A band that made it very, very big. . .
 (Feb. 18, 2004)

            I wasn't planning to write anything about the 40th anniversary of The Beatles' debut on "The Ed Sullivan Show," as I tend to avoid major anniversaries, and every media outlet in the world is covering the story.
            But. . .
            Seeing as I've been writing about them for about 33 years, why stop now?
            Regarding The Beatles' impact, two quotes came instantly to mind, one of which I will deal with later. The first is John Lennon's famous remark appearing at the beginning of "Anthology 1" that The Beatles were "just a band that made it very, very big, that's all."
            Not true.
            The Bay City Rollers were just a band that made it very, very big, that's all. Most of the hundreds of fabulously popular groups of the last 40 years were just a band that made it very, very big, that's all.
            The Beatles were not just a band. John, Paul, and George were friends dating to their teens---Paul and George from grade school---and their musicianship and personalities developed symbiotically, almost from the get-go. They grew together like vines. Add Ringo, and you've got the trelice.
            Consider: can you imagine this group with any other members? Replace a Rolling Stone, sure. It's been done three times. Replace a Beatle? Unimaginable. As for original drummer Pete Best, well, he was as much a Beatle as Zeppo Marx was a Marx Brother. Best was a straight man outsider who shared neither their jaundiced humor nor musical talent. He was a hired hand. Ringo, as George said, "was always in the band, he just didn't join till 1962."
            The Beatles were meant for one another as much as Laurel was meant for Hardy, chicanery for politics, and barking for dogs.
            Saying the The Beatles were "just a band that made it very, very big" is like saying cotton was just a plant. It implies their success was a fluke. Perhaps John believed this, or maybe he was trying to impose sane perspective on popularity of religious scope. All four downplayed---and to varying degrees were sickened by---the fanaticism they inspired. Lennon's infamous Jesus remark was meant to illustrate the absurdity of their fame, hardly to proclaim themselves new Messiahs.
            But I'll tell you: if Hay-zoos does come back, I hope he can make some good music.

            The Beatles are only the greatest story of the second half of the twentieth century, that's all. Why? In essence, because their music, their wit, their charm, their candor, their naivete, their bravery, their earnestness, their goofiness, their adventurousness---made much of the world feel pretty damned good. No easy trick! It is humanity's great fortune that fate conspired to bring these people together, and allowed them to remain productive as a musicial entity for about ten years.
            Imagine a world today without Beatles music, and that good fortune is thrown into sharp relief. I mean, we'd be stuck with (gasp) The Rolling Stones instead. Or possibly Herman's Hermits.
            So thank you, Brian Epstein, and Julia Lennon, and Aunt Mimi and Mother Mary, and Ma Harrison, and a case of lousy intestines that sent Ringo to a hospital for a couple of years, where he learned to drum. Thank you, Alan Williams, for sending the guys to Germany where they honed their chops. Thanks, Pete Best and Stu Sutcliffe, and Astrid Kircherr, Klaus Voorman, Neil Aspinall, and. . .thank you, astounding confluence of people and events that facilitated this fertile musical. . .wonder.
            It was nothing less. These Beatle fellows didn't just "play a song" or "comp" one another, although they certainly must have thought in those simple terms. They created novel, original, lasting structures. Think of a string quartet by Beethoven or Schubert. Take away the cello, and it's a house with a wall missing. The same is true with the best Beatles' songs.
            Hifalutin'? I don't think so. "Rain" without Ringo's drumming is tame weather. "Two of Us" without George's loping "bass" part (played on regular guitar) loses half its warmth. "With A Little Help From My Friends" absent McCartney's easy, singing bassline? A chunk of unbridled summer-of-love lyricism---gone. "Get Back" minus Lennon's C&W-esque guitar work is practically still-born. "Because" without Paul and George's harmonies---pfffft. "Day Tripper" without Harrison's riff. . .doesn't exist! Each player's contribution was often, when the group was at its best and most cooperative, an indispensible piece of the song. Some of McCartney's basslines are viable compositions unto themselves. He didn't "play bass," he sang counter-melodies on the thing.
            Even the earliest Beatles tunes evidence the complementary machinery: Lennon's chugging, sinewy rhythm guitar, Harrison's Carl Perkin-esque picking, McCartney's manic bass thumping, and Ringo's slapback, open-hi-hat energy remain a unique engine. And the singing! John's plaintive, yet hard-edged melisma ("This Boy"), Paul's astounding versatility (from Little Richard to gentle balladeering), George's underappreciated rock 'n' roll pipes ("Roll Over Beethoven," "Nothin' Shakin'"), his beguiling dusky harmonies, and Ringo's slightly sad, slightly comical, always spot-on vocal gusto---no other band had, or has, anything approaching such variety of voice.
            Band? This was an orchestra.
           Speaking of Ringo, I would go as far as to say that any of the group's efforts lacking his drumming---McCartney's fine pounding on "Dear Prudence," "Ballad of John and Yoko," and "Back in the USSR" notwithstanding---are lesser. Starr was the heartbeat of the sound, if not the heart of the group. Slighty behind the beat by nature (more noticeably when his style changed in the later years), he created a kind of push-and-pull tension that gave songs greater suspense. When a guitar solo started, or a harmony vocal kicked in, it had that much more impact. Ringo was ever-creative, designing and fitting beat and fill per the mood of the tune at hand. He was really almost a multiple drumming personality; a percussive illustrator who adapted style to the demands of the picture. Is it the same drummer on "Come Together," "A Day in the Life," "Get Back," "Strawberry Fields Forever," and "In My Life?" And those big, airy fills---famously debuting on "A Little Help. . ."---as many a Ringo peer  will tell you, were ground-breaking.
            But it wasn't just a matter of meshing musical facets that made the quartet compelling.
            These young players were relentlessly, joyously inventive, revelling in the delight of discovery---aided and abetted by an inspired producer, George Martin. "Norwegian Wood" is just a folk song without Harrison's sitar. "A Day in the Life" loses a dose of sophistication without Ringo's surprisingly jazzy turn. What is "Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite" without that wash of backwards tapes and demented calliopes? Or Lennon's voice without a Leslie amp distorting it a la "Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds?" McCartney's crazed guitar solo gives "Taxman" half its sting; "Sgt. Pepper's" framework was his idea. These guys simply dreamed up and realized noises that had never been made before, that's all. The reconceived the popular song. I rest my case with "Tomorrow Never Knows."
            And as for the importance of Martin, well, aside from his instrumental work (piano on "In My Life," "Lovely Rita," etc.) I cite one bit of evidence: "I Am The Walrus." Listen to that song with just The Beatles playing,and then after Martin finished the orchestrations, chorus parts, effects. If that guy isn't the fifth Beatle, there is no fifth Beatle.

