In my hasty conclusion to my assessment of Paul and Linda’s Ram, I neglected to mention the mono version of the album. Originally the mono edition of Ram was only released as a radio promo, therefore becoming one of the many Beatle-related holy grails for collectors. Fortunately, the mono mix was included in the mega-deluxe edition of the recent re-release of Ram. And it—just like the mono mixes of the Beatles albums—is considerable different than the stereo version; and just like the mono Beatle albums, mono Ram rules! (The bass, drums and percussion are punchier, and the lead vocals are a bit more forward making the entire album even more engaging. Just check out the fade of Monkberry Moon Delight and “don’t get left behind”…)
Bangla Desh, rock’s first charity single is also, if I’m not mistaken, the only non-album single released by George Harrison. (Although he did have a couple of non-album B-Sides). It’s not fair to access Bangla Desh as one might a traditional single. Yes, it’s a song that sounds like what it was, one that Harrison basically knocked off in a few minutes; and yes, the (over)-production is what one would expect from Phil Spector; and yes, Harrison’s vocal is uncomfortably strained. But, as a charity single, designed to shine a spotlight on the humanitarian crisis in Bangledesh, and, without involving politics, act as a call of action, Bangla Desh is pretty perfect.
Harrison is almost out-Lennon-ing John with his (Harrison’s) unexpectedly raw and emotional song. And like many of Lennon’s singles, Harrison’s tune has the easy to remember and sing refrain, “Bangla Desh/Bangla Desh” which is pretty much the whole point of the song. Harrison’s wry sense of humor is also on display to great effect with the final verse’s “Now won’t you give some bread to get the starving fed.”
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| (This may be the worst album cover ever.) |
As mentioned, the production is—Spector-ed. But that doesn’t diminish the performances, which rocks pretty well. And even Harrison’s voice, strained as it is (and which portends his singing in his ill-fated 1974 U.S. tour) actually works to the benefit of the song by adding a sense of urgency. (An urgency which Harrison obviously felt and is proved by his naming the song Bangla Desh instead of Bangladesh.) Oddly, except for the 1990 CD release of the uninspired and calculated The Best of George Harrison (originally compiled and released by Capitol Records in 1976), Bangla Desh has not been remastered or released on CD. The single’s B-Side, the wonderful, thoughtful, powerful Deep Blue, a song inspired by the death of Harrison’s mother, finally saw CD release as bonus track on the remastered Living in the Material World.
Following his pessimistic and fatalistic masterpiece, Plastic Ono Band, John Lennon returns with an album, much of which lyrically could have been part of Plastic Ono Band, but which musically is full of warmth and optimism (mostly), epitomized by the album’s idealistic title track, Imagine.
I honestly can’t remember the song Imagine pre-December 1980. I mean, I knew the song was pretty much perfect and all (actually no “pretty much” about it; it is perfect), but after his murder, Imagine and Lennon are one and the same. Originally a song that was a gentle commentary on the zeitgeist of the early 70s, Imagine, has been elevated to near-national anthem status all over the world. The fascinating thing is, while Imagine espouses peace, it does so at the expense of nationalism.
It was 1966 when Beatle records by the hundreds were being burned in the southern United States because of a misunderstanding of a quote about Jesus, Lennon had given to a British newspaper. A mere five years later he has a hit song with boldly stated lyrics, “Imagine there’s no heaven” and “Imagine…no religion, too.” These lyrics are accepted
and indeed sung today by the masses. But I wonder, had Lennon lived and the song were released today, would the anti-religious lyrics be condemned? Indeed, given his views on religion, one wonders what kinds of conversations John and the very spiritual George Harrison must have had. Ah, to be a fly on the wall….
While it took just one line from Elvis Costello to skewer Lennon’s hypocrocsy in regards to capitalism, “Was it a millionaire that said imagine no possessions.” from Costello’s song, The Other Side of Summer, I think Lennon would have liked the line, and thought it was funny. And if not, there’s no doubt that Lennon wold have gotten his own back, ala How Do You Sleep?
Crippled Inside is as self-critical as anything found on Plastic Ono Band. But Lennon hides the song’s cynicism behind a funky piano and Harrison’s dobro, making it a foot-tapping sing-along.
After hearing snippets, on various Beatlegs, of Lennon’s Child of Nature, a White Album period song, I’m grateful that Lennon abandoned it, because his reworking of the tune, turned it into the classic Jealous Guy. Once again, lyrically, the song would easily fit on Plastic Ono Band. But the lush production takes the edge off of Lennon’s self recrimination, softening it, making his lament more universal. I wish the production were less lush and sentimental, but still love the song.
I love Lennon’s rock-blues It’s So Hard. While once again possibly in Plastic Ono Band’s wheelhouse, Lennon keeps the lyrical chronicling of his daily struggles so general that everyone can identify with them. I mean “You gotta eat; You gotta drink” too, right? Plus, especially coming after Jealous Guy, this song rocks.
