The Weeklings always make it a point to release a themed-song during the season to be jolly, so here they are with yet another smashing sonic stocking-stuffer to add to your playlist.
Couched in a rockabilly setting, Christmas Day not only rattles and rolls to a super catchy sound, but contains clever and humorous lyrics. Who would ever think of rhyming eve of destruction with mass corruption and tax deduction? Or how about catalog and eggnog?
Amid the Carl Perkins meets George Harrison inspired riffage, the vocals resemble a tuneful Bob Dylan, where airy harmonies sparkle with Beatlesque bliss. Jingling sleigh bells click in as a fitting end to the hooky song.
Although The Weeklings have deservedly earned the title “America’s most unique Beatles influenced band,” the New Jersey-based group is far more than a copy act. Give a listen to their well-stocked library of singles, EPs and albums, and you will be utterly delighted upon hearing their own inventively-composed pop rock offerings.
Over the past several years, Nick Frater has assembled a gaggle of albums, EPs and singles that have collected gushing reviews from all those who have had the pleasure of experiencing these endeavors. Based in Croydon, England, the multi-diversified musician has always professed a penchant for seventies pop rock, but here on his latest album, Earworms, his love for the sounds of the decade is ramped up in full force. Although such influences are boldly expressed, Nick’s sharp-edged songwriting, combined with his industrious arranging and production techniques sit at the head of the class, preventing the material from coming off as mere mimicry.
One of the first things that attracts listeners to a song is the singing. And Nick’s butter-melting vocals, which are squarely schooled in Beatlism, extending to the mannerisms of The Raspberries, Electric Light Orchestra, 10cc, Gerry Rafferty and Elvis Costello, certainly do give the songs on Earworms instant appeal. You couldn’t ask for a better frontman than Nick, who delivers these perfectly-tuned compositions with clarity and strength.
A great choice as the opening number, It’s All Rumours, is a power pop marvel from the get-go. Ignited by slapping drums and stabbing riffs bleeding with distortion, the song is further engraved with twisty breaks and a fluttery falsetto. Jaunty piano chords jumpstart Lucky Strike, which transforms into a catchy vaudeville groove, while the rolling rhythms and punchy hooks of What’s With Your Heavy Heart? also features bluesy licks straight from the George Harrison playbook.
A dreamy piano-driven ballad iced with a lightly-battered jazz flavor, Star-Crossed would have fit nicely on a Walter Egan album, where the absolutely infectious Buggin’ Out, beams brightly with twinkling guitars, spunky melodies and merry doo-wop harmonies.
In typical seventies fashion, Earworms concludes to a grand and majestic climax. Patterned after a glitzy Queen inspired presentation, How To Survive Somebody swells and soars to a chorus of melodramatic vocals, sweeping keyboards and thundering chords.
In a parallel dimension, the songs on Earworm would be parked neck to neck on the AM dial with chart-toppers by Elton John, Paul McCartney and Wings, The Bay City Rollers, The Eagles and the Captain and Tennille. But good music is good music no matter what era it reflects, so there is no reason why Earworms can’t be enjoyed now, and reward Nick Frater with the widespread success – both artistically and commercially – he so clearly commands.
An infinite number of rockin’ pop records can be the greatest record ever made, as long as they take turns. Today, this is THE GREATEST RECORD EVER MADE!
For years and years, “Hey Jude” was regarded by many as The Beatles‘ crowning achievement among singles, the fabbest of the fab, the toppermost of the poppermost. No, wait–neither fab nor poppermost, for “Hey Jude” was far more mature and accomplished than that earlier yeah-yeah-yeah hold my hand stuff. It had depth! It had meaning! It had purpose! It had a big room full of people swayin’ and singin’ Na-na-na-NA-na-na-na!, as if they’d lost their way and forgotten the precise words to “The Batman Theme!”
And I loved it. Wholeheartedly.
“Hey Jude” was released in the summer of 1968, a double-barreled 45 with the raucous “Revolution” as its flip. The Beatles promoted it via a video clip aired by British TV host David Frost and subsequently in the U.S. on The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour. I missed all of this, and I don’t remember hearing it on the radio or anywhere until the early ’70s. That’s when I finally heard “Hey Jude,” as I was visiting my brother Rob in Albany, and listening intently to an oldies radio countdown of the all-time greatest songs. “Hey Jude” came in second, falling just short of the unstoppable juggernaut that was “Dizzy” by Tommy Roe. Or maybe it was the other around, but no matter. I adored both songs immediately.
There was never a time where I didn’t like The Beatles, at least no such time after Beatlemania hit the States in ’64, when I was mere lad of four. But the early ’70s was a huge period of discovery and rediscovery for me in terms of your John, Paul, George, and Ringo. I listened to the Beatles records I knew, sought out the Beatles records I didn’t know, saw the Beatles films I hadn’t seen, and re-watched the one I knew–A Hard Day’s Night–whenever it turned up on TV. The Beatley Badfinger was my favorite current group on the radio, and the Beatley Raspberries later became my favorite current group on the radio; in the period between Badfinger and The Raspberries, Paul McCartney & Wings was likely my favorite current group on the radio. But my all-time favorite group? There was never, ever any question about who that was. There still isn’t.
Granted, the onslaught of punk in the late ’70s prompted me to re-examine my ongoing allegiance to The Beatles. My newfound devotion to The Ramones rivaled my Beatlemania, but certainly didn’t replace it. I did grow tired of the solo careers of the former Beatles by that time, and even started writing a song urging them to never get back to where they once belonged (‘Cause you got a good reason/For staying apart just as long as you can/You got a good reason/All things must pass, you can’t do that again). I developed a distinct preference for The Beatles’ pre-1967 recordings, before they got too serious with the Sgt. Pepper and the “All You Need Is Love” and the goo goo ga joob. On the other hand: Revolver? Rubber Soul? Beatles VI and Beatles ’65 and Meet The Beatles and the American mix of “Thank You, Girl” on The Beatles’ Second Album? Yeah, yeah, a thousand times yeah!
