My Evolution Revolution of the Solo Fabs (Or Imagine Living in the Material World, say London Town, with Beaucoups of Blues) Part 12: Harrison's Horse Sure Is Dark

While Lennon was having his “lost weekend,” Harrison was experiencing his own “naughty period.”  Alcohol and drugs were back in the picture for Harrison, fueled in no small part by the various sexual infidelities that both he and wife Patti experienced.  Basically a series of wife-swapping scenarios, where Harrison hooked up with Ron Wood’s wife, while Ron in turn was with Patti; Harrison’s declaration of love and subsequent affair with Ringo’s wife, Maureen, and, most notably, as was witnessed by the press and fans alike, Patti’s leaving George for George’s friend, Eric Clapton.

Add to the mix all of the things on Harrison’s plate, including the creation of his new record label, producing albums for other artists, executive producing a movie, dealing with the final death throws of Apple and Beatle related things, and organizing the first concert tour of North America by a former Beatle, Harrison had a lot on his plate in 1974.  All of these things, and more, help to explain Harrison’s third studio album, Dark Horse.  They don’t excuse the album, certainly his worst to date, but knowing these things helps soften the blow.  (His schedule may also explain Harrison’s absence on Ringo’s Goodnight Vienna, although his affair with Maureen may have played a part as well.)        

When I first listened to the album Dark Horse, I had no idea about Harrison’s trials and tribulations.  I vividly remember being underwhelmed after the first spin.  On the second go-round, I liked the album better, but only marginally.  Unlike his previous studio albums, All Things Must Pass and Living in the Material World, which, among other themes, focused on Harrison’s spirituality, for Dark Horse, if there even was a theme, it was more personal and considerably darker.  It took me a while to figure out, but I think Dark Horse was Harrison’s Plastic Ono Band.  Not as stark, of course, but still containing a lot of personal angst, anger and even a bit of snark.  Replacing Lennon’s scream therapy, Harrison’s obvious laryngitic vocal adds to the overall malaise that permeates the album.  Not nearly as bad as its reputation suggests, and not as preachy as his previous albums, Dark Horse is not exactly a fun listen.

The lethargic instrumental Hari’s on Tour (Express) opens the album.  It’s got some nice slide guitar work by George, and the repeated theme is fine, but leads nowhere and becomes boring rather quickly.  While an inauspicious opening to his album, Hari’s on Tour (Express) was also the opening song for all of Harrison’s gigs during his concert tour.  As a band warmup and introduction of Harrison onto the stage, the song works better.

Simply Shady is the Harrison autobiography for the last year or so and overflows with self-pity.  Worse, if Hari’s On Tour (Express) is lethargic, Simply Shady stops the record dead.  Harrison’s squelchy voice is cloying and is not the least bit contrite.  It’s as if he doesn’t care.  Then why should we?

Probably the most depressing song Harrison wrote, So Sad at least is a good song.  The pain of the separation from his wife Patti is obvious and, while Harrison’s singing is still strained, here that strain fits.  While it’s the sound of his dobro that takes center stage, it’s the lush sound of Harrison’s 12-string acoustic guitar that helps drive the song.

When I first heard Harrison’s version of Bye Bye, Love I hated it.  Ha-ate-ed it.  The key was off, the lyrics weren’t right and Harrison’s vocals were really smarmy.  That was back when I had no idea what was happening in his personal life.  Now, of course, the lyric changes make more sense.  “There goes our lady, with ah you-know-who/I hope she’s happy, an ol’ Clapper too…”

“Ol’ Clapper”?  Yikes!  

But knowing what the song means doesn’t make it any better.  It actually makes it worse.  Bitter, vindictive and petty, delivered with that condescending smarmy vocal, the song is also oddly placed in the album’s sequence.  Coming right after So Sad, a song expressing the heartbreak of loosing Patti, itself coming after Simply Shady, where Harrison details the sins he himself had committed, Bye Bye, Love becomes even more frustratingly juvenile. 

At least Harrison followed Bye Bye, Love with Maya Love.  An upbeat-ish bluesy slide-guitar song (with kicking piano licks courtesy of Billy Preston), Maya Love sees Harrison being a bit more philosophical about his split with Patti.  It’s one of the few highlights on the album, particularly refreshing coming after Bye Bye, Love, and a positive-ish way to end side one.

I was not used to hearing holiday songs on regular albums so when I first heard Ding Dong, Ding Dong I didn’t know if it was a song about New Year’s or not.  I did know that the song, while lyrically vapid, was one of those songs you could, and would, sing along with every time you heard it.  I didn’t quite realize that it was also a song you would be compelled to sing even when it wasn’t playing.  It’s the quintessential ear worm song.  It’s also a Phil Spector-ish wall-of-sound song that becomes almost overpowering.

As a holiday song, Ding Dong, Ding Dong comes nowhere near Lennon’s Happy Xmas (War is Over), but is also not nearly as cloying as McCartney’s Wonderful Christmas Time.  It is interesting that, given his spirituality and all, the song is not a Christmas song but rather the much more rare, New Year’s song.   

Or is it?

Even before I understood Harrison’s personal issues of the day, I absolutely noticed that the picture that graces the label of the LP’s Side 2 is of the eyes of a dark-haired woman who is obviously not Patti.  Harrison’s own eyes are on Side 1, and those eyes are clearly smiling, and not in a sarcastic way, either.  (Which, given the tone of Side 1, would have been, perhaps, more appropriate.)  Of course the un-named woman on Side 2’s label is Harrison’s future wife, Olivia.  “Ring out the old, ring in the new.”  Indeed.

The title song is also the album’s best song, although it does, once again, seem to take dead aim at Patti.  Maybe Clapton too.  Or is it taking aim at McCartney?  Or Lennon?  Perhaps all four.  Or none of them at all.  That’s the interesting thing about the song.  While lyrically pretty specific, Dark Horse is also open to interpretation.  Once again it’s Harrison’s pulsing acoustic guitar that gets the tune a-hummin’.  Harrison’s vocals are about shot, and while it sounds as if he is really aching to clear his throat, that aggression works pretty well in the context of the song.

The smooth jazzy Far East Man sounds like it would be more at home on a Steely Dan album, but comes as a welcome surprise. Penned by Harrison and Ron “Would-if-you-let-him” (as Harrison’s hand-written credits describes him.  No doubt a reference to Wood’s dalliance with Patti.  Harrison doesn’t ascribe a similar credit to himself in regards to his own dalliance with Wood’s wife.), Far East Man seems to be Harrison’s accepting Patti’s leaving while also a welcoming to his new love, Olivia.  

