to the political face that the counterculture was taking in the UK and America. The result is a collection of lyrics that are at once cynical and despondent, but also quite playfully clever with a touch of the wit that early-Beatles Lennon had more regularly exhibited.
I’ll point to specific examples in a moment, but do you think I’ve accurately captured the tone here Lew? Do you have any thoughts about what Lennon is aiming at here?
Lew: I’m glad you pointed out that “Strawberry Fields Forever” and “Penny Lane” are on Magical Mystery Tour. I’d agree that they're both great, and fairly important Beatles songs. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that I’d have been nearly as happy to discuss either of them as “I Am the Walrus.” Nevertheless, here we are.
In terms of our discussion about the lyrics (incidentally, thanks for including them), I think that your assessment of them as cynical or despondent, but also playful, is quite apt. The idea that the music was written quickly, while the lyrics were drawn out over a period of time is believable to me, because the images and references seem deliberate, if disjointed. If anything, the disjointedness lends itself to the idea that Lennon took the lyrics as far as he could on successive occasions, only to return later with a fresh perspective. On the other hand, I agree that these lyrics are not random at all - however one might like to interpret them, I would argue that they convey a feeling that's more specific than the pastiche of images might suggest.
I don't want to abandon our discussion of the lyrics, but I thought it might be worthwhile to also begin to think about the music and production. “I Am the Walrus” is definitely an example of George Martin at his best. In fact, I might go so far as to say it’s the Beatles song that most successfully blends the sound of the actual band playing with a very smartly written orchestral arrangement. I'm curious about your thoughts on that, but don’t let me derail any thoughts you might still be having about the language.
Aaron: Just to hop back to the lyrics a little bit, I would like to say a few brief things about why I think they work so well. As I mentioned above, Lennon was coming to the end of his big acid bender and was sort of re-engaging with the world, but doing so through the prism of still doing lots of acid as well as having begun a deeper sort of spiritual investigation – something he’d fight and return to for much of the next few years. The result in his lyrics, on the one hand, seems to be a move away from the type of studied introspection that one finds in “Tomorrow Never Knows,” “A Day in the Life,” and even “She Said She Said,” which uses an external experience as an avenue for internal exploration. On the other hand, John had always had a penchant for the absurd and surreal, even, apparently, dating back to his secondary school days. It seems that the type of “ego cleansing” he experienced on acid allowed him to tap into that facet of his personality without worrying about writing the “perfect” song (which was a worry of his earlier days in the Beatles). So, with “I Am the Walrus,” we seem to be getting a very surreal and cynical Lennon pointing his guns at “society” in a very biting but humorous manner.
More specifically, he seems to be taking aim at many British institutions directly (one might argue they’re as “Western” as they are “British”) – the police, corporations, schools and school teachers – as well as what he seems to have considered poseurs and hipsters. The juxtaposition of these things with nonsense lines and nursery rhymes only heightens the sense of absurdity. And this all comes after Lennon’s opening lines that would seem, on first glance, to be hinting towards some kind of harmony or oneness (The Beatles had already begun meeting the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, while not yet having mate the trip with him to India). Whether by all those “he” and “we” pronouns he means only a select group (those outside “straight” society) or whether Lennon’s own mystical pretensions are also up for mockery seem both to be possibilities. If Lewis Carroll could make fun of himself, then so can John Lennon.
To zero in on one particular set of lyrics, I’d have to say that the lines that really bring home the song’s layers of possible meaning come during the breakdown in the middle:
Sitting in an English garden, waiting for the sun.
If the sun don’t come, you get a tan
From standing in the English rain.
I love the way the first line starts off with a strong sense of hope. At the same time, it paints such a lovely image. After all the dissonance of the previous lyrics about sitting on cornflakes and dead dogs’ eyes, the calm of the garden seems to be something of an eye in the storm. But it doesn’t last because Lennon follows it up with such a wonderful little dig – it’s as if he’s mocking everything about the notion of the British stiff upper lip. All those people running around pretending that things will be all right when, clearly, they won’t. And the hope of the opening line dissipates in the grey English rain.
