RIPOSTE by RIP RENSE

Chocolate, Beethoven,
and The Beatles
"Suddenly a rainbow rose
and spread across the land
Hung there while the Beatles sang
I want to hold your hand
What can you say?
Here tomorrow, gone today
Faith fades away
For idols with their feet of clay. . ."
---Robert Hunter, “Aim at the Heart.”

          At last, I can look at the dreary, stark, black-framed "Let it Be" album cover without feeling crummy, without feeling like “this is the one that got away,” without being put off by the fact that this is the only Beatles album cover that shows the four guys divided, separated.
          I don’t feel good about it, mind you, but better.
          Thanks to Peter Jackson.
          As is now well established, an enormous missing chunk of Beatles history has been salvaged, contextualized, shined up---indeed, revealed---repairing a project badly misunderstood for fifty years, and patching a lot of long-broken hearts in the process. Melodramatic? No, probably understated.
          To grasp the importance of Jackson’s “The Beatles: Get Back,” and why this extraordinary documentary is nearly eight hours long (reportedly reduced from 18), one probably needs to have a little historical perspective. To whit: The Beatles were a tectonic event in world history, nothing less. Right, not just music history---world history. Without trying to do anything other than sing and play instruments, without trying to do anything more than make it big in Liverpool, or maybe even England, without trying to do anything other than write some catchy tunes.
           Or put it this way. Here you had the blundering, murderous human race lurching along for a few thousand years, from mayhem to war to genocide to plague to savior to mad dictator to A-bomb to terrorism to eco-cide to double-cheeseburgers, and suddenly, along came something. . .different. Really different. Something. . .uplifting. Shockingly uplifting. You know, like chocolate. Or Beethoven. Not for nothing did the pithy Grateful Dead songwriter Robert Hunter once write, “Suddenly a rainbow rose and spread across the land / hung there while the Beatles sang ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand.’”

           They weren’t just balm after the Kennedy assassination, though there was that. They weren’t just a pop phenomenon, like Sinatra or Elvis, though they were that. They were, oh, I don't know, the best possibilities of human nature, maybe, appearing in a musical form. Wizards of wonderment, magicians of muse, prophets of the possible. Carl Wilson in the San Francisco Chronicle used the word, "epochal” to describe The Beatles, and that is on target. Writer Rob Sheffield---born in 1966, the year “Revolver” was released---tried to explain it in his Rolling Stone piece about "Get Back:"
            “That’s the mystery at the heart of Get Back: How is it that we keep hearing ourselves in this music? People all over the world, from all different generations and cultures, even though most of us weren’t born back then? Why does the world keep dreaming the Beatles? "They’re only the icons they are because the music was so majestically good,” (Peter) Jackson told me. “There’s a joy in the songs that they sang. In decades and decades to come, it will never be dulled. It will never be suppressed. That joy, that infectious joy, is part of the human psyche now.” And that joy is all over Get Back.”
            Jackson pegs it. The Beatles were an Ode to Joy, maybe the greatest since Beethoven's 9^th (and, as a lifelong informal student of Beethoven, I do not say this lightly.) Tectonic? They were a mirthquake.
            But you have to accept, I think, that joy is not merely good feeling, exaltation, even plain old fun. Those lovely items are short-lived. Imagine something that, every time you see it, think about, hear it, read about it, experience it in any way at all, gives you a kind of unfettered happiness, optimism, inspiration, reassurance, lift. Automatically, instantly, Pavlovian-ly. The Beatles did this. They didn’t mean to, they just did. They were absolutely electric. I mean, ditch the Prozac---these guys were singing seratonin. I sometimes wonder if the happiness they engendered amounted to measurable benefit to humanity and ecosystem---no, really. Happy people are constructive people, after all. Fact: crime across the country went way down when the fellows debuted on The Ed Sullivan Show Feb. 9, 1964. (Note: 72 million watched that night; by contrast---even with social media---the Grammies fetch about eight million.)
          As if that weren't enough, John, Paul, George, and Ringo also conveyed, overtly and implicitly, if I may put it crudely, “To hell with all bullshit, create beauty instead"---by doing it, themselves. They lived this attitude, exuded it, sang it; they were (and are) monuments to free-spirited elan---inspiring by example, even if unintended. After all, they'd made it to the "toppermost of the poppermost," as they used to say, simply by being true to their art, and one another. No, they didn't "break all the rules," as the cliche goes---they simply ignored them, winked at them ("rattle your jewelry," Lennon smilingly told the Royal Variety audience Nov. 4, 1963), and went their own all you need is love way.
          Which brings up this celebrated, much-written-about aspect: so many of their songs were either subtly or anthemically about. . .love. The only word is love. . .All you need is love. . . Make love singing songs. . .The love that's shining all around you. . .Love was such an easy game to play. . .The love you take is equal to the love you make. . .She loves you yeah yeah yeah. . .Love and beauty---well now, that's rather serious joy, ever in short supply, and these are things that The Beatles manufactured in seemingly limitless abundance, in effervescent song after album after song after movie. Small wonder people went nuts over them. Small wonder the press glibly diagnosed "Beatlemania." Small wonder Harrison declared, in retrospect, "They used us as an excuse to go mad, the world did, and then blamed it on us."
           It was a fine madness, though. And yes, The Beatles get the blame. As Jackson's documentary reminds in restored footage that is gloriously, almost painfully alive, that madness is still a fine thing. Get Back? The Beatles, because of this astonishing documentary, are back, probably more popular than ever. These boys will forever live---more alive than most living people---on these eight hours of film shot by Michael Lindsay-Hogg in 1969, edited by Jackson in 2020-21. There will be---already has been---no end to the study and rumination over this unexpected material.
          Oh, the break-up? The thing that grabbed your spiritual ectoplasm and shoved it into a shredder? It will be eternally tragic, traumatic, to those who lived through it, and yet---and this approaches miraculous---it is now somewhat less so because of Jackson. Specifically, because of what we learn while feasting upon those eight hours from January, 1969. . .