Of course this being a Harrison album, some kind of spiritual song had to be included, in this case Harrison saving it for the last track on the album.  It Is ‘He’ (Jai Sri Krishna) has a bright, catchy, repetitive chorus, but the short, slowed down verses are where a bit of the preachiness comes in.  Given the turmoil contained in many of the previous songs, It Is ‘He’ (Jai Sri Krishna) is George reminding himself, as well as us, that “He” is what really matters.  While the song itself is okay, given the content of most of the album, the sentiment seems unconvincing.

I chuckled when I first heard Harrison’s introduction to the b-side to the Dark Horse single called I Don’t Care Anymore, “We got a b-side to make, ladies and gentlemen/We’ve not much time so we better get on with it” but the song is hardly funny nor fun.  For much of the Dark Horse album, Harrison laments and/or criticizes Patti for the dissolution of their marriage.  Here, Harrison unabashedly sings about having his own affair with a married woman, and damn the consequences.  It’s an eat-his-cake-and-have-it-too attitude, sung with a real bitterness; the laryngitis nearly strangling his delivery, adding to the venom.  The “I don’t care anymore” sentiment of the song feels all too real, like it’s a statement to us, for us, the fans.  As it’s only a b-side, it’s easy to dismiss, but it certainly could have been included on George Harrison/Plastic Ono Band.  

While Dark Horse isn’t an album I return to often, when I do I find I like it more and more.  I particularly like how the 2014 remix brings out the acoustic guitars, and on that same release, the bonus track Dark Horse (Early Take) shows what the album might have been had Harrison not recorded so many of his vocals while suffering his laryngitis.  Of course his tour dates were already set, and he needed an album to tour behind (although Dark Horse came out mid-tour anyway), so Harrison had little choice but to record with his voice the way it was.  He toured with his voice that way, too, and it wasn’t long before it was referred to as the Dark Hoarse Tour.  

Now about that infamous tour…  For years I’d read that Harrison’s only North American Tour was a disaster of epic proportions, and having no reason to doubt those claims, I believed it.  I have since heard several recordings of various shows on the tour, and it’s clear that the shows were a huge success.  As with the Bangla Desh concerts, a portion of the show was given over to Ravi Shankar and his group performing Indian music, which should have come as no surprise to Harrison fans.  Also like the concerts for Bangla Desh, Harrison shared the stage with Billy Preston, allowing Harrison’s voice to get some rest.  In the concerts I’ve heard, Harrison’s voice is strained, but not to any degree that lessened his performance.  He seems in good cheer throughout, like he’s enjoying himself, and that enjoyment is also reflected by the audience, particularly when Harrison starts to play one of his old tunes back from when he was with the Fabs.

Ah, George and the Beatles.  No other former Beatle wanted to shed that Beatle skin more than Harrison.  Or did he?  

The fascinating thing about Harrison vs. the Beatles is that, of all the former Lads’, he was the one to reference and/or return to them most often (save Ringo).  On his 1974 Tour, Harrison revisited at least four Beatles tunes.  Yes, to the astonishment of many, he altered the lyrics (the silliest being “My guitar can’t keep from smiling”), but the fact is, in a show that feature Harrison singing a dozen songs or so, nearly a third were Beatle tunes.  And one was by Lennon and McCartney!  (The very lyrically altered In My Life).  Contrast that with the few concerts Lennon gave.  When Lennon revisited The Beatles he played Come Together and/or Yer Blues.  (And, famously with Elton John, I Saw Her Standing There).  In order to distance himself as far as he could from his Beatle past and, instead establish his new band, McCartney didn’t revisit any of his old tunes.  (He would, of course, for the Wings Over America Tour; but that’s two hence.)

Harrison didn’t just revisit his past in concert.  His video for Ding Dong, Ding Dong has him donning both the ol’ collarless suit as well as his old Sgt. Pepper attire.  Ring out the old…?  Maybe.

Like Starr did years before in Early 1970, Harrison name checks all three former mates in Living in the Material World, and even name checks Sexy Sadie in Simply Shady.

I’m not suggesting George pined for the old days, just saying that, despite what he might have been saying out loud, George was occasionally looking back, and perhaps not always with disdain.

My Evolution Revolution of the Solo Fabs (Or Imagine Living in the Material World, say London Town, with Beaucoups of Blues) Part 11: Junior Takes a Bridge to Vienna

In the summer of 1974 McCartney’s single Band on the Run reached number 1.  In October ’74 it was Lennon’s turn.  Finally.  A number 1.  All his own.  Kind of.

While there’s no question that Whatever Gets You Thru the Night is a great, toe-tapping pop song just waiting to be cranked as high as your speakers can handle the raucous saxophone, it’s hard to tell it’s a song by John Lennon.  Unlike most of Lennon’s singles (and songs in general), lyrically Whatever Gets You Thru the Night is pretty innocuous, and, while musically the song barrels along at full-steam ahead (propelled by that sax.  Oh, and the bass!), Whatever Gets You Thru the Night stands out as being the least sounding like John Lennon single in Lennon’s canon.  And it reached number one.

Lennon’s “Lost Weekend” album, Walls and Bridges, is his best since Imagine, but lacks the focus and intensity of both Imagine and Plastic Ono Band.  The odd blend of songs, begging forgiveness from Yoko with love songs to May Pang, contributes to the overall confusion of the album.  Yet it’s hard to resist when Lennon gets his snark on and his funk groove a-happenin’.

“Got to get down, down on my knees” is the hard opening to the album’s first track, Going Down on Love.  While the overt and frankly schoolboy innuendo of the chorus contradict the self-pitying sentiment in the verses, essentially the song is Lennon taking a hard look at what his long weekend has cost and he’s literally begging for help.    

Old Dirt Road meanders aimlessly and leads nowhere.  Overlong, it’s Jesse Ed Davies’ country-style guitar licks that make the song even remotely interesting.  

Old Dirt Road finally fades with Lennon’s repeated “Keep on keepin’ on..” and we the listener are blindside by the balls-to-the-wall funk that is What You Got.  The sentiment is basically the same as Going Down on Love, but Lennon’s vocal-chord tearing “Oh baby, baby, baby give me one more chance…” rivals that of young Lennon’s Twist and Shout.  While he’s not saying anything new, the pure pleading for forgiveness is raw, intense, and rock and roll.