In my 1980s Beatles milieu, “Hey Jude” was not here, nor there, nor everywhere. I still liked it, but it was no longer in my Top 100, not even close. Hell, when a rummage-sale dive at a church basement in Buffalo netted me an Atlantic 45 of Wilson Pickett testifyin’ his own take on “Hey Jude,” the Wicked, Wicked Pickett’s rendition instantly became the version in my mind. That remained the case for decades thereafter. And seeing Paul (now Sir Paul) haul the song out again and again for seemingly every TV appearance honoring The Beatles’ legacy eventually caused “Hey Jude” to grate on me. Na-na-na-NA-na-na-na. No. No-no-NO-no-no-no.
There was an exception to this recently. I don’t remember what show it was, what specific honor or accolade or day-in-the-life matter was at hand. But there was Paul McCartney, on my little 32″ TV screen, once again recommending that we take a sad song and make it better. I don’t know why. I can’t explain it. But after years of indifference, even disdain for this song…
…Well, all of a sudden “Hey Jude” clicked with me, for the first time in years. I may have even joined in with the na-na-nas, as I sat on my couch and remembered how large this song once loomed in my legend.
It would be difficult to name one track as the definitive Beatles track. I usually regard “Rain” as The Greatest Record Ever Made, but that doesn’t make it the definitive Beatles track. “Yesterday” is underrated in spite of its ubiquity, but it’s three Beatles shy of even being a Beatles record, let alone the definitive example. One could argue on behalf of the moptopped frenzy of “She Loves You” or “I Want To Hold Your Hand,” the mind-expansion of “A Day In The Life” or “Strawberry Fields Forever” or “I Am The Walrus,” the pathos of “Eleanor Rigby,” the elegance of “Penny Lane,” the sheer beauty of “We Can Work It Out,” the Utopian promise of “All You Need Is Love.”
But if it’s gotta be just one, it’s “Hey Jude.” “Hey Jude” is the definitive Beatles track. It captures one moment among many, just another snippet of time when The Beatles ruled the world. It captures it perfectly, the movement we need right there on our shoulders. It’s The Beatles still playing as a band, the fractures in that foundation still bonded together in a way only four specific people would ever truly understand. It’s The Beatles with nothing to prove, already reigning o’er their domain by divine right, the four kings of EMI sitting stately on the floor. It’s The Beatles proving it anyway, because they’re the goddamn Beatles.
So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin. You were made to go out and get her. Tonight, I will see Paul McCartney in concert for the first time. He’ll play some songs I know and love, representing a body of work I cherish above all others. He’ll sing “Yesterday.” He’ll command us to “Let It Be.” He’ll channel James Bond with “Live And Let Die,” a license to thrill. And a splendid time will be guaranteed for all.
And he will sing “Hey Jude.” Where once I dreaded that notion, I now embrace it and anticipate it as a highlight. And I will sing along, full voice, with over 30,000 of my fabbest friends. Na-na-na-NA-na-na-na. For well you know that it’s a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder. Better, better, better, AH!
I put this piece together as a potential chapter for my (clearly imaginary) book The Greatest Record Ever Made! (Volume 1), but it is not included in the book’s current blueprint. That may change, but for now, it’s a blog piece instead.(And, considering the parts-is-parts manner in which Capitol Records cobbled together the American versions of The Beatles’ early LPs, it’s fitting that this chapter was itself stitched together from sections contained within two previous posts. Waste not, want not.)An infinite number of songs can each be THE greatest record ever made, as long as they take turns. Today, this is THE GREATEST RECORD EVER MADE!
THE BEATLES: Thank You, GirlWritten by John Lennon and Paul McCartneyProduced by George MartinOriginal release: Single (B-side of “From Me To You”), Parlophone Records [U.K.], 1963GREM! mix: From the album The Beatles’ Second Album, Capitol Records, 1964
Americans old enough to meet The Beatles‘ records in the ’60s (or even for a good while thereafter) were introduced to this forever fab sound via U.S. label Capitol Records‘ much-maligned and possibly Philistine muckin’ about with the original British tracks. The American LPs were shorter than their nearest U.K. counterparts, there were consequently more Beatles albums released here than in Her Majesty’s domain, and a lot of the tracks were tweaked and meddled with by Yankee hands indifferent to the intent of The Beatles and their producer, George Martin. One could imagine an American record producer chomping on a cigar and shrugging off criticism of such crass creative butchery: It’s not ART ferchrissakes, it’s a freakin’ pop record! Jeez, it’s for kids who don’t know any better; otherwise they’d listen to something good instead. But until they grow up outta this Beatle nonsense, WE know what the American kids wanna hear!
Philistines? Yeah Yeah Yeah. But I remain adamantly devoted to The Beatles’ American LPs. It’s how we heard The Beatles, how we fell in love with The Beatles. My Rubber Soul is the American Rubber Soul, the one that inspired Brian Wilson to create Pet Sounds. My two all-time favorite albums are the U.S. patchworks Beatles ’65 and Beatles VI. I prefer Meet The Beatles to With The Beatles. I recognize the purity of the British originals. I can’t and won’t shake my affection for the records that made me.
For all the (sometimes deserved) crap hurled at Capitol Records’ somewhat ham-handed treatment of The Beatles’ records before Sgt. Pepper, “Thank You, Girl” is one shining example of Capitol taking a fab song and making it better. The original U.K. version of this track is fine. But the U.S. version, on Capitol’s money-grabbing hodgepodge LP The Beatles’ Second Album? Man, that track explodes with more energy than even virgin vinyl can carry, adding extra harmonica parts, absolutely superfluous (yet paradoxically essential) echo, and a full-volume, full-throttle atmosphere that could be seen as over-the-top if weren’t so exactly, unerringly right. There are days when this is The Greatest Record Ever Made. And there are certainly occasional evening commutes when this is the only song worth playing, over and over, making me glad when I was blue.
The American mix of “Thank You, Girl” is better than the U.K. version. It’s not even close. I remember the first time I heard the British “Thank You, Girl.” I was in high school, spring of ’77, and I bought an import reissue of The Beatles’ Hits EP, specifically to own a copy of “Thank You, Girl,” a track I knew and loved from my cousin Maryann’s copy of The Beatles’ Second Album. And I was so disappointed with the relatively lifeless mix on the EP. AND IT HAD LESS HARMONICA! Heresy! Sure, it turned out to be heresy in reverse, I guess, but no matter. I knew which version moved me. I still do. I chalked it off to experience, and snagged a beat-up copy of The Beatles’ Second Album at the flea market. And all I’ve gotta do is thank you, Capitol. Thank you, Capitol.