          In a way, “The Beatles: Get Back” is like meeting the group for the first time, so revelatory it is of their personalities, quirks, vulnerabilities, relationships, mercurial method of working. It is easily the most important, candid document of the group extant, certainly the only one to show them in the act of creation (unless you count the short studio “Hey Jude” footage of 1968.) Did they pose? Mug? Censor their behavior? Play to the cameras? Surprisingly little. These guys were so used to relentless cameras in their lives, I don’t think they adjusted their essential behavior for the lens. And, as has now been unanimously agreed to in an avalanche of articles, these legendarily acrimonious sessions were not, repeat not, so acrimonious.
          These four young friends of intelligence, wit, aplomb, introspection, originality, music---and, by '69, mythic life experience ---were not, as had been universally thought, bickering themselves into breaking up, devolving into the worst, pettiest, sordid ego-driven ugliness. No. They were, it turns out, trying heroically to keep Beatles machinery functioning---despite newfound personal priorities, and too-much-on-the-plate pressures such as marriage, fame, and running their own Utopian arts company, Apple Corps., with zero business experience or acumen.
          Yes, here they were---the most loved and emotionally depended-upon humans alive, keenly aware of that impossible, unwanted responsibility, yet trying to preserve their storied collaboration. Never mind no Brian Epstein, who elicited a unanimous group respect that was part of Beatles glue. Never mind Lennon’s waning, always mercurial Beatles energies siphoned off by Yoko Ono’s avant-garde posing, Svengali influence, and fondness for snorting heroin. Never mind brilliant Harrison’s well-earned resentment over playing second fiddle (well, guitar.) Never mind the group having offended and alienated producer George Martin to the extent that he appointed a surrogate, Glyn Johns, to take over. Never mind all these obstacles, and more, because, as Jackson adroitly, journalistically shows us, in the end, these wonderful beings called Beatles were as triumphant and magnificent as aging Muhammad Ali rising to the occasion of decking the behemoth, George Foreman.
          Beatles songs are forever tritely quoted to illustrate life, and that's a reflection of how applicable they are to human experience, so here's one more: With “The Beatles: Get Back,” Jackson has taken a sad song and made it better.
          In short, this is not your average cool awesome “rock doc” about your fave band, kiddies, with lots of talking heads interrupting old footage with platitudes and superlatives. Really, those sorts of documentaries are not documentaries at all. They’re hagiographic public relations reels for fans, edited for marketing/ demographics-calculated profit. “The Beatles: Get Back” must be the most intimate look at any band (possibly any composer) in the act of inventing music, ever. Jackson has, with skill and panache, limned and couched 60 hours of footage into a boffo eight-hour adventure, really a hero’s journey. The best in us overcomes the worst in us, more or less. We can work it out. Joseph Campbell, the late professor of comparative mythology and author of "The Hero With a Thousand Faces," would approve.
          No, Harrison was not merely dour and disinterested, as previously believed. Ringo was not merely depressed or sullen, as previously believed. McCartney was not merely intractably overbearing, as previously believed. Lennon was not merely sarcastic, ambivalent, dismissive, as previously believed. They were, despite manifesting all of these qualities at times, striving to work together, to create together, to be together. They had a little help from their friend, the ebullient Billy Preston, who sealed the deal, but it was the fraternal forgiveness and love among these four that saved the day. This is profoundly moving.
          Jackson worked with the legendary “Get Back/Let it Be” session footage (missing for many years---finally recovered by Interpol!) shot by Michael Lindsay-Hogg, often having to painstakingly synch it up with audio tracks, and then assess it, in toto, like a reporter, not just a filmmaker. He went in with an open mind to see what he could see, to see what narrative the film organically held---not the story he could wring from it. Never mind the angle pervading the it-is-to-weep original 1970 Lindsay-Hogg “Let it Be” film (whether intended, as Lindsay-Hogg denies, or not): that The Beatles were falling apart. Lo and behold, Jackson found a different arc, and a more accurate one---that of the band doggedly surmounting obstacles to stay together---in the process, creating a film even more honest than “Let it Be” (which, unlike “Get Back,” did not show Harrison quitting the band.) The first installment of “Get Back” alone is even more distressing than the entire “Let it Be" film. By part three, you are just thrilling to the increasingly charged concert on the Apple rooftop. Fists clenched, heart racing, you are thinking, they did it!

