Fifty Years of the White Album

Fifty Years of The White Album
My first taste was during a snowball fight on my home street during the blizzard of ’69. January or February I believe it was. Before the moon landing, before Woodstock, before the New York Mets became the Amazin’s. We were posted on one side of the street in front of “The New House On the Block” (actually 6 years old at this point), and fighting against the guys on the other side of the street. I don’t know who was on what team, or even if there were actually designated teams. But I do remember throwing snowballs alongside Kevin, traditionally my “best friend”, although the separation by one grade in school and my lack of participation in organized sports made this more a role of my own imagining. (Kevin played pretty much every sport available.) But we did share one thing in common. And it came out once again with his singing an odd-sounding song: “Happy ever after in the marketplace.”
“What is that song.”
“It’s from the new Beatles’ album. My sister’s boyfriend brought it over. ‘Happy ever after in the market place,’” he continued. Repeatedly.
Our common bond was being Beatles fans. Oddly enough, my curiosity did not lead me to ask further questions about this new album. In all honesty, the idea that the Beatles still put out “new albums” wasn’t on my radar. Yes, I bought the “Hey Jude” 45 the previous summer. And I did overplay my copy of “Magical Mystery Tour”. But I remained ignorant of their actual progress as an ongoing musical entity. I just saved my allowance and bought a record if a song struck me. And right now, this “Happy ever after…” crap wasn’t doing it for me.
It was shortly after this that my brother Fred started telling me about this “double album” that the Beatles had put out. He told me about all these wonderful songs that it contained. I knew all about it before I ever heard a note. Several of the songs appeared in a fake book I purchased from my then guitar teacher. I tried teaching myself some of the songs from the written page (I had a good foundation in reading music thanks to that same guitar teacher and a guy named Mel Bay), but none of that prepared me for the sonic experience of finally hearing the album by…Them!
It was sometime in the spring of 1970 that my ears finally got to open that particular box of candy. I informed my brother Fred that I saw it on sale for the unheard of low price of $4.44 at Klein’s Department Store. Not having the money myself, I knew he’d take the bait. Shortly thereafter, the album entered the our home. And even though it was my brother’s, the fact that it was in the house meant I had legal access to it. (Sorry, Fred!)
I vaguely remember the first complete listening. I do remember it was a nice Saturday morning in Spring. I was cranking it on the living room stereo. The one with the 20 pound tone arm that destroyed all things vinyl. What stands out is hearing “Helter Skelter” for the first time. The fade out and back in kind of freaked me out, along with Ringo’s “…blisters…” exclamation. (For the longest time I thought it was John.) I don’t remember hearing “Revolution 9” for the first time, but I’m sure I absolutely hated it. I did for a long time thereafter.
I played it constantly. I prayed for rain every day that summer, because rain meant Mom wouldn’t make me go to the community pool, and I’d get to stay inside. Fred was working during the day, so the double disc was mine if only for the one hour, thirty-three minutes and thirty-five seconds it took to play, not counting flipping from side 1 to side two, changing discs, and then flipping from side three to side 4. (Those of you who grew up in the digital age will never know the struggle!) And a complete listening was required. Listening to the White Album is like watching a favorite movie. You can’t come in or leave in the middle.
I heard lots of joy in this record. The laughing and merriment on “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da”, the silliness of “Bungalow Bill”, the happy chatter at the beginning of “Revolution 1”. I heard experimentation. The weirdness of “Wild Honey Pie”, the spookiness of that untitled track after “Cry Baby Cry”, and I even got to appreciate “Revolution 9”. I had this feeling of “they had a lot of fun making this record. You can just hear it. You can FEEL it!” The more I listened, the more I fell in love with the music.
Friends and I discussed and argued. What was “Revolution 9” ‘about’? Why does John say “don’t you know that you can count me out…in”, but on the fast version it’s merely “…count me out”? Who’s actually singing what? It had to be John singing “Why Don’t We Do It in the Road?” because Paul would never sing something like that. No, Ed, that’s NOT little kids singing the “la la la’s” on “Ob-La-Di…”, it’s the Beatles themselves. We went back and forth on that one for a long time. (I was right, Ed. Sorry.) Why is Eric Clapton thanked in the credits? Who is that awful woman singing on “Bungalow Bill”? And of course I was curious as to how John and Paul worked as a duo. My guitar teacher at the time explained that John wrote the words and Paul wrote the music. (He was a talented musician and teacher, but somewhat old school, and I guess from that perspective all songwriting duos worked as “lyricist and composer”. At the time, I had no reason to think otherwise.)
Eventually, I bought my own copy. I had to. Fred got married, moved out, and took his records with him. I needed that music. Listening to it became a regular ritual. I went through many copies, including a Capitol label pressing, white vinyl, Mobile Fidelity, the eventual CD release, and of course I got the 50th anniversary edition for Christmas. And I still listen. In its entirety.
And those years of listening along with learning the group’s story and knowing the tension within the band at this time, and all writing and working separately and…well, you can get all that stuff somewhere else…I realize there is a story here. The four sides fit together like the four movements of a symphony, with the Beatles themselves (mainly John and Paul) trying to outdo each other.

Side 1
Paul starts us off strong. “Back in the U.S.S.R.” is a rocker, with nice Beach Boys harmony and some fine guitar playing from George and drumming from Ringo. (Oops! I think that’s Paul on almost everything.) John counters with “Dear Prudence” (nice Travis picking, John), then takes us through the past. “Glass Onion” re-introduces us to Strawberry Fields, Lady Madonna and the Walrus. Paul gets weird (“Wild Honey Pie”), John gets weird (“The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill”), and George…brings in Eric Clapton?! “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” is probably the best thing George has written up to this point in his career as a Beatle. And he doesn’t trust the guitar solo to anyone in the band, not even himself. He’s topped his bandmates, but John’s not done. “Happiness is a Warm Gun” takes us through hobnail boots, mother superiors and firearms, using distorted guitar, weird time changes, and finally bringing us into a simple do-wop style. John gets in the last word and gives us some nice simple rock and roll.

Side 2
Paul starts us off again. “Martha My Dear”, a nice song about a boy and his dog. John’s response? “I’m So Tired”. Guitars. Electric guitars. Two, with a bass and drums. Just like when they started out. Mumbling by John, and Paul goes all “Yesterday” on us with an acoustic guitar number. No string quartet on “Blackbird, however. Just a foot tap and a (duh!) bird. “You want animals?” asks George. Call in the “Piggies”. A harpsichord, and they sound very United Kingdom here. We never heard the British-ness in “Yeah, yeah, yeah”. “They don’t sound English when they sing.” “Piggies” could almost be a Kinks song. What does Paul do? Pulls a Zimmerman. His Dylan on “Rocky Raccoon (another animal?!) is nothing like his Little Richard on a song like “I’m Down”. And more acoustic guitar, honky tonk piano, and hey! When was the last time we heard John play harmonica? We haven’t heard from John for the last three songs, so the next one has to be…Ringo? With a solo writing credit? “Don’t Pass Me By” surprises everyone. Love the fiddle. But still no John. Paul does raunch (“Why Don’t We Do It In the Road”) and ballad (“I Will”). Where is Mr. Lennon? Once again John closes the side with his own solo acoustic number. “Julia” evokes his mother, his soon-to-be second wife (“ocean child”) and proves that he can easy listen with Macca any day of the week. Once again, the last word goes to Beatle John.

Side 3
Drums, a nice electric guitar riff, and it’s apparently somebody’s “Birthday”. A fun song. How could there be tension in this band? It sounds like all four Fabs are present, but this has Paul written all over it. John counters with “Yer Blues”. A blues? That’s the Stones’ domain. More of that good old two guitar, bass and drum thingy. And a nod to Dylan in the lyrics. And just as Paul answered “I’m So Tired” with an acoustic guitar, he does the same again with “Mother Nature’s Son”. And John volley’s back with “Everybody’s Got Something To Hide Except Me and My Monkey”. And John continues with “Sexy Sadie”. But it’s not really about Sadie. The Maharishi left John very disillusioned and he says it here without saying it. And acoustic-boy Macca gives us “Helter Skelter”. Again, you can look elsewhere for all the controversy surrounding this song. The big news here is that after Ringo complains about his blisters, George does something he’s never done before. “Long, Long, Long” closes the side of an album. He’s opened an album side (“Within You, Without You”, “Here Comes the Sun”), and he’s even opened an album (“Taxman”). But the last song on the side of a Beatles album always seems to be a big final statement. And more often than not that spot seems reserved for John. How George got in I don’t know. But we’re coming in for one last round of “Give-‘Em-Everything-We’ve-Got”.

Side 4

Two Revolutions here. One at the beginning, one almost at the end. Add the single and that makes three. The studio chatter at the beginning of “Revolution 1” again gives the impression of four musicians really getting along in the creation of their art. The song is a shock to those of us who were used to the fast version backing “Hey Jude” in the fall of 1968. And then Paul gives us one of his “granny songs” (John’s words). “Honey Pie” even has one of those opening verses that was the fashion about thirty or forty years earlier. And George gives us one last hurrah. “Savoy Truffle” once again gives a nod to Mr. Clapton (whose love of sweets inspired this song), and George even references one of Paul’s earlier contributions to this collection. And abrupt ending and “Cry Baby Cry” jumps in with no introduction. John in full force. A nice little ditty, with some fine bass playing, and an untitled acoustic coda by Paul. Is it supposed to be the end of “Cry Baby Cry” or the beginning of…
“Revolution 9”. The low point of the album. John fought to get it on the record. Somehow he won. Why is this track here. Years of repeated listening has revealed this to be absolutely necessary to the collection. All the back and forth of the previous 28 songs means nothing unless John gets in the last dig. And he digs deep. Is it a big “Fuck you, the Beatles is my band and I’ll do what I want”? Or is it just a joke before John really has the last word? “Good Night”. Since the credit reads “Lennon & McCartney” and Ringo is singing, it seems like anybody’s guess who actually wrote it. Time has revealed that it is John who has the last word on this unique, bizarre collection. The Beatles are, after all, John’s band, and he ends with no original Beatle in sight. An orchestra and vocal by the last member to join. “Good night, everybody, everywhere. Good night.”