The Beatles: Abbey Road
http://www.metrotimes.com/music/review.asp?rid=25558
9/9/2009
By Bill Holdship
They fed the world the fairytale notion that love could save us all.
But to skew the words of one of their buddies: we were so much
younger then, we're older than that now. No, especially after eight
years of a Bible-thumping, Beatle-bashing (it's true; Blender once
asked all the presidential candidates their favorite Fab Al
Sharpton's was Ringo!), culturally devoid puppet as Moron-in-chief
and a resulting economy so badly destroyed that it's going to take
years to make a dent in the opposite direction, that notion seems
about as ridiculous as Beatles' music being used to sell orange juice
and sneakers would've once upon a time.
But the notion was already quaint in 1969, when they recorded this
album. It was the year of Manson (who claimed to be inspired by them)
and the year after the assassinations of King and Kennedy; George
Harrison had visited Haight-Ashbury expecting a flower-power utopia
but instead experienced the beginnings of a speed- and
heroin-infected skid row environment. What's more, the Beatles hated
each other or at least the idea of "Beatles" when they made Abbey
Road. And anyone who's ever learned to hate someone or something they
also once deeply loved understands how intense a lot of that hate and
rage must've been. You can read all about it in countless books or
Mikal Gilmore's excellent recent Rolling Stone cover story. You can
see it in documentaries, most notoriously Let It Be, and hear it on
the subsequent Let It Be album, which in the hands of any other band
would be termed a "masterpiece" but, as Beatles albums go, is
considered just OK.
Perhaps the most amazing aspect of the Beatles' extraordinary career
is that they cared enough about their artistic legacy (unlike so many
of their peers still on the road today) and place in cultural history
to consciously make a decision to go back into the studio one final
time to record their masterpiece. Because they certainly didn't have to do it.
Side one (on the vinyl version of those things we used to call
"albums") effectively displayed the persona of each individual member
both public and personal, which, especially in the case of Lennon
and Harrison, was basically one and the same, warts and all. Every
moment of it is perfect to this day, even those two tracks you are
now not supposed to like.
But the one time I met Ringo as a Beatle fan, not a journalist I
sincerely told him "Octopus's Garden" stands next to some of my
favorite Fab tunes. He nodded nonchalantly, as he'd probably heard
those exact words five million times before. But it was the truth. As
for "Maxwell's Silver Hammer," some might simply view it as more of
the beginning of the "cutesy" stuff that would devolve into some real
crap years later in McCartney's solo career. But "Maxwell Edison
majoring in medicine..."? C'mon! That's pure genius. Anyway, we
didn't have that kind of hindsight for years to come. And it fit
perfectly and comfortably amid the incredible blues-rock, balladry
and pure pop surrounding it. The Beatles, after all, did it all. They
were all-inclusive. All-inclusive.
But it was side two where it all really came together: A band whose
members hated (and loved) each other teaming one last time to
create what was (and is) pure undeniable magic, something wonderful
and momentous out of all the turmoil surrounding them. The album
starts, after all, with Lennon literally requesting a coming
together, which thanks to some equally dark imagery perfectly
illustrated the dichotomy of the band ... and the times. Fuck Tommy
and the rock operas. Not even Sgt. Pepper was as successful in terms
of "concept" as the Abbey Road suite is.
All the initial thoughts will come flooding back. Not just related to
the imagery but simple things, like wishing Lennon's "Polythene Pam"
was at least three times as long, that's how wonderful it is. ("She's
so good looking that she looks like a man" along with "Obla-di,
Obla-da" and "Get Back," not to mention the early androgyny thing,
these boys were years ahead on the whole sexually-ambiguous and
gender-bending rock tip.)
Perhaps most telling and magnificent of all is the three-way guitar
duel, following a brief drum solo, that falls between "Carry That
Weight" and "The End"; the styles surely define their individual
identities (Lennon sounds pure punk in one of the greatest such duels
in all rock history) but also find them gelling together as a whole.
And then, "in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you
make." One could surely ask for a worse epitaph.
In terms of love, it's wonderful to fall in love with the Beatles all
over again and the reason behind revisiting, of course, is the
much-publicized Sept. 9, 2009 ("Number nine...") release of the
remastered catalog. Does it sound better? Yes. Way better than the
original 1987 CDs. You can hear Harrison's fingers on the acoustic
guitar strings. Paul and George's (and John's?) backing vocals (which
make the song) on "Octopus's Garden" are that much clearer. The
changes are even occasionally disconcerting; the listener may be
thrown, for instance, by how radically different Macca's "I Will"
from the White Album now sounds. Metro Times has only heard the
stereo versions, which are available individually as well as in a box
set. The Mono box, though, is said to be the way to go, as everything
except Abbey Road, Let It Be and the Yellow Submarine soundtrack
was conceived and recorded in mono; Lennon & McCartney took part in
all the mono mixes, while George Martin did the stereo mixes without
their output. Still, we haven't heard the mono CDs yet so maybe we
can report back in our gift guide later this year.
But the stereo versions aren't now simply louder, which is what
happens with so many supposed "remasters." No, instead, they're
pristine and not compressed. Unfortunately, the boxes are mostly
over-priced thus far, especially in this economy. And there's that
whole issue of some of us Yank fans actually preferring the American
versions (Rubber Soul just ain't Rubber Soul if it doesn't kick off
with "I've Just Seen a Face"). One also wonders how John and George
would feel about all the price gouging going on under their names.
But that's all speculative, much like that notion of love saving us
all. Because you've gotta have these if you're a fan of the best that
ever was and probably will ever be. And isn't everyone? There are
people, I've heard, who hate the Beatles. I'm always baffled,
thinking, "Surely, they must only know the overplayed hits and not
the brilliant obscurities." ("Happiness is a Warm Gun"? "Hey,
Bulldog"? The Abbey Road suite?). As my brother once said, "People
who hate the Beatles sadly must not have love in their hearts." True
that. Especially when the majority of what they did, as this album
proves, was about nothing but the capacity for love that every human
heart just might hold.
--
Bill Holdship is the music editor of Metro Times Send comments to
[email protected].
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