Following tuesday’s reminiscence of the great Syracuse-based Gerber Music chain, we continue our tribute to the late Bill Gerberwith this all-Gerber Music edition of 45 Single Sleeve Cavalcade.
ABBA: Knowing Me, Knowing You I wish I could remember the first 45 I ever bought at Gerber. I picked up some slashed-price close-out singles from a record-store sidewalk sale at Northern Lights Shopping Center some time during my high school years, a haul that included gems like “Rock And Roll Love Letter” by The Bay City Rollers, “Changes” by David Bowie, “You” by George Harrison, and “I’m A Rocker” by The Raspberries. Those could have come from Gerber’s Northern Lights store, but I’m pretty sure the purchase took place after Gerber had left Northern Lights in favor of its new Penn Can Mall location in 1976. Record Town went into Northern Lights, and I betcha I bought those cheapie 45s from Record Town rather than Gerber.
So maybe this fab 1977 ABBA single was first. I liked some of ABBA’s singles, and neither time nor the negative opinion of others has done anything to change that. I enjoyed their first U.S. hit “Waterloo” in 1973, loved 1975’s “S.O.S.,” was benevolently indifferent to “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do” and “Mama Mia,” dismissive of “Fernando,” and A-OK with 1976’s “Dancing Queen.”
Although by ’77 WOUR-FM had nearly monopolized my radio listening, I still had some interest in AM Top 40, and ABBA’s “Knowing Me, Knowing You” was sufficiently catchy and engaging to prompt a purchase of the single. I also bought ABBA’s 1978 hit single “Take A Chance On Me” at Gerber.
I bought a number of other 45s in the ’76-’77 period, when I was a senior in high school. I can’t recall the precise chronology of my purchases, nor can I guarantee where I bought each of them, but it’s likely that my copies of “Carry On Wayward Son” by Kansas, “Magic Man” by Heart, “Blinded By The Light” by Manfred Mann’s Earth Band, “We Are The Champions”/”We Will Rock You” by Queen, and “Isn’t It Time” by The Babys all came from Gerber’s stock.
I remember eyeing a copy of KISS‘ “Calling Dr. Love” single at Gerber, and deferring the purchase because I knew my sister Denise planned to give me a KISS album as a graduation gift. And I remember being tempted by the sight of The Ramones‘ “Sheena Is A Punk Rocker” 45. I had read about punk rock in my Gerber-supplied issues of Phonograph Record Magazine, and all of that exciting, as-yet-unheard noise intrigued me. I was especially intrigued by The Ramones, but couldn’t bring myself to check them out when I was in high school. That would change when I got to college in the fall of ’77.
THE CLASH: Cost Of Living EP Just as I can’t positively ID the first single I bought at Gerber, I can’t be sure of the last one, either. But I betcha it was The Clash‘s Cost Of Living EP in 1979. It was my last summer living at home with my parents in North Syracuse; when I graduated from college in 1980, my girlfriend Brenda and I got an apartment in our college town of Brockport, intent on finding out if we could be any good at this mystifying growin’ up thing.
I’ve written often of the events of my summer of 1979; I’ll try not to repeat those details here; those who do still wanna know about what happened can read a summary I call “Summer Could Have Lasted Forever.” For right here and now, suffice it to say that was both my last summer of (presumed) carefree youth and the first real hint of what trouble might loom ahead.
I’m trying to remember what Clash records I owned before this. Maybe just my two 45s, “Remote Control”/”London’s Burning” and “Tommy Gun”/”1-2 Crush On You,” and I may have gotten one or both at Gerber. I don’t think I had any Clash LPs yet; I would pick up the American version of their first album pretty soon thereafter, either at Gerber or at Brockport’s Main Street Records.
So my Clash collection was perfunctory. But man, I needed to own this Cost Of Living record. Maybe I read about it in Trouser Press, but I knew it contained The Clash’s cover of one of my favorite songs, The Bobby Fuller Four‘s “I Fought The Law.” The mere thought of one of my punk bands playing “I Fought The Law” thrilled me, and I snapped up the EP the second I saw it for sale at the Penn-Can Gerber Music.
I liked The Clash’s take on “I Fought The Law” a lot, but never as much as I liked The Bobby Fuller Four’s definitive version. The EP contained two tracks–“Gates Of The West” and “Groovy Times”–that were almost folky, and a killer remake of The Clash’s own “Capital Radio,” with a unique Cost Of Living tag stapled to to the end. It was a good purchase.
I don’t think it was quite my last-ever Gerber Music buy. I probably got a few albums at Gerber that summer, plus an issue or two of Trouser Press (one with The Beatles on its cover), and I think it was at Gerber’s Shoppingtown location that I scored 99-cent cutout copies of The Real Kids and The Residents Present The Third Reich ‘n Roll when I shoulda been back-to-school clothes-buying at J.C. Penney.
But if Cost Of Living was indeed my last-ever Gerber Music acquisition, it’s fitting. I was introduced to punk rock in the first place by issues of Phonograph Record Magazine I snagged at Gerber in 1977, and I’m cool with the symmetry of completing my Gerber Music patronage with a punk purchase.
I bought a few other punk records in the time between….
THE RAMONES: Rockaway Beach Here’s the only instance I can think of where I can tell you the exact date, location, and even the weather outside when I bought a specific record: The Ramones‘ “Rockaway Beach”/”Locket Love” 45; January 17th, 1978; Gerber Music at Penn-Can Mall; it was snowing.
And it was my 18th birthday.
I was home from college following the fall semester of my freshman year. Things at school hadn’t quite gone according to plan–in part because I didn’t have a plan–but another semester loomed with an opportunity to make things better. (SPOILER ALERT: things got worse before they got better.)
For my birthday, Mom and Dad took me out for a lovely dinner at Beefsteak Mining Company at Penn Can Mall. After dinner, I had planned to go out with friends for my first legal drinks, but there was time for a stop at Gerber Music to pick up a record. A 45. A Ramones 45.
This wouldn’t be my first Ramones record. I had finally gotten around to purchasing the “Sheena Is A Punk Rocker” single while away at school, and already considered it the record that changed my life. I wanted more. And, on a budget, I chose to get more on the installment plan, one 45 at a time.
I don’t think I’d heard “Rockaway Beach” prior to that 1/17/78 purchase, but it didn’t disappoint. So, great birthday meal with parents, great doubling of my personal Ramones library.
