My Evolution Revolution of the Solo Fabs (Or Imagine Living in the Material World, say London Town, with Beaucoups of Blues) Part 1

I think it was the great film writer/director Cameron Crowe who said on the commentary track for his film Vanilla Sky, that, and I’m paraphrasing, “over the course of your lifetime, the Beatle you consider your favorite may change.”

Now you don’t have to be the Amazing Kreskin to figure out that, at least at the time of the commentary’s recording, Crowe was referring to Paul McCartney.  This amazing feat of mind-reading comes from knowing that McCartney had contributed the title song to Crowe’s film.  (The song Vanilla Sky was nominated for an Academy Award, losing to Randy Newman’s If I Didn’t Have You from Monster’s Inc.)  It might also help to know that Crowe included a couple of McCartney nuggets in his film Jerry Maguire; so it’s a pretty safe bet that Crowe’s favorite Beatle had changed, over time, to Paul McCartney.  

But which Beatle had been Crowe’s favorite?  While it surely could have been Starr or Harrison,  my guess, based on nothing but my afore mentioned Kreskin-esque ability at mentalism, is that Crowe’s favorite Beatle was John Lennon.

I come to that conclusion because I’ve recognized that I’ve gone through a similar evolution.  For years, decades in fact, I’ve considered Lennon to be my favorite Beatle.  Actually that’s not quite right.  As a true-blue dyed-in-the-wool Beatle fan, I was, and am, adamant that I do not have a favorite Beatle.  Favorite Beatle songs, favorite albums, yes, of course.   But my favorite Beatle is the Beatles.

Now my favorite solo Beatle…..   That’s a kettle-of-fish-of-a-different-color.

I was ten-years old when I discovered The Beatles, which was in 1973, when the Red 1962-1966 and Blue 1967-1970 compilation albums were released.  At that time, my favorite Beatle, hands down, was Ringo Starr.  My reason?  Ringo was obviously the funniest Beatle in the Saturday morning cartoons.  (Much like Peter Tork was the funniest, ergo best, Monkee.)  I was sure, indeed never gave it a thought, that it was Ringo who sang every one of the Beatle songs that were part of each cartoon episode.  Why I thought that I don’t recall, but I do remember believing that Ringo was the head cheese of the band.  To me, it was Ringo Starr and The Beatles.  In fact, I was influenced enough by Starr that I wanted to become a drummer, something which pleased my father no end.  (Someone really has to invent a sarcastic font.)

I got the Red 1962-1966 collection first, and upon opening the double album, was horrified at what I’d seen in the gatefold.  Next to the listing of each song, every single one, were the names Lennon and McCartney.  Now at the time I had no

idea that the names next to the song indicated the song’s writers—who cares who wrote the song?  I’d thought that those were the names of who sang the song, and was more than disappointed that the great Ringo Starr didn’t sing a single one.  My favorite Beatle was just the drummer.  (But, and this was considerably more important than who sang a silly song, Ringo, on those Saturday morning cartoons, was still the funniest.  No disputing that.)

It didn’t take me long to sort out the writing credits versus who sang what song. (I was quite relieved to learn that Ringo did, indeed, sing, what I then considered the greatest song ever:  Yellow Submarine.)  And, like the millions before and millions after, I succumbed to the magic that was The Beatles.  Between birthdays, Christmases, and various other gift-receiving events, it wasn’t too long before I owned the entire Beatle catalog, including both the U.S. and English releases.

So basically, by the time I reached the ripe old age of fifteen, I was ready to venture out of my Beatle cocoon and purchase my first non-Beatle album:  Band on the Run.

By sixteen I not only had all of the Beatle albums, but all of those recorded by the former Beatles to date.  (Not including Lennon’s Two Virgins or Life With the Lions, which I would obtain later.  Unfortunately.  But including Ringo’s Sentimental Journey and Beacoups of Blues.  Unfortunately.)  Of the “solo” albums, I naturally had my favorites, but they were spread among the four lads.  Band on the Run;  All Things Must Pass (but passing on the third “live jam” album); Ringo; and Imagine, (which was quickly replaced by Plastic Ono Band, the album that got me through my teen-angst years.)

