The Beatles: "The Long and Winding Road"

June 20, 1970 (2 weeks)

"Recurring wrong notes at 0:28, 2:10 and 3:07; mis-strikes at 2:39 and 2:52; drop outs at 2:59 and 3:14; a fumble at 0:19; a vague glissando at 1:03; a missed final push at 3:26. (One can hear McCartney grin at his partner's incompetence at 1:59)"

The above is a footnote in Ian MacDonald's extraordinary book Revolution in the Head. It is probably my favourite passage from it. The fact that MacDonald took the time out to listen for all of John Lennon's mistakes made as a bassist is remarkable enough but for him also to note the presence of an audible smile is a whole other thing indeed. Can anyone say for sure if Paul McCartney was in fact grinning at Lennon's clumsy playing? No, probably not, especially considering that he had gone a few bars without fucking up at that point. While there's no mistaking Paul's grin, it's more likely he had been prompted by John pulling a face.

McDonald took the time to point out all these errors because he wished to put Phil Spector's work on "The Long and Winding Road" in context. Recordings of the song were rough even without Lennon's awful bass playing factored in and the eccentric producer "had no choice" but to cover it up with layers of orchestrated Wall of Sound nonsense. And you know something? Some of it even belongs.

Now, for sure there's too much of it and it drowns out George Harrison's guitar part and Billy Preston's organ (and, mercifully, Lennon's bass). If I had been in Spector's position, I would have (a) not murdered anyone, (b) not acted like being a producer was an "artiste" and (c) not bothered with the tasteless choir. He also expressed his disappointment with the harp which closes the song out and on this he is one hundred percent justified.The orchestra, on the other hand, isn't bad all things considered. McCartney requested that it be "reduced in volume" but, notably, he never explicitly called for it to be removed completely. Even as is it isn't a total distraction. The real saving grace of the Spector mix though is the lonely trumpet solo which yearningly accompanies the singer's anguish.

As I have already discussed, many of McCartney's compositions during the last year or so of The Beatles seem to be either consciously or unconsciously bidding his old life farewell. "Hey Jude" has him and Lennon beginning to live their lives apart from one another with the loves of their lives replacing each other. "Two of Us" looks back at a burgeoning friendship from the vantage point of a pair of individuals who are growing apart. "Let It Be" has him learning to accept that the future might be different that what he had had in mind. While "The Long and Winding Road" seems to be cut from the same cloth, its narrative is vague. Lennon's shadow hangs over the others but his presence here is as non-committal as his bass playing. 

As MacDonald states, McCartney was a "hurt and worried man" during this time. His other major works balance out the potential loss of his friend and chief collaborator with the promise of a future with soon-to-be-wife Linda but she doesn't seem to play much of a part here either. Having been the de facto leader of the Fab Four since the autumn of 1967, it seems a little out of character for him to be seeking to "know the way" from someone else — but I guess it just goes to show you that even the biggest control freaks on Earth sometimes lose control. The lyrics to "The Long and Winding Road" don't read particularly well but McCartney does such a convincing job that it couldn't matter less. Very few in pop have ever been able to sell what they're offering as consistently as Macca and this is a particular credit to him given that he hasn't always made much sense with the words he puts to paper.

All that said, "The Long and Winding Road" is far from perfect: a flawed if misunderstood Spector remix covering up for a very flawed performance of what sounds like a not-quite-finished work. While MacDonald (and Spector himself who may have had Revolution in the Head in mind when he explained in a 2009 documentary that his use of orchestration was to mask the shoddy bass playing) can go after Lennon's inability on an instrument he had very little interest in, it's likely that his biggest affront to the present single is his lack of participation in the writing. The eyeball-to-eyeball approach from the Beatlemania period was long gone but even the regular consultations between Lennon and McCartney seemed to be disappearing by 1969. (Their final 50-50 collaboration was "I've Got a Feeling" and even it is more like two separate songs stitched together rather than a genuine co-write) Even if the two were no longer best mates it must've bothered McCartney that they couldn't even operate as a fully functioning songwriting two-headed monster anymore. If he had been kept waiting on that road for the restless Lennon to rejoin him then it's no wonder he never got back to his door.

Score: 7

The Beatles: "Let It Be"

April 11, 1970 (3 weeks)

"Are we supposed to giggle during the solo?"

Not everything that great wit John Lennon uttered made sense or was especially funny. Most of the time he nailed it but everyone whiffs a few. His little comment to Paul McCartney just prior to yet another take of "Let It Be" is one of them. His partner even replied with a quick "yeah" but nothing else. While often a no nonsense pro in the studio, Macca was not above cracking up and/or trading barbs with his old friend Lennon. But he clearly didn't find the line about having to "giggle" to be particularly funny — and neither do I.

Honestly, I don't even know what the hell John was talking about in this exchange. Some have said it was meant as a jab about the religious sanctimony of the song "Let It Be" being not unlike laughing in church but then why didn't ask about them NOT being allowed to giggle during the solo? Wouldn't that have made more sense? Ian MacDonald described Lennon's comment as "cruel" but I don't find it cutting enough to take it that seriously. (Mind you, I am the one writing about it at the moment so I guess I must take it somewhat seriously; I'll be getting to why soon, I promise!) It's just lame.

John Lennon in 1969: he found the time to hang out in hotel rooms with his new wife, meet with Prime Ministers and great thinkers of the age, go toe-to-toe with obnoxious cartoonists, promote peace, crash his car in the Scottish Highlands and raid Ronnie Hawkins' fridge for cold cuts but his musical contributions were remarkably minuscule, especially when you consider the prolific songwriting run he went on just a year earlier. While he was never above critiquing the work of his Fab Four co-leader, he seemed unable or unwilling to contribute to any of it. (His complaint about all the "junk" on the second side of Abbey Road might be one to take seriously but for the fact that he was responsible for much of that junk) The promo for "Let It Be" shows McCartney giving an impassioned performance, with a stern Ringo Starr providing reliable rhythm and George Harrison looking very committed as he gives solid backing vocals and a strong guitar solo. (Yeah, like I'm going to giggle at a George solo, John!) Guest star Billy Preston puts his gospel organ background to good use. Meanwhile, Lennon sits on the floor, plucking a superfluous guitar and is barely able to bring his lips close to the mic. Yoko Ono sits next to him looking profoundly uninterested but she's probably just feeding off of his boredom.

But even when he was in the wrong, Lennon could still have a point. The old curmudgeon would frequently knock much of McCartney's work in the seventies but his derision typically boiled down to expecting more from Macca — and I think this lies at the heart of why Lennon never cared for "Let It Be". Being comforted by his dearly missed mother in a dream was something close to McCartney's heart but perhaps it meant too much to him. While "Hey Jude" was worked on and altered at length until The Beatles finally got together to record it, "Let It Be" strikes me as very much finished almost as soon as it had begun. Three verses of vague wisdom and lots and lots of chorus. Of course, there's an upside in keeping things simple but not when it feels like it's covering up for a lack of ideas.

(Its message also rubs me the wrong way, particularly in the context of the 1987 Ferry Aid charity single released following the Zeebrugge Disaster in which nearly two hundred people lost their lives when the MS Herald of Free Enterprise capsized off the coast of Belgium. The right wing newspaper The Sun had promoted discounts on the vessel and their subsequent push to have many of the finest pop stars of the age was a clear PR campaign. In light of the negligence involved in the disaster, it feels a bit creepy to be singing of being resigned to one's fate. No, I'd rather not just let it be, thank you very much. How about we look into the role government deregulation played in the ship's sinking instead?)

All that said, "Let It Be" isn't a total bust. McCartney sounds as good as ever and, as I already mentioned, everyone else save for Lennon is in fine form. (It's a reminder that Macca and Harrison were the two Fabs who mattered most in '69 and I say that as a big Lennon guy) While it may feel like he's hammering home the "say goodbye to The Beatles" sentiment, it's hard not to feel touched by it. I wouldn't sing along with it at a McCartney concert (I can't even remember if he played it when I saw him in Seoul back in 2015 though I'm sure he did) and I have zero interest in ever hearing covered again but "Let It Be" is able to sneak up on me from time to time — and I've still managed to resist the urge to giggle during the solo.