But the weather was disappointing. It began to snow harder, ultimately forcing my goin’-out-drinkin’ agenda to be abandoned for the evening. The perils of a January birthday in Central New York.
It stopped snowing eventually; that happens, even in Syracuse. I had a few opportunities to go out a-partyin’ in Syracuse before the spring semester commenced back in Brockport. I even had a chance to see a local rock ‘n’ roll bar band for the first time–my first punk band! But that’s another story.
THE JAM: All Around The World In the summer of 1978, as I tried to reassemble my own scattered pieces after a tumultuous freshman year in college, I got a job at Penn-Can Mall. I was a part-time morning maintenance man–i.e., a janitor–at Sears, part of a mostly-young crew that cleaned the store each AM prior to the start of the business day. My friend Tom was on the crew, and he helped me get the job to begin with. Money in my pocket. I could go out, see bands, try to be better.
Great. Fine. Worthy goals! But let’s not forget the reason God created cash in the first place: I could buy records.
I still tried to stay within a reasonable budget. But c’mon, I now worked under the same big ol’ roof as a Gerber Music store! I wouldn’t and couldn’t resist the allure of import 45s at Gerber. My preferred rock magazines–Bomp!, Trouser Press, and CREEM–gave me an information pipeline to some of what was out there. I read about the U.K. punk/power pop group Generation X, and snapped up their “Ready Steady Go” and “Your Generation” singles at Gerber. I may have gotten my red-vinyl 45 of The Rich Kids‘ “Rich Kids” and/or the single of Rich Kids bassist Glen Matlock‘s former group The Sex Pistols‘ “Pretty Vacant” on one of my frequent Penn-Can Sears-to-Gerber beelines. Beyond punk, the sight of George Thorogood & the Destroyers on TV’s Midnight Special prompted a cash transaction at Gerber to secure my copy of the “Move It On Over”/”It Wasn’t Me” single. I also bought teen pop star Shaun Cassidy‘s hit single “Hey Deanie” and local group The Alligators‘ “I Try And I Try.” My main interests were rock ‘n’ roll, punk, new wave, and (especially) power pop. But I wasn’t strict. If I liked something, I liked it.
My specific interest in power pop was stoked by Bomp! magazine, which had published a special power pop issue earlier in ’78. Gospel to me. Hey, remember that local punk group I mentioned in the previous entry about The Ramones? It turned out the Syracuse punk combo’s idea of punk kinda dovetailed with a power-pop approach, evidenced by their original songs and their chosen covers, of acts like The Kinks, The Raspberries, Big Star, Badfinger, The Hollies, and the early Who alongside your prerequisite punks The Sex Pistols. And yeah, everyone who knows me knows exactly what local punk/power pop group we’re talkin’ about here, but we’ll get to that in a second. Their originals were fantastic, and they had excellent taste in covers.
And they covered The Jam, a great new British group that came out of punk but were clearly and proudly beholden to the model of ’60s Mod, particularly The Who. Following my own weird introduction to The Jam’s music, my fascination with them had grown by leaps and bounds. I bought The Jam’s U.S. single of “I Need You (For Someone)”/”In The City” while away at school, and dutifully trekked to Gerber after Sears shifts to snag import 45s of “The Modern World” and “All Around The World.” Of these four songs named, “All Around The World” was the only one I didn’t already know via live in-club covers by Syracuse’s own power pop powerhouse…
THE FLASHCUBES: Christi Girl Of course.
The story of The Flashcubes is happily entwined with the Gerber Music story. All four of The Flashcubes–guitarists Paul Armstrong and Arty Lenin, bassist Gary Frenay, and drummer Tommy Allen–worked at Gerber at some point. When Bill Gerber passed in May, The Flashcubes issued a statement: “There would be no Flashcubes if there had never been a Gerber Music. In 1977, we all worked at the best music store in CNY history. Gary and Paul (and sometimes Arty) worked at the Shoppingtown store, and Tommy worked at the Fairmount store. It was there that we hatched the idea of forming a band. Bill Gerber was a great boss (and a championship amateur golfer), and when you worked for him, you became a member of his extended family, that included his wife Debbie, mother Jean (and HER mother Mrs. Rosenbloom), and his siblings Leonard, Heidi and Terri.”
In no uncertain terms: the very existence of my all-time favorite power pop group was owed to Gerber Music. That makes Gerber sacred ground to me, now and forevermore.
When the ‘Cubes were set to release their first single “Christi Girl” in ’78, I hounded the staff at the Penn-Can Gerber every freakin’ day, with my own breathless inquiry of Is it out yet? Is it out yet? Is it out yet? To their credit, the good folk behind the Gerber counter put up with me. They even had an advance copy of the 45 on hand, awaiting its slow-to-arrive picture sleeve, and they let me hear both sides of it on the store’s sound system. I bought it the first day it was available.
I cannot overstate how important The Flashcubes have been to me. As I’ve said elsewhere, it’s possible that I would have gotten around to writing about pop music and co-hosting a weekly rock ‘n’ roll radio show even without The Flashcubes’ influence, but it would be a stretch for me to imagine how that would have been. When I was given the honor of inducting The Flashcubes into the Syracuse Area Music Awards Hall of Famein 2014, I noted once again the three groups that had the greatest and most lasting influence upon my life as a pop fan: The Beatles, The Ramones, and The Flashcubes.
That was also the night I met Bill Gerber, however briefly. Gerber Music was inducted into the SAMMYs Hall of Fame on the same 2014 evening, with members of The Flashcubes helping to induct their former employer. I shook Bill’s hand, and told him, “I never worked at Gerber; I worked at Cavages (the Buffalo chain that bought out Gerber), but I wish I’d worked for you!” I added that Cavages fired me, and he laughed and said, “They fired me, too!” I bought a commemorative Gerber Music/Flashcubes SAMMYs Hall Of Fame t-shirt from Bill’s sister Terri Gerber; I wear it often, and I glow with the shared pleasure of strangers who recognize the Gerber logo and want to tell me how much they cherish the joyful memory of being a Gerber Music customer.
Memories have a soundtrack. Life has a soundtrack. We play the music, and we let it reach us and inspire us. We’re grateful for those who brought the music to us. The writers, the performers, the music men and women, the DJs on the radio, and the song sellers, for whom it was more than just business; it was the only way to live.