            Then there is a small matter of virtuosity. That's McCartney's lead guitar on "Drive My Car" and "Good Morning, Good Morning," Lennon's slide guitar on George's "For You Blue," Lennon's lead again on "I Want You," McCartney's great honky-tonk piano on "For You Blue," Ringo singing as sweetly as Paul on "Good Night" (and supplying the virtuosic lyric, "wearing a face that she keeps in a jar by the door" line in "Eleanor Rigby") and is there a more affecting and gorgeous guitar solo on any Beatles record---possibly any record---than Harrison's on "Something?"
           I haven't even touched on their (pardon the expression) fabulousness as songwriters. Even the early, simpler tunes retain their power: "Help!," "A Hard Day's Night"---hey, I'm a big fan of "Hold Me Tight." The range of style is unmatched by any other group, arguably any songwriter---really. Consider: "When I'm Sixty-Four," "Revolution" (single or album version), "Yer Blues," "Don't Pass Me By," "Within You Without You," "You're Gonna Lose That Girl," "Get Back," "Savoy Truffle," "Julia," "Got to Get You Into My Life," "Michelle," "Eleanor Rigby," "Rocky Raccoon," "Helter Skelter," "You Won't See Me," "Piggies," "And I Love Her"---all by the same guys?
            Today, bands and "artists" narcissistically hold forth about their "influences"---discussing music that too often has no originality or distinctive personality at all. The Beatles' cavalcade of influences are all gracefully in evidence: avant-garde, '20s dance band, Little Richard, chamber music, jazz, folk, Motown, Everly Brothers, skiffle, ragas---all integrated and emulated with panache. And get this: after 1965, The Beatles sounded like an entirely different band from single to single, album to album. No one has come close to this diversity since.
            And what group can boast a repertoire including songs as comforting as "Hey Jude," affecting as "All You Need is Love," philosophically deep as "Within You Without You," unabashedly whimsical as "Octopus's Garden?"
            No, these 88 tunes by Lennon-McCartney, Harrison, and Starkey, and combinations thereof, are not due to go out of circulation anytime soon. Kids still grow up with Beatles music, as they did beginning Feb. 9, 1964, and it looks like they probably always will.
            And so, with respect, I dispute Mr. Lennon's contention. Yes, lots of people will write terrific think pieces this week analyzing The Beatles' popularity, and they will ruminate about the Kennedy assassination and how the group was an "optimistic" antidote to it, or the "sexual energy," the "long hair," the CBS Evening News terming them the "voice of the Proliteriat," and Pope Ed Sullivan blessing them as "nice lads," or, God help us, that critic who long ago cited their "aeolian cadences," sending the upstart boys into incredulous laughter.
            Sure, it was a bit of all those things. But without the runaway inventiveness, the depth and variety of personality (musical and otherwise), the great friendship, and the sheer glory of the music---which only seems to acquire sheen with years---then yes, The Beatles would have been "just a band that made it very, very big, that's all."
            Which brings me to the other salient quote that came to mind, spoken by the group's dear friend and "roadie," Mal Evans, a couple of months before he was shot and killed in 1976 by the LAPD under very sorry circumstances. I talked to Mal at a radio station, and this is what he said:
            "Nothing would make me happier or prouder than for The Beatles to play together again."
            They never will, but it is such a gift that they ever did.

(Special thanks to Steve Marinucci for suggesting I write this piece.)

                                   BACK TO PAGE ONE
                          BACK TO RIPOSTE ARCHIVE

                                copyright Rip Rense 2004-05