So still, not a favorite Beatle; solo or otherwise.

And then came December 8, 1980.

While the ‘who’s better, John or Paul?’ battle between fans had been going on since their breakup (and probably before), after Lennon’s murder, the subject of ‘who’s better?’ was understandably no longer up for debate.

While singing the praises for Lennon, however, McCartney’s solo efforts, including those with Wings, unfortunately, took it a bit on the chin.  It didn’t help that Lennon’s death ushered in the uninspiring 80s, which saw only one great McCartney album (Tug of War) and a handful of descent songs, but the 80s, almost universally musically, sucked.  (R.E.M excepted).  But after Lennon’s death, even McCartney’s contribution to The Beatles was greatly reduced, in the minds of many critics and fans.  So much so, that despite vocal-shreading rockers like Long Tall Sally, She’s a Woman, I’m Down, Helter Skelter and Oh! Darling (among many others), McCartney was often relegated to position of Beatle Balladear.

Time, as Nick Lowe so elegantly put it, wounds all heals, and McCartney eventually regained his rightful place as Beatle Extraordinaire.  He continues to record and release music, which has earned considerably more critical respect than much of his earlier solo works.  And, while never one to shy away from, what often seemed like a rivalry with Lennon, with each passing year, McCartney no longer has to compete with the spirit of John Lennon.

As fans, more than enough time has passed to allow us to consider, or more accurately, reconsider, the music Lennon released with less bias brought on by emotion.  We can judge the music as we had when it was originally released, on its own merits,  At least mostly.  Nostalgia now plays a significant role.  But it’s the the same nostalgia which blankets all of the solo recordings released before that horrible December night in 1980.  

It was in 1976 when I had caught up with all of the back catalog recordings by the solo Beatles, so I am as familiar with them as I am with the Beatle catalog itself.  As one might expect, favorite songs and albums have changed.  But, since my favorite solo Beatle was Lennon after his murder, and considering Cameron Crowe’s hypothesis that one’s favorite Beatle may change over time, I think it’s time to reevaluate, or, at the very least, compare and contrast the works of the solo Fabs and see if minds have changed.          

So let’s.  But in part two. 

The Beatles: The U.S. Albums--Something New?

Question:  How many versions of I’m Only Sleeping should one have?

If you answered correctly and said “all of them” then The Beatles: The U.S. Albums will be somewhat of a disappointment.

While the 2009 release of the remastered Beatles Collection in both stereo and mono editions remain the gold standard, there was a substantial part of the Beatle catalog that still needed to be dusted off and released.  Eager American Beatlemaniac Baby Boomers looked forward to hearing the Beatle songs the right way, as they were released in the good ol’ U.S. of A.  The songs need to be in the right order, on the right albums and with lots and lots of reverb.  Well, the Beatle Boomers, judging from social media and Amazon reviews, are not uniformly happy, and it’s causing a bit of ado and oodles of confusion. 

  

The brouhaha over The U.S. Albums stems from the fact that they don’t accurately represent the Capital albums we know and love.  You know, the albums with Duophonic Stereo and/or Fold-Down Mono that were all heavily saturated with glorious reverb verb verb verb verb…. 

On The U.S. Albums, the reverb-a-go-go pretty much went-went.  Well, not all of it.  But enough for those who were looking forward to basking in the glory of the muddy-sounding Fabs of yore.  I mean, The Beatles Second Album never sounded so good.  And that's bad.  Kinda.

(Baskers note:  The collections The Beatles: The Capitol Albums Vols. 1 & 2 contain the first eight original albums released in the states on Capitol Records.  Each album is presented in both the beloved faux Stereo and/or faux Mono mixes.  With the reverb!)   