Score: 6

~~~~~

Hey! Where's...

He may have been comparatively inactive on the musical front in '69 but John Lennon got the seventies off to a hot start with his first solo triumph "Instant Karma! (We All Shine On)". Whack job producer Phil Spector may have been messing up remixes for The Beatles but at least he did his job properly here. The fantastic earworm chorus is only improved by Lennon's closeness to the mic as you can practical hear the saliva make contact. Ringo is as steady as ever too. Stuck first behind Simon and Garfunkel and then the Fabs themselves, "Instant Karma!" sat at number two for over a month. A pity since it would've been a sure fire 10 had it managed to climb to that elusive top spot. Lennon and Yoko Ono had made at least three visits to Canada the previous year but Montreal and Toronto weren't on their travel itineraries in 1970, especially after their plans for a music festival to rival Woodstock were permanently shelved. If only he'd been around that spring, the promo might have put it over the top.

The Beatles: "Something"

November 15, 1969 (4 weeks)

You Know I Believe — and How!: Rating the Stars of the "Something" Promo

The Beatles gradually began making pop videos as their profile grew and as they began easing up on the live appearances. This way, they could "appear" on Top of the Pops and the Ed Sullivan Show without actually showing up. (Sullivan would often introduce these promos by implying that they had been made specifically for his show which must've lent an air of exclusivity to them) With band unity waning, the vid for "Something" placed the Fab Four away from each other and with the women they were choosing to spend their lives with — along with a very special guest star. Let's look at how each pairing conducts themselves.

1) Martha. She only makes a cameo but Paul's beloved sheepdog (and, needless to say, namesake of "Martha My Dear") is by far the most delightful presence in this clip — and she is clearly the only one who really wants to be there, though I suppose Linda is a close second. With Paul entering a dark period of isolation and some heavy drinking — and, lest we forget, some serious pot smoking — the unconditional love of a dog no doubt helped get through it. That and having a devoted wife and a growing family.

Don't Wanna Leave Her Scale: And how!

2) George and Patti. He wrote the song and it's about her so it makes sense that they would be the humans who make the biggest impression in the "Something" clip. Rob Sheffield describes the pair as "peacocking" around their Kinfaus garden but I get the feeling this was how they were: she had a face for being on camera anyway and he looks like her very serious guru. (Good thing they were just a few months apart in age or this could've come across as a little culty) The ultimate hippie power couple. The very fact that their relationship would begin to come apart in the early seventies doesn't undermine the way they look at each other here.

Don't Wanna Leave Her Scale: I don't need no other lover

3) John and Yoko. Ian MacDonald claimed that the two "brought out the worst in each other" which might explain their decision to sport capes. Jesus, they really deserved each other, didn't they? That said, "Something" is about love and how it can't really ever be rationalized so there you go. Given how dour they typically looked at the time, it's refreshing to see them share a smile. A recently — if temporarily — beardless John even mugs for the camera which is particularly out of place for this period. (He might've pulled one of his old cripple faces had they kept it going any longer) If the public couldn't understand what he saw in her then the very least they could've done was accepted that he nevertheless felt the way he did. Or they could've wondered what the hell she saw in him.

Don't Wanna Leave Her Scale: You know I believe

4) Paul and Linda. There's so much to unpack here. While the solo shot of Mr. Photogenic at his most unsettling is creepy, he looks at ease with his bride by his side while prancing about with the lovable Martha is the most joyous part of the entire video. Still, the McCartneys look out of place. While all four couples had their clips filmed separately, the George, John and Ringo segments all look like they could've been done on the same estate. Meanwhile, Paul's segment was probably filmed up in Scotland which is far less green and far more wind swept then down in the English Home Counties. Still, it feels like the media-savy Paul has his guard down. John and Yoko may have bared all a year earlier but did they ever reveal as much Paul and Linda on their Scots seclusion?

Don't Wanna Leave Her Scale: All I have to do is think of her

5) Ringo and Maureen. They'd been together the longest of the Beatles couples yet Mo was still the youngest of the lot. You'd think the years of experience would've made her more at ease in front of a camera but she looks painfully awkward and he isn't a whole lot better either. Being the Fab who has been the most comfortable with facial hair, it's strange that his neck beard is so bad. Similarly, for a hairdresser, what was she thinking with the peroxide blonde look? Affection between the two? None that I can detect beyond what appears to be the bond of a close friendship.

Don't Wanna Leave Her Scale: I don't know, I don't know

~~~~~

As for the song itself, I don't know what to say. They claim it, along with fellow Abbey Road track "Here Comes the Sun", represents George Harrison's emergence as a songwriter to rival Lennon and McCartney and this is largely true, only I wish The Beatles' final studio album had more of his contributions. I know everyone else loves that medley on side 2 but I could personally do without the bulk of that stuff that precedes the magnificent "Golden Slumbers/Carry That Weight/The End" passage. Had "All Things Must Pass" and "Isn't It a Pity" been accepted then Abbey Road would have a far more convincing case for The Beatles' greatest album of all time. (The similarly ignored McCartney track "Come and Get It" should also have been included)

Famously and exaggeratedly described by Frank Sinatra as the "greatest love song of the past fifty years", "Something" is that rarest of Beatle numbers that doesn't quite live up to its hype. It isn't far off, mind you, but it just misses out on the absolute pinnacle tier of Fabs classics. What prevents it from climbing that one elusive step higher may well be the very thing that makes it special. McDonald argues that the song's middle eight expresses "callow sentiments" and the whole thing about this "Something" that Patti and other women possess is awfully vague. He can't quite put into words why it is he feels this way and that's how many of us as people experience love but he's the songwriter so couldn't he have tried a little harder? McCartney's love songs range from trite Hallmark greeting card sentiments all the way to expressing bleak depression while Lennon's never fail to invite the listener into his own tortured mind. Meanwhile Harrison is at a loss — and fair enough. The fact that he can't quite describe his situation is precisely what makes "Something" so good but it is a limitation nonetheless.

Score: 9

The Beatles: "Get Back"

May 19, 1969 (6 weeks)

We're now at the point in the story of The Beatles where my interest finally begins to wane — which is fitting considering this also happens to be where John Lennon and George Harrison were also getting bored. No doubt there are many who sincerely feel that they never had a better creative year than 1969 but I am not one of them. If anything, it's probably their least impressive twelve months of activity since they became full time recording artists at the end of '62. (Speaking of which, I know it's trite to say it but how the hell did they do all that in just seven years?) But what do I know? The Canadian public was evidently so fond of their latest single "Get Back" that they kept it at number one for an impressive, if over-generous, six weeks, their longest spell at the top of charts since "I Want to Hold Your Hand" took hold of the CHUM hit parade for precisely the same amount of time.

(This means that it spent as much time on top of the Canadian charts than the combined total that "Help!", "We Can Work It Out", "Nowhere Man", "Paperback Writer", "Yellow Submarine" / "Eleanor Rigby" and "Penny Lane" spent in the same spot. In other words, it reigned for as long as the Fab Four at their absolute peak. And this was by no means an isolated incident on the part of my fellow Canadians: "Get Back" spent six weeks on top in Ireland, seven in the UK, five in the US and four in Australia (as well as a paltry two in New Zealand). A nonsense blues shuffle with supposed back-to-basics values was just the thing the people wanted even if the band to end all bands was going downhill)

In many territories, "Get Back" was credited to 'The Beatles with Billy Preston'. This broke with convention as guest musicians were sometimes not even named let alone given a prominent co-credit. Preston's organ part was deemed to be so vital that he merited such an honour. Yet, in Canada not as much consideration seems to have been afforded the keyboardist. While the stamp on the centre of the label of the Canadian release does say '...with Billy Preston', compilers of both the RPM and CHUM charts neglected to print his name  While this may seem like an oversight, I prefer to think of it as the rightful credit: for this one single Preston wasn't so much a guest but a Beatle in his own right.