From the fun/rock of What You Got, Lennon next offers the electric piano-laden ballad Bless You.  The melody is nice, as are the sentiments, again addressed to Yoko.  But the heavy use of electric piano dates the song, and not in a good way.  But Lennon’s vocal is pure magic. 

A wolf’s howl opens Scared, and the ominous chords and lead guitar usher us into one of Lennon’s best songs.  Lyrically as open and honest as anything on Plastic One Band, the song’s relentless pulse, coupled with Davis’ baleful guitar licks are hard to forget.  In fact, on LP, where the song is the last song on side one, the fade-out lingers as one flips the album and is comforted by the lush guitar opening of side two’s #9 Dream.

#9 Dream is a perfect song.  Not a whole lot more to say about it.  Lennon’s writing, singing, performing and especially production is simply spot-on.  No other song about dreams, and there are plenty, capture that state between sleeping and waking so accurately, and Lennon’s vocal floats along, some of his best lyrics in years, providing ethereal imagery.  Perfect.

It came as quite a surprise (surprise!) that Surprise, Surprise (Sweet Bird of Paradise) was a love song written not for Yoko, but rather May Pang.  It’s a terrific song, filled with Lennon’s own doubts and insecurities, which, apparently, May’s love was able to help him to forget.  It’s just strange that on an album with Bless You, What You Got and Going Down on Love, songs imploring Yoko’s forgiveness and hope of reconciliation, that Lennon would include a song boldly declaring “I need, need, need, need” as well as “I love, love, love, love…her” with the “her” in question being May Pang.  Whoever the inspiration, the song is great. 

Lennon once again sharpens his acerbic tongue for the sequel to How Do You Sleep?, Steel and Glass.  But while there was no mistaking who How Do You Sleep? was directed at, the target of Steel and Glass is somewhat more ambiguous.  Lennon even taunts us with the song’s opening: “This is a story about your friend and mine.  Who is it?  Who is it?  Who is it?”  Who it is is likely Allen Klein, the former business manager of the Fab three, the one that McCartney had to sue, along with the other three, to dissolve the Beatles.  But Lennon was still a friend of Klein during the writing and recording of the song, so if it is about Klein, it explains why Lennon’s lyrics were more generic than specific, as they had been in his jab at Paul.  In any event, the song is good, and his reusing the How Do You Sleep? riff for another pointed song is interesting.

The riff-heavy instrumental Beef Jerky is some good ol’ funky, toe-tapping filler.  

Nobody Loves You (When You’re Down and Out) depressed the hell out of me when I first heard it and for years after.  It felt directed right at me, hitting me right between the eyes.  While the song could be directed at his critics, it really seems aimed at us, the fans, and we are summarily dismissed by “All I can say, it’s all show biz…”

The song became even harder to bear after Lennon’s murder.  The last line, the prophetic one, still haunts me:  “Everybody loves you when you’re six foot in the ground.”

This is Lennon at his most raw.  There’s anger, self-pity, anguish, depression, isolation, and resentment.  The kind of song written in the middle of a sleepless night, probably a drunken sleepless night, but one Lennon obviously felt was true even in the cold light of day.  Lennon’s sarcastic whistling at the song’s fade is the capper on what has to be his most depressing song.  After listening to it, I feel obliged to say, “I’m sorry.”  And I am.

While it was placed on the album to meet a contractual obligation (which didn’t work), the snippet of John and son Julien playing Ya Ya eases the heartbreak of Down and Out a little.  It’s Julien’s drumming that can’t help but make one smile.

As with Mind Games, I wound up listening to both the 2005 Remastered and the Lennon Masters CD versions of Walls and Bridges, and as with Mind Games, there is more to hear in the ’05 Remastered editions.  The mix brings more separation and clarity to the various instruments and especially to the vocals.  This is most pronounced in Whatever Gets You Thru the Night.  In the Lennon Masters mix, the dominate voice seems to be more John, he of the Elton persuasion, rather than Lennon’s.  It’s for this reason, among others, that the song doesn’t sound like a Lennon song.  The 2005 mix brings Lennon’s vocal a bit more to the front, and the better separation of the two voices, on the ’05 mix, helps to distinguish between the two.

Finally, the album cover, of the actual LP, with it’s funky flaps that fold over to create various faces for Lennon… Wonderful!  It adds a sense of humor and lightness that perhaps belies some of the songs on the album, but does perfectly reflect others.  Inside the LP is also a wonderful 8-page booklet with the lyrics, performers, pictures of John as well as some of his drawings.  Plenty to look at and read while listening and listening again. 

Nearly a year since he released Band on the Run, McCartney and Wings released the single Junior’s Farm.  For a song recorded in Nashville, Junior’s Farm is a flat out rocker.  Paul’s pounding bass and especially new lead guitarist Jimmy McCulloch’s scintillating solo and fills (“take me down, Jimmy”), Junior’s Farm picks up right where Band on the Run left off.  

Flipping the single over we discover Sally G, a song greatly influenced by it’s Nashville birthplace.  The story-song is bone fide country-western, complete with fiddle and steel guitar.  And it’s terrific.  When it comes to music styles, McCartney is a chameleon.  What better way to show that off than on a single-only rocker paired with a pure, down-home country song?

As with his previous album, the best song on Ringo’s Goodnight Vienna is the first track on side one written by Lennon.  Opening with Lennon’s jaunty “One and a two and a one, two three, four!” (It’s All Down to) Goodnight Vienna is a terrific little rocker perfectly suited to Ringo’s vocals.  Billy Preston’s clarinet pulses along with Lennon’s pounding piano and the song is just plain fun.

You’ll be singing, or at the very least humming Occapella for weeks after hearing it.  I don’t know if that’s good or not, but the song works and is just long enough to not overstay its welcome.

Oo-Wee is over-produced, with too many background vocals, horns and the like.  It’s a fairly innocuous song with a big lyrical plus for name-checking Jean Harlow.

The album crashes to a halt with Husbands and Wives.  Such an out-of-place snooze, a dreadful song dreadfully sung by Starr, simply stops the album dead.  Dead.