Gerber Music lives. I have the records to prove it.
Hey! If you buy from Amazon, consider making your purchases through links at Pop-A-Looza. A portion of your purchase there will go to support Boppin’ (Like The Hip Folks Do). Thinking Amazon? Think Pop-A-Looza.
This Is Rock ‘n’ Roll Radio with Dana & Carl airs Sunday nights from 9 to Midnight Eastern, on the air in Syracuse at SPARK! WSPJ 103.3 and 93.7 FM, and on the web at http://sparksyracuse.org/ You can read about our history here.
Originally released during the latter days of 2019, Home by Lannie Flowers has recently been given the reissue treatment by the newly-formed partnership of Spyderpop Records and Big Stir Records. Resurrecting the album was a great idea, because here’s a set of tunes pleading to be heard by as many people as possible.
For those of you not hip to Lannie Flowers, the Texas-based singer, songwriter, guitarist and keyboardist staged his first serious musical move in 1976 with The Pengwins. The band remained together until the early nineties and are now regarded as cult heroes among the indie crowd. Lannie also led The Lannie Flowers Band and has an artistically rewarding solo career, with Home logging in as his third effort.
Sophisticated storytelling, compounded by row after row of intrepid melodies and ambitious arrangements pad every single song on the album. Delivered in Lannie’s rich and sturdy pipes, which are glazed with a roots rock accent, the material on Home crackles with raw emotions. Whether he is self-analyzing or sharing tales about characters who are lost and searching, Lannie makes his words and music come alive.
Triggered by pretty piano playing and yearning vocals, Missing YouTonight eventually thickens into an exhilarating exhibition of electrified instrumentation, topped with a blush of beautiful bluesy George Harrison styled guitar work, while the commanding Shine A Light proposes a similar epic quality. Devised of snappy hooks, a bounce per ounce and an adventurous break, Just Go To Sleep addresses insomnia, and It’s All Over growls and grinds to a fierce hard rocking pitch.
Polished and catchy, Anyway shifts gears towards the end of the song and slings a shot of jazzy big band sounds into the mix, where Free To Dream is a John Mellencamp inspired slice of heartland rock centered on a girl who grew up too fast and is struggling to deal with the consequences. Shades of The Kinks and Mott The Hoople are cast upon the title track of the album, which sparkles with jumpy piano notes, a gripping rhythm and harmonious tones.
Balanced by power and sensitivity, Home observes Lannie riding high on both a musical and lyrical level. He nails it at all angles, resulting in an outstanding album that transcends time and space.
As we all know, our online accounts require us to establish security questions, personal inquiries presumed to be sufficiently arcane that only we know our own secret answers. Each of the following security questions is accompanied by an answer that is technically true for me, at least on some level. They’re not the answers I’d use for any account, mind you, but they are real answers.
Birth. Really my Mom’s surgery, sure, but I was there. (True story: Mom fell and broke her leg while she was pregnant with your beloved future blogger. Which probably explains a lot.)
Oh, I just met lovely wife Brenda at a Mexican restaurant in North Syracuse for dinner after work on Tuesday night.
FIRST AIRPLANE TRIP
Started in one airport, ended in a different airport.
Ron Glass. He was also the only actor to play the character of Book on the TV series Firefly and the subsequent movie Serenity.
FAVORITE TV SHOW
Radiovision by default; it’s the only TV show I ever did, co-hosted with my future This Is Rock ‘n’ Roll Radio partner Dana Bonn. You can read the story here, and even see the damned thing here. We also appeared as guests on local ABC affiliate talk show Bridge Street, I participated in some public access cable talk shows in high school, and I used to be interviewed at work every summer by TV reporters doing stories about people suddenly rushing to buy air conditioners when it’s hot–imagine that! But Radiovision remains my only TV show.
The late John Wicks. Great talent, and a hell of a nice guy.
“Movie” is an odd phrase to use in reference to fans of the fab ’60s British group The Move, but we’ll go with it. And it’s a four-way tie for my favorite Movie, as Gary Frenay, Paul Armstrong, Arty Lenin, and Tommy Allen–collectively, The Flashcubes–recorded Sportin’ Wood, a tribute album to The Move’s main man Roy Wood. Hello Suzie!
FAVORITE SPORTS TEAM
That answer’s evolved, but when I was a kid, we’d have to change the spelling a bit for the correct answer: I loved Teem soda. And I drank it at MacArthur Stadium while ignoring baseball games, so y’know, sports.
Later on, my favorite football team would be Huxley.
Nah, with a few exceptions, I was never much for Musician. I was more of a Phonograph Record Magazine, Bomp!, Trouser Press, Goldmine, and CREEM guy. Among others!
NAME OF YOUR BEST FRIEND IN SCHOOL
In grade school? Batman. In middle school? WOLF-AM.
NAME OF FIRST PET
Sharon Bailey, May 1972. Took surreptitious glances at the smoke shop in White-Modell department store. Was smitten. Weird that no one ever asks “Name of first Playmate?”
You can support this blog by becoming a patron on Patreon: Fund me, baby! Fans of pop music will want to check out Waterloo Sunset–Benefit For This Is Rock ‘n’ Roll Radio, a new pop compilation benefiting SPARK! Syracuse, the home of This Is Rock ‘n’ Roll Radio with Dana & Carl. TIR’N’RR Allstars–Steve Stoeckel, Bruce Gordon, Joel Tinnel, Stacy Carson, Eytan Mirsky, Teresa Cowles, Dan Pavelich, Irene Peña, Keith Klingensmith, and Rich Firestone–offer a fantastic new version of The Kinks’ classic “Waterloo Sunset.” That’s supplemented by eleven more tracks (plus a hidden bonus track), including previously-unreleased gems from The Click Beetles, Eytan Mirsky, Pop Co-Op, Irene Peña, Michael Slawter (covering The Posies), and The Anderson Council (covering XTC), a new remix of “Infinite Soul” by The Grip Weeds, and familiar TIRnRR Fave Raves by Vegas With Randolph, Gretchen’s Wheel, The Armoires, and Pacific Soul Ltd. Oh, and that mystery bonus track? It’s exquisite. You need this. You’re buying it from Futureman.