So what gives with The U.S. Albums?  As with the above mentioned Capitol Album collections, each album in The U.S. Albums contains both the mono and stereo versions.  However, it was decided that the duophonic and fold-down mono versions of the lads tunes would be avoided, and in their stead would be the 2009 remasters.  (Except for Help! and Rubber Soul, which, for some reason, seem to be George Martin’s 1987 mixes.)  But, any tune that was specifically mixed for the U.S. is what is used.  (Huh?)

Basically, if Capitol received a mono version of Twist and Shout mixed for the U.S., that mono version is what you hear when playing the second track on The Early Beatles.  But the stereo version, which was Duophonically created in the laboratories at Capitol and used on the actual “stereo” LP, is not the “stereo” version used in this collection.  Instead the true stereo version is used, which is the exact same mix found as the last song on the 2009 CD release of Please Please Me.  Capiche?

Now the good news is that many of the wacky mixes found on the U.S. albums are here; just not represented in both mono and stereo.  For instance, the long (and non-double tracked) version of And I Love Her on Something New is here in mono, which is how it was mixed and sent to Capitol.  The stereo version, however, is the shorter, 2009 remastered version.  (This means, reverb fans, that the reverbiatastic versions of She’s a Woman and especially I Feel Fine are here, albeit just in mono.  The stereo versions lack reverbiatisity.)

It comes down to this:  Any tune that good ol’ George Martin and the Lads sent to the U.S., be it a stereo or mono mix, is used.  Any tune that was tinkered with at Capitol, turning a mono tune to “stereo” or visa versa, and therefore not approved by Martin, is not used.

So, while The U.S. Albums is a good collection, it only partially represents what was heard in the states.  No question that by not using any of the faux stereo/mono versions, The Beatles’ music is presented the way they intended and not the way the head honchos at Capitol thought would sell better in the states, making them (the honchos) more dinero.  

But….  If you are used to, and love the albums as presented by said honchos,  you’d best pick up the Capitol Albums Vols. 1 & 2.  Alas, though, there is no Vol. 3, which means that you will be missing two essential Capitol Beatle albums, one interesting collection, a soundtrack, and one of the most cynical, money-grubbing suedo “documentary” albums those honchos at Capitol could conceive to exploit the unsuspecting, Beatlmania-infected American public.

They are:

Yesterday and Today.  This is the album with the infamous butcher cover,  the cover which is(!!!!) included!  (Kudos to the producers who also include a sticker of the replacement cover.) 

Revolver

Hey Jude

A Hard Day's Night (the U.A. release)

The Beatles Story ("It started in Liverpool, England..."  Blah.)

So, if you have The Capitol Albums Vols. 1 & 2, is it worth picking up The U.S. Albums?

Well, how many versions of I’m Only Sleeping should one have?  The U.S. Albums gets you one closer, but it’s still not “all of them.”

(FYI: All of the albums in The U.S. Albums are available individually, with the exception of…  (gag) the “documentary” one.)

  

A Chorus Line (or two)

Once a week, our fifth-grade class lined up at the door (in alphabetical order of course), and quietly made our way through the halls of the elementary school (peaking into each room as we passed, ready to make a face if we caught the eye of any of our classmates), down the stairs, and to the music room.  Resplendent in musical instruments, including percussion (!), and filled with those adult desks, (the kind where the chair and desk were attached, the desktop coming off of the right hand side, which was convenient for we righties as it allowed us to rest our elbows), music class was generally considered something special.

During one class, the teacher made an announcement, telling us that there was going to be a singing group made up entirely of students from schools in our town, and that the four "best" singers in our class were going to get to participate. 

Essentially there was a class sing-off, with all of us bellowing simultaneously. (I forget what we sang, but it was probably something like Row Your Boat.  Although I do distinctly remember, as a class we learned the song I'd Like to Teach the World To Sing.  Try as she might, however, the music teacher couldn't stop us from adding the "Coke Is" bit from the current ad campaign that used that tune.)  

Coke really IS.

