Track #11: “Don't Pass Me By” The Beatles (1967)

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.

Track #10: “Everybody's Got Something To Hide Except Me and My Monkey” The Beatles (1967)

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 YellowSubmarine out 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.