Dan Mooney

So, Revolution in the Head reinvigorated my fondness for the Beatles, and encouraged my reexamination of the material, song by song. It’s a perfect time, then, to try to pin down what I’ve only thought about pinning down: What if the White Album were one CD? Two record sides? How would my version look?

This is with all due respect of course to the album as it is, as it was released. Nothing can change its history but I think this idea’s worth a look.

If you’ll be interested to try this out yourself, if you haven’t already, go ahead and stop reading right here, for now. Think about it, and come back and see how our lists match up.

Okay:

The White Album, which I won’t italicize, has 30 tracks, in CD form, 17 on the first and 13 on the second. 15 tracks for the average, and a round number, but I chose to shave it down to 14 tracks, because other Beatles CDs have that many and because 14 seems a hair less unwieldy.

Now, I cherry-picked my favorites, I didn’t choose songs by default, from what was left, but that’s oddly the way I’ll explain my reasoning. Like a sculptor, removing the excess. Oh, and an underlying thought for me is that all these songs would eventually have seen the light of day in some form – it’s not like I wish never to have heard certain tracks, ghastly as they may be, it’s just that they wouldn’t contribute to the ideal, condensed version.

Let’s begin:

The most satisfying deletions for me are the first and the easiest. Bye bye, “Wild Honey Pie.” So long, “Long, Long, Long.” And guess what, “Don’t Pass Me By” – you’re kinda terrible. You sound like a fiddler trudging through molasses, but millions of people have heard you, so, kudos. “Long Long Long” is pleasant enough, I guess, and I see the rationale of contrasting it so extremely with “Helter Skelter,” but it’s a little too lilting and it’s one of the first to go.

I also left out two of Harrison’s other tracks, “Piggies” and “Savoy Truffle.” The first is one of the songs that, because of the instrumentation, does increase the scope of the soundscape of the White Album, but it doesn’t stack up. I like the guitar solo on “Savoy Truffle” and incidentally did have a screen name to that effect ten years ago, but those golden facts alone won’t save the song on this list, and I forgot the password.

Neither “Revolution” made it. The sound collage is impressive but I hardly ever listen to it, which counts. It’s creepy and I do like it but I like other song-songs more. “Revolution 1″ is the pale forerunner of its distorted, wonderful, enthusiastic twin, recorded shortly thereafter. I can’t offer it praise when it’s done exponentially better elsewhere.

“Martha My Dear” is satisfying to play on the piano, “Honey Pie” the same on guitar. No dice, though. “The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill,” a little too third person. “Birthday,” a little too relentless. “Good Night,” too much. “Rocky Raccoon” and “Why Don’t We Do It In The Road?,” too little.

The last cuts would be “Glass Onion” and “I Will.” “Glass Onion” was ousted at the last second by “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da,” really because there were too few McCartney tracks on there, it would seem, and because its upbeat tone would help (but probably fail) to even out the single album. “Glass Onion” has a minor bluesy feel that’s heard in other songs, too. “I Will,” is gorgeous, delicate, but at this listing a notch below two other McCartney acoustic songs. For no reason at all!

And that leaves the final fourteen, which I’d arrange in this order:

Back in the USSR
Dear Prudence
Blackbird
Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da
Yer Blues
Sexy Sadie
Julia

Everybody’s Got Something to Hide Except Me and My Monkey
Happiness is a Warm Gun
While My Guitar Gently Weeps
Mother Nature’s Son
I’m So Tired
Helter Skelter
Cry Baby Cry

That’s just how I’d order the songs today. Tough to spread out the Lennon songs, which strangely enough dominated the final list, strange only because I thought I usually preferred McCartney’s songs. Goes to show the preference, if one remains, isn’t universal.

And there you go. My White Album. George Martin would have preferred to put out one album, I heard, I wonder what songs he’d have chosen. Ah well, in the end, it’s nice to have them all.