Another jaunty count-in, this time by Elton John, Snookeroo erases the aura created by the previous song (dreadful) and is a toe-tapping faux-Ringo-bio tune.  Cool guitar solo and licks by The Bands’ Robbie Robertson are highlight.

Ringo co-wrote side-two’s opening All By Myself.  Not much to the song, really.  The horn solo sounds a bit like the theme from The Dating Game.  That’s something.

Ringo was the sole author of Call Me.  Not much to this song either.  Lyrically and musically bland, with not even an interesting solo, game-show inspired or otherwise, to help shuffle it along.  

The No No Song got a lot, and I do mean a lot of radio play when I was growing up.  And I never tired of it, and found it funny every time I heard it.  Given Starr’s substance abuse, perhaps the song isn’t quite that funny after all, and it clearly wouldn’t fly today, but really, the song is simply hard to resist.  Harry Nilsson’s backing vocals are fun.

Ringo has a breathy quality to his singing on Only You, and at first it’s hard to tell it’s him at all.  Good choice for a cover, but the production is just too perfect.  Lennon’s dynamic acoustic guitar strumming at the open is the only place where the song has an edge.  

Over-over-over produced, Harry Nilsson’s Easy For Me is another album stopper. 

Fortunately the album doesn’t stop, and we get the reprise of Lennon’s opening song, this time introduced with Lennon saying “Okay, with gusto boys!  With gusto!”  At just over a minute, Goodnight Vienna (Reprise) is a nice bookend and it’s clear that everyone on the recording is having a good time.

While it has its moments, Ringo’s Goodnight Vienna is definitely a let down when compared with the previous album, Ringo.  Like Ringo, Goodnight Vienna has plenty of guest star talent, but obviously missing are Ringo’s two other former band mates, McCartney and Harrison.  It’s a bit surprising that McCartney didn’t even have a song to offer, but it’s really Harrison, who was so prevalent on Ringo, whose absence is most felt.

My Evolution Revolution of the Solo Fabs (Or Imagine Living in the Material World, say London Town, with Beaucoups of Blues) Part 10: The Great and The Greatest

Before going on I want to backtrack a moment.  I may have been a bit harsh on John Lennon’s Mind Games.  Well, actually Lennon’s Mind Games is still rather boring.  That is, the version of Mind Games that Lennon himself mixed is somewhat blah.  That would include the original LP and the latest CD Lennon Masters version of the album.  BUT—and this is as curious to me as to anyone—the version of Mind Games, which was remastered and released on CD in 2002, THAT Mind Games is substantially better.  That 2002 mix brings out some hidden gems of musical bits that enhance each and every song.  (Well, except the Utopian National Anthem, that is.)  Each instrument, vocal, sound is discernible and makes the songs come to life in a way that Lennon’s muddy mix never did.  It’s odd, since the album was produced by Lennon himself, that he would bury so much in his mix.  Since the

Lennon Masters were released in 2010, and since they are the mixes that were used on the original LPs, I didn’t bother to re-visit the 2002 editions in my current evaluations.  I don’t know why, but I decided to re-listen to the 2002 mix of Mind Games, and, perhaps because I had so recently listened to Lennon’s mix, I was, and am, considerably more fond of the album.  Now don’t get me wrong, Mind Games is far from a masterpiece; it still lacks focus, and the songs still seem mostly uninspired, but the uncovered original production, heard on the 2002 release, has given a new lease on life for the entire album.

So, Mind Games, the original LP and Lennon Masters CD, is pretty ho-hum.  Mind Games the 2002 CD mix is much, much better.  

Ringo is rightly considered Starr’s best solo album, as well as one of the best albums, to date, released by a former Beatle.  Of course all of the former Beatles play on Ringo, making it the closest the lads would come to a reunion.  It’s hard not to speculate that, had McCartney not had his legal problems and was allowed in the U.S., would he have been invited to play on the album’s opening track, I’m the Greatest, a song written by Lennon, who also sings and plays piano, with Harrison on hand, too, playing guitar.  As it is, Klaus “friend-from-Beatle-Hamburg-days-and-illustrator-of-Revolver” Voormann plays bass.  So the song is still very much in the Beatle family.  By why fight it?  I’m the Greatest, featuring Billy Shears singing in front of the very same audience he did when performing on Sgt. Pepper, is a Beatle song.  It’s one of the best Lennon compositions in a while (light years ahead of anything on Mind Games and Sometime in New York City) and it’s funny as all get out.  It’s one of, if not my very favorite solo Ringo song.

Harrison’s Sunshine Live For Me (Sail Away Raymond) is equally fun.  The jaunty country-ish tune, played by Harrison and much of The Band (and others), is pure Ringo.  It’s a wonder that he never resurrected it on one of his All Starr tours.

For years I didn’t much like McCartney’s Six O’Clock, particularly when compared with Sunshine and I’m the Greatest.  But over the years the song has grown on me and is now, for me, one of the album’s highlights.  The longer version, found on the original cassette release (and, presumably 8-track [remember those!]) is far superior to the album’s version, with more McCartney vocals; although they both contain McCartney’s synth solo, which dates the song, and not in a good way.  (The longer version is a bonus track on Ringo’s Goodnight Vienna CD.  That’s right, Goodnight Vienna.  Why?  I don’t know.  He’s on third….) 

Along with Photograph, You’re Sixteen and Oh My My were singles released from the album and both are 70s AM radio-pop heaven.  Oh My My in particular, with all of those luscious, over-produced horns and backing vocals (courtesy of Martha Reeves and Merry Clayton, “and friends”), the song demands the listener to sing along.  You’re Sixteen, of course, is hard to resist.  Particularly with McCartney doing a kazoo solo!

("I'm the Greatest" lithograph by Klaus Voormann)

Devil Woman is a punchy little ditty, and a tad raunchy too.  And Ringo name-checks Sexy Sadie!  (There’s also a brief drum solo, if a solo can be shared by drummers Ringo and Jim Keltner with a driving bass by Voormann.)

You and Me (Babe), is as perfect an album closer as Goodnight was for the White Album, maybe more so.  Bittersweet on so many levels, it sports not only some of Ringo’s best vocals, but also some stunning guitar playing by Harrison.  It’s another high point on an album filled with ‘em.