I think the music even echoes that sentiment somewhat. The music behind the first line sounds as gentle and sweet as the words themselves, but on the “if” there seems to be a change in key or tempo or both. Is that right, Lew? Perhaps on that we can jump back into talking about (what I agree) is the song’s excellent composition and orchestration.
Lew: You are absolutely right to identify the change that's taking place between “sitting in and English garden” and “if the sun don’t come” – the chord progression that’s happening under the first line of what I think we can call a sort of bridge, although similar to what has been happening, is something of a departure from the progressions that have been established up to that point. Obviously, the dynamics change as well – your observation that it feels like the “eye of the storm” seems particularly apt, as the feel of the music seems to break completely from the very driving rhythmic feel that the song maintains during the verses and choruses. At the line “if the sun don't come,” the rhythm resumes, and the chord progression becomes the turnaround, which transitions into the chorus.
To go back into the lyrics for a second, one thing that I found particularly striking in your most recent response was the discussion of the way pronouns are functioning in the song. Like you, I’m curious about the way the opening lines of the song seem to imply a unity. I’d point out the rhythm of the vocal part – Lennon’s delivery of the first two lines (“I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together”) is very rhythmic, with accents falling on all of the beats and being strongest on the “2” and “4” beats of the first two measures after the vocal enters. I started off hearing it as a rap, but eventually started thinking about a basic drum beat with the bass drum playing 8th notes on beats one and three, and the snare hitting quarter notes on two and four. Either way, all of the accents in those two lines are pronouns until the last beat of the second measure where “all” falls on the fourth beat and “together” bleeds into the first beat of the next measure. All of that analysis (which may or may not be useful to think about) aside, the feeling I get from the rhythm and delivery of that section of the verse reminds me of a drinking song that should be sung by a group of people. After that point, the rhythm becomes more syncopated and less pronounced in outlining of the beat specifically, but to my mind, it creates a feeling of conversation in which Lennon is pointing out a variety of images to a group of people, which the further use of pronouns in the song seems to support. Admittedly, that’s a highly subjective read on things, but it’s something that occurred to me.
Aaron: Well, the song is somewhat frustrating in that its imagery and lack of linearity both make any reading impossible while also making nearly any interpretation valid (if, that is, it’s at least somewhat grounded in the text, the cultural and historical context, etc.). That was partly Lennon’s intention, I guess. Supposedly, he got a letter from a pupil at his former school who said he was studying Beatles’ lyrics in class. Lennon’s finding this ludicrous was a major impetus behind the writing of this song – interpret this!
So in a sense, I don’t know that your “subjective” reading is any more or less valid than any other reading (I’m not sure if that’s a completely good thing, mind you, but that is an element of surrealism, after all, isn’t it?). In any case, the pronouns are important and I’m glad you highlighted how they fall rhythmically. I do think the opening lines work as something like an invocation, which is highly important, because throughout the rest of the song I think Lennon is playing with the idea of who the “we” are in “we are all together.” That playfulness, I think, is what saves the song from being from being sort of derivatively surreal and allows it to be more authentic. The song’s playfulness and anger and cynicism collide in a way that opens up the text in more than just its somewhat random lyrical content. That gives it an emotional heft that I, for one, don’t find in a lot of other 60’s-era stabs at pop surrealism.
I fear, however, that I’m descending a bit into Lit Crit 101, so I’ll step back from that and ask if there’s anything else you want to say about the lyrics, music, or the dialogue between them.
Lew: Well, we haven’t really talked much about the music, and there are a few things worth mentioning about it. I guess the thing that’s most striking about it (to me) is the orchestration. Obviously, the Beatles used orchestral arrangements to great effect in a number of places - certainly in “Yesterday” as we’ve previously discussed, but also in “A Day in the Life,” “She's Leaving Home,” and so on. I think that “A Day in the Life” was a turning point, in that it was able to successfully marry the orchestral arrangement to the context of a rock song as a coloration, rather than allowing it to become the primary instrumental force in the song, in the way that I think it does in “Yesterday” and “She's Leaving Home.” Having said that, I think that “I Am the Walrus” develops the concept of orchestra as one part of an ensemble even more successfully. The melodies provided by the orchestra are fantastic, and I certainly wouldn’t say that they’re superfluous, but you can hear the song being played without them by straight “rock instrumentation” (if that’s a phrase that’s in any way meaningful). By contrast, I can’t immediately picture the original version of “Yesterday” being played that way.