Get MORE Carl! Check out the fourth and latest issue of the mighty Big Stir magazine at bigstirrecords.com/magazine Hey, Carl’s writin’ a book! The Greatest Record Ever Made! (Volume 1) will contain 100 essays (and then some) about 100 tracks, plus two bonus instrumentals, each one of ’em THE greatest record ever made. An infinite number of records can each be the greatest record ever made, as long as they take turns. Updated initial information can be seen here: THE GREATEST RECORD EVER MADE! (Volume 1).
He’s a singer, songwriter, multi-dimensional instrumentalist, record producer and owner of the Portage, Michigan based JAM label. That’s Jeremy Morris, who is known to music fans all over the world for the highly accomplished albums he has been spooling out on a regular basis for the past few decades. To say Jeremy releases a new effort every couple of months is no exaggeration.
Although Jeremy is a master of many musical fashions, his latest album, Living The Dream, concentrates on the pop rock side of the pole. Keying in at a whopping seventy-six minutes in length, the twenty-five track collection offers a nice mix of original and cover material.
Costumed in a coat of chiming guitars and sparkling sensations by the score, the title cut of the album launches the set off on an optimistic note, both sonically and lyrically. The aptly coined Keep The Faith also broadcasts Jeremy’s sunny attitude, Devil Next Door races with skittish spy styled rhythms, and Can’t Buy A Thrill imparts the pitfalls of substance abuse to an edgy and electrifying tenor.
Beaming with vibrancy and color, Your Sweet Relief could pass as a Badfinger classic, and the catchy ring of Can You Hear Me Calling? features Jamie Hoover of The Spongetones handling guitar, drums, keyboards and harmonica, as well as chipping in on vocals. The similarly-christened I Want To Stay and Here To Stay further bear a rather like-minded sound, as the songs are spotted with bluesy George Harrison influenced licks sweeping and weeping with humming melodies. Then there’s the hypnotic pulse of the acoustic-laced Flying Away that blooms with perennial beauty and bliss.
Jeremy’s music has often been defined as Beatlesque, and a generous portion of Living The Dream certainly adheres to such a description. In fact, one of the remakes on the album is Dear Prudence, which melts into another Beatles song, Baby, You’re A Rich Man, before returning to Dear Prudence, resulting in a very cool and unique move.
Jeremy acknowledges his Byrdsian roots on a loyal take of So You Want To Be A Rock And Roll Star that includes his recently dearly departed dad, Bill Morris, on trumpet. Rick Nelson’s delicately poignant Are You Really Real? is revisited with utmost taste and grace, and The Flamin’ Groovies are saluted on the power popping nugget I Can’t Hide.
Jeremy’s shredding abilities are showcased to amazing effects on blistering readings of Rick Springfield’sSpeak To The Sky and Norman Greenbaum’sSpirit In The Sky, where The Status Quo’sPictures Of Matchstick Men is seriously as great as the initial trippy version.
Raining mettlesome hooks and pitch perfect harmonies, supported by inspiring arrangements and energy to spare, Living The Dream exposes Jeremy in a full-on poptastic mode, leading to an album that is a staple of its genre.
An early version of this was originally distributed privately to patrons of Boppin’ (Like The Hip Folks Do). This is its first public appearance. For as little as $2 a month, supporters of this blog receive one bonus private post each month. You can get in on this action with Patreon: Fund me, baby!
Virtual Ticket Stub Gallery is a series of extended reminiscences of my in-concert memories. This is the first (and probably only) fictional entry in this series. The events detailed herein take place in the same make-believe universe as a previous story I wrote about The Flashcubes, A Brighter Light In My Mind.
It was John Lennon‘s idea.
Of the four former members of The Beatles, Lennon often seemed the most publicly opposed to the idea of getting the old band back together. Although The Beatles broke up in 1970, it seemed that hardly a day could go by without someone–a fan, a pundit, a reporter, a fellow rock star, even a freaking head of state–asking when this fabbest of fours would regroup. Would you want to go back to high school?, Lennon would reply, apparently dismissive of the very idea of ever wanting to get back to where he once belonged. Paul McCartney would insist that one couldn’t reheat a souffle; George Harrison‘s disdain for the notion rivaled Lennon’s; one suspected that Ringo Starr would have been fine with a reunion if it were to occur, but he warned all and sundry that it would only happen if and when it happened, if it happened at all. So the chances of a Beatles reunion appeared to be somewhere far south of slim, barely north of none.
So everyone–including Paul, George, and Ringo–was flabbergasted in 1976 to hear John effectively saying, Hey, lads! Let’s put on a SHOW! But that’s pretty much what Lennon did.
John Lennon was 35 years old, and he’d packed a lot into those years. His father had been absent, his parents ultimately estranged, leaving John to be raised by his Aunt Mimi; Lennon remained devoted to his mother, and was devastated by her death in 1958, when Lennon was not yet 18 years old. Lennon was creative, artistic, musical, mercurial, temperamental, a joker, a troublemaker. He was in a rock ‘n’ roll group. The group was a failure that became a greater success than any other group in history. He got a girl named Cynthia pregnant. He married her, and they had a son named Julian. John was as absent a father as his own father had been before him. John fell, hard, for an exotic, artistic woman named Yoko. One marriage ended, another began, standing in the dock at Southampton. His band broke up. He became more politically aware, more engaged on behalf of social justice. His antiwar activities drew the ire of the established, entrenched power structure. He wasn’t paranoid; they really were out to get him. The U.S. Government tried to deport him, and was nearly successful in that effort. He fought back, waging war on the battlefield of public opinion. He and Yoko separated. He had a famed, debauched Lost Weekend, spanning eighteen months from 1973 to early ’75. He reunited with Yoko; the separation didn’t work out. Their son Sean was born on John’s 35th birthday, October 9th of 1975. This time, John would not be an absent father. This time, he would do things right.
Yeah. So how much did you do in your life before you turned 36?
John settled into a delighted domesticity. He took care of Sean, he baked bread, and he was just Daddy. The infant Sean was perhaps too young to be fully aware of his father’s devotion, but awareness and appreciation would come in time. Life, after all, is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.
In 1976, Paul McCartney occasionally dropped by Lennon’s apartment at The Dakota in Manhattan. John kind of wished Paul would call before showing up, but their friendship was old and resilient. Over the years, they had bickered and competed, as friends sometimes do; success and recognition magnify the cracks and faults that would appear anyway, so an argument can often become a lawsuit. Sue me, sue you their younger partner George had quipped. Tempers flared, cooler heads prevailed over time. They were friends. The complicated legal knot that had once been The Beatles would take a long, long time to untangle. The friendship would endure.
John and Paul had played together at an abortive studio jam session in Burbank in March of 1974, during John’s Lost Weekend, along with Stevie Wonder, Harry Nilsson, saxophonist Bobby Keys, and Paul’s wife, the lovely Linda McCartney. The hazy, drug-fueled session was emblematic of John’s excess at the time. In Paul’s visits to The Dakota, the musical collaborations were no more serious, but far more sedate.
On April 24th, 1976, Paul was with John at The Dakota. They’d had some drinks, played some songs, and were settled in front of the TV to watch a new episode of NBC’s Saturday Night, a late-night ensemble comedy sketch show enjoying great success in its first season. The show was hipper than hip. This should be a hoot.
But the former Beatles were wholly unprepared when the producer of Saturday Night began speaking directly to them, as they watched him on the TV screen.
The public mania for a Beatles reunion had reached peak silliness by ’76. There had been million-dollar offers–multi-million!–just to somehow get John, Paul, George, and Ringo on stage together again before a live audience. The preposterous truckloads of money could be paid to The Beatles themselves, to their favorite charities, to agencies fighting world hunger, even to failed Apple Corps projects The Fool and Magic Alex, for all any of the would-be promoters cared. Just GET BACK, Beatles! LET IT BE! ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE!! Money was not what The Beatles wanted. They wanted people to stop asking them to reBeatle. You want a new Beatles record? Take a few tracks each off Walls And Bridges, Venus And Mars, Extra Texture, and Goodnight Vienna, put ’em on a cassette, and PRESTO! Instant Beatles album! You wanna see The Beatles in concert? Take a time machine back to The Star-Club or The Cavern, before all the screaming drowned us out. That time is gone. The Beatles are no more.
Lorne Michaels, the producer of NBC’s Saturday Night, saw the humor in these desperate, clawing, failed attempts to reunite The Beatles. And, where there’s already inherent humor present, well, a comedy sketch just writes itself.
John and Paul stared at the TV screen, their jaws dropping like acid in 1967. Hi. I’m Lorne Michaels, the producer of Saturday Night. Right now, we’re being seen by approximately 22 million viewers, but please allow me, if I may, to address myself to just four very special people: John, Paul, George, and Ringo, The Beatles. Sitting there in The Dakota, their smiles growing wider, Lennon and McCartney watched with glee as Michaels detailed his mock offer to entice The Beatles to appear on Saturday Night. Michaels said he’d heard that maybe the group simply hadn’t yet been offered enough money to give any serious consideration to a reunion. Well, Michaels assured everyone, money wouldn’t be a problem for NBC. And to prove it, Michaels displayed a check from NBC, made out to The Beatles, in the princely amount of three thousand dollars.
McCartney spit out his beer, laughing. Lennon guffawed loudly, amused and engaged. But then he stopped laughing. And he turned to his old partner Paul and said:
We should do it! At first, Paul thought John was daft. But he also saw the appeal of this crazy idea. Alas, it was a crazy, impractical idea. John said they should head right to the NBC studio, just the two of them, and accept half of the $3000 offer as a joke. But it was late. They were tired. And the moment passed.
A few days later, John was still capering to himself a bit, thinking of that moment. And he started to wonder: had the moment really passed?
Lennon considered. He was determined to be an ever-present part of his new son’s life. He’d put music on hold, and would keep it on hold until he felt Sean was old enough to understand. But Sean was still just a baby, six months old–perhaps this was the right time for John to play one more show before devoting himself exclusively to full-time daddyhood.
John thought back to his last live performance: Madison Square Garden, November 28th, 1974. He’d lost a bet with Elton John, and had to join Elton and his boys in concert. He only did three songs: his own “Whatever Gets You Thru The Night,” The Beatles’ “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds” (itself a recent hit for Elton), and “I Saw Her Standing There,” a song John introduced on stage as “a number by an old estranged fiance of mine called Paul.” So Lennon’s last concert performance to date had been singing a Paul McCartney song. Heh, Lennon chuckled aloud, That will never do! He’d been terrified to appear on stage with Elton that night; he’d been away from the spotlight too long, he thought. But it was fun. Exhilarating. Maybe he should consider doing one whole show.
Oh, the hell with it–maybe he should consider doing the one show everyone had been after him to do.
John went to the phone. One by one, he dialed each of his three mates. Paul? George? Ringo? I have an idea….
All three of the others were immediately skeptical, though both Paul and Ringo accepted the idea in short order. George was more resistant. Even when The Beatles were still together, he’d felt like a junior member rather than an equal. And he’d chafed under that feeling of confinement, restriction. He had not missed being a Beatle. He saw no compelling reason to become a Beatle again.
One thinks that should have been the end of this absurd idea of a Beatles reunion. John Lennon certainly wasn’t going to beg George, and nor were the others any more apt to persuade or coax him back into the fold. Nice idea. Let’s forget about it now.
On the other hand, Bob Dylan was perfectly willing to intercede.
For years, no one knew for sure how Dylan even found out about this potential reunion. Decades later, we learned that Yoko Ono had contacted Linda McCartney with the idea, and Linda got in touch with Bashful Bobby Dylan. Yoko was concerned that canceling this reunion would have been a disappointment to John. Her motives were perhaps not 100% altruistic–John had promised to be a stay-at-home father to Sean, and a disappointed John could lead to a wandering John, yet again–but nor were they purely mercenary, either. She wanted John to be able to do this; she wanted John to be happy. On top of all that, Yoko felt that she owed a debt of gratitude to the McCartneys; Paul and Linda had played an understated but undeniable role in getting John and Yoko back together after John’s long Lost Weekend. Furthermore, Yoko knew that Paul also wanted to be a Beatle again, even if just for one night, at least as much as John did. John and Paul were brothers–sometimes bickering, sometime infuriating, but brothers. They needed this…closure.
The idea of enlisting Dylan was simply brilliant. Dylan loved the idea of a Beatles show, so he certainly didn’t mind calling his friend George. George respected Dylan’s opinion, shrugged, and went along with the idea of temporarily–temporarily!–becoming a Beatle again. A reluctant Beatle, sure, but a Beatle nonetheless!