          Many excellent pieces in the documentary’s wake have summarized the dozens of piquant moments in the thing, from the secretly taped Lennon/McCartney heart-to-heart. . .to Preston’s surprise catalyzing arrival. . .to the astonishing birth of the song, “Get Back,” from McCartney’s lost-in-a-trance bass jam. . .to Harrison’s dismissing a proposed live performance on an ocean liner as “insane”. . .to Ringo dabbling in his own song ideas about either North or South Carolina (he didn’t specify) and octopi. While they are all utterly remarkable, nothing was more gripping than that dynamic-defining conversation between John and Paul, caught, like something out of a “Pink Panther” movie, by Michael "J. Edgar" Lindsay-Hogg's secret microphone in a lunchroom bouquet.
          All the things that were long suspected and conjectured by countless writers over the years were, thanks to the bugged bouquet, kind of swept aside. It is astonishing how self-aware Lennon and McCartney were. Those of us who, way-back-when, fantasized about sitting down with the fracturing band, and saying, “Now, if you can just understand thus-and-such, you’ll see that . . .” can relax. They knew. Lennon knew he was struggling with wanting to pursue other (Yoko) interests. Paul is aware that his often overbearing music-direction---long accepted by the group---had worn out its welcome, as "the lads" had grown older, more confident, capable. Yes, he still stings from his musical ideas being taken as insults, yet he humbly acknowledges Lennon's criticism that some McCartney musical direction damaged or ruined his songs. ("Across the Universe," which was very precious to Lennon, is an obvious example, as the two girls recruited by Paul to sing high harmony vocals on the initial version were at odds with the gravitas of the piece, in Lennon's mind.) And then, in an exchange so casually candid as to introduce jaws to floors, the two former boyhood friends and peerlessly intuitive collaborators established, or re-established, group hierarchy:
           “I’ll tell you what,” says McCartney. “What I think. . .the main thing is this: you have always been boss. Now, I’ve been sort of secondary boss.”
           What’s more, you can feel Lennon’s alarm, and outright guilt, over the two of them having kept Harrison's songwriting at token level: “It’s like George said, he didn’t get enough satisfaction anymore because of the compromise he had to make to be together. It’s a festering wound.”
          Yet evidence of compromise is everywhere: Harrison famously quits (his departure, as is seldom reported, occurred during a brief period where his wife, Pattie, had left him over an alleged affair---which might well have fed his impulsive Beatles resignation), yet is cajoled and persuaded into returning by the other three in two separate meetings over the course of a week---in exchange for dropping the ideas of performing in an amphitheater in Sabratha, Libya, and turning the film into a television special. (Never mind John’s characteristically impulsive quip about hiring Eric Clapton.) And George then becomes heroic---enthusiastically contributing to the proceedings, despite still having only a couple of songs accepted. His guitar playing is inspired. The layout of the Paul song, “Get Back”---gasp---was entirely George’s idea! (As well as part of “Let it Be.”) Distracted Lennon manages to occasionally stop the manic Marx Brothers-meets-Dali stream of consciousness quip-fest enough to do some real old-fashioned John-and-Paul work. And hell, it is John who solves the problem of how to arrange another Paul song: “Two of Us,” suggesting a change to acoustic guitars (with Harrison deftly solving the briefly discussed problem of no bass, by simply playing that unforgettable, essential loping bassline on his guitar.) As for McCartney, he unselfishly tamps down his domineering musical ways, and allows songs to take shape as a group effort (a much more productive route, as it turns out) even if it results in him becoming visibly bemused. Ringo? He rolls his eyes at being told what to do at one point, but at another, he gladly accepts Paul’s idea of the wonderful verse cymbal-tapping for “Don’t Let Me Down.”