Speaking of high points, Ringo also has the honor of having the best album cover of the former Lads’, to date.  I remember staring at the drawings of the balconied audience, trying to figure out who was who, just like everyone does with Sgt. Pepper.  (And just like Pepper, John, Paul and George are right there, in the center.  Linda and Yoko, too.)  The cover was done by Tim Bruckner, whose credit appears in the album’s accompanied book of illustrated lyrics, lithographs done by Mr. Voormann himself.  Lots to look at and savor as I played the album Ringo again and again.

Starr released Ringo a week or so after Lennon had put out Mind Games, and a month after that, McCartney drops, what many consider (including your humble author), the penultimate Wings album.  Band on the Run is everything that critics and fans alike had been waiting for from McCartney.  And some.  And lots of some.

After my discovery of the Fabs and finally collecting all of the Beatle albums, I knew it was time to venture out into the netherworld of non-Beatle music.  So I bought Band on the Run.  I was surprised at how much I liked, nay, loved the album.  While I didn’t (and still don’t) think that album sounds anything like the Fabs, it nevertheless had a similar effect on me as the Beatle albums did, in that I liked, no, (or nay to be consistent), loved every song on the album.  Still do.

So, the song Band on the Run…  Three separate parts that work seamlessly together to form a complete story.  When I originally got the album I didn’t know about the two members of Wings quitting the band just before the album was to be recorded, but the album cover made it plain that there were now only three members.  (That is, unless Christopher Lee had taken up the drums.)  So, while the story of Band on the Run works as simply that, a story of a jail break and the quest for freedom, McCartney had also created a metaphor for what really happened to his band.

That’s what I thought for a long time.  It wasn’t until the 25th Anniversary release of the album that I learned that the song was actually a reference to something Harrison had said during one of the business meetings at Apple.  Harrison’s meaning was that they were all prisoners just wanting to break out and be free, a sentiment that has universal appeal.  One of the brilliant and frustrating things about McCartney is how often he seems cavalier with his lyrics, and yet, he is equally as often pretty sneaky in getting some really fundamental ideas down in a pop song.  Uncharacteristically pessimistic for McCartney, Band on the Run is one of his most interesting songs both musically and lyrically.  Not a bad way to kick off an album.

No matter how you slice it, Jet is a great song.  One of McCartney’s best.  Talk about a one-two punch in opening an album.  While Band on the Run has a story (or several), Jet has, well, it has great sing-along-but-what-do-they-mean lyrics.  Jet was the name of the McCartney’s dog.  And it rhymes with suffragette (or “suff-er-a-gette” to be precise).  What else does a song need?

Bluebird is a nice acoustic breather after the bombast of Jet and leads to Mrs. Vandebilt, with that infectious “Ho-hey-ho” refrain.  (Like the “Na, na, nas” in Hey Jude, the Ho-hey-ho refrain just screams audience participation.  It’s curious why McCartney waited until only recently to include it in his live set list.)  Like so many things McCartney, it’s the little things that make a song like Vandebilt so great.  For me, it’s during that last “What’s the use of worrying” line, where McCartney answers himself (somewhat off mic) with “no use.”  That line and response was a mantra of mine while growing up, and it still often comes to mind. 

It always makes me curious when I hear (or, more likely, read) someone categorize McCartney as being a balladeer and not a rock ’n roller.  Yes, true, McCartney writes ballads.  Lots of ‘em.  But c’mon, he also wrote Let Me Roll It, no?  Balls-to-the-wall rock’n blues that is just plain…yowza.  (While the album sounds entirely like Wings, Let Me Roll It is the one song I would have loved to hear a Beatle version.)

Mamunia is that grin-inducing kinda song that McCartney was so good at producing, which is now, sadly ironic, given the serious drought California is currently facing.  Although, my guess is that folks may still be complaining about “LA rainclouds….”

I always look forward to No Words.  The structure of the song is so interesting to me, as is the vocal interplay between McCartney and Denny Laine.  I also love the guitar solo at the end, and just wish it was a longer fadeout to hear more of it.

The whole Dustin Hoffman story about watching McCartney write Picasso’s Last Words (Drink to Me) is great fun, as is the song.  It’s a goofy, oddly moving song, which seems to organically allow for reprises of several of the album’s tracks.  

And then there’s Nineteen Hundred and Eighty-Five.  Wow, what a powerhouse of a song.  Piano-pumping, bass thumping epic rock, with lyrics that sound like they are actually saying something, but what that might be, I have no idea.  The tension it builds at the end is wonderfully intense, and when released, it bounces back into a coda of Band on the Run.  How can you not want to flip the album over and start all over again?

McCartney was riding high; Ringo was riding high; Harrison was riding high.  But Lennon, Lennon was struggling, with demons, both internal and external, to conquer.  As his past showed, when Lennon was at his most vulnerable, he was also at his most inspired.  And, of course, history has a tendency to repeat…

Station beak.

                                 

                 

For those playing at home, let’s pause a moment and take a look at the leaderboard.  Thru November of 1973, the former Fabs released a total of thirteen albums and fourteen non-album singles.  It breaks down like this:

              Albums    Non-Album Singles
Lennon:              4                  5

McCartney:      4                  6

Harrison:              3                  1

Starr:              2                  2

Of course this doesn’t entirely tell the tale.  While Ringo only released two albums thru November ’73, in December he’d release his third, RINGO.  Harrison released three albums, one being the live Concert For Bangla Desh, which, obviously didn’t contain any new material; but he’d also released a triple album of original material, (which I think is best considered a double album since the live jams were just that, jams).

In any event, all told, it’s a substantial amount of material.

Lennon had released two classic albums (Plastic Ono Band and Imagine), one so-so (Mind Games), and one not so (Some Time in New York City).  While the album quality ratio still works in his favor, from Give Peace a Chance to Happy X-Mas (War is Over), Lennon knocks each single out of the park.  This should come as no real surprise, as Lennon had often said that, as a listener, he preferred singles to albums.

McCartney checks in with one classic album (Ram), one near-classic (McCartney), one good, but not critically appreciated (Wild Life) and one so-so (Red Rose Speedway).  In singles, he’s got the iconic Live and Let Die, and the rockers Hi, Hi, Hi and Helen Wheels.  He has the “meh” Another Day and Give Ireland Back to the Irish, and the “what the ___?” Mary Had a Little Lamb. 

Harrison has the classic albums All Things Must Pass and The Concert For Bangla Desh, and the good Living in the Material World.  The only non-album single, Bangla Desh, while no classic, is still pretty good.