The results of both "Get Back" and B side "Don't Let Me Down" were so encouraging that John Lennon was all for making Preston a full time member of the group. (It probably also helped that the organist was a warm and friendly fellow — in spite of some troubling demons under the surface — who eased the tension of the Fab Four's ill fated Get Back/Let It Be sessions of early 1969) And it wasn't as if he up and left the next day or anything: Preston would appear on eight Beatles' songs recorded in '69 and on no less than three of their remaining number one hits.

Still, it feels like they could have gotten a lot more out of him — and, more importantly, his presence could have rubbed off on them more as well. Preston's organ solo is about the closest The Beatles ever came to jazz, a genre they had mixed feelings about. (It's possible that their antipathy, especially when it came to the rock and roll purist Lennon, came from wishing to rebel against it as the establishment's music) With his father's background as a swing pianist/trumpeter in Merseyside's Jim Mac's Jazz Band, it is reasonable to assume that Paul McCartney was the most open minded towards improvised sounds. The bassist was also a fan of free jazz artists like Albert Ayler and Ornette Coleman, the latter of whom once appeared on stage in London alongside Lennon's future wife and kindred spirit Yoko Ono. It is said that George Harrison performed a one off gig with Percy Heath and Connie Kay of the extraordinary Modern Jazz Quartet (a group who also happened to have been signed to The Beatles' Apple labe in the late sixtiesl). As for Ringo Starr, there's little doubt the others could have convinced him to go in a jazzier direction provided, of course, that drum solos would be out of the question.

This isn't to say that The Beatles should have morphed into a jazz combo, only that jazz would have been a fruitful area with which to mine for creative inspiration. 1968 saw the release of such standout albums as Miles Davis' Miles in the Sky (the title of which indicates that the Fab Four may have inspired some jazz cats; incidentally, Miles's ghostly 1974 album Get Up with It includes a track called "Billy Preston") and Filles de Kilimanjaro, Herbie Hancock's Speak Like a Child, Duke Ellington's And His Mother Called Him Bill, Roland Kirk's The Inflated Tear, McCoy Tyner's Tender Moments, Jackie McLean's New and Old Gospel and the MJQ's Under the Jasmin Tree, their first of two releases on Apple. Meanwhile, Laura Nyro was using her jazz background to craft her first album masterpiece Eli and the Thirteenth Confession. Indeed, with Joni Mitchell beginning to emerge beyond the coffeehouse folk scene and a pair of wise ass university students in Annandale, New York — Donald Fagen and Walter Becker respectively — mapping out Steely Dan, there was a future for jazzy pop. (Even Frank Zappa was doing his part with the jazz fusion release Hot Rats, released later in the year) I like to think that The Beatles could have been at the forefront of this sound rather than simply inspiring generations of dismal power pop bands. (Or let's split the difference and say they could've done both)

But enough fantasy pop for now. You know how there are songs that you sing to yourself and have stuck in your mind that never quite live up to how you imagine them when you actually listen to them? (Because I can't be the only one who has experienced this, right?) Well, "Get Back" is the opposite of them. I never like it unless I am hearing it with relatively fresh ears. If it's whirling around in my brain then it comes across as irritating. McCartney's lyrics are stupid, transphobic and even kind of racist. As with much of what The Beatles recorded in 1969, it lacks invention beyond Preston's organ part (and, to some extent, Lennon's guitar solo, another indication that they had jazz chops in them). Promoted as 'The Beatles as nature intended', it smacks of a serious regression on their part. The Fabs had already begun to retreat on the production front on much of their double album from six months earlier but this rootsy approach was an even more extreme measure.

The set up doesn't sound like much but "Get Back" is just about worth it. While minor, it's a sign that The Beatles could still do fun pop-rock even when coasting and, frankly, as their prime was passing. The Fab Five play as tight as ever and it comes across as their first hit in ages that would've gone over well in concert (although that's easy to say since it had already been performed at their infamous rooftop gig the previous January). The driving rhythm makes it almost danceable. While far from The Beatles at their very best, it is at least the sound of them enjoying being Beatles, perhaps for the very last time.

Much of what The Beatles did in '69 was, in retrospect, a soft launch for their solo careers. Lennon numbers like "Don't Let Me Down" ditched the vivid word pictures of old in favour of raw feeling, a trait he would develop fully on the John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band album in 1970. Harrison's bitterness began to recede as the influence of Bob Dylan and The Band (and maybe just a little Lennon and McCartney, even if he wouldn't have admitted it) gave warmth to his early seventies' boom period. And McCartney's love of weed pushed him towards nonsense storytelling mixed with his winning melodies, the results of which could vary from outstanding to appalling. "Get Back" doesn't fall within either extreme but at least it's a good deal closer to the former.

Score: 7

The Beatles: "Hey Jude"

September 30, 1968 (3 weeks)

It's easy to say so in retrospect — but, then again, I was born in 1977 so it's necessarily in retrospect — but The Beatles sure telegraphed their coming breakup. From the midway point of 1968 until the curtain officially came down two years later, the Fab Four put an awful lot of themselves into documenting their end times. I say "they" but this was mainly the doing of just one of them: Paul McCartney, the only Beatle not to threaten to quit the group only to be the first one to publicly do so.

The bulk of McCartney's end times works come from 1969. During the sessions at the beginning of the year that would eventually result in the Let It Be album he worked on the title track (about accepting what was to come), "Two of Us" (about old friends who might be drifting apart) and "The Long and Winding Road", a song that was so on the nose that it nearly became the title of their massively popular mid-nineties documentary series. (I still say it's better than Anthology, whatever that means) For Abbey Road later that year, he contributed the valedictory "The End" and "You Never Give Me Your Money", a song that Ian MacDonald argued was a proclamation that the dream was over, which was a good year before John Lennon said the same thing. But by far the most effective song in this trajectory is the earliest: "Hey Jude".

(All that said, there's no way Macca wrote all these pieces with their breakup in mind. Whatsmore, other numbers of his from around this time may be interpreted as calls for keeping the band together. The relatively trivial "Get Back" could be said to be his attempt at trying to convince the others to be the group they used to be while "Come and Get It", which he handed off to Badfinger, was a message to Lennon that his nibs shouldn't give up the good thing they had)

Last summer, I read Ian Leslie's wonderful book John and Paul — A Love Story in Songs. In the chapter on "Hey Jude", he discusses how the two had gradually ceased to rely on each other as their romances with the women that would define their lives were blossoming. (While much has been made over Lennon sidelining his longtime friend and partner in favour of Yoko Ono, Leslie brings up an anecdote of Linda Eastman joining the them for a limousine ride to a New York airport in which it became clear that two could play that game) This was the state of their friendship in the middle of '68 and the basis for one of The Beatles' most enduring hits. Lennon was convinced that "Hey Jude" was about him in spite of McCartney's claims. Truthfully, it's about both of them — and, indeed, it's about damn near anyone. (According to MacDonald, the music press assumed it was about Bob Dylan, to which I say...uh, sure, why not?)

Who it's very much not about was Elvis. The King had been slowly regaining his footing in the late sixties after several years of low budget movies and dismal recordings. His famed Comeback Special had already been filmed by that autumn and was awaiting its TV debut that December. The following year he would go on to make some of the finest music of his entire life, culminating in the incomparable From Elvis in Memphis. Unfortunately, there was at least one turkey that resulted from these sessions and that was his version of "Hey Jude". For all of Elvis' ill will towards The Beatles, he was never above reinterpreting some of their material but the majority of it was done in concert (including versions of "Get Back", "Something" and "Yesterday"). Needless to say, his version of "Hey Jude" is horrendous. Elvis stumbles over the words, uses the "take a sad song" line far too often and can barely be bothered to do the "na-na-na's". Even for someone who mastered the art of going through the motions, it's boring, pointless and almost shockingly lacking in warmth.