          And what about that “birth of ‘Get Back’" moment? McCartney is strumming the bass, like a guitar, looking mesmerized, when the central riff of the song appears from nowhere. He keeps working it. Ringo, watching and listening carefully, nods. Harrison takes note, pays attention. They all realize that there is a big fish on the line, and get to work on reeling it in. In the end, this song---long thought to be a McCartney work---is revealed as a total group collaboration, from Ringo's snare triplets to Lennon's ingenious lead guitar to Harrison's chop-chop rhythm comping. As Paul remembered in an old Beatles sheet music book, "We were sitting in the studio and we made it up out of thin air. . .we started to write words there and then. . .when we finished it, we recorded it at Apple Studios and made it into a song to roller-coast by.”
         Then there is Preston, appearing like something scripted. When the band regrouped in the new, not-quite-ready Apple basement studio, abandoning the impersonal, massive soundstage at Twickenham, everything improved by leaps and bounds. But when old friend Preston (whom they met in the early days on stage in Hamburg, Germany) just happens by (captured on film), it is galvanizing. Billy sits down and begins playing as if he already knew all the songs, and had always been in the band. It's gasp-worthy. The others are clearly over the moon. It's like Mr. Hyde transformed back into Dr. Beatles. Oh, where have you been, Billy boy, Billy boy. . .No surprise at all that Lennon actually suggested making him a Beatle.
          Easily the most moving moment of the entire documentary, for my money, is the day that neither Harrison nor Lennon showed up for work, Jan. 13. Paul, his wife, Linda, Ringo, director Lindsay-Hogg, de facto producer Johns, redoubtable Beatles right-hand-man Mal Evans and a couple of aides sit glumly in Twickenham, discussing the previous day's meeting at Ringo's home, which failed to bring Harrison back into the fold (and which found Yoko Ono more or less usurping Lennon's position, speaking almost entirely for him.) Time passes with no Lennon, until all begin to genuinely fear that this is it---the man behind the curtain has shown himself; the group has really fallen apart. Silence kicks in. You have to look closely, but McCartney is clearly seen stifling a huge, heaving, sobbing breakdown. It's shocking to witness.
          This is how much Paul loved John Lennon, and this is how much he loved The Beatles. It is Jackson's eye that allowed the world to see it.

          How volatile the situation was with these four extreme personalities, three of which had been together since they were in mid-teens, and yet how stunning it was to see them jettison differences, and shift into infectious high spirits whenever the music started to click. To be able to witness all of this, after having only had a sliver of information available in the original "Let it Be" movie, or bootleg albums, is an emotionally demanding exercise in fascination, frustration, elation---ultimately leaving you feeling like Billy P. just happened to drop by your house, and began playing for you.
          The lurking specter (aside from Phil Spector, who didn't show up for almost a year to create the wildly uneven "Let it Be" album from the sessions) is, yes, the knowledge that eventually the group did split up---but not until March, 1970, and after the mountain-climb of “Abbey Road” (originally to have been called “Everest,” after engineer Geoff Emerick’s cigarettes, possibly also for the feat accomplished.) Knowing---seeing---that they tried hard to keep Beatling during "Get Back"---takes some of the sting out of the “Of all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these: it might have been” factor.
           And so this Byzantine saga turns out, to everyone’s surprise---including Ringo and Paul, who have praised the documentary to the hilt---to be a success story. After the disastrous week of trying to invent songs in the chilly, gigantic Twickenham soundstage---about as hospitable a working environment as an Amazon shipping center---in the early morning, no less---after George quits the group. . .after Lennon does not show up for work, leaving McCartney quelling those full-blown sobs. . .the band gets back to where it once belonged.
            It's a victory of spirit, a victory of belief in human cooperation, an affirmation of faith and friendship, and the notion that the sum is greater than the parts. (Quite a lesson for the present socially separatist day.) McCartney's cheerleading speech about his mates being at their best when their backs are against the wall is borne out, in living color. That's the point, really: all these events can now be seen, after half a century of rumor, supposition, assumption, and an overriding belief that the sessions were a grim failure. Jackson understood this, saw the epic tale taking place, and, with empathy, an eye for subtlety, and deep Beatles knowledge, produced a riveting music-drama of anguish, suspense, surprise. You can’t take your eyes off it, all eight hours. (Thank goodness the job didn’t go to Ron Howard, whose “The Beatles Live” could not have been more predictable, shallow, and neglectful in portraying the evolution of the group into a great live act.)
            One more point that comes across like a banner headline: the project, which was McCartney’s idea, bordered on insane in the first place. Write, record, and perform a slew of entirely new songs in three weeks? What other group might have even tried such a thing? And this came only two months after the release of the band's highly contentious, occasionally brilliant "white album,” in November, 1968---as well as Lennon's daffy, or at least self-indulgent "Two Virgins" disc with Ono, with the infamous nudie cover banned around the world. There had been a Christmas break, but then taskmaster McCartney was right back on the phone to his compadres, as always, selling them on this new venture, an obvious attempt to reunite, reboot. One assumes he thought the pressure might be inspiring, and in a way, despite the initial crash-and-burn at Twickenham, he turned out to be right. The proof? Lennon declaring, “Fuck it. Let’s do it,” as they stood hesitantly at the door to the Apple rooftop, still unsure about whether to go through with the now legendary live performance. 
           And there they stood on that gray 45-degree day, on a makeshift wooden stage above London, rediscovering their prowess, power, art. When the bobbies arrived to politely announce that the band would be arrested for "disturbing the peace," I laughed. No phenomenon has brought more peace (joy, happiness, cooperation, love) to the world than The Beatles. "Disturbing the peace?" With "Get Back," they were creating it.
 

                                  PRINTER-FRIENDLY VERSION
                               
                                      comments: riprense@gmail.com

THIS JUST IN: DISNEY MICKEY MOUSES  "THE BEATLES GET BACK" DVD/BLU-RAY

REVIEW: LET IT BE--- Six different albums,* seven different producers. . .one opinion                                                                     by Rip Rense         You can compare the new Giles Martin/Sam Okell mix of the “Let it Be” album with all the other released versions, from the original Phil Spectorized LP to CD to remaster to “Anthology” outtakes to “Let it Be. . .Naked,” and while there are many differences, there is a clear winner:         The original “Get Back” album, mixed by Glyn Johns. No, I mean the new mix by Martin and Okell. Er, no, I mean “Let it Be. . .Naked.” Uh, maybe “Anthology.” No, the original CD---or better, the 2009 remaster, or, hell, maybe the original LP. . .Argh.          Huh?          To evaluate---review, if you insist---the new mix of the “Let it Be” album is akin to the fable of the blind man describing the elephant. It depends on which part you touch. And it absolutely requires assessing the basic differences from the previously released “Let it Be/Get Back” specimens, all (gasp) five of them.*           Warning: once you go down that rabbit hole, it’s 50-50 you come back alive.           So, if you prefer, you can just accept all the poorly informed kneejerk "Let it Be" 2021 remix reviews, epileptic with praise for the new Martin/Okell version of the Phil Spector-doctored, partly George Martin-produced, partly Glyn Johns-produced 1970 album. . .of songs originally sort of produced by Johns.  .  .later produced again by Martin (“Anthology”). . .also produced by Paul Hicks, Guy Massey, Allan Rouse (“Naked.”) And, if you want to be thorough, also remastered in 2009 by Okell, Massey, Rouse.           Pant, pant.            In sum, this is a can of ear-worms. Phil Spector did some good, smart things. Giles Martin and Okell did some good, smart things. George Martin did some good, smart things. Glyn Johns did some good, smart things. Hicks, Massey, Rouse did a lot of good, smart things. But Spector made some questionable calls, as did Martin/Okell, as did Johns, and, uh. . .           Where to begin. . .Well, how about with this:           The new “Let it Be” boasts excellent mixes of the live (Apple rooftop) performances, with big sound, deep drums, bright vocals, plenty of punch. Yet to say they are the best is dicey. For one thing, they often feel pretty close to the 2009 remastered “Let it Be” versions (!), in overall impact, and one could argue that the 2009 specimens are warmer. (I do.) After all, the 2009 CD contains heightened versions of the original analog mix, and Martin/Okell started from digital scratch.   The thing that most betrays the team’s lack of (or feeble) imagination, however, must be the downright bizarre so-called “EP” which Martin/Okell contrived for the new “Let it Be” boxed set. It's a real head-scratcher.           But back to the elephant.           Consider “I’ve Got a Feeling” and “One After 909” alone. The Johns “Get Back” versions are less skillfully mixed than either the Martin/Okell or 2009 remastered versions (or any other), and McCartney’s vocal tends to dominate Lennon when the two sing together, especially on “909.” Yet these specimens have endearing immediacy, presence, heavyweight drums. Hmm.           Then you have the “Naked” renditions, where Lennon and McCartney’s vocals were mixed equally loudly on every track (exclusive info: to the decibel, at the insistence of Yoko Ono), plus there are Billy Preston electric piano lines and Harrison guitar fills not heard on any other “Get Back/Let it Be” album. Terrific! Which album is better?           This one! No, that one. Well, on Tuesday, on this sound system, this one sounds good, but. . .And what of the “Anthology” mixes of outtakes by George Martin, which, though lacking the enhancing technology to come, are perfectly pleasing? Some of these things are ultimately judgement calls, simple matters of preference.            Yet Martin and Okell have seriously erred, I think. First, while the live songs have commanding presence, they seem digitally maxed out, to the point where you wish for subtlety. Second, the team's tampering with the studio “Let it Be” tracks is sometimes reductive. The most striking flaw is that "Two of US" has somehow been rendered icy, inferior to every other released version, despite the discrete clarity of voices and instruments. The song, incredibly, loses all its warm ambience and vocal blend (and Harrison’s delightful “bass” part on guitar feels less prominent, integral.) Ditto for "For You Blue" and "Get Back."            What’s more, Martin/Okell seem to have followed the popular trend among recent Beatles solo album remixes, from George Harrison’s “All Things Must Pass,” to the John Lennon “Gimme Some Truth: Ultimate Mixes” collection: mix the vocals, and sometimes, the lead guitar, to the fore. Martin and Okell, at least, do not do this as flagrantly and clumsily as on the Lennon and Harrison releases.           This method ignores the George Martin (and longtime Beatles engineer Geoff Emerick)  goal of creating a balanced recording, with everything in logical proportion---in other words: what they used to call a “record.” While lead vocals seem mixed up throughout the new “Let it Be,” the music, at least, remains sharp and clear, anything but relegated to murky backdrop (as on the dreadful new “All Things Must Pass”). In fact, Harrison’s stinging, sensational lead guitar on “Let it Be” (the song)---his last Beatle act unless you count the reunion songs, “Free As a Bird” and “Real Love”---benefits from the extra zing. (Even if it feels out of place to me, for such a gentle song---but that’s another subject.)                                               (continued here) EXTRA! "Get Back/Let it Be" rights and wrongs! EXTRA! How many "Get Back/Let it Be" covers are there? This many! * How to count up the number of iterations of albums from these sessions? I chose the six that are generally available: "Get Back" (Johns), "Let it Be" (Spector), "The Beatles Anthology 3," disc two, "Let it Be. . .Naked," "Let it Be (2009 Remaster)," and "Let it Be" (2021 remix, Martin/Okell.)

My Brush with the "Get Back" Saga. . .                                                                        photo by Mark Hudson I interviewed Mark Hudson when he co-produced the great Ringo album, "Vertical Man," in 1997. Hudson's studio, Whatinthewhatinthe, was a couple of rooms above a liquor store on Santa Monica Boulevard near Sawtelle in West L.A.. As soon as I walked in, I was gobsmacked, dumbfounded, and otherwise staggered to see. . .the drums. THE drums. Ringo's own kit, shining bright as Krishna, in an enlarged closet decorated with nice fabrics from India. Faint. Yes, I am a drummer, and a damned lousy one, as many will attest. But I can keep basic beats and patterns, so I did not feel out-of-line in asking Hudson if I might actually sit and play these, the most hallowed, celebrated drums ever to exist, for a minute or two. "Yeah, you can," he said, tentatively, "but hurry up, Ringo is due here soon." Gadzooks. Remembering how touchy Ringo was about anyone else playing his skins in "A Hard Day's Night," and wondering if it was true, I sat down. I picked up a pair of sticks. I looked in awe at the pristine Ludwigs, "Black Oyster," arranged so much more accessibly than the few clunky kits I had played. I elected to imitate Ringo's shuffle in "Octopus's Garden," however feebly. I crossed my arms, put my feet on the pedals, and. . .stopped. I said I was dumbfounded, but now I was dumberfounded, confounded. There, right on the hi-hat, written in some kind of thick pencil, was, I kid you not, the set list for the Apple rooftop concert. I stared. I gawked. I gasped. Hudson stood by, waiting. Right, I thought, I'm going to hit this hi-hat? Play these almost holy drums? Who the hell do I think I am? So instead, I tapped the skins and cymbals lightly, just to hear them (nice!), and asked Hudson to take a photo with an Instamatic I'd bought from a drug store. He kindly obliged. I mugged like a maniac. That was it. By the way, the owner of a Thai restaurant downstairs was constantly complaining about Ringo's drumming bothering his customers. "Why Ringo Starr drum here? He can drum anywhere he want!" Drummers. . .nothing but trouble.

A Slightly Personal History of the "Get Back/Let it Be" Project                                          by Rip Rense   The original "Get Back" bootleg, on "Lemon Records," that appeared in September, 1969, eight months before "Let it Be."           There must be an adage along the lines of: one little thing goes wrong, a million follow. You know, one mouse nibbles, the whole cheese goes to hell. Something like that.           That is more or less the story of the “Get Back/Let it Be” project. In this case, the “one little thing” was George Martin bowing out as supervising producer, I would argue, and appointing young Glyn Johns to take over. Had Martin remained, and the band followed his solid guidance, there likely would have been: a fine new album, a TV special about its making, and at least one live concert.           Or, at minimum, a fine new album.            Instead there have been four albums of the sessions---five if you include the 2009 remaster---countless bootlegs, one largely depressing motion picture, a brief but grand performance on a rooftop, and, at long long long last, a brilliant documentary: “The Beatles: Get Back.” (Score one for the cheese.)           Only original fans, probably, can appreciate exactly how involved, tangled, criminal (literally), exasperating, and downright cuckoo the whole “Get Back/Let it Be” saga is, because they lived through it. Over five decades. Talk about having "memories longer than the road that stretches out ahead. . ."           As for the rest of you, well, parting the pot-scented swirling mists of time. . .           When I first heard of the project---through this-or-that friend or magazine, probably in January or February of 1969---I perked up. Hell, the Vietnam, assassination-weary world perked up. The Beatles were going to play and record live, with no overdubs, all new songs, and a show (or even tour?) to follow---after having seemingly retired to the recording studio in 1966. The return of Christ, to recall Lennon’s infamous controversy, might not have been competitive.           Suddenly, there they were on the tube again---the first time since scruffy “new Beatles” appeared via Michael Lindsay-Hogg’s filmed performances of “Hey Jude/Revolution” in the summer of ’68. Promo films of their terrific new single, “Get Back” and “Don’t Let Me Down,” performed whimsically on their Apple HQ rooftop, showed up on, of all things improbable, The Glen Campbell Show, April 30, 1969. (Also filmed by Lindsay-Hogg.) The music was spare, unlike any previous Beatles work, signaling yet another vast stylistic change from this most chameleon of musical aggregations. Was this country? Blues? Rock? Country-rock-blues? Would the whole forthcoming album be like this? Was this the new new Beatles? And who on earth was the antic keyboardist credited on the single, and playing on the roof with them, Billy Preston? Well, the coming album would answer all these questions. . .            But then. . .nothing.            There was no new album, following up on the single. It didn’t turn up in the bins of The House of Sight and Sound or Wallach’s Music City---the big L.A. chains at the time (Licorice Pizza opened in '69, and Tower and The Wherehouse came along about a year later.) Instead, along came another handsome black-sleeved “The Beatles on Apple” single, only a month later, and it was an odd one: the slapdash “The Ballad of John and Yoko,” reportedly featuring only John and Paul, with a B-side of Harrison’s peculiar shuffle, “Old Brown Shoe.”           And again. . .not another peep, no sign of an album.           The mystery remained for five long months, only to be compounded in late September of ’69, when, at long last, a brand new Beatles album did appear, but not the reported “Get Back,” and with little fanfare. I stumbled across a British import pressing of it in The House of Sight and Sound in Marina del Rey, California, one afternoon after 11th grade, just sitting there quietly in the bin marked "The Beatles," no trumpets, no parades, no dancing donkeys. (I literally ran two miles home, stole $3.50 in change from my parents’ bedroom, ran back to buy it just before closing time.) This, of course, was the superb, polished masterpiece, “Abbey Road,” a more-than-welcome contribution to a wounded world.           So. . .                                           (continued here)

 

SIDEBARS:

exONOrated? Al Hirschfeld's rendering of Yoko Ono.           Yoko did not break up The Beatles was seemingly unanimous Internet buzz in the wake of “The Beatles: Get Back.”           Because she sat quietly next to John Lennon, seldom speaking, knitting, rolling joints (at one point, doing some Japanese calligraphy) as The Beatles worked, viewers concluded that she was a benign presence.           Well, one could draw the same conclusion about another inveterate knitter, Madame DeFarge. Point being: all kinds of people have hobbies.           It is well documented and beyond dispute that the band had considerable difficulty adjusting to Yoko Ono affixed, barnacle-like, to Lennon. And although the others did indeed eventually adapt---Paul McCartney’s graciousness and accommodation, seen repeatedly in “Get Back,” was extraordinary---she was an intrusion into, and disruption of, their workplace. The only such intrusion in their history.           But we are not merely speaking of knitting. When the cameras were not rolling, a very different Ono was in evidence. She not only was in attendance at the Jan. 12, 1969 meeting at Ringo’s home, held ostensibly to talk George into returning to the band (which failed), and to discuss business, but she did almost all of the talking for Lennon. Exclamation point.           Here is quote from McCartney, caught by Michael Lindsay-Hogg's crew, after the meeting:           “Yoko was saying yesterday, ‘This is my opinion. This is my opinion how the Beatles should be.’”           And, in another instance, McCartney said:           “John didn’t talk. Yoko talked for John.”           This is my opinion about how The Beatles should be.           That quote gibes, by the way, with the anecdote in Beatles engineering wizard Geoff Emerick’s autobiography, Here, There, And Everywhere, in which Ono---speaking from a bed Lennon had moved into the EMI studio during "Abbey Road"---took to getting on the studio PA, and instructing the band how to play. (Wearing a tiara, no less.) “Beatles will do this, Beatles will do that," her commands went, grating to the point where an McCartney once passive-aggressively retorted, “Actually, it’s The Beatles, luv.”           Imagine no humility. Or more to the point, imagine the audacity of this person, to, in essence, appoint herself as Lennon’s representative in the band at business meetings, and then to instruct The Beatles as to how they “should be.” This is quite incredible, and certainly not the behavior of a benign presence. There is more:           Yoko did “so much talking,” said Linda McCartney, who was at the Jan.12 meeting, but did not participate. Paul further noted that when Lennon told George he did not understand George’s desire for a Yoko-less meeting, Harrison twice responded, “I don’t believe you.” He was joined in this skepticism by Beatles right-hand man Neil Aspinall, and McCartney. It was during that discussion, ahem, that George Harrison quit the band a second time. Yoko (or at least the Yoko issue) breaks up Beatles, quod erat demonstrandum. Lennon, after all, was a Trilby waiting for a Svengali to happen, his personality characteristically glomming on to the next big outre thing.           But back to audacity. First, is it unreasonable to think that Ono should never have acceded to Lennon’s nutso request that she be with him every second, everywhere he went (except the bathroom)? Is it unreasonable to think that she should have had the common courtesy---and common sense---to tell him that she simply would not intrude, or become a distraction, to the band? I don’t think it is. I think anyone with a modicum of graciousness would have behaved this way. To do otherwise is simply, uh, what's the word? How about rude. I’m sure she knew very well the pressures that her presence was creating for Paul, George, Ringo.                 And who would have the nerve---the nerve---to sit in George Harrison’s rehearsal spot after he walked out in a huff? Let alone pick up a microphone and start with the “performance art” screeching (the kindest way I can describe it)? Would you?           Yet many a newspaper and website declared that Ono was an innocuous part of the proceedings while The Beatles rehearsed and recorded---simply because the footage showed her (mostly) sitting quietly. One Amanda Hess wrote in a New York Times commentary that she found Ono’s omnipresence, “bizarre, even unnerving,” but then drew the insane conclusion that Ono was executing “performance art.” I see. Silly me. And here I thought the documentary was all about The Beatles. I didn’t realize the entire “Get Back/Let it Be” project was a Yoko Ono artwork. Urp.           Even Ono herself---or, more likely, her representatives, seeing as she is reportedly suffering from Lewy Body Dementia---crassly got into the act, re-tweeting an article from uproxx.com with the headline, “Beatles Fans Think ‘Get Back’ Dispels The Idea That Yoko Ono Broke The Band Up And Peter Jackson Agrees.”           Yawn. Isn't fighting that battle rather moot at this point?           As to the b-word, the break-up question, yes, there were many factors that led to the dissolution of The Beatles. Lennon told the others he was leaving after they refused to record “Cold Turkey.” Was that the trigger? Seven months later, McCartney announced he was no longer working with The Beatles, violating Lennon’s request that he and the others keep his departure under their hats. Was that the trigger? How about Ringo informing people in the documentary that he had just farted?                                                     (continued here)