Ringo has one, truly dreadful album (Sentimental Journey) and one good to really good album (depending on how much you like country music—which I don’t), Beaucoups of Blues.  Like Lennon, however, he hits both non-album singles, Back Off Boogaloo and, his signature It Don’t Come Easy out of the park.

The interesting thing about the above break down is that Lennon and McCartney are just about equal in their output, with Harrison following and Starr close behind.  One should draw their own conclusions, but the break down is pretty close to many a Beatle album, but very little of the music released sounds very much like the Beatles.  (The closest would be the next album released in this chronology, Ringo, which, of course, featured all four Fabs, just not entirely together at one time.)

But it must be said that, while McCartney had the most material released, critically, his output was decidedly lacking.  (It was decades before Ram got a reassessment, although it has always been a favorite of mine.)  To date, again to the critics, nothing McCartney released matched Imagine (which is, essentially, Lennon’s Yesterday).  I’m not sure if the old Beatle fans at the time were keeping score, but when you add Lennon’s early success to the—for some—surprise and continuing success of Harrison and Starr, McCartney’s lack of bona fide hits must have been more than a little puzzling.   

“But Kev,”  I know you’re thinking.  “Why did you pause here, in November 1973?  Why not break at the end of the year?”

Well, that’s a great question. 

The summer of 1973 was when I discovered The Beatles, via the Red and Blue compilation albums.  While being immersed in the Fabs’, I was becoming more and more caught up with their history, particularly the breakup, which, at the time, was what most of the magazines, etc. were writing about.  I remember being particularly saddened when learning of the animosity the former Fabs’ felt for each other, and like most people on the planet, I hoped for a reconciliation.  Well, in late 1973, the stars were aligning…

(The "Beatleg" Alpha/Omega)

The success of the Red and Blue complications (and the bootleg Alpha/Omega) sparked renewed (or, in my case, “new”) interest in The Beatles.  By this time in their solo careers, Paul and John had made up.  And, best of all for Paul, Allen Klein was out of the picture.  The doorway was open…

In their solo careers, John had peaked early, but was now clearly struggling, in both his professional and personal life.  Except for a couple of singles, Paul had not yet had the success he, and everyone else, thought he’d have.  It’s reasonable to think that both John and Paul thought seriously about, once again, combining their talents.  

No question that Ringo would have been on board.  His film career wasn’t taking off, and he was once again interested in making music.

Only Harrison had any real reason to say no to a reunion.  But he also had every reason to say yes.  His success proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was now in the same category as Lennon and McCartney.  For a reunion to occur, he could have dictated terms, such as equal representation on future releases.  

Naturally expectations for a reunion would have been enormous, probably insurmountable.  But it’s fun to speculate, even now.  Given the situations they were in, particularly for John and Paul, how close were they to getting back together?

Whatever the answer was in November 1973, in December the chances likely would have diminished by quite a lot.

My Evolution Revolution of the Solo Fabs (Or Imagine Living in the Material World, say London Town, with Beaucoups of Blues) Part 9: Classic singles playing Mind Games

When it comes to James Bond title songs, nobody does it better than Paul McCartney.  (get it?)  Live and Let Die is epic in structure, three minutes of building an orchestra-infused tension to it’s breaking point, and then—ka-boom!—release to the reggae “middle-eight” (Linda’s influence, no doubt), then back to re-building for the penultimate ka-boom.  As Bond songs go, it simply can’t be beat.  (Although Duran Duran’s A View to a Kill comes close.   I keed…)

This is McCartney pulling out the stops, working with Fifth Beatle George Martin to produce (and orchestrate) a song that, once again, is a Wings’ as a band, record. The song was released one month (!) after the release of Red Rose Speedway but sounds nothing like the album, and, instead foreshadows the rock and roll gems from McCartney and Wings that were soon to come.

The flip side, I Lie Around, is a terrific little ditty.  The lead vocals go to Denny Laine, solidifying the band concept, which really does apply here, as McCartney himself takes the lead vocal during the last “…all over the place” jam-fest fade out.

 On the plus side, George Harrison’s album Living in the Material World sounds great.  Gone is the wall-of-sound, replaced with a cadre of fine musicians, most notably Harrison himself on the guitar, both acoustic and electric.  He is in good voice, too.  Mostly.  (We’ll get to that.)  The songs range from good to great, with but one misstep (We’ll get to that.)  And while a “heavy” album, it’s not quite the arduous adventure as listening to the entire All Things Must Pass is.  

On the negative side, with the exception of the opening (and single) Give Me Love (Give Me Peace on Earth), Living in the Material World is not a whole lot of fun.  Preachy spirituals, often conveying a cold harshness, are mixed with songs about his former bandmates—one almost rivaling Lennon’s How Do You Sleep?

The Light That Has Lighted the World is, basically, a plea to us, the fans, to stop putting Harrison in the Beatle Box and allow him his quest for spiritual enlightenment.  Even when he was a Beatle, in interviews, Harrison was most aware of the Beatle trappings; which is why it’s interesting how often, as a solo artist, Harrison’s songs bring up his fellow band mates.  Like Who Can See It for example.

The huge success of All Things Must Pass and his phenomenal orchestration of The Concert For Bangla Desh proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, to Harrison and the public at large, that Harrison’s talents were, at least the equal of his fellow bandmates, Lennon and McCartney.   Who Can See It is Harrison letting us, and his former bandmates, know that Harrison is more than a little bitter at the way he was treated when he was Fab. 

In contrast to the bitterness of Who Can See It, Living in the Material World (itself a song of contrasts), as it relates to the Fabs’, is almost warm.  While Ringo sang about his three fellow mates in Early 1970, Harrison actually name-checks them in Living in the Material World.  It’s quite a fun, toe-tapping tune, with the middle-eight getting in the spiritual element.  Musically and lyrically, it’s one of the album’s highlights.

The Lord Loves the One (That Loves the Lord) is a sermon, and while an okay tune, it’s still a sermon.

One of my favorite of all Harrison songs, Be Here Now just floats on perfection.  Admittedly, when I first heard the song as a teenager, I just didn’t get it and pretty much dismissed it out of hand.  But even then, the dreamlike melody worked its way into my subconsciousness, and I found myself humming it over and over.  It wasn’t until later, when listening to it as an adult, that the lyrics, the line Be Here Now, in the present, in the now, made complete sense.  