And it is warmth that makes "Hey Jude" what it is. McCartney's voice has never sounded so tender and poignant. While it's true, as Aidan Curran observes, that it is low on contributions from the other Beatles ("John and George are bit players here: no guitar solos, no vocal response lines or shared verses"; this point is dulled a little by the sight of Paul and John making playful faces at one another in the promo as well as Lennon having encouraged McCartney's lyric writing), this had become their M.O. by this stage. ("Hey Jude" couldn't possibly have found a place on the Fabs' concurrent album release The Beatles but they do share that much talked about 'solo Beatle with the rest as a backing band' dynamic) Yet, pushing the others to the side only makes McCartney's performance stand out even further. While Lennon was becoming more soul baring on tracks like "Julia" and "Dear Prudence", his old friend, who had so often been written off as a pop lightweight, had suddenly become every bit as much the voice of a generation — if only just this once.

Looking back on the first time she heard it, Marianne Faithfull hazily recalled being at a party, perhaps at the opening of a club. Paul came in and put on an acetate of The Beatles' latest single. They had done it again. What she failed to recall was that The Rolling Stones (a band you might say she had been intimately familiar with) had been premiering their new album at the same function. Beggars Banquet is often cited as the first great Stones LP (which is incorrect, it's actually Aftermath), one that would help carry them into the seventies where they became a concert juggernaut. Yet, Mick Jagger's ex seemingly had no memory of this monumental album's launch even while being able to bring back the first time she heard "Hey Jude".

When Oasis emerged in the mid-nineties, there was all this talk (much of it from Noel Gallagher himself) of how much they sounded like The Beatles. I could never hear it myself until 1997's Be Here Now, an album I tried really hard to like. The frequent name dropping of Fab Four song titles was bad enough but the real giveaway was that they couldn't stop, especially on the track "All Around the World". The great thing about "Hey Jude" is that it builds from Paul and his piano into a rousing coda for everything to join in on but without going too far. Whereas, the nine minute "All Around the World" which came awash in layers of guitar noise had no filter. If Elvis' rendition was "Hey Jude" on cruise control, this monstrosity ended up being "Hey Jude" to the absolute max.

No one knew The Beatles would be all but finished just a year after "Hey Jude" hit the top of the charts around the world. Given their productivity — it's astonishing to think that they had two albums worth of material despite '69 being such a fraught year — there was still some ways to go in the tale. Still, "Hey Jude" feels like they're wrapping things up. It's as if McCartney had been gearing up for the conclusion just so he could be ensured of going out on a high note. And in the end, they went out okay but not like this, the last truly astounding single from this most astounding of groups.

Score: 10

The Union Gap: "Young Girl"

April 20, 1968 (1 week)

So let's try to be as generous as possible. This guy knows what's been going on is wrong. He wants this young girl to go home to her mother so she can get on with the rest of her life and he can act like nothing happened. He's blaming himself at least as much as he's blaming her. (As the "get out of my mind" line in the chorus implies, he's responsible for his own thoughts) He didn't intend to be such a giant creep.

I shall now refute much of my generosity. Knowing it's wrong really doesn't make it any better and in fact takes what could plausibly be adjudicated a serious mental health issue and turns it into a straightforward crime. While going home would probably do her some good, this advice places the bulk of the responsibility on her shoulders. Sure, he blames himself for having some disturbing thoughts but she's still the one causing them. Creeps are seldom self-aware.

"Young Girl" makes for an uncomfortable listen in this day and age. Actually, it's hard to believe this hasn't always been the case but I can recall hearing it on sixties radio as a kid and not noticing just how inappropriate it is. I didn't care for it back then either but that was just because I couldn't stand the sound of Gary Puckett's overblown operatic voice. Now, it is perhaps the least offensive aspect of "Young Girl".

Like Anita Bryant's unbearable "Paper Roses", The Union Gap's biggest international hit would be an easy thing to crap all over even if it wasn't such a bad song; the fact that it is the shits to listen to is a bonus. While not quite as dreadful — Puckett's over-singing is still preferable to Bryant's ghastly excuse for a voice — it is still just as unnecessary to have around anymore. There are at least a couple more crappy Union Gap singles that oldies radio can play instead. It was a different time? It sure was — and that's precisely why we can happily leave "Young Girl" in the past where it belongs.

Score: 2

~~~~~

Hey! Where's...

I've been phasing out these extras of late but it's fun to occasionally bring them back. While it's hardly a chart injustice or anything but it's notable to see The Beatles stuck at number two while a pair of lousy singles had the top spot. "Lady Madonna" had been in the runner up spot while The Monkee's were in first place with "Valleri" and it remained there for "Young Girl". While hardly the Fab Four's finest work, it's still a rousing number with nifty fifties' piano work from Paul McCartney. Released while The Beatles were off in Rishikesh, India studying Transcendental Meditation and unknowingly entering their last act, it's a step up from the mediocre "Hello, Goodbye" but still not close to their peak. I tend to think it should've been released as an E.P. along with "Across the Universe", "The Inner Light" and "Hey Bulldog" which would've made for a more satisfying package. Meanwhile, coming up short no doubt gave the critics yet another chance to theorize over The Beatles going downhill. Relax guys, it won't be long now.

The Beatles: "Hello, Goodbye"

December 23, 1967 (3 weeks)

Over the last few years The Beatles have really leaned into the trend of bleeding their archives dry. You could say this has always been a part of their post-breakup catalog but they've shown more restraint than many of their competitors even if this only amounts to little more than not shoving unwanted bonus tracks on CD reissues. But that all changed in 2017 when the Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band: 50th Anniversary Edition was released. As if to prove that this was no mere one off, a deluxe box for The White Album followed in '18 and then Abbey Road a year later. Then came Let It Be in 2021 and then they went out of sequence with Revolver a year after that.

As expected, Beatles' fans who are flush with cash aren't satisfied. The majority have been clamouring for a Rubber Soul set to come out but so far to no avail. Some have also noticed that a gap has been left: the post-Pepper period that covered the rest of '67 and the early part of '68 prior to their departure for India where they went to study Transcendental Meditation. The wilderness between the triumph of Pepper and the spooky, initial-signs-of-the-coming-break-up White Album — an interesting period to be sure but not their most creatively fruitful.

I will admit that I have considered purchasing the Pepper, White Album and Revolver box sets, though the hefty price tags and suspicion that I won't listen to them much has so far prevented me from doing so. Had I ended up picking all of them up, I could see myself getting the Abbey Road set as well, even if its current status as the consensus best Beatles' album ever baffles me. I don't think I would've been tempted at all by Let It Be but at least I can see why there'd be some interest, especially after Peter Jackson's Get Back docu-series. But a box set covering a handful of cast offs used primarily for the soundtracks to Magical Mystery Tour and Yellow Submarine? A hard pass from me — even if money was no object.

Of course, this is The Beatles we're talking about so this period isn't without its high spots with John Lennon's "I Am the Walrus" being the clear stand out. "The Fool on the Hill" is probably Paul McCartney's best track from this mini era but in truth there isn't much else to highly recommend. "Magical Mystery Tour" is fine if unremarkable. Tracks like "Baby You're a Rich Man" and "Your Mother Should Know" are under-written (Ian MacDonald described the former as having "a stoned sloppiness" to it which is hard to disagree with). "You Know My Name (Look Up the Number)" is good fun but utterly pointless. George Harrison's "It's All Too Much" combines some terrific acid rock with his usual grumpiness but it goes on for way too long. (Still, it's accurately titled) Do I even need to bring up bloody "All Together Now"?

As for "Hello, Goodbye", it is the first Beatles' hit that no one ever needed. You may like it but what does it add to their discography? If it didn't exist, would anyone miss it? The very fact that I'm now tempted to come to its defense with a "there's nothing wrong with it" is revealing in and of itself: apologizing for a so-so number from just about any other act is one thing but the Fabs never needed anyone to say their records were just okay prior to this one. McCartney sings it well but, again, this is the sort of observation that wouldn't need to be made had I been discussing, say, "All My Loving" or "Eleanor Rigby" instead. Beyond its almost innate ability to lodge its way into my head and then squat there indefinitely, I am indifferent. 

Still, even when they were loafing about, The Beatles were always fascinating and "Hello, Goodbye" is no exception. Just who is contradicting McCartney so much? One option is that it's about his fraught relationship with the actress Jane Asher. While the positive side of their romance is said to have inspired "And I Love Her" and "Here, There and Everywhere", the tumultuousness of their time together brought on much more pessimistic works such as "I'm Looking Through You", "You Won't See Me" and "For No One". Strangely, 1967 seems to have brought an end to McCartney's cycle of songs about her but "Hello, Goodbye" might be an exception. By this point, Macca was the only unmarried Beatle and its likely he was beginning to tire of singlehood. Asher was as committed to her career choices as his nibs was and so domesticity was never going to be easy. Not unlike "I'm Looking Through You" and "You Won't See Me", there's a sense that McCartney is unable to communicate, that she is simply there to shoot down every one of his ideas.

That said, Macca could just as easily have been describing his loggerheads with longtime songwriting partner and close friend John Lennon. Only a few months' earlier, the "cute one" had been recording a song with the line "it's getting better all the time" while the so-called "smart one" (more like 'smart-ass one', am I right?) would come in with the rejoinder of "it couldn't get much worse". "Getting Better" comes from the Pepper sessions when things were rosy between the two but by the end of the year some troubles had begun to set in. Chiefly, the death of manager Brian Epstein at the end of that August left The Beatles with a hole that they'd never be able to fill. (For a group with a seemingly unlimited supply of 'fifth Beatles', it's rather fitting that so many within their camp were irreplaceable) Lennon would later complain bitterly about McCartney trying to take over the group but who else was going to do it at the time? With all this in mind, it's not inconceivable that John would have provided a stinging opposition to just about anything Paul suggested, even if just for the sake of it.

The three weeks at the top enjoyed by The Beatles with "Hello, Goodbye" proved to be their longest stay at number one in Canada since all the way back in the early part of 1964 when Beatlemania reigned supreme and when the CHUM chart allowed for lengthier stays at the summit. Similarly, the single spent no less than seven weeks atop the UK singles chart, which is tied for their longest spell at number one with 1963's "From Me to You". And, yet, it's the first Fab Four single that isn't all that great. This won't even be the last time that a light but inconsequential McCartney number would charm the pants off enough people to give it an extended stay on top — as a matter of fact, it would happen on a regular basis during his up-and down solo career. Fortunately, we'll be able to appreciate the full genius of Paul McCartney before he starts getting on our nerves again.

Score: 5

The Beatles: "All You Need Is Love"

August 26, 1967 (2 weeks)

For the very first time, I have had the "opportunity" to blog about a single that I've already written about. This proved advantageous since I could use myself for research purposes. It proved to be even more advantageous when I then decided just to re-publish the original in this space. I did make a handful of tweaks but, otherwise, this is more or less the same. Is a cheat? Yeah, I suppose it is but the worst thing I'm doing is ripping myself off — and being a lazy bugger. (John Lennon spent the bulk of his adult life swerving between being a hardworking rock star and a disinterested loafer so this piece sort of fits) 

The blog this comes from is VER HITS: The Smash Hits Singles of the Fortnight. I started it in 2018 as a celebration of the classic British music mag Smash Hits and its singles review page. While I did consider keeping it going, it ended in 2024 just as I was starting this one up.  Each review would begin with a quotation from the music journalist or pop star who had been tasked with sifting through the new releases that fortnight. Thus, the quotes from the members of Scots sophisti-pop group Wet Wet Wet below. References to chart positions are British. 

It should be a while before another crossover review comes up. Smash Hits didn't begin publishing until 1978 so after that it will become relatively more common with the likes of "Heart of Glass", "Pass the Dutchie" and "With or Without You". I'm going to try to ensure that this recycled review is a one off. I will probably still use my old reviews for research and I might even quote myself but that's as far as I plan to go.

Though much the same as what's written below, check out my original review here. To read up on Wet Wet Wet's singles review turn, click on this link. Brian McCloskey's entire Smash Hits archive is well worth having a look at.