I’m a bigger Beatlemaniac than most people I know, and that’s said with equal parts swagger and self-deprecation. I’ve put a lot of joyful effort into my appreciation, and I’m proud of it, but I also know that most people I know live more or less in the present and, on the whole, would reasonably prefer to listen to bands alive and touring, at least those whose most recent new album was put out less than forty years ago.

It’s no small feat that Revolution in the Head, by Ian MacDonald, is the best Beatles’ book I’ve ever read. I’ve enjoyed many others, those from which I learned so much of the Beatles’ history and discography, but none to the degree with which I embraced this one. As a capstone to the reading I’d enjoyed before it, the book was fascinating and a pleasure to read – but it was so much more than a capstone.

MacDonald was most effective in providing an instructive but not pedantic balance of text and context. The bulk of the book is a song-by-song analysis of the Beatles’ catalogue, addressing anything from the song structure, to the lyrics, to the source of inspiration. That large middle section is bookended: We’re introduced to the study by a description of some of the many factors that went into the Beatles’ rise, really how the conditions were ideal for a skilled, enthusiastic group of musicians to detonate the restrictive attitudes of the 1950s and early 1960s and through this new music to “turn on” a generation of young people a couple of years before they’d turn more to drugs for that. The epilogue then suggests that the reliance on mechanization (for rhythm and tuning) has robbed modern pop music of its soul (if it ever had a soul to begin with), praising the performing ability and ingenuity of 60s music stars for creating so many lively, expressive songs.

The analysis and commentary on every Beatles track extended to many unreleased ones. The examinations were altogether insightful and, refreshingly, not uniformly positive. Other books I’ve read have tended almost to refrain from judgment, rather putting forth, say, just the stories behind the songs rather than addressing any areas of weakness. MacDonald, before his death a music journalist, here writes about these songs objectively, even though it’s also clear he cares very much about this catalogue and this group. He openly calls out the weaker tracks (including to my horror many I rather like) but is also able to explain why he feels that way, and in doing so, also focuses and heightens his praise on the songs where the Beatles did their superlative work.

I also want to point out that beyond being informative, MacDonald writes beautifully. As it is, the book can veer towards dryness at times (and would careen right into it for people who aren’t as crazy into this kind of Beatles stuff as I am) but that’s in the nature of the undertaking. It’s encyclopedic, relentless. But throughout, MacDonald demonstrates wonderful diction in elucidating his take on this material. He makes even some of the more complicated musical points relatable, which is integral to a study of this sort, to demonstrate some of the nuts and bolts of why the Beatles music was so inventive, yet also pleasing and familiar. His style reminds me very much of Alain de Botton’s writing, not least because it’s occasionally hysterical.

The song analyses are presented in the order in which the Beatles recorded them. It’s an interesting, if obvious, way to attack the material, and I find it preferable to a study organized by album listings. Now, by knowing that “Strawberry Fields Forever” was the first track recorded for Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, and that it and “Penny Lane” were removed only for need of a single, I’m able to put them in their proper context. I can see how those recordings influenced the rest of Sgt. Pepper, rather than just the Magical Mystery Tour album on which I’m used to seeing them listed. (And you’re free now to point out that for such a Beatlemaniac, maybe I should have known that recording sequence already. Whatever. It’s just a question of enthusiasm, man.)

In the end, this book has lead me to a deeper appreciation of the Beatles’ music – the music itself, which is really at the heart of this project, and not to be swept away just for the sake of historical context. Frankly, it also lead to a new reverence for the Beatles themselves. I was able to see a little more into how they worked, how quickly they worked – it’s almost sickening how productive they could be. The Beatles had their own heroes, as they themselves are to many, and they played along to records just as latter-day bedroom guitarists do. By seeing the dates and some of the times when they recorded these songs humanizes them to an extent I’d never known (Mark Lewisohn’s book Beatles Recording Sessions might easily do the same). But then, just as they’re being humanized, I consider all they accomplished and how much they’ve meant to the world and I think, maybe they weren’t so much like the rest of us after all.

