gareth brown
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Listen to Let It Be... Naked.
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Listen to Let It Be... Naked.
So in the End, The Beatles Have Proved False Prophets
By CRAIG MCGREGOR
June 14, 1970, Page 13
The New York Times Archives
SO the Beatles have broken up. Judging by their latest album, “Let It Be,” it's about time. This is not to denigrate their total achievement: it's a truism that the Beatles have been the most imaginative and most influential of all rock groups. But it seems there comes a time in the progress of any artistic group—whether it be a theater company, a movie co operative or a rock band—when it reaches some sort of creative impasse and has to decide whether to rethink its purpose and work out a new direction for itself, or split up.
Each of the Beatles has decided to go his own way. It”s probably just as well, even though the individual records they have cut so far have been mediocre. “Let It Be” is their least together album since “The Beatles,” a parodistic, two‐record conglomerate of pop sounds which was itself a sign that the Beatles' creative energy was beginning to flag. Parody is the most accessible and least demanding of all forms, be cause it is always easier to parody than to attempt something original, and on their new album at least three songs —“For You Blue” (a put‐down of country blues). “Dig It” (which I take to be a Stones spoof) and “Maggie Mae” (a self‐satire of their own skiffle past?)— are parodies. In fact, the whole album is a mish‐mash of different musical styles, including their own, thrown together with little of the feeling for development or structure which is evident in “Abbey Road,” and which made Sergeant Pepper” such a brilliantly unified masterwork. Of course, the album may make more sense as the soundtrack for their movie, also titled “Let It Be.” But even if it works there as a functional device, as music it is merely an example of triumphant eclecticism.
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One could forgive the Beatles this: a good deal of rock is eclectic, and the Beatles have been among the most imaginative garnerers of musical traditions of the 20th century. What is harder to take is that their final statement should be so counterrevolutionary. I always thought that their earlier numbers, “Revolution 1” and “Revolution 9,” were less than heart‐felt; “Let It Be” proves it. The album is suffused with a kind of spiritual weariness, a sense of resignation, which extends from the lyrics of key songs such as “Across the Universe” (“Nothing”s gonna change my world”) and “Let It Be” to the Phil Spector mellow‐drama of “The Long and Winding Road” which, with its overripe harmonies and MGM melody, belongs back with Cole Porter and the thirties. It”s a tribute to the Beatles' understanding of their own music that they changed the title of the album from “Get Back” to “Let It Be”; that song, with its simple hymn‐like melody and almost Roman Catholic sense of resignation (“Mother Mary comes to me/ speaking words of wisdom/ Let be, let it be”), defines more than any other where the Beatles are right now.
And that is at the end of the road. For they have turned full circle, and returned to the music of Before The Revolution. If rock has any revolutionary significance at all, it is because it has rebelled against precisely that tradition for which “Let It Be” so clearly stands: the tuneful, sentimental, easy to‐listen‐to Tin Pan Alley ballad which dominated the world”s popular music from the twenties to the fifties, and threatens to take over again should rock ever lose its energy. Rock ‘n’ roll rescued us from that. Elvis, Little Richard, Fats Domino, Chuck Berry and the others were a glob of phlegm spat in the face of that romance‐and‐roses world, a raucous, vulgar, high‐tension howl of defiance. That”s when the revolution started, and ever since rock has been trying to create a countertradition to the old discredited culture: a genuinely original and populist music that deals with the realities of the contemporary world—ghettos, Vietnam, do‐it yourself bombs, suburbia, phony idols, acid freak‐outs, warm guns and cold gropes, the love‐and‐agony of 20th century existential life—instead of the masturbatory fantasies which Tin Pan Alley imposed upon the people; a music which substitutes intensity, abrasiveness, and a fiercely joyful sense of rhythm for the lush and swooning song schmaltz of the past.
The Beatles have helped in that. They began as white imitators of black music, but even their imitations were unique —their version of John Lee Hooker's “Money” on their very first album is classic. Together with other British rock groups they revived the flagging rock ‘n’ roll impulse, which by then had petered out into a mess of Fabians, Pat Boones, Cliff Richards and late model, super‐soft Elvis, and made rock the pop music of the global village. In the process they created some enduring masterpieces, from the driving purity of “My Babe” (which always reminds me of jazzman Bunk Johnson, another revivalist who demonstrated classicism to a post‐classic audience) to the rich, multi‐textured expressionism of “I Am the Walrus” and “A Day in the Life.” Those and two‐score other disks represent the revolutionary stream in the Beatles' music.
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But there has always been another, softer, much more conventional side to them; it can be heard right at the start in songs like “Love Me Do,” their first big hit, and as time went on it became progressively stronger. Every album has had its quota of slushy, old‐form songs such as “Michelle,” “Girl,” “Julia”—the list is endless, and in each album the soft, lyrical nostalgic‐romantic tone has become louder until in “Let It Be” it has become, quite clearly, the dominant one. It is, I suppose, their native, white, British song background reasserting it self, and much of it seems to come from Paul McCartney, whose own album (titled simply “McCartney”) is comprised almost entirely of the sort of music rock set out to overthrow. Liverpool, the Cavern and that first ex plosive discovery of rhythm‐and‐blues which set the River Mersey afire are a long, long time ago.
So in the end the Beatles have proved false prophets. It could hardly have been otherwise. But it is a cruel paradox, and a damaging one for the new culture, that the most important gioup in rock should have been white instead of black, and English instead of American, and should finally have turned its back upon the revolution. For it is the black American who has created the music of the revolution; it is the black American who (as Norman Mailer prophesied years ago in “The White Negro”) has liberated the young white “hip” from the puritan, materialistic ethic of white WASP culture, and it is the black American who will probably have to map out, yet again, the direction which rock and the counter‐culture of which it is a symbol takes. It may be that in soul, or avant‐garde jazz, or in some other hot music still cooking in the ghettos, the future is even now being shaped.
Hot? It is the hot element in rock which is its really revolutionary quality, and which the Beatles have deserted. Contemporary popular music has virtually no precursors in Western culture; it is derived not from the main stream of Western music, which is fundamentally cool, but from the fusion of African and American musics which created in jazz, then in rhythm‐and blues, and then in rock the first authentically new musics of the 20th century. They are all hot, The hot concept has been gradually taking over the world's popular music ever since the 1920's, when hot jazz swept away the lingering remnants of Victorian mu sic hall songs and Edwardian art music and inspired a dozen dance crazes— from the cakewalk to the Black Bottom to the Charleston—which, In the con text of the times, were as uninhibited disco dances today.
The music, and the dances, were black; it was the start of the long (and ironic) process by which America's ex slaves were to free their own masters. But it was the white orchestras such as Paul Whiteman's, which imitated and cooled the original hot motif, that reaped the benefit. The same thing happened in the thirties and forties, when the hot riffs of the big bands dominated the pop scene; it was the white imitators like Benny Goodman and Glenn Miller, who played a much gentler and mellower swing than Count Basie, who “sent” a generation of teen‐age jitter bugs. It wasn't until rock ‘n’ roll ar rived in the fifties that the final con quest of pop music by the hot concept began. And yet, once again, it was white imitators, the Beatles, who exploited the black man's music and final ly betrayed it.
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The trouble is that every imitation, however sincere (whether it be by the Beatles, or Janis Joplin, or Joe Cocker), tends to modify and soften the original, to dilute the revolutionary potential of rock. It is probably an inevitable process, built into the nature of the act of imitation, and one which won't change until the original creators and their music achieve the pre‐eminence they deserve. Elvis started off hot, but quickly cooled down. So have nearly all the other white rock singers and groups, from the Stones to the current American exponents of “soft rock.” Now the Beatles have gone the same way. In any society which repressed its minorities less effectively than America the black breakthrough would already have occurred. . .and the Beatles would have been black, hot and less ready to betray. For the sake of the revolution, and all it stands for, that's one thing we can't let be.
Here’s a great article about the reissue, and it points out that the loss of quality from all the mixdowns has now been eliminated:
Magical Mystery Tour over Sgt Pepper is one of those hot takes I will always support.
I'm actually going to do two different rankings - one of the albums AS IS, i.e. in their official form, no custom playlists or anything like that. The other will be how I'd rank them if I were using my custom running orders. That'll be later though, right now I'm just going to post my AS IS rankings.