Aaron: Great point, Lew. You’ve managed to put your finger on one of the things that make the Beatles such a good band, one of the things that continues to make them vital. They were supremely confident in their ability to integrate new areas of expression into their existing sound. I think that’s just as true of their early music wherein skiffle beats and Little Richard are seamlessly blended, as well as of a song like “I Am the Walrus” wherein psychedelic rock, surrealism, and orchestration are blended so organically. And, to return to at topic of some of our earlier posts, they do this in such a way that, really, we can apply the term “Beatlesque” to a song like “She’s a Woman” just as readily as we do to “I Am the Walrus.”
Coming Next: John really shakes off the cobwebs, with a little help from a Monkey.
Coming Soon: While continuing with our Beatles series, we'll be introducing a new feature here at Track Chatter, one that we hope you'll get a kick out of. Stay tuned!
Congratulations: to Lew and Jenna on the recent birth of a beautiful, healthy baby boy!
Welcome to Track Chatter, where we choose a different song to discuss in depth. This entry is part of an ongoing series in which we reconsider songs by The Beatles. Can anything new be said about this band or its music? Have a look below and let us know what you think.
Aaron: Well, what can one say about the record that’s had everything said about it? Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, released in the early summer of 1967 (the “Summer of Love”), has been praised nearly continuously in the almost forty-five years since its release. It spent hundreds of weeks on both the UK and US album charts and was the first rock album to win the Best Album Grammy. Jimi Hendrix famously played cover versions of the title track in London clubs just days after its release (and with some of The Beatles in the audience). It’s been credited with fully entrenching the concept of the “album” – as a unity rather than a collection of singles – as well as with inventing (or perfecting) the concept album. It drove Brian Wilson mad. And while its position as the number one, no doubt, best album of all time has naturally waxed and waned with the ever-changing trends of rock music criticism and fandom, it has never fallen out of favor or ceased to be considered as anything other than a stellar rock and roll album. It may come as no surprise that Rolling Stone continues to proclaim it the greatest album of all time, but even the more discerning hipster types at Pitchfork awarded it a rare 10 out 10 in a recent reconsideration.
So, what indeed can one say? Well, it’s not quite true that Sgt. Pepper’s was the first “proper” album – an entity conceived as a whole piece rather than a collection of parts. Like nearly all artistic developments, the coming of the unified album happened over time – a very brief time in this case, to be sure. It’s well accepted that at least since Frank Sinatra’s In the Wee Small Hours (1955), artists had been releasing albums based around unifying ideas and musical themes with a considered and purposeful sequencing of tracks. The Beatles themselves had been moving in this direction since Rubber Soul (and arguably since Help!), and the influence of The Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds (1966) on Sgt. Pepper’s is well known. However, as was often the case with The Beatles, the album harnessed the fullness of their songwriting prowess, their experimental drive, their adeptness in the studio (still using four-track recording as EMI was unwilling to equip Abby Road studios with eight-track mixing decks until later in 1967), and lots of happy accidents to make something more than the sum of its parts. The result is thus, perhaps, the first album that really feels like an album in the modern sense. Songs bleed into one another. Varispeeding allowed them to modify pitches so that the beginnings and endings of songs could be more seamlessly blended. Automatic double tracking and George Martin’s (and his engineers’) incredibly facility with “bouncing” tracks meant that they could achieve an amazing depth of sound wherein multiple tracks from a variety of sources – band and non-band alike – could be clearly discerned by even the unpracticed ear. And for reasons that are often difficult to pinpoint, the album’s lyrics and themes resonated with the zeitgeist in ways that have rarely been achieved – before or since – by one forty minute rock album.
Whether Sgt. Pepper’s is the “best album of all time” is, however, a pretty subjective claim. There are so many matrices by which to measure such a distinction (sales? awards? influence? – and just how does one measure something as intangible as “influence”?), and so many different types of albums, that one’s preference for such a title will invariably come down to questions of taste. And there are certainly those who find Sgt. Pepper’s boring, uninspired, overplayed, hackneyed, or even simple. However, within the medium of rock music, the claim simply cannot be made that Sgt. Pepper’s is “bad.” From the opening sound effect of a mulling audience and the tuning of a first violin that breaks into one of the band’s most rocking numbers to the closing chord of their most celebrated song, the album sparkles with energy, creativity, and clear ideas executed with stellar musicianship and technological acuity. In short, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band is a fucking awesome album.
We struggled with the question of which track to choose and long considered tackling “A Day in the Life.” The album closer is generally considered the pinnacle of the Lennon/McCartney songwriting tandem as well as the crowning achievement of The Beatles/George Martin recording relationship. And as we had already broken our “lesser-known-tracks” rule with “Yesterday,” we thought, why not do so again. However, in the end we decided that, much like Sgt. Pepper’s itself, “A Day in the Life” has simply been discussed too much. Which track, if any, however, can be considered lesser known from this album? All the songs regularly feature on classic rock radio; they show up in movie soundtracks, on mix tapes (mix tapes?), and as cover versions by other bands. In the end, we decided to go with “Fixing a Hole,” in part because it’s one of the less assuming songs on an album full of mind blowers. Or is it? What do you think, Lew? Does “Fixing a Hole” hold its own with the other heavy hitters on Sgt. Pepper’s?
Lew: I feel like I'm always answering “yes” to the question you pose me in your intros, but I'm going to say it again. I do think that “Fixing A Hole” holds it own on Sgt. Pepper's. I don't think that it’s the crowning musical achievement that “A Day In The Life” is, but I would also say that a good deal of its strength as a composition lies exactly in its unassuming nature. Without digressing about “A Day In The Life” too much, I’ll just say that although it’s obviously a really fantastic song, regardless of arrangement, the production is a huge part of its impact. The acoustic guitar that bridges into the piano to introduce the first verse, the orchestral parts, the reverb on Lennon’s voice coming out of the bridge, and the overdubbed grand pianos on the last chord of the song (among other things) all serve to elevate the composition to something much more than a standard rock song. There’s a lot to listen to, pretty much all the time. By contrast, “Fixing A Hole” is not pointing toward the same goal – it's not as evidently uncomfortable with the restraints of what could be said in a three-plus minute song or more standard production, but the craftsmanship is superb (we’ll talk more about the music as the discussion progresses, I’m sure) and the lyrics do a great job of blending the particular and the universal, so to speak. I think it’s a quiet mind-blower, to borrow your term. It’s almost sneaky. What do you think of it?
Aaron: Before I answer that question, I’d also like to say a word or two about other tracks on the album. By mind-blower, I am, of course, referring to the album’s well-known highlights: “A Day in the Life” to be sure, but also the title track (and its reprise), “A Little Help from my Friends,” and “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.” In addition to those hits, I’d probably throw in “Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite!” and “Good Morning,” mainly because (in addition to being fascinating songs), their production quality really makes them album showcases. And I’d also add Harrison’s “Within You Without You.” It’s a song that I didn’t like much as a child (it frightened me a bit, to be honest), but it’s the song where we see George starting to shed his long-held cynicism and really embrace the Eastern values and concepts that he’d been exploring for the previous few years. It’s also, maybe, the most sincere song on the entire album (Ian MacDonald calls it “central to the outlook of Sgt. Pepper”). “When I’m Sixty-Four” may be the album’s biggest throwaway number, yet it remains one of its best-known tracks. It’s not a mind-blower by any stretch of the term, but it is one of the most successful songs on the album. Finally, it’s worth mentioning “She’s Leaving Home,” which, as far as I can tell, was long considered the album’s second key track (after “A Day in the Life”). This mainly seems to have been because of its showcase as a Lennon/McCartney number, its production values, and its oddly ambiguous take on traditional values versus the new, freer thinking ideals of the baby boomers. It’s a beautiful song, but may be the one song, perhaps, that I find doesn’t really hold up well. I do like the song, but in today’s respect, it seems a bit maudlin in the way it so obviously comments on its era’s generation gap in a way that seems so innocent as almost to be hokey today.