The first part of this post is a response to a response to a response to a response to a response to an album, so, bear with me:

Last time I spoke about bands and albums, and how bands put out too few albums nowadays.  Much of their energy is spent outside the studio, and I thought it was their creativity that suffers for it.

Joe O’B wrote in to address the benefits of a playful attitude in the studio, a mindset which can ultimately lead to better music.  Seems like a paradox at first, since taking things seriously is what Tiger Woods does, and who doesn’t want to be like him?  There’s obviously much to be said about discipline, in the world and in the arts – just look at poetry, its beauty and its power is derived so much from its form.  The art benefits from its own restrictions.

But then, freedom ain’t half bad some of the time, even if it’s all bad some of the time (I’m looking at you, prose poetry).

Which brings us back to Weezer, who began my side of this discussion.

As advertised, they have an album coming out October 27^th.  Its name: Raditude.

One review of the album doesn’t think too highly of Weezer’s new musical incorporations.  This calls for a close reading of the article (with snide asides – asnides!):

Weezer raised a few eyebrows earlier this week when they announced that their forthcoming album would be called Raditude, which barely even qualifies as a pun.  (1. That barely even qualifies as an insult.   2. Why the raised eyebrows?  Isn’t anyone interested in Weezer’s new album title already too jaded to care about anything, including the title of Weezer’s new album?)

But Spin has the scoop on the title directly from helpful frontman Rivers Cuomo.  (Calling Rivers helpful here is the lightest backhanded compliment I’ve heard in a while).

Apparently (dickish way to start this anecdote), the actor and Cuomo buddy/fellow Joan Osbourne fan (none-too-subtle dig) Rainn Wilson named the album. Quoth Rivers: “[Wilson] has a super-rock persona. When it came time to find a title for the Weezer album, I asked him what he thought the ultimate album title would be, and he said ‘Raditude.’”

That makes sense. Raditude is what happens when you let Dwight from “The Office” name your album.  (Yes, yes it is.  You’re not Stephen Wright, and that’s not its own punchline.)

Cuomo also told Spin a few details about the album, which drops October 27. Abysmal early leaks “I’m Your Daddy” and “The Girl Got Hot” will both make the album, and Cuomo isn’t remotely embarrassed about either. (Nor should he be, unless either is disco.  Life’s too short for Disco.) Here’s how he described the record: “The sound of Raditude is fun, high energy pop rock. ‘I’m Your Daddy’ has an up vibe with the same heavy Weezer guitar riff but with a little electro influence. And ‘The Girl Got Hot’ — that’s kind of a witty party jam.”

Electro influence. Witty party jam. Right.   (That’s right.  That’s Rivers trying to put music into words.  It’s tough to do without sounding precious, which is why Pitchfork reviews sound snottily condescending or just approach the music from left field without getting down to the nuts-and-bolts of it, probably because there aren’t any books on music theory up these writers’ asses.)

Speaking of, the writer for this Pitchfork review of a Spin article about Weezer is a guy named Tom Breihan.  I Googled him, needing to know only one thing: how old he is.  Well, Mr. Breihan’s 29.   [Ed: Well, he was at the time this entry was published.] I’m not surprised, because that puts him at about 15 or 16 when Pinkerton came out, so he probably played it on an endless loop, lost his virginity to it, then turned on Weezer when Rivers became a reclusive genius and the group didn’t put out an album for years, and then proceeded to put out generally poppier music for the rest of their career.  I understand, Tom.  Their older stuff was better.

(Side note: Mr. Breihan indicated that one of his favorite books is Slaughterhouse-V.  What a fucking pretentious little twit.  I totally respect the choice, and the dash is impressive, but don’t give me that damn Roman numeral, because I) it’s not in the real title of the book and II) it makes you look like an asshole, you asshole.)

