Only several posts in, the blog is already trending toward a formulaic approach - song description, then youtube clip. In an effort to prevent this from deeply taking root, I'm not going to post the youtube video of the Cookies' version of "Chains" quite yet. A change of pace is needed. Here is Allmusic's (formerly All Music Guide) lengthy review of "Chains", which considers each interpretation but with an emphasis on the Cookies'. It's both thorough and informed. I was particularly keen on its technical discussion of the handclap patterns that the Cookies deployed to such sugary effect. Handclaps can really do wonders for a song's texture. But I slightly disagree with its more positive take on the Beatles' version. In my view, it's a bit of a snoozer, though a pleasant one. And I'd argue that there's not even a marginal disparity in tone between the two. The reviewer for Allmusic, Richie Unterberger, describes the Beatles' one as having "a little more of a serious, committed (though still upbeat) air." I honestly can't detect a sliver of seriousness in either. But it's unbecoming to nitpick a quality review like this. I appreciate when a sizable chunk of words is devoted to evaluating and, in a way, celebrating a fairly obscure (even if the Beatles did cover it) pop tune.
Also, in going over the Cookies' discography, I noticed a gem of a title for one of their releases. It's an import compilation sassily entitled Don't Say Nothing Bad About the Cookies. Super boss. It's also worth noting that the Cookies changed their name to the Raelettes in the mid 50s when they became the backup band for Ray Charles. But, lest I forget, this is a blog about the Beatles. I absolutely adore John Lennon (that is, some of the time I do).
Monday, September 29, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
"Chains"
“Chains” marks the first time on Please Please Me where I reacted a bit indifferently to what the Beatles were offering. Their version of the Gerry Goffin and Carole King-penned R&B ditty is repetitious (seemingly more so than the original, somehow), musically underdressed, and in need of a swelling, climactic point. The harmonies are buoyant but none of the Beatles seem to find anything inventive to try instrumentally (though the harmonica-led intro is notable as it would reappear, often memorably, in a considerable amount of their songs).
To hear the earlier, Cookies-performed rendition is to realize that “Chains” is an R&B number through and through and perhaps not ideally suited to the Fab Four’s abilities. In translating it to rock ‘n roll, the Beatles opted to shed the original’s sax drop-ins and handclaps (but why?), thereby losing much of its color and looseness. It just doesn’t take flight on the strength alone of their guitar-bass-percussion interplay. And George's vocal, at times harmonized by John and Paul, comes off almost stodgy when compared to the bright, lively chirp of the Cookies. The Beatles, it seems, simply didn’t know where to take the song.
The structure of “Chains”, which remains constant between the two versions, does contain a feature worthy of mention. It’s how the chorus introduces the song and then essentially continues through the space where you’d expect there to be a proper, set-apart verse (several bridge-like, modified verses do arrive later). The chorus and standard verse seem, more or less, merged into one, which facilitates a smooth flow but can also be repetitious.
It’s only a detail of minor interest and doesn’t have much bearing on how effective “Chains” is in the hands of either band. The Cookies’ version really is a blithe confection while the Beatles’ uninspired interpretation serves as a reminder (among others to come) that the future greatest-ever pop band didn’t immediately achieve artistic eminence. They first had to test their evolving skills against the vast and newfangled possibilities of rock ’n roll.
(If the embedding is disabled, go here).
To hear the earlier, Cookies-performed rendition is to realize that “Chains” is an R&B number through and through and perhaps not ideally suited to the Fab Four’s abilities. In translating it to rock ‘n roll, the Beatles opted to shed the original’s sax drop-ins and handclaps (but why?), thereby losing much of its color and looseness. It just doesn’t take flight on the strength alone of their guitar-bass-percussion interplay. And George's vocal, at times harmonized by John and Paul, comes off almost stodgy when compared to the bright, lively chirp of the Cookies. The Beatles, it seems, simply didn’t know where to take the song.
The structure of “Chains”, which remains constant between the two versions, does contain a feature worthy of mention. It’s how the chorus introduces the song and then essentially continues through the space where you’d expect there to be a proper, set-apart verse (several bridge-like, modified verses do arrive later). The chorus and standard verse seem, more or less, merged into one, which facilitates a smooth flow but can also be repetitious.
It’s only a detail of minor interest and doesn’t have much bearing on how effective “Chains” is in the hands of either band. The Cookies’ version really is a blithe confection while the Beatles’ uninspired interpretation serves as a reminder (among others to come) that the future greatest-ever pop band didn’t immediately achieve artistic eminence. They first had to test their evolving skills against the vast and newfangled possibilities of rock ’n roll.
(If the embedding is disabled, go here).
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Arthur Alexander's "Anna (Go to Him)"
Here's the Arthur Alexander-performed version of "Anna (Go to Him)".
The slinky piano line, the slightly brisker tempo, and Alexander's soulful but still a touch inhibited vocal all give the original a distinctive feel. I prefer the Beatles' take on it, but both recommend themselves in different ways.
(If the embedding is disabled, go here).
The slinky piano line, the slightly brisker tempo, and Alexander's soulful but still a touch inhibited vocal all give the original a distinctive feel. I prefer the Beatles' take on it, but both recommend themselves in different ways.
(If the embedding is disabled, go here).
Thursday, September 18, 2008
"Anna (Go to Him)"
John Lennon was famously battling a cold during the recording session for Please Please Me. While the illness wasn't major, even a pedestrian cough might have derailed his vocal efforts. Not so in this case. Instead, John's at times hoarse and untamed delivery proved a fitting complement to the energy of the Beatles' musical backdrops.
"Twist and Shout", of course, is the most memorable instance of this. But even on the emotive mid-paced ballad "Anna (Go to Him)", which was recorded before the effects of his cold were so strikingly evident, the dash of roughness in John's voice seems to add enlivening texture. Written by Arthur Alexander, a country-soul artist of the 60s and 70s, "Anna" centers on a relationship that is failing because the girl (Anna) has found someone whose love for her surpasses that of her current man's. The spurned boyfriend ultimately declares his willingness to part from Anna (not the typical reaction of a lover in a pop song) but not before he lays bare his imperishable love for her (much better). The lyric is thick with desperation: "But every girl I’ve ever had/Breaks my heart and leave me sad/What am I/What am I supposed to do". In the original version, Alexander sings in a clipped fashion, which lends his rendering an almost matter-of-fact quality. John, conversely, stretches out and emphasizes more notes to arouse greater conviction from them. Especially on the segment between the standard verses (sampled above), his less-than-silky delivery injects the song with an aching passion that might not have come through so stirringly if not for the illness. Pain seems to dwell in the husky edges of John's voice.
Overall, the Beatles' version is an improvement on its source. The original features a jangling piano line at the lead which gives off too much playfulness for a song about inner conflict. George's guitar-work is a better match: less spry and excitable but still tuneful. It combines with Ringo's offbeat percussion and Paul's stingy bass to construct a groove that, light and limber, doesn't get in the way of John's bruised vocal.
(If the embedding is disabled, go here).
"Twist and Shout", of course, is the most memorable instance of this. But even on the emotive mid-paced ballad "Anna (Go to Him)", which was recorded before the effects of his cold were so strikingly evident, the dash of roughness in John's voice seems to add enlivening texture. Written by Arthur Alexander, a country-soul artist of the 60s and 70s, "Anna" centers on a relationship that is failing because the girl (Anna) has found someone whose love for her surpasses that of her current man's. The spurned boyfriend ultimately declares his willingness to part from Anna (not the typical reaction of a lover in a pop song) but not before he lays bare his imperishable love for her (much better). The lyric is thick with desperation: "But every girl I’ve ever had/Breaks my heart and leave me sad/What am I/What am I supposed to do". In the original version, Alexander sings in a clipped fashion, which lends his rendering an almost matter-of-fact quality. John, conversely, stretches out and emphasizes more notes to arouse greater conviction from them. Especially on the segment between the standard verses (sampled above), his less-than-silky delivery injects the song with an aching passion that might not have come through so stirringly if not for the illness. Pain seems to dwell in the husky edges of John's voice.
Overall, the Beatles' version is an improvement on its source. The original features a jangling piano line at the lead which gives off too much playfulness for a song about inner conflict. George's guitar-work is a better match: less spry and excitable but still tuneful. It combines with Ringo's offbeat percussion and Paul's stingy bass to construct a groove that, light and limber, doesn't get in the way of John's bruised vocal.
(If the embedding is disabled, go here).
Sunday, September 14, 2008
"Misery"
Coming off the lively snap of “I Saw Her Standing There”, a song with a melodramatic title like “Misery” seems almost bound to be a non-starter. And, to a certain extent, that’s true of “Misery”. It’s a pained account of love lost that heavily wallows in neediness and self-pity (“The world is treating me ba-a-ad / Misery”). Based on his lyrics, John Lennon is positively inconsolable. Oh that his dearest would undo the hurt. Though certainly not always the case, cheerless and rather dull subject matter of this kind can have a deflating effect on a song and, as follows, the listening experience.
Even so, “Misery” is a more compelling number than its drab lyric might indicate. First, there’s the backstory. As it turns out, John and Paul did not write “Misery” for the Beatles themselves. It was originally intended for a young British pop star named Helen Shapiro who was in need of potential country/western material for a future release. Shapiro, however, never recorded the song (although another British artist, Kenny Lynch, later would). Eventually, when George Martin was compiling tracks for Please Please Me, he had the Beatles record, effectively, their entire backlog of songs, one of which was “Misery”.
Side note: I’d be curious to know to what degree John and Paul consciously designed “Misery” as a song for a female performer and how the initial version and the Beatles’ own rendition may have diverged.
Within the song itself, the Beatles made several interesting decisions concerning its mechanics and structure. What stands out most is the song’s moderately crisp pace. Though “Misery” is nothing if not a bummer tune, the Beatles don’t match that feel with a plodding, despondent tempo. After the slow intro, they proceed into a steady gallop, with Ringo’s bouncy percussion as the dominant presence. Throughout, the three guitarists don’t really assert themselves but the pace remains active enough to prevent “Misery” from becoming a total mire of melancholy.
The verse/chorus pattern is also of note. “Misery’s” running time is a brief 1:50, which might reasonably suggest inadequate room for a fleshed-out structure to the song. But that’s misleading. The chorus consists of just one word, “misery”, and, furthermore, the Beatles opted to not include a guitar solo, both of which open up space. To fill that void in a not so predictable manner, John and Paul wrote two modulated verses (only slight variations of each other) to accompany the normal verses. The back-and-forth switch between normal and modulated gives the song a somewhat dynamic flow and hints at the Beatles’ desire, even at their start, to be more than paint-by-numbers songwriters who also happened to be infectious entertainers. They aspired to be serious craftsmen (though, admittedly, “Misery” is a humble offering).
The song’s single best moment, however, arrives at the 1:35 mark. It’s when John lets loose one of the most pitch-perfect and almost comically wounded moans (“oww-o-ow”) that you’ll ever hear in pop music. Few bands could prompt such pleasure with just two seconds of discardable vocal filler.
(If the embedding is disabled, go here).
Even so, “Misery” is a more compelling number than its drab lyric might indicate. First, there’s the backstory. As it turns out, John and Paul did not write “Misery” for the Beatles themselves. It was originally intended for a young British pop star named Helen Shapiro who was in need of potential country/western material for a future release. Shapiro, however, never recorded the song (although another British artist, Kenny Lynch, later would). Eventually, when George Martin was compiling tracks for Please Please Me, he had the Beatles record, effectively, their entire backlog of songs, one of which was “Misery”.
Side note: I’d be curious to know to what degree John and Paul consciously designed “Misery” as a song for a female performer and how the initial version and the Beatles’ own rendition may have diverged.
Within the song itself, the Beatles made several interesting decisions concerning its mechanics and structure. What stands out most is the song’s moderately crisp pace. Though “Misery” is nothing if not a bummer tune, the Beatles don’t match that feel with a plodding, despondent tempo. After the slow intro, they proceed into a steady gallop, with Ringo’s bouncy percussion as the dominant presence. Throughout, the three guitarists don’t really assert themselves but the pace remains active enough to prevent “Misery” from becoming a total mire of melancholy.
The verse/chorus pattern is also of note. “Misery’s” running time is a brief 1:50, which might reasonably suggest inadequate room for a fleshed-out structure to the song. But that’s misleading. The chorus consists of just one word, “misery”, and, furthermore, the Beatles opted to not include a guitar solo, both of which open up space. To fill that void in a not so predictable manner, John and Paul wrote two modulated verses (only slight variations of each other) to accompany the normal verses. The back-and-forth switch between normal and modulated gives the song a somewhat dynamic flow and hints at the Beatles’ desire, even at their start, to be more than paint-by-numbers songwriters who also happened to be infectious entertainers. They aspired to be serious craftsmen (though, admittedly, “Misery” is a humble offering).
The song’s single best moment, however, arrives at the 1:35 mark. It’s when John lets loose one of the most pitch-perfect and almost comically wounded moans (“oww-o-ow”) that you’ll ever hear in pop music. Few bands could prompt such pleasure with just two seconds of discardable vocal filler.
(If the embedding is disabled, go here).
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
"I Saw Her Standing There"
It’s only appropriate that the opening song of the Beatles’ debut album Please Please Me starts with an iconic moment. Paul McCartney’s lively count-in (“one, two, three, fahhh”) puts “I Saw Her Standing There” energetically into motion, and what follows are two-plus minutes of joyous pop electricity.
Several of the touchstones of early-period Beatles are at work: jaunty riffs, mid-song screams, high-pitched “woohs”, and, most delightfully, handclaps (all of which reappear with frenzied effect on the album closer, the untouchable “Twist and Shout”). Overall the songcraft is economized and straightforward, if not a bit underdeveloped. Paul’s bass line (which evidently came from a Chuck Berry song) tugs and struts along, and blends with John’s rhythm guitar rather seamlessly. Ringo offers a simple-sounding percussive shuffle while George’s guitar work, especially his erratic solo, reveals a incipient talent that still isn’t sure how to occupy all its space. Combined, it’s the sound of a spirited young band that wants to tweak and refine the templates of rock ‘n roll into something distinctly its own. Lyrically, Paul projects an innocence that isn’t surprising of early 60s pop. This was a period when, in song anyway, a mere exchange of glances could spawn love. As Paul sings, “Well she looked at me/ And I, I could see/ That before too long/ I’d fall in love with her”. How carefree and seemingly puritan. He even vows that this squeeze will be his one and only. Yet examine those lines once more. If you’re swooning over someone after only looking at him or her, the draw is purely physical. And I must confess that my instinctive response to the song’s introductory lines “Well she was just 17 / You know what I mean” is “No, Paul, I’m not quite sure what you mean”. It’s uncertain how cryptic and suggestive he’s aiming to be. Perhaps Paul was smuggling touches of sexuality into what seems like a sweet, if hasty, courtship. It’s also possible that the lines simply work as efficient pop couplets and are not intentionally fraught with matters between-the -sheets.
So the subtle intrigue of the lyric is amusing. But the rousing rock ‘n roll sounds are clearly the magnetic attraction of “I Saw Her Standing There."
(If the embedding is disabled, go here).
Several of the touchstones of early-period Beatles are at work: jaunty riffs, mid-song screams, high-pitched “woohs”, and, most delightfully, handclaps (all of which reappear with frenzied effect on the album closer, the untouchable “Twist and Shout”). Overall the songcraft is economized and straightforward, if not a bit underdeveloped. Paul’s bass line (which evidently came from a Chuck Berry song) tugs and struts along, and blends with John’s rhythm guitar rather seamlessly. Ringo offers a simple-sounding percussive shuffle while George’s guitar work, especially his erratic solo, reveals a incipient talent that still isn’t sure how to occupy all its space. Combined, it’s the sound of a spirited young band that wants to tweak and refine the templates of rock ‘n roll into something distinctly its own. Lyrically, Paul projects an innocence that isn’t surprising of early 60s pop. This was a period when, in song anyway, a mere exchange of glances could spawn love. As Paul sings, “Well she looked at me/ And I, I could see/ That before too long/ I’d fall in love with her”. How carefree and seemingly puritan. He even vows that this squeeze will be his one and only. Yet examine those lines once more. If you’re swooning over someone after only looking at him or her, the draw is purely physical. And I must confess that my instinctive response to the song’s introductory lines “Well she was just 17 / You know what I mean” is “No, Paul, I’m not quite sure what you mean”. It’s uncertain how cryptic and suggestive he’s aiming to be. Perhaps Paul was smuggling touches of sexuality into what seems like a sweet, if hasty, courtship. It’s also possible that the lines simply work as efficient pop couplets and are not intentionally fraught with matters between-the -sheets.
So the subtle intrigue of the lyric is amusing. But the rousing rock ‘n roll sounds are clearly the magnetic attraction of “I Saw Her Standing There."
(If the embedding is disabled, go here).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)