The Wilburys' most underrated jam?

As I was scrolling through my iTunes library earlier, I noticed one track preference that made me smile: my most listened to song by the Traveling Wilburys is "New Blue Moon". If you're unfamiliar, you can forgive yourself. "New Blue Moon" is a deep, deep cut off Vol. 3. Basically, an unheralded ditty from a so-so record that's always been trapped in the shadow of its predecessor. But I for one absolutely adore the song. It's a busy little mover that shakes and shimmies just right. And the airy, drawn-out vocal phrasing on the verses makes for a perfect touch, conveying notes of sweetness and woe in the same breath. Enjoy below.

Tuesday reading

- "Beatlemania in 1964: 'This has gotten entirely out of control'" - Here's a vividly detailed first-look at The Beatles' maiden visit to the U.S., published in The Saturday Evening Post in March of 1964. What stands out most is that, even at this early stage of band's mega-prominence, the press had already identified the role of each Beatle - roles that quickly became familiar and overstated to the point of cliche. John as the intellectual, Paul as the Cute One, etc, etc.

- "The Beatles’ first U.S. concert: An oral history of the day the Fab Four conquered D.C."

Macca: The press conferences were quite funny. It was always: “Hey, Beatles, is that hair real, or is it a wig?” Well, that’s a very good question, isn’t it? How dumb are you? But we didn’t mind it at all. We expected it. It was a completely different world. It’s not like now where you’ll find all these kids writing for the Internet. It was elderly, balding gentlemen who smoked a lot — grown-ups looking disapprovingly at the children having too much fun. We knew it wasn’t hard to beat that kind of cynicism. It was like a chess game. And the great thing was, being four of us, one of us could always come up with a smart-ass answer.

- "The 10 Most Technically Amazing Beatles Songs" - I was delighted to see what song occupies the top spot of this list. Hugely underrated, imo; the atmosphere is matchless.

- Lastly, "Listen Closer! 35 Songs You Didn’t Know Feature Famous Background Singers"

Great non-Beatles song...

... with a random Beatles reference.

Nilsson...I just can't quit the guy. And for someone who operates a blog about The Beatles, this is fortuitous, as there's no shortage of shared history between the two acts. The list encompasses press conference plugs, surprise late-night phone calls, transatlantic visits, cover songs, tribute mash-ups, collaborations (both sonic and cinematic), epic booze-and-coke benders, best-man wedding duties, and so forth. I've already blogged about much of this, but here's one Nilsson-Fab intersection that I've yet to highlight: Harry's shout-out to The Beatles in "Don't Leave Me."

Off 1968's Aerial Ballet - a delightful hodgepodge dotted with classics - "Don't Leave Me" is full of the tricks, surprises, and wonders that have always set Nilsson apart. Foremost, take notice of how the song begins and where it is by the end. It's a full-on transformation: from subdued and plaintive to effervescent and whacky. In part, this is thanks to the range and elasticity of Nilsson's legendary voice. As with Roy Orbison, his vocal acrobatics often lead you on little adventures. There's also the unconventional use of just a single chorus, the closing half-minute stuffed with Nilsson's signature "nonsensical melodic mortar" (in the words of Grantland's Sean Fennessey), and - getting to the point of this post - the appropriation of "beep beep beep beep yeah" from "Drive My Car" that comes out of nowhere right in the middle of the track. Why is it there? Hardly matters. All I need to know is that it's Harry and The Beatles.

When Harry met John...

I can always go for more Harry Nilsson. His stirring, versatile, and oh-so natural voice. His oddball, sometimes sui generis style of songcraft. His storied antics. Etc. In my view, he's one of those rare artists whose lesser material still holds plenty of appeal simply because of the compelling personality behind the whole operation. It may not be a great song or a great album; but as long as it's a Harry Nilsson creation, that promises a different and often uniquely rewarding pop music experience. I just adore the guy, warts and all. Below I've collected a handful of recent articles that are about Harry or feature him in some way. All tie in with The Beatles to one degree or another.

- "Reports from Lennon's Lost Weekend: 'Don’t you know who I am?'"

I got a kick out of this line, which comes from a 1974 news story about John's "lost weekend": "Meanwhile that possible Beatle tour looks even more possible as reports filter about that all four of the Liverpool lads could use the ready cash flow such a tour would precipitate." Very possible indeed.

- "40 Years Ago: John Lennon, Harry Nilsson Tossed From Troubadour for Heckling"

Excerpt: "'I got drunk and shouted,' Lennon later remembered. 'It was my first night on Brandy Alexanders — that’s brandy and milk, folks. I was with Harry Nilsson, who didn’t get as much coverage as me, the bum. He encouraged me. I usually have someone there who says "Okay, Lennon. Shut up."'"

- "Unseen John Lennon letter complains about Keith Moon's rock'n'roll behaviour"

A short quote that basically tells it all: "Clearly John Lennon is blaming Keith (Moon) and Harry for urinating on the console...."

- "40 Years Ago: Ringo Starr and Harry Nilsson Release ‘Son of Dracula'"

Excerpt: "'We had this script, Drac takes the cure, marries the girl and goes off into the sunlight — and it was the only movie we wanted to make,' Starr later told Q. 'I called Harry because he was a blonde bombshell and we had his teeth fixed, which his mother was always thankful for.'"

- Lastly, "Harry Nilsson’s 13 Works Of Genius On Film"

Inspired by The Beatles - "No. 1 Party Anthem"

Alex Turner has long been primed for a John Lennon moment. If you're unaware, Turner is the hyper-talented frontman of the British guitar-rock combo Arctic Monkeys, who earlier this month dropped their fifth LP, AM. Midway through this ace record, after a run of dark, moody, swaggering cuts, Turner switches gears and goes into full-on Lennon mode with "No. 1 Party Anthem". It's a big ballad in the vein of, say, "Mind Games" or John's "Angel Baby" cover. It's layered, echoey, and shimmering, with a heavy gait and slow swoop. Producer James Ford applies a widescreen treatment to what is really a modest construction. Call it the "Phil Spector effect", something John knew all about.

The rest matches up too. Typical of Turner, the lyric - which wryly describes the hesitations of an after-hours romeo - boasts sharply drawn narration and clever turns-of-phrase. Money line: "It's not like I'm falling in love / I just want you to do me no good / And you look like you could." Calls to mind one of John's Rubber Soul flames, no? And when you next listen to the song, close your eyes and imagine Lennon delivering the lead. From the verses to the chorus to dazzling bridge ("The look of love" / "The rush of blood..."), the shoe fits impeccably.

Here's to hoping that Turner revisits this generous well in the near future.

(If the video is removed, go here.)

The "God" trilogy

"God," the penultimate track on John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band, is a powerful pop sermon of unbelief and rejection. It's so powerful, in fact, that it inspired two sequels - one by U2 and the other by Larry Norman, a pioneer of the Christian rock genre. I first heard U2's "God Part II" a few weeks ago while listening to Rattle and Hum. Intrigued, I read up on the song and then came across this article, which explores the relationship between the three parts. Their conflicting theological perspectives make for a compelling interplay. I especially like Bono's lyric, which addresses the inner discord that holds sway in the life of a sinner.

Excerpts:

U2's music often includes religious content, but it is a highly creative, restless and wondering relationship with religious mysteries. They look for the baby Jesus under the trash and would take bread and wine if there were a church they could receive in, but their articulation of sacred themes is often playful and always incomplete, as if they never quite find what they are looking for.

. . .

Larry Norman's "God Part III" does not include the same subtlety or affection for Lennon we find in Bono's lyrics. Norman begins his song not with a statement about religion, like Lennon and U2, but instead with the words "i don't believe in beatles, i don't believe in rock," taking the first phrase directly from Lennon's song. The liner notes to Norman's Stranded in Babylon describe "God Part III" as a "response to John's song," which suggests something far less affectionate than U2's note that their song is "for John Lennon." Unlike U2's generous affirmation of the rightness and truth of Lennon's emphasis on love, Norman's direct confrontation with Lennon, the Beatles and rock more generally suggests there is no truth to be found in music; "you can easily hit number one with a bullet," he says, "and totally miss the heart." Bono disagrees, finding truth in Lennon, even if he is misguided in certain particulars.

The kinetic genius of Billy Preston, the "Fifth Beatle"

I caught a snippet of the video below in the documentary Strange Fruit: The Beatles' Apple Records and was blown away. Just watch it - watch and learn and don't even attempt to imitate. Preston's moves defy reason; they're nothing short of otherworldly. The whole package - the voice, the dancing, the presence, the suit - is shot through with star power.

"Agent Double O Soul":

"Whole Lotta Helter Skelter'

The Beatles + Led Zeppelin = great mash-up and great video.

(If the video is removed, go here.)

Born on this day

Two titans of popular music entered the world on this day. Happy Birthday, Elvis (b. 1935), and Happy Birthday, David Bowie (b. 1947)! It's beyond me how January 8th is able to contain the historic greatness of both. Every other day of the year should take notes. Assorted links, etc. below.

Re: Elvis...

- Read about the day that Elvis and The Beatles met.

- Watch The Beatles reflect on the encounter.

- Here's Elvis covering "Yesterday" and "Hey Jude."

- John on the King: "Before Elvis there was nothing."

Re: Bowie...

- Here's a past birthday post I wrote that features some song links, including Beatles covers.

- Concerning the Beatles reference in "Young Americans."

- Concerning the (possible) Beatles reference in "Life on Mars?."

- Finally, here's one from the obscure file: Bowie performing a live cover of "This Boy." Though the sound is muffled, you can tell he's right at home, especially when the vocal goes big and expressive.

"Cut Me Some Slack"

In the same calendar year now, Paul has put out a dapper standards album called Kisses on the Bottom and contributed lead vocals to "Cut Me Some Slack," the stomping Nirvana-reunion jam that was debuted at the 12-12-12 Sandy benefit concert. That's impressive range, but it's not unheard of from Paul. Consider that on "The White Album" only two tracks separate "Helter Skelter" and "Honey Pie," a pair of McCartney creations that are as different as any in The Beatles' songbook and that almost seem to parallel the dichotomy above. In a sense, "Helter Skelter" makes it easier for "Cut Me Some Slack" to work. There's the foreknowledge that heavy, hard-charging confines aren't totally unfamiliar to Paul. In fact, he made a classic belting his way through them. Then when you get into the song, it's hard not to detect traces of "Helter Skelter" itself, especially in the brief, wiry chorus. And while Paul's voice is certainly not what it used to be, he brings just enough grit to the proceedings. 70 years old, and he's rocking out with Dave Grohl and company. Just awesome.

For more on the song, go here.

"Cut Me Some Slack"

(If the video is removed, go here.)

The most Beatles-esque Beach Boys song?

The title surely belongs to "Girl Don't Tell Me," a Brian-penned, Carl-sung track from Summer Days (And Summer Nights!!). It's been said that Brian actually wrote the song for The Beatles, but I'm not sure this has been verified. Either way, in the guitar breaks and the escalating vocal parts, it quickly calls to mind "Ticket to Ride." The lyric too is very Lennon-esque, with the male lead bemoaning the lies of his ex-crush and vowing to forget her. Underrated song.

For more posts on The Beatles and the Beach Boys, go here.

(If the video is removed, go here.)

"The Greatest Rock Spectacle of the Decade"

When I last wrote about the Concert for Bangladesh, I had this to say:

One of the central pleasures of the concert (as shown on the 2005 DVD) is that, notwithstanding the handful of rock 'n' roll powerhouses and living legends that participated, it was the well-regarded but still second-fiddle keyboardist Billy Preston who completely stole the show. In my view, his soulful rendering of "That's the Way God Planned It" and the animated, loose-limbed boogieing that he punctuates the song with outshine the two ex-Beatles' handiwork, Eric Clapton's unrehearsed guitar-playing, and Bob Dylan's mini-set. Preston's stage presence is truly radiant and even has an unmissable spiritual flair. There's also a lot of simple charm in the spontaneous feel of his performance. In sum, it's the most memorable moment of a concert not lacking in talent-heavy highlights.

After watching the film again, I thought I should go into greater detail. It deserves better.

Because the Concert became a template for future pop charity events like Live Aid and Farm Aid, it can be easy to focus on the significance of its legacy and lose sight of how incredible it was simply as a rock 'n' roll concert(s)*. No single performance is as memorable as "That's the Way God Planned It," but there isn't a bad apple among the whole batch. Every song delivers.

George and his super-group opened the show with three songs from All Things Must Pass: "Wah-Wah," "My Sweet Lord" and "Awaiting on You All." That's three Walls of Sound played live at Madison Square Garden. A perfect fit, as it turned out. Freed from the confines of the studio, the songs don't suffer from that gauzy, boxed-in quality that Phil Spector lathered all over his productions. These are the IMAX versions, exploding with bold color and a sonic hugeness that works much better live than on record. "Wah-Wah" in particular is a revelation. Next was "That's the Way God Planned It," which was followed by Ringo's star turn, "It Don't Come Easy." Ringo being Ringo, it's a perky, crowd-pleasing performance. Then came two more cuts from George: "Beware of Darkness," which features Leon Russell as a guest vocalist, and "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," which teams George with Eric Clapton on lead guitar. Because of his crippling heroin addiction at the time, Clapton wasn't expected to show. Only with the aid of methadone did he find himself able to function (and not all that well). Apart from the Clapton drama, the performance is noteworthy because it was the first time that "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" had ever been done live (the same was true for "Here Comes the Sun" and "Something," which came later). Next was Leon Russell's change-of-pace medley of "Jumpin' Jack Flash" and "Young Blood"; then George's delicate, stripped down rendition of "Here Comes the Sun"; and then the surprise of the night: Bob Dylan. Dylan hadn't been onstage in several years, and George had serious doubts he would make it. Though a nervous wreck, he did show, and the crowd received him rapturously. As depicted on the film, Dylan played "A Hard Rain's a-Gonna Fall," "It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry," "Blowin' in the Wind" and "Just Like a Woman." In that brief moment, the spirit of Sixties idealism was revived. Finally, once Dylan wrapped up, George returned to the mic and closed the show with "Something" and "Bangla Desh," which was the first charity single in pop music history. It was a day of many firsts.

Again, what a collection of songs. And, just as much, what a collection of musicians: George, Ringo, Clapton, Dylan, Ravi Shankar**, Billy Preston, Klaus Voorman, Leon Russell, Jim Keltner, Jesse Ed Davis, Badfinger, and more. That's an embarrassment of riches. George had cultivated many strong relationships over the years, and the Concert testified to how well-regarded he was. It was an event rooted in friendship.

Of course, a few of George's closest friends from the near past were conspicuously absent. In the early stages of planning, John expressed interest in playing, but he later backed out. George had stipulated that Yoko could not be involved, which apparently led to a dispute between her and John. After the Concert, the excuse John gave for his absence was that he had been on vacation in the Virgin Islands at the time. Paul, on the other hand, was a firm no from the start. He said that too much bad blood remained from the breakup. He couldn't stomach the thought of working alongside Allen Klein in any capacity.

In the end, it didn't matter. As with All Things Must Pass, the Concert for Bangladesh was George's moment to shine. To this day, it's still a major part of his legacy. The Concert started out as a noble cause but became a landmark event thanks to those superlative musicians and those classic songs.

* - The Concert actually consisted of two installments, but the film combined them into one.

** - I apologize for ignoring Shankar and the Indian music set. It holds little interest for me. I appreciate the craft but don't care for the creation.

Inspired by The Beatles

There are days - many days, in fact - when "I Am the Walrus" is my favorite Beatles song. It doesn't carry the emotional weight of, say, "Eleanor Rigby" or "Hey Jude," and it doesn't boast the collaborative genius of "A Day in the Life," but it does deliver an experience that sets it apart. Between the kooky lyric, the bustling swirl of layered orchestration, and the triumphant circus-procession flow, "I Am the Walrus" imparts a special kind of satisfaction: you know you're listening to a song that is so different from everything that came before it and couldn't possibly be matched by anything that came after it. Many artists have likely tried, but I'm certain - without even being able to cite examples - that they all failed. The better course of action is to borrow from it and make it obvious you're doing so, the end result being a respectful homage. That's close to my take on the song below: "Tropicana" by Ratatat. Cool track, cool band.

Enjoy:

(If the video is removed, go here.)

Weekend happenings

This past Saturday, I saw the Walkmen in concert at "the house that Prince built." Superb show. The Walkmen are among my favorite American bands, and they happen to have an interesting tie-in with The Beatles. In 2006, they put out a song-for-song re-creation of Harry Nilsson's 1974 album Pussy Cats, which was produced by John during his debaucherous but fertile "Lost Weekend." Ringo, a close friend of Nilsson's, contributed as well; he was one of the featured drummers. Furthermore, as stated on Wikipedia, "On the first night of recording, March 28 (1974), Paul McCartney popped into the studio unexpectedly. Bootleg recordings from this session were later released as the album A Toot and a Snore in ’74." All told, the original Pussy Cats is smeared with The Beatles' fingerprints. In fact, John co-wrote my favorite song on the album, "Mucho Mungo," which I described here as a "shimmering coral treat." If you go here, you'll find two versions of the song: one by Nilsson and one by John. Below is the Walkmen's faithful cover.

(If the video is removed, go here.)

. . .

Then on Sunday, I watched The Last Waltz, Martin Scorsese's renowned rock doc about The Band and their farewell concert, which took place on Thanksgiving Day, 1976. Included in the large number of special guests who performed at the show was Ringo. He played drums on Bob Dylan's "I Shall Be Released" (see below) and took part in a jam session that, frankly, didn't suit his style at all. Ringo wasn't the improvisational, soloing type. He was more of a minimalist who thrived in the controlled environment of a studio.

(If the video is removed, go here.)

The Quiet Beatle and the American Beatle

Last October, when I wrote about the superb documentary Who is Harry Nilsson (And Why Is Everybody Talkin' About Him)?, I ended the post by highlighting a cheeky anecdote from Nilsson's (after)life that involved George:

My favorite Beatles-related story actually comes from Nilsson's funeral in 1994. George Harrison was in attendance and apparently started talking about Nilsson's music at one point. He pegged "You're Breakin' My Heart" as his favorite song. According to someone else who was there, this inspired George and others to perform an a-capella rendition of the song - complete with its frank, ear-catching punch line - right next to Nilsson's grave. What a moment perfectly suited to its honoree: sad, salty and sweet.

As it turns out, George's opinion may not have been free of bias: listed in the liner notes of Son of Schmilsson as "George Harrysong," the Quiet Beatle in fact played slide guitar on "You're Breakin' My Heart." I recently discovered this tid-bit after buying a copy of Son. There's more. Both Ringo ("Richie Snare") and longtime Beatles associate Klaus Voorman are all over the album. Additionally, the famous cover shot of Nilsson playacting as a Dracula-type was taken at Friar Park, George's sprawling abode in Oxfordshire.

Let me add that the colorful and varied Son of Schmilsson is a first-rate album, displaying both polished, commercial songwriting and plenty of Nilsson's trademark wit and eccentricity. Despite what producer Richard Perry has said over the years, it's a worthy successor to Nilsson Schmilsson; it's just weirder. I actually find it to be the more purely enjoyable listening experience, thanks in part to "You're Breakin' My Heart," which you can listen to below. Shamelessly profane but also buoyantly so, "Heart" is like "You've Really Got a Hold on Me" updated for the brash, big-talkin' Seventies. Its love/hate sentiments are universal.

(If the video is removed, go here. For more Daily Beatle posts about Nilsson, go here.)

"Death came to the party"

In this post from late March, I made a passing reference to the "Manson murders." A few weeks later, I touched on The Beatles' breakup. Then last week, I watched Gimme Shelter, the legendary documentary about the Rolling Stones' U.S. tour of 1969 - the tour that concluded infamously amidst chaos and death at the Altamont Speedway Free Festival in northern California on December 6th. There's a common strand among these three events: the end of the 1960s as a period of youthful idealism and romanticized "sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll" liberation. Of the three, Altamont is most closely linked to the demise of that cultural moment, thanks in part to Gimme Shelter.

I hadn't seen the film prior to last week's viewing, but - like most students of rock 'n' roll history - I was familiar with the details. Presented as a series of quasi-flashbacks, Gimme Shelter follows the Rolling Stones as they traveled west across the U.S., starting with a performance at Madison Square Garden and from there always moving gradually, inescapably to the horror of Altamont. A sense of coming doom is the film's hallmark. It's there when the band plays in New York City; it's there when they review concert footage; it's there in the lazy, quotidian down time of the tour; and it's there, quite conspicuously, as harried negotiations take place to make "Woodstock West" a reality. (The concern voiced by various parties about logistics and safety can't help but seem prophetic.) From what I can gather, the motivation for Altamont was twofold: 1) the Stones had been criticized for high ticket prices and wanted to make amends; and 2) 1969 was the year of the free music festival: both Hyde Park and Woodstock had taken place that summer. In the film, Mick Jagger boasts that Altamont would fit the ethos of the festival movement, which was serving as "an example for the rest of America as to how one can behave in large gatherings." The road to hell is indeed paved with good intentions.

When the day of the concert finally arrives, there's still more cruel build-up to endure. The Stones didn't go on until well past dusk, giving ample time for tensions to brew between roughly 300,000 excitable, drugged-out fans and the Hell's Angels, who were hired as stage security - fatefully. Armed with pool cues and allegedly paid in beer (though this is much disputed), the Angels weren't looking to play nice. Before the Stones even stepped foot onstage, the scene turned edgy and violent. The Angels mocked the crowd - "We're partying like you" - and tussles abounded. Most notably, Marty Balin of Jefferson Airplane got knocked unconscious by one of the Angels. This prompted the Grateful Dead to bail on their performance. The Stones, on the other hand, had no choice but to play: though a gathering nightmare, Altamont was their brainchild. We all know what happened next: Several songs into their set, which had featured the sinister tones of "Sympathy for the Devil" and "Under My Thumb," an 18-year-old man named Meredith Hunter was stabbed to death by an Angel after he brandished a gun and fired off a shot. Seeing that a fight had broken out, Mick tried to calm matters down, but he wasn't aware of the gravity of the situation. He wasn't aware that Altamont had just been visited by murder. The Stones kept playing, confused and frustrated but not yet shaken to their core.

That moment seems to come near the end of the film as Mick watches video of the crime. He, as well as the viewer, sees Meredith Hunter charge the stage after being pushed back, with his gun clearly visible against a woman's crocheted top. We then see a knife-wielding Angel spring into action; one of the subsequent shots is a freeze frame of the knife held high, primed for a plunge. Finally, we see the knife viciously reach its target, not once but twice. Throughout, the shots are slowed down, rewound, stilled, and then played again. Mick's response: "It was so horrible," followed by the blankest of stares. It's also how the viewer is meant to feel. To watch an actual murder take place even on film is a powerful and sobering experience. I'll admit that, upon reflection, I found it unseemly how riveted I was by those images. Though the murder occurred under fascinating circumstances, death was still the final, gruesome result.

There are many other sequences that I won't soon forget. One of the most striking is when the Angels ride into Altamont, parting the crowd, engines blaring. In the words of Stanley Booth, it was like the arrival of "an invading army" - they heralded discord. Another portentous moment comes early on the day of the concert when Mick is making his way to the band's trailer and gets smacked by a fan. It's an eerie premonition of violence, befitting the occasion far more than the peace signs flashed in the crowd, which take on the feel of empty, feckless gestures. After the deed is done, emotions inevitably run high. There's a stirring shot of a young woman in tears, crying out, "I don't want him to die." Meredith Hunter did die at Altamont that day, along with three other people: two were victims of a hit-and-run accident and one drowned in an irrigation canal. Wikipedia adds: "Scores were injured, numerous cars were stolen and then abandoned, and there was extensive property damage." The final sequence of the film shows a stream of people leaving this calamitous scene. They were leaving the '60s.

What are we to make of Altamont? Who deserves blame for the chaos? Gimme Shelter implicates a handful of people while never fully assigning guilt. But it's hard not to read a great deal into a shot that comes right before the concert-goers are shown in exit. Mick and one of the directors finish going over the footage of Hunter's murder. As Mick gets up from his seat and starts to walk out, the camera focuses on his face. The shot freezes. He's not wearing much of an expression, but - unlike his blank stare from just moments prior - he doesn't look weary and burdened. Instead, there's a distant intensity to his gaze. Maybe it's a sneer. Maybe there's even a touch of evil present. It's a spellbinding shot, but its function isn't readily apparent. Co-directors Howard and David Maysles didn't need to include it, unless their intent was to urge viewers to consider Mick's role - his moral culpability - in the disaster of Altamont. After all, it would have been simplistic and inaccurate if they’d simply pinned all of the blame on the Angels. There are too many qualifiers down that path. (i.e., Yes, the Angels were rough with the crowd; and yes, it was one of their men who took the life of another. But they were in a difficult spot dealing with kids who were tripping on acid and amphetamines; and when the murder was committed, it was in response to Hunter’s show of violence. Moreover, they didn’t just show up unannounced; they were asked to be there.) Rather, I think the Maysles brothers were hinting at broader, more abstract themes, like the notion of rock 'n' roll as violent artistic expression. Maybe they didn't view the youth counter-culture of the '60s as a movement that was ever innocent. It did in fact celebrate excess, and mischief was part of its DNA. Maybe the Maysles brothers held its luminaries in contempt for what they had created but couldn't hope to contain.

Mick was obviously a consequential figure of the time. His style as a songwriter and performer was rooted in bravado, arrogance, even egomania. He enjoyed taunting his fans, filling their minds with dark, potent imagery, and then whipping them into a frenzy. Onstage he was like a populist tyrant, indulging his own whims while also satisfying those of the crowd. But peace couldn't be maintained indefinitely, and it's likely that the Maysles brothers saw the scene at Altamont as a microcosm of rock 'n' roll culture: it was thrilling but combustible. The drugs, the booze, the sex, the wild emotion - a tipping point was inevitable. Once there, the priests and prophets of the movement - the Mick Jaggers, etc. - wouldn't be able to tame the madness. They wouldn't be able to defuse the hysteria they had helped foment.** At Altamont, Mick was indeed helpless. In the face of upheaval, his calls to order carried no weight; in the face of death, his stage act came off as pathetically frivolous. With a murder taking place right in front of him, all of his panache and swagger was exposed as meaningless. In that meaninglessness perhaps lay some guilt. It's not for nothing that there are shots of fans shaking their heads at Mick, a newly fallen leader.

In the end, many were at fault to one degree or another: the drugged-out hippies, the drunk and violent Angels, the people who hired them, the festival planners, and Mick, along with the rest of the Stones***. I'm sure the argument has been made that the Maysles brothers somehow retroactively share in the guilt as well. After all, they profited from Altamont, which isn't without moral complications. And yes, it could be said that the viewer doesn't fully escape blame either. Why do we watch Gimme Shelter? It's not for the music - it's for the murder.

* - The title quote comes from Stanley Booth.

** - Some form of this interpretation is likely endorsed by Sonny Barger, a founding member of the Oakland chapter of the Hell's Angels who was present at Altamont. In his book Hell's Angel: The Life and Times of Sonny Barger and the Hell's Angels Motorcycle Club, he writes of the Stones: "They had accomplished what they'd set out to do. The crowd was plenty pissed off and the craziness began."

*** - Long live the incomparable Keith Richards!

George Martin on Brian Wilson

The Beach Boys kick continues. I keep feeding it, and it keeps gratifying me.

(If the video is removed, go here.)

Re: The Beatles and the Beach Boys

For the purposes of The Daily Beatle, my long-running Beach Boys kick will conclude with this post. Below is a rundown of basically every entry on the site that mentions the group once dubbed "America's Band."

- "There's a Place" vs. "In My Room";

- The BB's cover of "With a Little Help from My Friends";

- Another cover: "I Should Have Known Better";

- News about the original Smile being released;

- Today in music history: Pet Sounds;

- Yet another cover: "Tell Me Why";

- Marking Dennis Wilson's birthday;

- In praise of Pet Sounds;

- Brian Wilson, Rubber Soul and the '60s;

- Paul on Pet Sounds;

- Lastly, The Beatles and the Beach Boys.

The Beatles and the Beach Boys

As evidenced by a number of posts (here, here and here), I've been on a major Beach Boys kick the past couple months. I'm not exaggerating when I say it's been an immense joy. Elevated by sublime vocal arrangements, brimming with warmth and innocence, and graced by a hypnotically escapist sense of place, their music is without parallel. Outside of The Beatles, the Beach Boys are probably my favorite band. If you share this inclination even somewhat, you'd be well advised to watch Endless Harmony: The Beach Boys Story. I've seen it three or four times, and - in my opinion - it's a model rock documentary: It's thorough, entertaining, insightful, unvarnished, and all about the music. Amazon reviewer Sam Sutherland writes, "For the Beach Boys fan, this will be an essential companion to their enduring music." True enough; but because this is a Beatles blog, I want to highlight where the Beach Boys and the Fabs intersect in the documentary.

- When The Beatles conquered America in 1964, it changed life for the Beach Boys. Mike Love compares the impact to a "tidal wave." Other reactions: "jealous," "humbling," "a challenge."

- Speaking about Rubber Soul, Brian Wilson uses his standard line that he was blown away by the unity and coherence of the songs. Pet Sounds followed in its wake.

- Recalling his 1968 trip to Rishikesh, India with The Beatles and others to study Transcendental Meditation under Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, Mike Love describes how he helped Paul write "Back in the U.S.S.R." He suggested the bridge - "Well the Ukraine girls really knock me out..." - a Beach Boys-y touch that's obviously quite reminiscent of "California Girls." Returning the favor, The Beatles added some backing vocals that seem to pay tribute to Love and company.

- Included among the musicians and industry peers who share their thoughts on the Beach Boys is Sean Lennon, John's son with Yoko. His enthusiasm is noteworthy. He says that he listens to the Beach Boys' music everyday and couldn't possibly be down when doing so. He even refers to Smile as "the most amazing thing I've ever heard." Elsewhere, he recaps the familiar story of how Brian's experimentation on Pet Sounds inspired The Beatles to develop their sound.

...

Though not mentioned in the documentary, there's another famous moment when these two bands crossed paths (in a way), and it may have helped to alter the course of pop music history. Recounted here:

Pet Sounds spurred the Fabs to ever greater heights on Revolver. This arms race between the two titans of pop on either side of the Atlantic was not one that the Beach Boys leader was equipped to handle, however. He set to work on new material, but just as the pressure mounted to pull the project together in February 1967, he heard Strawberry Fields Forever on the radio. Wilson felt he couldn't compete, his mental state not helped by the marijuana that he had been smoking, and he abandoned the new record, provisionally titled Smile. The Beatles were in a new head space, and the carefree era of songs such as Surfin' USA was gone.

Wikipedia elaborates:

Another significant event, cited in the Beautiful Dreamer documentary, was Brian's first hearing of The Beatles' new single "Strawberry Fields Forever". He heard the song while driving his car, and was so struck by it that he had to pull over and listen; he then commented to Michael Vosse, his passenger, that The Beatles had "got there first". Although he apparently later laughed about that comment, the stunning new Beatles production had affected him deeply.

...

In other Beach Boys-related news, I finally spent some time with The Smile Sessions, which is Capitol Records' reconstruction of Brian's discarded opus. What a strange, fanciful, ambitious, wildly original, even kaleidoscopic set of songs. Co-written by Brian and Van Dyke Parks, Smile might best be described as psychedelic frontier folk-pop. It's a very American invention, steeped in stateside mythology stretching back to the colonial era and Manifest Destiny; bucolic imagery full of romantic innocence; and religious themes. It's pretty unorthodox and esoteric stuff - a significant departure from the Beach Boys' previous album Pet Sounds, which itself was a departure for the band. This explains why Capitol Records (and Mike Love, for that matter) gave Smile a cool reception in 1966. Though it's an untouchable record that contains a number of classics ("Heroes and Villains," "Surf's Up," "Good Vibrations," etc.), it was never destined to be a chart-topper. But at least it has finally seen the light of day. Brian’s vision - his “teenage symphony to God” - is now reality, and I think it sounds beautiful.

...

UPDATE: Another overlap between The Beatles and the Beach Boys occurred in 1966 when former (and future) Fabs press officer Derek Taylor was hired by the Beach Boys to promote Pet Sounds. As part of the campaign, Taylor touted Brian as a “genius,” in hopes that music critics would start taking the Beach Boys frontman more seriously. With a minor assist from Pet Sounds, it seems to have worked. (I came across this tidbit in the excellent documentary Beautiful Dreamer: Brian Wilson and the Story of Smile. I should note that both George Martin and Paul make appearances in it. Martin has a funny moment when he mock-complains about the broad scope of Brian’s talents, deeming it unfair.)

Another "My Sweet Lord"

Before George had made an instant classic out of "My Sweet Lord," he gave the song to Billy Preston, who - according to Wikipedia - scored "a minor hit in Europe" with his rendition. It's too *Seventies* for my tastes, but boy could Preston sing. And boy could he cultivate an epic fro. (If the video is removed, go here.)