~~~~~

"This is a completely brilliant record."

— Marti Pellow

"I hate Paul McCartney — his records are crap."

— Tommy Cunningham

"I have a soft spot for Paul McCartney because he's a bass player like me." (?)

— Graeme "Graham" Clark

"..."

— Neil Mitchell

4, 29, 40, 45, 62, 53, 52, 65, 70, 86, 79, 78, 63, 65, 47, 63, 67, 52, 74, 84, 84, 78.

If I told you that these were the chart peaks of a certain band's twenty-two singles, you probably wouldn't be overly impressed. Just one big hit and only two more in the top forty (and one of them only just barely) and then a lengthy procession of flops. You might wonder just what such an unsuccessful band was doing being signed to the same record label that whole time — even if the eighties were a different time and awash in record company money. But this was no ordinary group: The Beatles could get away with such poor results since they all did much better the first time round — and who's going to drop the biggest group that ever lived from their label?

A revival in interest in the Fab Four was probably the one positive effect of John Lennon's murder at the end of 1980. Their legacy had been overshadowed by the hit and miss quality of their solo works and the culture was gradually discovering that it was possible to move forward without them leading the way. It's likely that many people had taken them for granted and didn't realise how much they meant until one of their key members was gunned down.

Lennon product selling in the aftermath of his death brought back the commercial viability of The Beatles as a whole. In the wake of "Stars on 45" and the early eighties medley craze, "Beatles Movie Medley" was released and was a hit in spite of its poor quality. The twenty year anniversary of their debut single was approaching and it was decided that their records would be re-released over the course of the rest of the decade. The first single did well, providing "Love Me Do" with the top five hit it had been denied previously but interest rapidly dwindled. It probably didn't help — though it would have been far from the only reason — that Smash Hits had next to no interest in giving these reissues publicity. After Fred Dellar gave a short but terse critique of "Movie Medley", there wouldn't be another Beatles single reviewed until Roland Orzbal of Tears for Fears practically begged the reviews editor to give him their copy of "Ticket to Ride" (he wouldn't name it SOTF, giving the crown instead to XTC's extra curricular project The Dukes of Stratosphear, citing his approval for how much they'd been "studying The Beatles!"; please see my piece on "The Mole from the Ministry" for my theory on what it ended up doing for Orzbal's career). At the beginning of 1987, Lola Borg took a look at "Strawberry Fields Forever" / "Penny Lane" and advised readers not to bother buying it and that they should "nip down to Woolworths instead for a peek in the bargain bin where you will no doubt find both these songs on a compilation LP for an absolute snip". Probably sound advice.

"Strawberry Fields" only got to number sixty-five, a routine showing for their eighties reissues. Yet, "All You Need Is Love" did considerably better and it nearly got them back in the top 40. It was re-released in the summer of 1987 at a time when The Beatles' favourability was on the upswing. Their catalog had finally been issued on compact disc and the June release of Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band in the new format did particularly well. This was still the time in which it was the consensus 'Greatest Album of All Time' and its anniversary was celebrated with the It Was Twenty Years Ago Today documentary. These factors probably contributed more to the respectable chart performance of "All You Need Is Love" than the recommendation of a current pop group. Still, I'm sure it didn't hurt.

During the summer of '87, Glasgow's Wet Wet Wet were on the rise. Though they would soon release a series of grim singles (the first of which, "Sweet Little Mystery", came out just two days prior to publication of this issue of Smash Hits; it was reviewed in the previous issue), their debut in the spring, "Wishing I Was Lucky", was uncharacteristically decent. Keen to play the pop game, singer Marti Pellow and co. agreed to have a crack at the new singles. They aren't terribly impressed with what's on offer for the most part, with positive words saved mainly for The Beatles and fellow re-release "Lovely Day" by Bill Withers (a full year prior to its 'Sunshine Mix' revamp which became his biggest hit in the UK; this version did rather less well). The four do have their disagreements, with Pellow, Graeme Clark and Neil Mitchell disliking The Beastie Boys' "She's on It" (the latter's comment that he doesn't care for "white guys doing that sort of music" is rather amusing considering how the Wets were all about mining soul and R&B for their own benefit) while drummer Tommy Cunningham enjoys it. They don't even appear to be in unison about the SOTF, with Mitchell offering no comment, having previously praised Withers as his favourite.