Back to it: I respect Weezer so much for what they’re doing, even if they have no choice because their album sales are flagging and there isn’t much money to be made in touring in support of an album that doesn’t do well, I’d presume.  So they go back into the studio and create more music, take more chances, give us something to look forward to.  When Weezer were critical darlings, it seemed that Rivers Cuomo was so afraid of making a mistake, of putting out an imperfect album, that he collapsed into his own head for a long time, depriving the world of what he had to offer, which was a lot.

He should have realized that The Blue Album and Pinkerton weren’t technically perfect albums, but that they’re probably if not certainly better for that.  So if they’re having fun and putting out at least a couple of great songs per album, I’ll accept and await whatever else they try to do, open my mind a hair and take the “bad” with the very, very good.

I read last week that Weezer has another album coming out, this one at the end of October.  I was glad to hear it, but thought, “Didn’t Weezer just put out an album last year?”

They did.  Their third self-titled album, The Red Album, was released June 3, 2008.

That a band, any band, has it within themselves in this modern age to put out albums in consecutive calendar years kinda blows my mind a little bit.

I’m clearly surprised because, and here’s a blanket statement for ya, bands nowadays typically wait three years between album releases, if not more than that, even.

If I’m to believe advertising, and I am, I now live in a world that’s moving faster than it ever has before.  Must be why I feel like I’m aging so quickly.  In this new, faster world, media content is at a premium.  Think, with more tv channels, there need to be more shows, not because we need more shows but because there are more channels.  So with iPods and iPhones in the pockets and hearts of the next generation, and with recording technology as efficient as it has ever been, I’d suppose that bands would put out more music, more often.

I’d suppose that, but I know there’s at least good reason why bands don’t, despite whatever demand there might be: There are armored truckloads of money to be made in touring, with all the trimmings.

Say Typical Successful Band spends about six months writing and recording their newest album.  TSB then hits the road for a national, if not world tour, for the next year, year and a half, two years.  Six months off to spend with their families or to go on benders, or to go to college, and TSB starts the process anew. Nants ingonyama bagithi baba, the Circle of Life.

It’s absolutely worth it to tour the shit out of an album, for musicians and their fans.

But what gets lost on the road?  Subtlety.  Some of the intermediate shades, for lack of a less pretentious metaphor, in the spectrum of a band’s sound.

Think of the Beatles, ‘cause I always do.  Their situation was unique in many ways, but not in this one.  They put out 13 albums between late 1963 and early 1970 – about two a year.  Dylan released 9 in roughly the same timeframe.

Maybe those geniuses set too high a standard, but what can we make of it?  How much pressure was put on them to create more music?  For the Beatles, I do know quite a bit.  But when pressed, didn’t they turn out to have so much to say?  And good stuff, too; there wasn’t a lot of filler in any of those mid-60s albums.

Intention aside, a lasting benefit of their constant rate of production is the listener’s delight in the in-between.  I’ll explain: I’m not a big guy on context, I normally like songs, albums, books, to be taken as their own deal.  When I really got into the Beatles, though, I noticed more and more the trajectory of their sound – wasn’t hard, as it wouldn’t be for anyone, but I enjoyed seeing how the pieces fit together, how influences can be heard distinctly.  Conceits pop up, are developed, and are dismissed almost as quickly in favor of a new sound, not out of boredom but out of curiosity.

The last paragraph there was fucking dense – I’m still digging through it myself.  There are marked differences, and similarities, from Beatles for Sale to Help! to Rubber Soul to Revolver, for example.  The shift from Beatles for Sale to Revolver would be a stark one if those other albums weren’t written and recorded in between.  We get the nuances that wouldn’t otherwise be noticeable.  I think that’s a good thing.

I believe that was all just to say that when bands write and record with an eye towards evolving their sound, they can get to vastly different places, but only through hitting those intermediate steps.

Yes, bands put out EPs from time to time.  More of them have side projects.  But both of those seem to be more about pure expression, releasing a backlog of material and emotion, more or less for its own sake.  And I think that’s fantastic!  You might say that’s all art is.  But I do know that EPs generally don’t have the band’s best material on them.  That gets put on the album.  And this is why I most often care not for Band X’s rarities and b-sides and unreleased tracks.  If they were any fucking good to begin with, they’d be on the album, plain and simple.  (Same is true for deleted scenes on DVDs, repackaged as if they make the product better, but really it’s to create and then allay a desire in OCD completists, not unlike myself.)

It might not get any more general than this: the more you do something, the better you get at it.  Bands that tour likely become better performers than they would otherwise, and make more money.  But if it’s about the music, if it’s about developing your sound or yourself, or finding new ideas to express or colors to try, remember this ain’t the Olympics; you can do this as often as you’d like.

Or you could be Woody Allen, and with few exceptions make the same movie every single year.  Whatever works.

I was desperate for some new music on my iPod. I’d attended two Beatles tribute shows over the last couple of months – the Fab Faux in New Jersey, and Come Together over in Astoria – and on the heels of those, I’d been getting back into the Beatles’ catalog as I hadn’t in a decade.

I sat at my computer just the other morning and wondered just what the hell I was in the mood for. Pitchfork and I don’t really agree. Hadn’t given Pandora shot in forever. Probably since I’d recently returned there, I recalled a conversation I had at One and One, at the nexus of the universe, with the British friend of a former co-worker. We’d spent fifteen minutes talking about the Beatles, when she continued on about the “Manchester Sound,” and about Blur (“Bluh” she pronounced it), and about Oasis.

So, still sitting at my computer, staring into the distance like Doogie Howser, I had my inspiration and, like NPH, went ahead and tapped my keys and in my case, procured Oasis’ most recent album.

My quick capsule review: Drums and guitars, holy shit! I forgot what those sound like.

Pleased to have found something I could shoehorn into my narrowing aesthetic, I listened on and went on with my day.

Later that night, taking the subway to meet friends for dinner, I saw a kid – eighteen? – wearing a green Oasis shirt. I thought, “Hey, Oasis! I was just listening to them, what are the odds?!” A refreshing bit of synchronicity is an asynchronous time.

At dinner, I was talking to my friend about the recent album, and about the shirt, when he says, “Oh yeah, you know they broke up, right?”

No shit!

Maybe the kid had heard and wore the shirt in commemoration, I’ll accept that, but my having gotten the album pretty much the day they broke up makes me throw up my hands and say, “Naturally.”

It’s how it goes – the bands I get into, those that aren’t already long ago disbanded or dead – soon find themselves splitting up. Happened with System of a Down. Sure happened with Soundgarden. Bands break up all the time, but hardly ever those I can’t stand. Those guys all flourish unabated. And I know it probably speaks more to my being two to three years behind the times than it does to my being a bad luck charm, but hell – the timing of this just made me laugh, and then sigh heavily.

But yeah, Oasis. Done for. Long time coming I guess. One of the last standing from that 1994-1995-1996 corridor when good music was popular and pop music was good – and I know this because Z100 was listenable.

I remember being thrilled to capture “Live Forever” onto cassette tape in 1995, most likely on the same side as Weezer’s “Say It Ain’t So” and Live’s “All Over You,” if not also Nikki French’s upbeat cover of “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” Some months later, I got to like “Wonderwall” quite a bit. But then it was “Don’t Look Back in Anger” that hit me upside the head like a 2×4. It came down to the chord progression I wasn’t talented enough to figure out on my own, but that’s still one of my favorites and for me one of the most eerie and poignant. It’s the change from E (or E7) to F, in the verse & chorus that goes C-G-Am-E(7)-F-G-C. Or, in “Imagine,” where the intro is also lifted from, simply F-G-C-E7-F…

Ah hell, just enjoy: