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!
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| ("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…
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