The Day the World Gets ‘Round is pretty odd, both lyrically and musically.  It opens with the optimism of Lennon’s Imagine, but quickly turns politically pessimistic, until finally ending in a sort of ‘holier than thou’ accusation.

The last song on the album, That Is All, is a love song.  To God?  To a woman?  To both?  Yes.  It’s a tad schmaltzy, in all the right ways and is a nice way to conclude the album.

I leapt over Try Some, Buy Some because it’s the odd man out.  Living in the Material World contains some of Harrison’s best vocals in his career.  But he is straining a lot on Try Some, Buy Some.  (Probably because he used the same backing track used in the Ronnie Spector version, done in 1971.  But her key is obviously not his key.)  Why Harrison wanted to include the song to begin with is hard to say, because it’s not one of his best.  Lyrically it’s preachy and covers the same territory as the title track. 

By performing on such tracks in which Lennon and Starr took direct aim at McCartney (most notably, of course, being How Do You Sleep?), Harrison had given, at the very least, a tacit endorsement of the sentiments expressed.  And while some of his songs reflect, many negatively, on his time in the Beatles, nothing he’d written, so far, had been so pointed at McCartney as Sue Me, Sue You Blues.  Yes, lawyers take it on the chin, too, but Harrison pretty much makes it clear that he places all of the blame on McCartney, who had brought suits against Apple and the band in an effort to dissolve the partnership.  The difficulties of disbanding were complicated to say the least, particularly with Apple Corps involved and the fact that McCartney did not want to be represented by Allen Klein.  Since it was a three against one scenario on all fronts, all of the legal hooey got blamed on McCartney.  But it seems clear that, because of the various deals, contracts, debts et al that were part of The Beatles’ package, even if the four were amicable, the dissolution of the band would still have been nightmarish.  But the way it played out, McCartney was the villain, and as such, well the song tells the tale…

So, the song.  It’s pretty darn funny and wonderfully cynical, in the cheeky way that was Harrison’s forte.  The inspired blues-as-square-dance opening, where we get to serve eachother, with our lawyers by our side, all (save the lawyers, of course) eventually getting screwed, is pretty much a musical “lawyer joke.”  (Although, for some reason, I never did like the last line of the verse, “Get together, and we can have a bad time.”)  Musically the song is also fun, particularly George’s dobro-like guitar sound.  It’s verse two where Harrison serves McCartney.  While not actually naming him, it’s pretty clear that the last line in the verse, “All that’s left is to find yourself a new band.” is pointed directly at McCartney, who, as we’ve seen, was doing exactly that: finding himself a new band.   While nowhere near as vitriolic as Lennon’s song, Sue Me, Sue You Blues is almost more depressing as it comes long after John and Paul had, more or less, made amends.

Ringo’s Photograph should have been a Beatle song.  I suppose it kinda already is, considering it was written by Starr and—the finally credited although he’d helped Ringo write many of his songs—George Harrison.  Further, George’s guitar playing, and particularly his backup vocal, which is really more harmonizing with Ringo throughout much of the song, Photograph is as close to a Beatle song from the former Fabs thus far.  The production is a bit much, but maybe not, because what are you going to change?  The strings?  The choral backup vocals?  The almost overwhelming drums?  Certainly not the gorgeous acoustic guitar, which has a prominent place in the mix.  No, Photograph is just right.  It’s an interesting song, in that it’s kinda upbeat, yet the lyric basically says the relationship is over, kaput, with no chance of reconciliation, and “all I got is a photograph…”  The first single from the forthcoming Ringo album remains a high point in Ringo’s solo career.  Indeed, it’s a highlight among all of the solo Fabs’ releases.  (Sadly, the song took on a whole other meaning when Ringo sang it during the Concert For George.)

The flip side, Down and Out is, well, a B-side.  But it can’t be dismissed entirely because Harrison has a rip-roaring guitar intro and solo that makes the song worth listening to more than once.  Klaus Voormann’s bass is kicking too. 

As my mother’s name was “Helen”, McCartney’s Helen Wheels was always a personal favorite.  (Because she didn’t realize the lyrics went, “Helen, Hell On Wheels”, my singing along marked the first occasion I’d cursed in front of my mother.)  Released on the same day as Ringo’s Photograph single, Helen Wheels kicks into high gear at the get go with the two guitars—one in each channel—racing to the opening lyrics.  An ode to McCartney’s Land Rover (!), Helen Wheels is pretty much the perfect car jam, best played cranked high, with the windows down of course!  (I love the ending where Linda does the four-count to the fade.  It’s the small things, I guess…)   

The flip side, Country Dreamer is yet another Paul-in-the-country tune, but is one of the best.  While it takes nearly 30-seconds to finally begin, the song is a jaunty ditty, with a terrific vocal by McCartney, and, during the chorus, the rest of the band.  Steel guitar authenticates the country music-ness in all the best ways. The song is a sharp contrast to the A-side, and together the two songs make up, yet another terrific McCartney single.

A few weeks after Ringo and Paul released their singles, John releases both the album and single Mind Games.  Except for one song (two, if you count the 4-seconds of silence that makes up the Nutopian International Anthem, which I don’t), Lennon steers well clear of the politics that infused Some Time In New York City.  Made at the height of Lennon’s deportation hearings, and at the beginning of his and Yoko’s separation, the album’s lack of focus is understandable.  But the fact remains, Mind Games, as an album, while not a failure, is pretty boring, particularly compared to Imagine and Plastic One Band.

Lennon had been working on the melody to Mind Games back in the Beatle Let It Be era, and the song is fine, maybe even single-worthy.  Lyrically Lennon returns to his All You Need Is Love persona, which is nice, but somehow, now, artificial.  (Lennon, himself, seems to get that he’s blowing some old smoke by ending the song with “I know, you’ve heard it before.”)  I think Tight A$ is my favorite song on the album.  I like Lennon’s return to a bit of rockabilly, he and the band seem to be having fun, and the lyric/title is pretty humorous.  Aisumasen (I’m Sorry) is okay, but is a little too Lennon/Yoko specific.  One Day (At a Time) is also okay.  Heck, all of the songs on the album are “okay” but that’s just the problem.  Nothing really stands out, not even Mind Games.  Okay, I do really like the insanity that is Meat City.  Maybe that’s my favorite song on the album.  I wish there was at least one song that I loved on the album, a great song.  Tight A$ and Meat City are fun songs, but nowhere near great. 

Great would have to wait until Lennon's next turn at bat. 

My Evolution Revolution of the Solo Fabs (Or Imagine Living in the Material World, say London Town, with Beaucoups of Blues) Part 8: Classic Singles Cruise Down the Red Rose Speedway

Lennon followed the questionable Sometime in New York City with, arguably, the greatest Christmas song ever.  But who’s arguing?  Happy X-Mas (War is Over) is the greatest Christmas song.  Ever.  (And that includes the standards!)

Once again, Lennon finds that easy to remember slogan, this time being “War is Over/If You Want It” and pens a universal anthem to peace, happiness and, of course, Christmas.  Of course he’d used the slogan earlier, back in 1969, on his and Yoko’s poster/billboards blitz.  But Lennon being Lennon, he knew a good slogan when he saw it and wasn’t going to let this one go to waste.  There’s a genuine warmth in Lennon’s vocals, and Spector’s production, complete with the boys’ choir, is spot-on perfect.  Timeless and as relevant as ever, Happy X-Mas (War is Over) is one of Lennon’s defining songs.

Hi, Hi, Hi is a terrific rocker that (say it with me) was banned by the BBC.  The notoriety, paired with a couple of well-publicized drug busts, surely helped push the single, despite lack of airplay, but as a tight, go-to encore kinda song, Hi, Hi, Hi didn’t need much help.

And the flip-side, the reggae infused C Moon is simply terrific.  The mistakes in the song—including Paul missing the intro—make the song sound spontaneous (you can hear Paul ask “should we do another” [take] as the song fades) and it just sounds as if everyone in the band is having a blast.  Every the positive guy, Paul came up with C Moon (the letter “C” coupled with a crescent moon, meaning “cool”) to contrast with L 7 (square).  Paul’s right, C Moon defines cool.

Following Hi, Hi.Hi, McCartney released a single that would be included on the forthcoming album, Red Rose Speedway.  There are many extraordinary things about My Love, first and foremost being Henry McCullough’s stellar guitar solo, which is indicative of what makes the song so special.  In the same way that Yesterday or Hey Jude aren’t McCartney songs but Beatle songs, My Love is a Wings song.  In My Love, the band had found its’ sound, and while members would come and go, that Wings sound would be present throughout the life of the band.  (Nothing on McCartney’s solo Tug of War, for instance, sounds like a Wings tune.)

Showcasing his rock and roll cred on the flip side, The Mess is another minor gem in the McCartney crown.  A “live” version (with studio overdubs) from their 1972 tour, The Mess, with its relentless beat, is essentially an audience stomper extraordinaire.  As good and as defining as My Love is, I have no qualms in admitting that the B-side got substantially more airplay in my abode. 

It’s hard to believe that McCartney planned Red Rose Speedway as a double album, particularly when the released album contains so many lackluster songs.  Bootlegs and b-sides let us hear some of the songs that could have—should have—been included, as C Moon and The Mess show.

We’d gotten a taste of the album’s punchy opener Big Barn Bed on the fade out of Ram’s Ram On.  The pulsing bass drives the song and it’s another of the good to great opening tracks to McCartney albums, and remains one of my favorites.  My Love follows and the album seems to be off and running.  But to where?  Get On the Right Thing is an okay tune with Linda’s vocals fairly prominent in the mix, and One More Kiss is the kind of song McCartney could do in his sleep and is what B-sides are for.  Little Lamb Dragonfly sounds like what it is, a song for kids.  It’s not bad, and lyrically is considerably more inspired than any other song on the album.  Single Pigeon falls into the One More Kiss category and When the Night is flat-out boring.  And what can one say about Loup (1st Indian on the Moon) except “huh”?  It’s one of the oddest songs in the McCartney cannon, but not in a good way.  

And then there’s the medley.

When trying to establish his new band and distance himself from The Beatles, it seems odd that McCartney would revisit the medley idea that he’d come up with and was so successful on the Fabs’ Abbey Road.  And while the four songs that make up the medley on Red Rose Speedway are okay ditties, not a single one even comes close to anything on Abbey Road.  Lyrically the songs amount to repeating the title, a lot!, particularly Hold Me Tight and Lazy Dynamite (Power Cut has the line “[Ba]By, I Love You So” being rinsed and repeated.)  Throughout his career McCartney took scraps of song ideas and meshed them together with others.  When writing with Lennon, it often worked spectacularly well.  (We Can Work It Out and A Day in the Life for example.)  The medley on Abbey Road, of course is the best example, but McCartney would continue to connect disparate ideas throughout his work, with varying degrees of success.  In regards to the medley on Red Rose Speedway, the song ideas themselves are uninspired and so lightweight that the eleven-and-half-minutes seems very loooooong indeed.

Considering how successful McCartney was in creating and capturing the sound of his new band in their first, truly successful single, My Love, it’s a real shame that Red Rose Speedway is so unfocussed, unambitious, and, frankly, rather dull.

It had been nearly a year and a half since George Harrison released The Concert For Bangla Desh and well over two years since All Things Must Pass so Harrison fans must have been elated when, finally, a new single off his forth-coming album was released.  Give Me Love (Give Me Peace on Earth) shot to number one on the U.S. charts (bumping McCartney’s My Love from the top spot), and it’s no wonder, the song is one of Harrison’s best.  It’s a jaunty tune, with lyrics that espouse the sixties pleas for peace and love while also dabbling in religion, but not in a preachy way.  So Lyrically interesting, Give Me Love also sounds great!  No Phil Spector this time, so no muddying that lovely acoustic guitar opening, not to mention allowing Harrison’s soon-to-be-trademarked slide-guitar to glide in and take the song to another level.  AM radio always faded out before the song’s actual end, so when I finally got the record, and heard that unusual guitar strum finish (on, I think a seventh chord), I nearly was in heaven.  Great song.

The fun continues on the single’s flip side where Harrison frets while waiting to hear from his friend, Chris O’Dell.  The lyrics are far from light-hearted, briskly moving from the lack of rice in Bombay, to pollution, to the early 70s L.A. scene, but the jaunty tune, and Harrison’s vocal—I mean he actually cracks up in the middle of the song—makes Miss O’Dell one of Harrison’s most endearing tunes.  He only had a few non-album B-Sides, and while I can’t imagine Miss O’Dell fitting comfortably on one of Harrison’s early albums, it surely is a song one should to miss.