As we all sang, the music teacher went around and listened to each of us, trying to determine the four "best."  As we were an elementary school, and thus had no sports teams, etc., competing to get into the All-Wayne Chorus was pretty fierce.  Well, as fierce as a singing competition between eleven-year olds could get.

Preakness Elementary School, where my singing career peaked.  

                                                                            

With three students chosen, including one of my good friends, I knew that, as the teacher approached to listen to me, I had to pull out any and all of the stops I had.  Red-faced as I gave it my all, she listened, paused, walked away to listen to some one else, came back, listened again, walked away again, came back one last time, listened, watched the intensity in which I bellowed each syllable, and (I'm sure more because of my earnestness rather than any talent)… selected ME!

Being a full-fledged member of the All-Wayne Chorus, one of four students representing our elementary school, brought a lot of responsibility.  Well, mostly it required the four of us to give up a smattering of afternoons to practice with the other "winners."  To be fair, it was kinda okay.  Our mothers took turns chauffeuring us back and forth to the auditorium where we practiced (I don't recall where exactly), and it helped that two of us were from the same neighborhood.  (Indeed, her team beat us in that year's Whiffle Ball World Series--a corker if there ever was one.)

What Linus said.

While many of the particulars have vacated my memory (including where the actual concert was held), I do remember many of the songs we sang.  And, more importantly, I remember many of the arrangements; many of which have haunted me ever since. 

Inchworm, a song I'd already known because it was featured in the Danny Kaye film Hans Christian Andersen (which aired every year around Easter time) was sung in counterpoint, which was kinda neat, unless you got stuck, as I did, having to sing the basic math part: "Two and two are four; four and four are eight; eight and eight are sixteen; sixteen and sixteen are thirty-two…" repeat.  (Admittedly, the math has stayed with me.  So there's that.) 

Since the movie Oliver! hadn't made it to TV yet, I was not familiar with Food, Glorious Food.  A decent tune, with the highlight coming near the end where we sang "food, glorious "fooooooood" as if we were on some kind of musical roller coaster.   That cascading "foooooooood" has popped into my consciousness many a time since the days of the AWC, particularly whenever I hear  someone say the word "food," which, fortunately is a word rarely uttered.  Not.  The best I can say about "foooooooood" is that it's just one word, albeit, the way it's sung, a pretty long one.  But it's fairly easy to resist singing it aloud, and, while it makes an appearance with a certain regularity as an ear worm, it rarely lingers for long.

An actual photograph of the All-Wayne Chorus.  That's me, second from the right.  (Handsome, no?)

Not so with the other song that not only continues to haunt, but is also perfect fodder for Sir Earworm.  Earworms, plural, is more precise, because this song is not only as long and insidious as the dreadful Twelve Days of Christmas, but it too, has twelve stanzas; after all, there are twelve signs of the zodiac.  And all of them have, at one point or another, been an ear worm for me.  Horror-scopes from the lot.

Before fifth grade, I had never heard the Zodiac song before.  And since the AWC, I haven't heard it since.  Oh, but in my mind's ear, I've heard it.  But plenty.

As I'm hearing it right now.  Even with Mick Jones exclaiming that "you didn't stand by me" from my stereo's speakers (helping to mitigate the tinnitus), I still hear that confounded Zodiac song.  Most specifically, and for reasons I can't explain, I'm "listening to" the Zodiac sign that visits me with a disturbing regularity:  "Cap-ri-corn the Bull.  Cap-ri-corn the Bull.  Cap-ri-corn the Bull."  Bull is right….

Having said that (a phrase I'm beginning to abhor), I suppose being frequented by the Zodiac-ical earworm is a small price to pay after having had the opportunity to shine as a prodigious member of the All-Wayne Chorus.  Fame has its costs.

Since I’m not sure even what the name of that Zodiac song was, or whether or not it has ever been recorded, you, my oh-so-fortunate reader will be spared this particular ear worm.

But you are not getting off the hook that easy.  Here’s the other ear worm that haunts me from my days of the illustrious All-Wayne Chorus: