Track #12: “Something” Abbey Road (1969)

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?

Quick Take #3: Shabazz Palaces - “A treatease dedicated to The Avian Airess from North East Nubis (1000 questions, 1 answer)” (2011)

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Quick Takes is an occasional column in which we choose any song that we’re currently listening to – old or new, pop or rock, jazz or folk or blues, or anything else under the sun that can be spun. One of us writes up one or two short paragraphs on some of our general thoughts about the track, and our partner takes another couple paragraphs to respond. The rest is up to you, dear reader.

For this entry, we consider a track from Shabazz Palaces album Black Up.

Aaron: While I don’t listen to tons of hip-hop, I do try to keep up with the genre’s more interesting releases, both the commercial and the more experimental stuff. So when Shabazz Palace – an outfit I’d never heard of – started popping up on all the “Best of” lists of 2011, I decided to check out Black Up  late last year. It certainly falls on the experimental end of the spectrum. Disjointed rhythms, odd and spooky production, otherworldly lyrics – it’s the kind of hip-hop album that demands close listening to unpack all its pleasures. And it’s most definitely not a disc one throws on to get the party started (well, I guess it depends on the kind of party).

This track is one of the album’s more accessible. In part because it’s a type of love song and in part because it’s rhythmic cadences are less angular or oddly contrapuntal. The rap pretty much flows straight forward from beginning to end and does so in close unison with the song’s beat. It’s not my favorite song on the album, but it is the first song that grabbed me – perhaps because it is “easier” than a lot of the other tracks. I really like the way the lyrics start out describing what seems essentially to be a crush (“I was hopin’ that maybe / I could be her baby”) and develop into something closer to full-on sexual obsession (“I want to be there / I should be in there”). And as the lyrics take on a different tonal shading, the production slowly builds the ambient background sounds into something more insistent.

 

Quick Take #2: REM - "It Happened Today" (2011)

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Quick Takes is an occasional column in which w choose any song that we’re currently listening to – old or new, pop or rock, jazz or folk or blues, or anything else under the sun that can be spun. One of us writes up a short paragraph on some of our general thoughts about the track, and our partner takes one paragraph to respond. The rest is up to you, dear reader.

For this entry, we consider the 2011 track “It Happened Today” by REM.

Aaron: When REM broke up last autumn, a lot of critics were quick to point out how their final album as a group, Collapse into Now, contained hints that the breakup was coming. Seems to be a spot-on observation, but the album is more about the band’s breakup. It seems to me, in a lot of ways, to be an album about REM . . . about being REM about being in REM and about what REM the band has been. This might seem like a vanity project if it were done so damned well. The album is littered with lyrics about singing songs and rhyming (as if Michael Stipe has ever cared about rhyming). There are lines about showing the kids what to do, songs about looking to the past, and songs about finally finding freedom in the present and comfort with oneself. There are songs with seemingly nonsensical lyrics, hearkening back to the early days of the band, songs with political themes, songs wherein Stipe takes on a persona and tells a story. And there are musical references to the first few albums, to Green and Out of Time era folk, to the rock of Monster, and to the more adventurous soundscapes of New Adventures . . . and Up. And, of course, there are those great Mike Mills harmonies, finally. In short, it’s a phenomenal album – certainly their best since New Adventures, and maybe since Automatic for the People. I hope it’s getting the listens it deserves.

For this entry, I’d just like to say a few songs about “It Happened Today.” I’m not sure it’s the best song on the album. There are songs with “deeper” lyrics, more interesting production, and probably more thoughtful melodies. But this song just works for me. First of all, there are only two short verses, and they almost come across as jokes. I’ll just quote the first one: “This is not a parable. / This is a terrible . . . / this is a terrible thing. / Yes I will rhyme that after / after all I’ve done today / I have earned my wings. / It happened today.” The next verse isn’t much different. The song never says what the “it” that happened today is, but it’s something joyous enough that the singer feels he’s earned his wings and earned his voice. There’s a lot packed into those two little verses about singing, about liberation, and also about being silly. I’ve managed to get it in my head that the song is about Stipe’s decision to quit the band and the massive sense of release and freedom that comes with it – that’s probably WAY off. But whatever it is that “happened today,” it’s major enough that Stipe, Mills, and Eddie Vedder spend the final two and a half minutes of the song singing wordlessly in what only sounds like a celebration. As slight as it is, the song does what REM often does so well – compact a shit-ton of emotion and potential meaning into a song that at first seems like nothing but slight whimsy.

What do you think, Lew? All my romanticizing aside . . . anything to like about this song?

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.