The Wets were the sort of eighties pop stars who seemed to have excellent record collections yet struggled to create great music of their own. They were born during the sixties pop boom and would have been exposed to much of it from a very early age. They would have been children during the heydays of Slade and T.Rex, approaching adolescence during punk (in some ways, the perfect age for it: old enough to find it exciting but young enough not to be turned off by its negatives) and set for adulthood at the time of New Pop. You're talking about a vast twenty year window of outstanding music to cut one's teeth on. Too much in fact. It could be easy to get overly comfy in these environs with little to object to. Great pop attempts to fill a void but there was no such emptiness for this generation. Rather than carving out their own place in music, they seemed happy churning out substandard soul and Motown tributes.

I don't expect the members of Wet Wet Wet to match the output of The Beatles or, indeed, any of the acts they reviewed this fortnight. They provided their thoughts on some new singles and that's fine. But I don't think it's asking too much for them to explain why they think the Fabs are so brilliant — even if it's trite and cliched. The following year they participated in the NME's Sgt Pepper Knew My Father charity album. It's a collection that has its moments but their take on "With a Little Help from My Friends" isn't one of them. Even by Pellow's lofty standards his vocal is cocky and it loses the vulnerability that Ringo's workmanlike singing provides (you need to believe that singing out of tune is a distinct possibility for this to work). With his voice and his looks, does Pellow even need any friends? Yes, he loves their music but what has he learned from them? Why did he record this cover version when it shows no trace of their inspiration?

In the context of their many remarkable singles, "All You Need Is Love" is nothing special. While I wouldn't quite agree with Ian Macdonald's assessment that it's one of their "less deserving hits", there's nothing thrilling about it like "She Loves You" or "A Hard Day's Night", nothing spectacularly inventive about it like "Paperback Writer" or "Strawberry Fields Forever". It doesn't have a bridge and it glides along happily without even a key change. Pretty substandard work then — especially from them. 

(Lennon's famous wordplay is nowhere to be found and this composition marks the point when he began favouring simplistic chants repeated over and over. It was just under two years later that he assembled another large group to record "Give Peace a Chance" for yet another orchestrated media event. Having put some thought into its predecessor, "Peace" is slapdash by comparison, with lyrics about how everyone is talking about various movements and people though his lists are frequently hard to comprehend with a shambolic crowd packed into a Montreal hotel suite not aiding the audio. "Power to the People" from 1971 actually addresses issues (including the worthwhile observation that feminism had a part to play too) but it lacks a hook and the singalong quality that makes both earlier attempts so special. (Lennon didn't simply reserve his new found sloganeering for his agitprop. "I Want You (She's So Heavy)", his plea to Yoko Ono, lacks any semblance of verse structure and amounts to eight minutes of him wanting her — wanting her so bad, it's driving him mad. It's a better record than it probably ought to be but it's certainly guilty of hammering the point home) Though "Come Together" would be a successful attempt at combining his poetic imagery with a chorus to chant on football terraces, "All You Need Is Love" would be his best simple singalong)

This being The Beatles, however, there's still lots of magic involved. It is now impossible for many people to hear the start of "La Marseillaise" (ie the French national anthem) and not go into a swaying "love, love, love". The brass response to Lennon's cries of 'All you need is love' is one of the most familiar musical passages in their entire repertoire. It's use of various musical quotations lends it an instant familiarity but the deliberately simplistic chorus does so as well. It is one of those songs that feels like it has always been around. I might find myself singing along to it without even knowing.

The ubiquity of The Beatles could turn people off and I remember a time when there was something vaguely shameful about exploring their music. Due in part to the Sgt Pepper documentary, I went through brief phase of listening to them at around this time. Pepper was a record I looked at much more than put on the stereo and I was happy to play my mum's Rock 'n' Roll Music cassettes. This period led me towards getting into the Pet Shop Boys, INXS and Terence Trent D'Arby and on to becoming a pop music obsessive. The next time I really got back into them, however, was six years later when I began to tire of everything going on at the time. (1993 was a favourite year in music for some but not me) Listening to The Beatles at that point was tantamount to conceding that things were better then, at a time before I was even born, and that I was ready to give up on my own music — and, worse still, that my parents had been right all along.

The Beatles would gradually take their permanent place as a group for all generations with the Anthology series but some of us continued to carry around an uneasiness about getting into their music. A number of years ago, I was in a pub with some friends and we bumped into Owen, an old schoolmate who I had always been friendly with. He was a hip hop kid and I was into alternative music back in junior high school so our tastes differed but we still sometimes talked about what we were listening to. "Well, it's a bit embarrassing", he said, sheepishly when the subject turned to music, "but I've been listening to The Beatles a lot lately". I knew exactly what he meant. Much as we might try, there's no getting rid of them.

Score: 7

The Beatles: "Penny Lane"

March 25, 1967 (1 week)

"Anyone unlucky enough not to have been aged between 14 and 30 during 1966-7 will never know the excitement of those years in popular culture."

— Ian MacDonald

Yes, it's true: those of us "unlucky" to have been born outside the window from 1936 to 1953 will never have the opportunity to experience this level of excitement first hand. (We also didn't have to live through the era of tuna and lime jello salads as luxury dining so it's not all bad though) Instead, we had the chance to swallow it up whole.

I am a second generation Beatles' fan. Only for the first three-and-a-half years of my life did I live in a world in which they were all still alive. The earliest association I have with John Lennon is that he was that he was dead. (He was probably the first person I can recall being dead and this was a year or two away from discovering that I, too, will one day die) The eighties became the decade in which unspeakable tragedy brought The Beatles back only for the pop scene to carry on having as little to do with them as possible before eventually accepting that there was simply no getting rid of them.

The Fab Four discography was in a shambles during my youth. Those weird seventies' compilations — Rock and Roll Music, Ballads — were still available as were the American albums. No one seemed to own the entire catalog. My mum had a half dozen old records that looked like they'd been played and scratched to death but did have newer copies of Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, the 1962-1966 and 1967-1970 compilations and, for some reason, Beatles '65. She also had Rubber Soul, Hey Jude and Rock and Roll Music on tape. This meant that I had much to explore but far from the whole thing. (It wouldn't hear The White Album in full until I was eighteen when Mum gave it to me on CD for Christmas) Rather than getting into them chronologically, I made due with what was made available to me. Not ideal but at least I never lived through the rush of Beatlemania which left fans prone to eventual — if misguided — disappointment.

~~~~~

The time between the release of the Revolver album and their first single of 1967 was by far the biggest gap since The Beatles reign began. For much of late '66, the foursome went their separate ways. Famously, John Lennon accepted a role in a movie which led to him spending several weeks in Spain where he began wearing his trademark granny glasses. It was also where he worked on "Strawberry Fields Forever". Returning to England that November, he presented his latest composition to the others who were immediately impressed by it. Paul McCartney then went off and wrote his reply "Penny Lane". Both songs were inspired by their childhoods spent in Liverpool though from suitably different perspectives. Yet, they're very much two sides of the same coin (or, better yet, two sides of the same 45). Whatsmore, it marked a turning point: far from being from Liverpool, now The Beatles were Liverpool.

On any given day, it is said that you can spot tourists from all over the world wandering around Liverpool in search of The Beatles. I'm sure the majority are aware that Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr no longer reside there — or, indeed, that none of the Fab Four have made Merseyside their permanent homes in over sixty years. Yet, visitors still turn up to see where they grew up, where they went to school and where they cut their teeth as just another struggling band who happened to go on to become the biggest thing in popular music. Visitors to London, Hamburg and New York may also take Beatles' guided tours but Liverpool has the lion's share of the landmarks and is probably the one to go to. (Though, admittedly, I wouldn't know since I've never been on one)

But beyond simply taking in the spotless middle class home of John Lennon and a replica of The Cavern, more adventuresome types may also indulge in visiting spots mentioned in Beatles' songs. In truth, there aren't all that many, with arguably the two best known sites coming from both sides of the same single. While the Salvation Army-run Strawberry Field — just a stone's thrown from the Lennon home — might still retain a mysteriousness that shrouds the song of (almost) the same name, there's no way on earth that the real Penny Lane manages to evoke the sunshine absurdity of McCartney's composition. If there happens to be a nurse selling poppies from a tray then she'll only be there in the fortnight or so leading up to Remembrance Day. Curious tourists may pop into the Tony Slavin barbershop to see if they do indeed have photos of "every head [they've] had the pleasure to know" but that's the case with every hair salon the world over. (Had "Penny Lane" been written a few years later by a North American it could easily have had a line about the drycleaner with "every celebrity headshot they've had the pleasure to know", even though it isn't quite as catchy)

If the real Penny Lane is indeed a disappointment to tourists then you can bet that they'd sooner blame the Liverpool town council and/or visitor board than The Beatles themselves, which may not be entirely fair. While Merseyside may wish to brand itself to the Fabs, there's no possible way they could recreate the area to satisfy the song that immortalizes it. This extraordinary composition paints a picture of a world that never really existed beyond the mind of its creator. Penny Lane may be in his "ears" and in his "eyes" but it is so far gone from any real person's interaction either then or now to be unrecognizable.

For all of its plaudits, "Penny Lane" is somehow still the weaker side of what is The Beatles' finest single. Paul's song is glorious and it should be listened to on as close to a daily basis as possible but "Strawberry Fields Forever" is simply streets ahead of anything a pop mind has ever come up with. Yet, young fans weren't ready for either of them. They were unprepared for how unusual their sound had become but they were equally bemused by the way the group looked with their mustaches and psychedelic gear. Though listeners grew up with The Beatles and could go along with how they had changed, in this instance many weren't ready. They had long since left much of their competition in the dust and now even loyal followers were being left behind — if only temporarily.

Thus, this brilliant double A side broke a lengthy run of consecutive UK chart toppers, managing a peak of just number two. Meanwhile in North America, the two were split up. On the Hot 100, "Penny Lane" gave The Beatles yet another US number one while its companion managed to go no higher than number eight. On RPM, it was much the same, except that "Strawberry Fields" didn't even merit its own chart position. Being at the top of the charts in both the United States and Canada is fair enough but it could only manage one week on top. (While single week number ones was still commonplace in '67, the massively inferior usurper to "Penny Lane" managed to hold on to the top spot for three weeks, as we'll be seeing soon) Even at their breeziest, peak-of-powers best, The Beatles couldn't dazzle everyone everywhere, ludicrous though this may be to those of us second and third generation fans who really did grow up with them.

Score: 10

The Beatles: "Yellow Submarine" / "Eleanor Rigby"

September 19, 1966 (1 week)

One of the most noticeable changes when the Canadian pop charts switched from CHUM to RPM was that double A-sides were no more. Beginning with Elvis Presley's "I Beg of You" / "Don't" back in the start of 1958, there had been eighteen number ones whose sides were given dual credit, the majority by The King himself. (The Beatles had the last two with "I Want to Hold Your Hand" / "I Saw Her Standing There" and "All My Loving" / "This Boy" respectively) Along with all of the many, many one-week wonders that have been coming up, RPM brought about a strict adherence to single title entries — with one exception.

(While no longer a national chart, CHUM continued publishing what deep down they always had always been: the Metro Toronto hit parade. Chart toppers by the Fab Four continued to be recognized as doubles with the exception of "Nowhere Man" in the spring of 1966. From that point forward, some were listed as one title while others were doubles. Thus, relatively innocuous Beatles releases like "I Don't Want to Spoil the Party", "Act Naturally" and "For You Blue" are all technically CHUM number ones)

For whatever reason, "Yellow Submarine" ended up getting propped up by "Eleanor Rigby" for their twelfth Canadian number one smash. I say "propped up" because the lettering of the former is clearly bigger than the latter on the single's cover, indicating that a hierarchy had initially been involved. Was there the worry that the public wasn't going to take a Ringo Starr-sung piece seriously? Were those stately Paul McCartney vocals considered a safer bet? Or were they afraid that the fans, who had been growing up with The Beatles, were going to reject the more childlike "Yellow Submarine"? It's also possible that their concerns could have been going in both directions: had "Eleanor Rigby" been the A-side, would the group's younger following have accepted it?

The dual "Yellow Submarine" / "Eleanor Rigby" single was released in conjunction with The Beatles' monumental seventh album Revolver. (A reminder that they did sometimes bend their unwritten rule of not releasing singles from their LPs)  Quite why they chose these two songs over about eight or nine other perfectly good options is a mystery. Presumably, George Harrison's trio of excellent contributions — the startling album opener "Taxman", the lovely "Love You To" and the rather overlooked "I Want to Tell You" — were ruled out in a Lennon-McCartney power play (assuming any of them had even been up for consideration at all). McCartney's more overly commercial efforts — "Good Day Sunshine", "Got to Get You Into My Life" — would've made for smashing singles while some of John Lennon's varied contributions — "She Said She Said", "And Your Bird Can Sing", "Doctor Robert" — could've come in handy as B-sides. While it's true that the child-friendly catchiness of "Yellow Submarine" makes sense as a single release, the stark "Eleanor Rigby" is just about the last Revolver track I'd place on a 45. (That said, I don't wish to take swipes at it: along with some of the album's other standouts — "I'm Only Sleeping", "Here, There and Everywhere", "Tomorrow Never Knows" — "Eleanor Rigby" is almost too good for the pop charts)

Listening to it today, the pairing smacks of being a Revolver sampler instead of a single that is able to stand on its own merits. Perhaps this is somewhat due to tracks on other Beatles albums bring embargoed from the Top 40. Had there been a precedent of one single per album then it might not stick out so much. What if there had been "All My Loving" / "It Won't Be Long" from With The Beatles? "Eight Days a Week" / "I'm a Loser" from Beatles for Sale? "Norwegian Wood" / "I'm Looking Through You" from Rubber Soul? Maybe I'd hear this one differently but these fantasy singles also undermine it. The most commercially viable singles are the easiest to imagine which doesn't do "Eleanor Rigby" any favours. Or maybe it's just down to the album having simply too much quality on offer to have to pick just two.

But let's put all that aside in order to continue to look upon the development of The Beatles with customary awe. George Harrison would later observe that Rubber Soul and Revolver were like two sides of the same coin but it's hard to completely agree when the latter happened to be such a huge step forward from its predecessor (which, needless to say, had been a major advance in its own right). Even without the context of their parent album, both "Yellow Submarine" and "Eleanor Rigby" are astonishing. While a childhood singalong and the tale of lonely people may seem like an odd pairing, there are elusive links. Lennon's early work tape on the 2022 Revolver box set added a whole new depth to what had once been regarded as something of a throwaway: "In the place where I was born," John sings glumly, "no one cared, no one cared", which is as poignant as Eleanor picking up rice at a wedding that she can only fantasize of. It was only after working with McCartney that the Yellow Submarine fable began to form. Even then, it's of no little significance that the new line "in the town where I was born, lived a man who sailed the sea" came from a tune composed by Lennon, whose wayward father had been a merchant seaman.

The two songs are a counterpoint to the other. In "Yellow Submarine" there is a group of friends who've found this idyllic life living in their vessel. (The idea that "many more of them live next door" is one that has always fascinated me: do these subs park on the bottom of the sea, creating whole neighbourhoods or do they float in unison?) In "Eleanor Rigby" there are two people who haven't been so lucky. Chums living a life of ease and all the lonely people: are these stories of two separate groups of people or are they both about The Beatles themselves? The parties would have been something else when you're in the biggest group of all time with a sizable entourage and all kinds of hangers-on but the endless touring and isolation had taken their toll. With the kind of alienation they had already experienced (let alone what they would go through in Japan, The Philippines and the United States during their final tour in the summer of '66), is it any wonder they were in the mood for some fun in the middle of the ocean — or, failing that, on a Greek island, or in an Indian ashram...?

As I already stated, giving "Yellow Submarine" and "Eleanor Rigby" equal treatment ended up being a one off on the RPM hit parade. This is a shame since it ensured that its long-awaited follow-up — "Strawberry Fields Forever" / "Penny Lane", released the following February  — would end up split. Being that it is arguably The Beatles' at the peak of their powers, the two deserved to share a place at the top of the charts. It didn't happen but 1966 and '67 marked a turning point when albums began to take precedence anyway. The Beatles were just about done as the greatest singles band in music history but their story is still far from over.

Score: 9

The Beatles: "Paperback Writer"

July 4, 1966 (1 week)

Bored with indie and pop at the time, I went through one of my sporadic Beatles phases in the summer of 1993. I had been playing my mum's collection a lot, particularly 62-66 (the one they call the Red Album though I never did), 67-70 (the Blue Album; Jesus, fans of the Fab Four really don't put much thought into their nicknames, do they?) and the North American version of Revolver (the one with just eleven tracks including only two contributions from John, the lazy bugger!) but I figured it was time I had one of my own. So, I went into my local HMV and picked out — on cassette — my first Beatles' album which was...Past Masters.

(The title of this 1988 compilation confused me. Past Masters? Aren't The Beatles good enough that we can say that they're still masters, even after all these years?)

Past Masters was released to fill in the gaps in people's collections (unless you were me: I subsequently filled in the gaps around Past Masters). If you had all the albums and this set then you had everything they ever released. (More than thirty years and all sorts of Live at the BBC collections, Anthology releases and deluxe editions later, this now seems very quaint) I didn't know this at the time, I just thought it looked like a cool compilation to have. And it was and still is.

The highlight for me at the time was the first four tracks on the second cassette: "Day Tripper", "We Can Work It Out", "Paperback Writer" and "Rain". Bloody hell. These were taken from brilliant singles that didn't even end up on albums. I don't think I'd ever even heard "Rain" prior to then. Volume One (the first cassette) shows them going through the whirlwind of Beatlemania with some subtle growth occasionally undermined by the odd dismal cover version. (Perhaps it is too forgettable for most to be bothered with but I maintain that the Ringo-sung "Matchbox" is the worst song they ever recorded) Then, Volume Two comes on and there's no stopping them. 1967 isn't represented on Past Masters so we don't get to hear The Beatles at their very best but their full flowering is still evident.

I already knew "Paperback Writer" by then but this was the first time I really listened to it. I had been learning how to play bass guitar for a couple years and was astonished by Paul McCartney's playing on it. I was also fancying myself a poet during this time which may have made the narrative of a struggling writer trying to find a publisher appealing to me. Finally, I was big into comedy back in '93, a devoted fan of The Kids in the Hall and The Simpsons (and, soon, the suddenly popular Seinfeld) so it was cool to discover something by the Fab Four that had some humour. ("Paperback Writer" is a much funnier song than "Drive My Car" though "Good Morning Good Morning" is probably their funniest track of all) This background may then explain why I had the brilliant idea to write a reply song. (I hadn't thought of this until now but it's possible that the final episode of The Wonder Years that May played a part in my renewed interest in The Beatles at that time)

The lyrics to "Paperback Writer II" are, sadly, lost to time beyond the opening of "Dear Paul McCartney, thank you for your book..." but it read as a publisher turning down this crummy novel about a man named Lear (a dirty fellow with a clinging wife and a son who, oddly, also wishes to be a paperback writer: more on this curio in a bit) but in a diplomatic tone. As with every song lyric and/or poem I came up with at the time, I figured it was genius but I eventually came to my senses and abandoned it. (In retrospect, it would have been far more amusing to have had the publisher blow smoke up McCartney's ass only to reveal in the song's final verse that he or she would like him to send them a bundle of cash to get the thing published and in the book shops. The naive aspiring novelist in the original would've definitely been conned by a sleazy vanity press)

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As Beatles' singles go, "Paperback Writer" must be their most divisive. Many young fans at the time were decidedly underwhelmed. As Jon Savage notes in his book 1966: The Year the Decade Exploded, when promotional films for it and B side "Rain" aired on The Ed Sullivan Show, "there was no screaming". (Savage also quotes some longtime British fans who spoke at the time to the Record Mirror and they weren't terribly impressed by it) Their massive fanbase loyally took it to number one around the world but it struggled to stay there for long. While both of the singles the preceded and followed it — the double A sides "We Can Work It Out" / "Day Tripper" and "Yellow Submarine" / "Eleanor Rigby" respectively — each enjoyed four week stays on top in the UK, it held on for just a fortnight while over on the Hot 100 it was displaced by Frank Sinatra's "Strangers in the Night" after just one week before reclaiming the number one position for another seven day stint. (Meanwhile, the RPM chart was still in its unwritten 'one week is enough' period so it had the same length on top as all their other number ones that year) It feels like the first Beatles' single that kids wouldn't have been talking about on the playground the day after catching them on Top of the Pops or on Ed Sullivan.

Still, "Paperback Writer" has its supporters. Tom Breihan, who is open about his disdain for several Beatles' songs, considers it to be a "motherfuck of a pop song" (in the best possible sense, presumably). While not quite as gushing, Tom Ewing is also full of praise. While perhaps a case of "meta-hackwork", he nevertheless has it down as one of his favourite Fabs' numbers. Some pop critics in Britain liked it at the time as well.

On the other hand, there are others who are cooler towards it. Ian MacDonald thought it was relatively "hollow" and that its storyline's "potential poignancy is sacrificed to excitement, word-games, and studio-effects"..Aidan Curran describes it as "paper-thin whimsy" while concluding his review stating that it's "essentially putdownable". Roy Carr and Tony Tyler argue that much of the backlash resulted from "the triviality of the lyric and a slight nagging suspicion that the Beatles were playing at 'being songwriters' at a time when the world was waiting for The Word".

Some praise, some harsh words and that's the thing about this song: I sort of agree with everyone here. I admire much of it and enjoy having it on but I don't quite love it. The narrative might either be at a level of irony that anticipates the Pet Shop Boys by twenty years or it may be the result of carelessness but either way it can get on my nerves if I put too much thought into it. (I suspect that McCartney was being sloppy with his weird 'son who also wants to be a paperback writer' aside but that's up for debate) It's remarkable what they were able to do in the studio which counts for something, only it shouldn't be listened to closely. During the second verse, John Lennon and George Harrison can be heard singing "Frère Jacques" which only underscores how meaningless the whole thing is. It is indeed a motherfuck of a pop record — but it's also something of a mindfuck of a pop record.

It is said that the inspiration for "Paperback Writer" came when one of Paul's many aunties up in Liverpool (perhaps it was "Auntie Jin" who is namechecked in "Let 'Em In") encouraged him to write a pop song that didn't involve the topic of love. He then went and wrote this, a song that is so cutting it could've come from John Lennon instead. What's odd about this exchange — real or fictional — is that his songwriting had reached a peak during this same time and while he would never leave matters of the heart behind, he was composing material on other subjects as well. His contributions to Revolver from roughly the same time — "Eleanor Rigby", "Here, There and Everywhere", "Good Day Sunshine", "For No One", "Got to Get You Into My Life" — are some of the finest songs of his vast career. There's a depth of feeling to all of them in one way or another ("Good Day Sunshine" isn't a big favourite of most fans but it sounds heartfelt to me) which makes "Paperback Writer" seem all the more out of place.

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The one thing just about everyone can agree on it its B side "Rain". Like "You Can't Do That" before it and "Don't Let Me Down" after, it was a John song that got shafted by an inferior, if commercially more viable, work of Paul's. While "Paperback Writer" is good, daft fun but with that inescapable feeling that it's a bit of a throwaway, its flip side is thoughtful while still being a great listen with plenty of musical invention in its own right. Yet, it spent the better part of twenty years as an afterthought, a track that ended up being regularly passed over for inclusion on the bulk of their compilations. When it appeared on Past Masters, everyone seemingly came to the conclusion that it had been their best B side for all those years in secret.

Which leads me to the (belated) conclusion of this review: such a fate would never have befallen "Paperback Writer" itself. For all its flaws, it has always been catchy and glorious. It can be studied by budding bass players, songwriters and, yes, poets or it can be picked to pieces by critics and bloggers or it can be enjoyed as yet another high watermark by generations of Beatles' fans. Warts and all, there's no doing without it.

Score: 8