My feelings for I Don’t Want To Be a Soldier have changed throughout the years. When I first heard it, at age 15-16, I found it pretty boring, with little substance, musically, to sustain the six-minute tune. Then, in 1980, when the draft registration (for males) was reinstated, and I, along with my friends, had to “sign up”, the song took on new relevance. But since the song isn’t really about soldiering, war, etc., but rather continues Plastic Ono Band’s self-examination, I went back to thinking it a too-long riff-song. Now, however, while lyrically sparse and uninteresting, I really love, (and I feel I should warn you, you may want to sit down for this), I really love Phil Spector’s production. His wall of echo, particularly on Lennon’s vocals, but critically on the awesome sax solo by King Kurtis, adds an aura of anxiety, that increases with the seemingly endless repetition of the riff.
The line “no short-haired yellow-bellied son of Tricky Dicky” from Give Me Some Truth, is not only funny, but fun to sing. (“Tight-lipped condescending mommy’s little chauvinists” isn’t quite as funny, but still fun to sing.) And Oh My Love, another Let It Be-ish era song, is surely one of the most delicate songs Lennon and co-writer Yoko, ever wrote. I’m not sure who came up with Harrison’s guitar part, but it’s as fundamental to the song as is his guitar work in the Fabs’ And I Love Her. (And countless others.)
Like so much of Plastic Ono Band, I felt Lennon wrote How specifically about me. Many days, I still do.
Lennon answers his own question, How? with the album’s final song, the jubilant Oh Yoko! Catchy and easy to sing-along with (“in the middle of a shave/in the middle of a shave I call your name”) the jaunty piano and harmonica solo are just hard to resist. Not that, early on, I didn’t try to resist. Yoko, after all, was the sole reason that the Beatles broke up, right? But honestly, even then when I believed that, I couldn’t resist singing along; particularly in the shower. (“In the middle of a bath/In the middle of a bath I call your name.”)
And thus Lennon’s second classic album, Imagine. A more produced and commercial Plastic Ono Band.
Except Plastic Ono Band didn’t include a song that eviscerated his former band mate, former song-writing partner, former friend; Paul McCartney.
With Too Many People and possibly a few other lines on Ram, McCartney was the first to commit, in song, his feelings about his former mate. Knowing Lennon for so long, McCartney must have known that Lennon wouldn’t take things lying down, and that Lennon would surely respond in kind—and then some. But perhaps McCartney didn’t expect Lennon would respond so blatantly and so mercilessly. But if that’s so, it means McCartney hadn’t listened to the raw and honest-till-it-hurts Plastic Ono Band. After his Strawberry Fields/Lucy in the Sky period, and certainly in his solo works, Lennon’s lyrics tended to be pretty straight forward and blunt. But he was never as straight forward and blunt as he was in his open letter to McCartney, How Do You Sleep?
In the song, Lennon takes aim at McCartney with venom and cheap shots as well as some head-scratchers. (“Sgt Pepper took you by surprise”? Surprised at what? It’s success? Sgt. Pepper was McCartney’s idea. If anyone was surprised at the success of Sgt. Pepper, one would think it would have been Lennon himself.)
The line, “The only thing you done was Yesterday” is not only obviously false, but perhaps reflects a jealousy on John’s part. Especially considering the original couplet was, “You probably pinched that bitch anyway.” Of course it was John who had “pinched” some lyrics from Chuck Berry to use in Come Together, but who’s counting. (The couplet used, the admittedly brilliantly-snide “And since you’ve gone your just Another Day” was contributed by upstanding manager of the stars, Allen Klein. The very same guy who represented John, George and Ringo, but whom Paul didn’t trust. You know, the guy that, after he found out he had been pretty much played, Lennon wrote the song Steal and Glass about.)
Up until this time, Harrison, while writing about his own frustrations about his fellow band-mates in song, had not specifically pointed at Paul. That changed with his participation on How Do You Sleep? Harrison’s guitar work is inspired and tonally fits perfectly with the song. One gets the impression that he and John were having a blast taking the piss out of McCartney.
Fortunately, while he appears elsewhere on the album, Ringo does not play on How Do You Sleep? And apparently he helped to tone down the lyrics, many of which, although not credited, were written by Yoko.
It’s a time-and-place song that illustrates much more about Lennon than anything else. Lennon says as much in various interviews, proclaiming that, at the time, he wasn’t feeling vicious, but was rather using his resentment towards Paul as a catalyst to write a song. Of course that doesn’t exactly jive when hearing in one of the session outtakes, John sing, “How do you sleep? You C—[word].”
While I don’t think it fits at all with the rest of the Imagine album, I actually like the song How Do You Sleep? It’s juvenilely clever, with, as mentioned, some great slide guitar work by Harrison. When I first got the album, it was certainly the song I wanted to hear the most, especially after having read how savage it was. In that regard, the song didn’t disappoint. But I was disappointed that my copy of the album didn’t included the postcard, which was a photograph of a bow-legged Lennon holding a pig; a mocking poke at McCartney’s Ram cover. After seeing that it didn't have the postcard, I immediately brought the album back and had the clerk at my local Sam Goody open every single copy of Imagine they had to check for that postcard. But none of them had it. Which meant that, as a Beatle completist, I couldn’t sleep at night.
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