Quick Take #1: Young Galaxy - “BSE” (2011)

Here at Track Chatter, we make no bones about being the kind of music fans who are happy to follow a discussion about a song down the various rabbit holes of its most insignificant chord change or least noteworthy cultural significance. That’s why we started the blog in the first place. However, we also know that you, dear reader, have only so much time on your hands. While you might sometimes be willing to follow our meandering paths to the very end, sometimes you would prefer we just cut to the chase.

That’s why we’re introducing Quick Takes as a new feature of Track Chatter. Quick Takes will be an occasional column in which one of us chooses any song that we’re currently listening to – old or new, pop or rock, jazz or folk or blues, or anything else under the sun that can be spun. We’ll then write up a short paragraph or two on some of our general thoughts about the track, and our partner will have a couple paragraphs to respond. And that’s it. Whereas most Track Chatter entries run between 2500 and 4500 words, Quick Takes will be more in the 600 words or fewer range. A nice opportunity for you, the reader, to pop in, see what we’re listening to these days, and leave your opinion about the song, all in about ten minutes or less (including the time it takes to listen to the track!).

However, those of you who love those rabbit holes, have no fear: Track Chatter will continue in its current incarnation as well. After all, we’ve still got a few Beatles’ albums to get through before we hop on to a new series that we think you’re going to like.

In other words, Track Chatter isn’t changing, it’s expanding. We hope you’ll come along with us and help us to keep spinning those discs.

For our first Quick Takes entry, Lew considers last year’s track, “B.S.E.” by Young Galaxy.

Lew: I didn’t get excited about a lot of new music last year. That’s partially to do with my becoming a parent and not having as much time as usual for finding new music to listen to, and also because I ended up feeling a little underwhelmed by some of the new things that I had big expectations for prior to their release (M83 and Mastodon, among others). All in all, one of my favorite albums of the year was by a Swedish death metal band that writes songs about Norse mythology (Amon Amarth’s Surtur Rising). However, experience tells me that death metal is not fun at parties. So, I’ve found myself looking back and trying to think of something that I could take away as a song that I like unreservedly and would recommend. It took some sifting through my collection to find Young Galaxy’s “B.S.E.” (Black Swan Event), but I was very pleased when I found it again.

I first heard the song on a message board, quite by chance. I liked it right away – it’s an easy melody to enjoy, and I have a soft spot for electro pop. At the time, I hadn’t gotten around to seeing Black Swan, the film, or come across the phrase/concept “Black Swan Event.” Having become familiar with both since that time, I still don’t think that the song is intentionally about the movie, but it probably has more to do with the ideas of transformation that the film presents than the concept of a black swan event relating to a watershed moment that seems highly predictable in hindsight. Regardless, none of that is what attracted me to the song off the bat. What was more obvious to me was the way the song was playing with signifiers from 1980s pop, and overlaying them against some fairly state of the art programming and production techniques. The lyrics of the song borrow and recontextualize ideas from George Michael’s “I Want Your Sex.” The guitar part is less identifiably borrowed, but it unmistakably evokes a sound and playing style that references the 80s. It’s interesting to me that a song that deals with transformation lyrically is also transforming musical ideas, and it doesn’t hurt that the entire package is absurdly catchy. Have a listen and tell me what you think. 

Aaron: There’s a lot I like about the song. I have to admit, though, that it didn’t grab me at first the way it seems to have done with you. As you might guess, the singer’s performance through most of the song is a hurdle for me. His singing is beautiful and fits well with the lyrics and musical production, but that sort of romantic lilt has never been my thing. So at first I found it a bit off-putting. But the song has definitely grown on me. I try to picture myself in a big club where the speakers are loud and the song’s sheen and bass work together to propel me to the dance floor. In such a scenario, I can actually see myself sort of falling in love with it. Were I still back in my days of visiting discos and other dance spots, I can imagine “BSE” as a pretty big summer hit.

But it’s still probably not a song I would turn to outside of certain specific scenarios.

Which is too bad, really, and just goes to show how personal preferences can get in the way of enjoying good music. Because I really do dig the marriage of ‘80s Romantic New Wave and current production values that you point out. And I actually really like the lyrics. While their ambiguity leaves them open to multiple interpretations, I’d have to say that, in the way they cop George Michael, and in the way they obviously seem to be about a turning point in a relationship, the song is at least in part about sex. It seems to me to be at once both playful and serious in its consideration of how a (newly?) sexual relationship is transforming the couple in ways that they didn’t expect but which they (or at least the singer) seem to enjoy (sort of a Black Swan Event on a personal level). So I guess, in that sense, behind its lush veneer, it’s really just an old-fashioned rock ‘n’ roll song at heart.

Editors’ note: Aaron cops to being THAT stupid – the singer of “B.S.E.” is not a “he” at all, but Young Galaxy’s Catherine McCandless.

Coming soon: we get back to wrapping up our Beatles series, and consider a final track by one of America’s late great bands.