“Fixing a Hole,” is a different kettle of fish from most of those songs. It features very little in the way of blatant studio trickery (aside from its brilliant multi-tracking), and its lyrics hint not towards the Lennonist absurdity of “Mr. Kite” or “Lucy,” nor towards the generational touchstones of “With a Little Help from my Friends,” “She’s Leaving Home,” or “Within You Without You.” In fact, it seems to be a song, on first listen, celebrating the mundane. And its form and musicality seems to support that (again, at first), with its odd harpsichord intro and then its fairly standard verse chorus verse format (and it hardly rocks out like the title track, “Good Morning,” or even “Lovely Rita” do). But I love that you describe it as “sneaky,” which I think is such an apt term for it. And I’d argue that sneakiness is anchored in what you call the song’s “blending of the particular and the universal.” Do you think you could say a bit more about what you mean by that?
Lew: When I mentioned “the blending of the particular and the universal” (with apologies to Hegel) in “Fixing A Hole,” what I was trying to get at was a kind of juxtaposition that the song has always suggested to me. On one hand, the narrator is describing, to borrow your wording, a mundane activity of home repair (“fixing a hole where the rain gets in”). At the same time, on the other side of that activity is whatever the leak in the narrator's roof has interrupted (“and stops my mind from wandering”); his wandering mind and all that is suggested by that phrase, which is arguably quite a lot. My sense, which could be limited to my own impressions, has always been that he’s alluding to some type of meditation and that there’s a cosmic element to it that supersedes what the narrator sees as the pettiness of other people (who don’t get in his door). To my mind, the entire song is about trying to create an insular, controllable environment and also a letting go of the pressures and obligations of society. It suggests all sorts of things, from Buddhism to an alienation from the community of other people and, ultimately, existentialism. So, for me, it’s very sneaky, because it appears unassuming, but in another way, can be seen as tackling some very difficult philosophical questions.
Aaron: Well said. I’ve always wondered just exactly “where” his mind was wandering. As a child I thought of it just as daydreaming and there have been times later in my life when I thought meditation or just getting high. I think it might be any of those. McCartney and the rest of the band were in the midst of their experimentation with LSD at the time and still smoking marijuana heavily, and they were also exploring mediation and other aspects of Eastern religions. And daydreaming plays a vital role in songwriting. So I’m not so sure McCartney would have seen the three situations (and others are possible) as being significantly different.
What’s interesting, and why I like your use of “sneaky,” is the way the song wants to create the space for all those activities – the space where he’ll go when his mind is wandering – which is also a space that, as you say, keeps the “silly people” from getting past his door. If we put the song within its cultural and historical context (Summer of Love, burgeoning hippie movement, drug culture, exploration of Eastern religion and other non-Western modes of thinking), then, on the one hand, it seems to be celebrating the moment. Give in to your inner thoughts, let your mind wander, the “turn on, tune in” bits of Leary’s mantra. On the other hand, the desire to keep out the rabble, or to keep out the silly people, or to keep out people in general seems pretty anti-social. It certainly doesn’t celebrate anything like a communal vibe. Now, the “silly people” might be interpreted as being representatives of “the man” or of consumer society, straight society. But from what I’ve read, McCartney got the idea for the lyric from the fans who used to loiter outside his house and Abby Road studio hoping for a glimpse of the band. So in that sense, the “silly people” are also, on one level, McCartney’s peers – at least generationally speaking. In that sense, the song celebrates a very literal interpretation of the “drop out” bit of Leary.
I don’t think the song is either pro- or anti- the spirit of ’67. I think it’s both at the same time (which is best expressed in the ambiguity of the “it really doesn’t matter if I’m wrong I’m right . . .” lyric) – and in that sense, I think it shares a lot with other songs on the album that look for something like “universal consciousness” in acts of the mundane or even non-special, with songs about meter maids, reading newspapers, growing up, and getting old. Aside from Harrison’s “Within You Without You,” and maybe “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,” there’s not a song, really, that on its surface says “prepare to have your mind blown by how deep this thing is.” Even “A Day in the Life,” in all its grandeur, is about reading newspaper stories and spending the day at work. And yet, through their celebration of daily ritual, of the ordinary, these songs do tap into something more universal and (yeesh) cosmic. And “Fixing a Hole,” at least on the level of its lyrics, might do it as well as any of them. Any thoughts about the music – does it mirror or contribute to the sense of sneakiness in anyway? (And any thoughts about that opening keyboard bit?)
Lew: That is a great analysis of where “Fixing A Hole” is situated in relation to the cultural movement of the late 1960’s. For the most part, I’ll leave what you said to speak for itself; however, I will add that I think that you’re absolutely right to identify a large of the Sgt. Pepper’s project as an act of finding the universal within the mundane. I don’t know that The Beatles were the first to do that in pop music, but they certainly did it on a broader scale than it had been done up to that point. That is one of the things that makes Sgt. Pepper’s so important for me, and it’s the reason why I still think of it as possibly the most cohesive Beatles album. The finding of beauty or tragedy within mundane circumstances is something that I think largely appears for the first time in 20th-century art, and Sgt. Pepper’s is as much a participant in that transformation as any of the literature or visual art of its time. Also, needless to say, Sgt. Pepper’s set the stage for a number of English chamber pop albums that celebrated and dissected traditional English values and social conventions – I’m thinking of The Kinks’ The Kinks Are the Village Green Preservation Society and The Zombies’ Odessey and Oracle, but I don’t doubt that there are other strong examples.
Musically speaking, there are a few things about “Fixing a Hole” that I find quite sneaky – it’s probably the most harmonically complex song that we’ve discussed in this series. The harpsichord intro is an interesting touch - it strikes me as a sort of fanfare, which also establishes the tonal center of the song. I love the transition from the harpsichord to the verse, with Ringo clicking off the count before the vocal starts. What I really like about the song, which was fairly shocking to me at the time that I first learned it, is this chord progression under the verse, which starts on an F major chord (F, A, C), moves to C aug (C, E, Ab - the V or dominant chord in a slightly altered form) and uses that turnaround as a pivot to land on an F minor 7 (F, Ab, C, Eb), which moves to an F minor 6 (F, Ab, C, D), Bb major (Bb, D, F), F minor 7, and then back to Bb major to conclude the phrase. What’s most interesting about that, to me, is the way the chords are inverted during the verse to create a descending line – by placing the notes F, E, Eb, and D in the bass of the first four chords, it creates a chromatic movement from one chord to the next, which enables the listener to hear the key change from F major at the top of the phrase, to F minor shortly thereafter, as being completely natural and as something that your ear is pulled toward. And, of course, Paul’s great melody on top of that which treats it all like it’s no big thing, is very helpful for the listener as well. Needless to say, I find the whole thing highly sneaky, and generally brilliant.
Aaron: Wow, I never would have guessed that there was so much complexity at the heart of this song. As much as I’ve always liked it, it can come across almost as having been tossed off (which is part of its charm for me), but that seems to be belied by how much thought McCartney and Martin must have put into its composition and recording. I like the way you describe how it “enables” the listener to hear the song in a particular way. I think the track’s recording works to that end as well. It doesn’t exhibit the production fireworks of some of the other Sgt. Pepper’s tracks, but attention was clearly paid not only to how the song was recorded in a general sense, but (or so it seems to me) how its recording emphasized certain characteristics of its composition. I particularly like the way Ringo’s drums are recorded (such a long way from the early albums) so as to catch his beat, which acts as the song’s steady hand, but which is also oddly lackadaisical (matching, perhaps unintentionally, the song’s content). I like the judicious use of double tracking on Paul’s vocal track, the way the “ooohs” come in for the second pass at the “really doesn’t matter if I’m wrong, I’m right” chorus. And while I don’t think anybody would argue that the solo is an example of Harrison’s best work, I love the sound of the solo, especially the way it bleeds in from McCartney’s shouts of “hey, hey, hey.”
The song’s position on the album is also a great example of how well-sequenced Sgt. Pepper’s is – to my eary, musically, the harpsichord sort of prefigures the harp of “She’s Leaving Home” (when I was younger, I often mistook the two songs based on that harpsichord intro), and how the bass line is echoed in (to my non-technical ears) the bass of “Mr. Kite” – at least stylistically, if not harmonically.
So I guess what’s becoming increasingly fascinating to me about “Fixing a Hole” is how a song that I always sort of thought of as one of the album’s “lesser” tracks – a song that I might even have described as being a bit out of place – is really a subtle touchstone for the entire album in the way it sets up, comments on, prefigures and echoes various lyrical and musical themes (this would include the theme of transition, which is alluded to in the final line – “I’ve taken the time for a number of things that weren’t important yesterday” – transition being one of the album’s major concerns). But perhaps that’s reading too much into it.
Lew: I like the solo quite a lot. Admittedly, it's not quite at the level of his work for “Something” or “Let It Be” in terms of musical content, but I love what it adds sonically. It’s a concise little interlude that adds a slight feeling of chaos to the song, maybe in some way underpinning the tension between mundanity and escapism that the narrator is describing.
I think your term “touchstone” is a good one. It's not far-fetched to say that “Fixing A Hole,” along with “A Day In The Life” presents one of the clearest distillations of what they seem to be trying get at on Sgt. Pepper’s. I've always been a little torn about the idea of it as a concept album, because it doesn’t present (or attempt to present, as the case may be) a linear narrative in the same way as The Wall or Tommy, but in the light of the discussion we’ve been having, it actually strikes me as more of a genuine concept - an attempt to communicate a particular point of view via music, rather than a haphazard rock opera. In that respect, I think you’re right on when you note that the line “I've taken the time for a number of things that weren't important yesterday,” hits on something fundamental about the concept that’s at stake throughout the album, and, to my mind, it really is getting at a tension between the traditional aspects of daily life and the aspiration to find something more genuine, which is also very much at play in “It’s Getting Better,” “She's Leaving Home,” “Within You Without You” and so on.
Aaron: Exactly – so it’s not a “concept” album in the sense that it tells a story (shouldn’t that really be a “story album?”) or in the way it pushes a particular line of thought or philosophy (I guess those are generally called “loose concept albums”). However, the concept we’ve outlined here does seem to be one of the thicker, more noticeably strands tying the album together (again, I’d say, noticeable in part due to the excellent sequencing. So it seems like we’ve essentially decided that Sgt. Pepper’s – long mistakenly labeled the “first concept” album, then indisputably regarded as NOT a concept album – maybe just is a concept album after all. And all based on a conversation about what is arguably the least celebrated track on the album. Excellent work. I’d say that’s a good day’s work and so a good place to leave off. Of course we’d love to hear our readers’ thoughts on this or any other question we’ve raised about Sgt. Pepper’s, and any others that we haven’t raised as well.
Coming Next: With George Martin’s help, John constructs an enduring psychedelic rock classic.
Aaron: I’m a bit conflicted as well. When we first started the project, I sort of thought we’d burn through it in a few months, maybe 6 to 8 or so, and I was really excited. And while we were working on those first few entries, I got a real rush going back and listening to those older albums in full – it had been along time since I’d listened to all of Please Please Me or A Hard Day’s Night, for example – and in most cases, I was listening to the mono re-masters. That meant that in addition to hearing a lot of the songs again for the first time, I was hearing them in ways I hadn’t before, which was incredibly exciting. I think that sense of excitement comes out in those early entries in the way we write about something like the sound of Paul’s bass or the harmonies.