Beatles have people. Lots of people. None of us has ever, or will ever, had any freaking idea of what it’s like to be a member of that exclusive club of four. And part of being a Beatle meant that if you wanted something done, then snap! It was done. Emissaries handled logistics. Snap! Madison Square Garden was booked–quietly–and I still have no idea how they pulled that one off. Snap! Backing musicians were secured; Al Kooper would play keyboards, and the live sound would be further fattened by the addition of The Memphis Horns. Snap! And John, Paul, George, and Ringo found themselves at a secure location on Long Island–far from the madding crowd, far from prying eyes and ears–preparing to make music together for the first time in nearly seven years.
For their first day in the ol’ woodshed, The Beatles wanted to start without sidemen, just the four of them, getting reacquainted, learning again how to play with and to each other. There was no agenda that day; just icebreakers, joking, and jamming. Old friends. Guitars. Bass. Piano. Drums. That first day was more party than woodshed, as the once-and-future mates played random favorites as the thought occurred to them, riffing through Arthur Alexander, Carl Perkins, The Everly Brothers, Chan Romero, Richie Barrett, Little Richard, Ray Charles, Buddy Holly, James Ray, Wanda Jackson, Elvis, The Miracles, The Impressions, “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door,” “Without You,” even “(Theme From) The Monkees.” They tried their hands at Beatle numbers, too, from “Love Me Do” to “For You Blue.” Paul earned loud snorts of laughter by singing a bit of John’s “How Do You Sleep?,” while John countered with Paul’s “Let Me Roll It.” (John’s attempt at The Chiffons‘ “He’s So Fine” prompted George to roll his eyes, but John made up for it by duetting with George on a heavenly rendition of “My Sweet Lord.”) The proceedings were chaotic, disorganized, start-and-stop…and wonderful. Old friends.
Business resumed in earnest on the second day, as Kooper arrived; The Memphis Horns arrived on the following day. There would be just over a week of rehearsals before The Beatles’ still-secret gig at Madison Square Garden. They needed to figure some things out in a hurry.
Amazingly, there was actually quite a bit of agreement among The Beatles about what they didn’t want. They didn’t want to be a nostalgia act; they didn’t want to do any kind of chronological representation of The Beatles’ story–they were The Beatles, for cryinoutloud, not bloody Beatlemania. They didn’t want to do a smooth, slick Greatest Hits show. They didn’t want to take anyone back to some imaginary glory days of yesteryear. They wanted to play, in the here and now.
At the same time, they also knew they needed to play Beatle songs. It was a delicate balancing act. If you just give the audience what it wants, you’re a whore; if you don’t give ’em anything they want, you’re a prima donna. The four of them agreed they wouldn’t want to go see, say, Roy Orbison, and not hear “Only The Lonely.” Nor would they care to see (or perform) a show played by the numbers. Balance. They came up with a list of about fifty songs, and started going through them. “Yesterday” didn’t work. Early bubblegum material felt wrong. “Hey Bulldog” was awesome, but fell victim to inevitable cuts in the set list, elimination choices which also claimed “I’ve Just Seen A Face,” “Yer Blues,” “A Hard Day’s Night,” “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band,” “Savoy Truffle,” and an ace cover of Buddy Holly’s “Peggy Sue.” Rehearsals went on. The set list gelled. The band got tighter. All that time spent apart melted away.
They were The Beatles once again.
Word finally leaked out a week before the show, and an official announcement was made: The Beatles would reunite for one single concert. It would be a slight exaggeration to say that the show sold out instantly. It took nearly twenty minutes to sell out. Arrangements were made to also carry a live feed of the concert in movie theaters throughout the country, around the world. A splendid time was guaranteed for all!
On the day of the concert, John was nervous, apprehensive, nauseous. George alternated between wondering if he’d made a mistake agreeing to take part in this circus and…well, looking forward to it. He found his dichotomy of emotion unexpected, but oddly calming. Paul and Ringo took it all in stride. John pulled himself together. Toppermost of the poppermost. It was time.
The massive crowd at Madison Square Garden was giddy, boisterous, and frankly, high as a kite. The lights went out. Gasps. Cheers. Anticipation. Palpable, tangible thrill.
Ladies and gentlemen…THE BEATLES!! Still in darkness, John counted off, “1-2-3!” The lights came on, brilliant and blinding, dazzling, dizzying, louder and more popular than Jesus. The grinding guitar consumed the arena, as Paul let out a scream and John began to sing:
You say you want a revolution, well you know We all want to change the world The Beatles charged through the opening verse and chorus of “Revolution,” Paul and George adding back-up shoo-be-do-wops to the subsequent verses. “Revolution” led into a furious, manic “Helter Skelter,” and The Beatles’ guarantee of a splendid time for all was already achieved.
“While My Guitar Gently Weeps.” “You Won’t See Me.” “No Reply.” The Beatles played an eclectic, electric selection of songs from their catalog of wonder. A new George Harrison song called “Crackerbox Palace” followed, and then flowed into the distinctive riff of “Ticket To Ride.” “Strawberry Fields Forever.” Ringo’s “It Don’t Come Easy.” “Come Together.””Here Comes The Sun.” “Penny Lane.”
There was little between-song patter; there was just an easy-going, amiable on-stage ambiance, incongruously tethered to a lit fuse and an ongoing explosion of buzzing musical delight. John told the fans that they all needed to pay tribute to the rock ‘n’ roll that got them there in the first place, and launched into an impassioned cover of Chuck Berry‘s “Johnny B. Goode.” Those guitars like ringin’ a bell segued into John’s “Whatever Gets You Thru The Night,” then Paul’s “Maybe I’m Amazed,” then “I Am The Walrus.” “Magical Mystery Tour.” “With A Little Help From My Friends.” “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds.” George introduced “Something” as Frank Sinatra’s favorite Lennon and McCartney song. Thank you, Frank! John whooped out a Thanks, Frankie! in response. “Back In The USSR.” Ringo’s “Photograph.” “We Can Work It Out.” Day Tripper.” George’s “What Is Life.” “Let It Be.” “Don’t Pass Me By.”
It was a long show. These aging rock stars, all in their late thirties by now, should have been dragging, but still seemed energized, ignited, as if they were still that impossibly young bunch of punks tearin’ up the Reeperbahn in Hamburg those many years ago. The guitars gathered more volume, the air became thicker, as every inch of space at MSG gave way to the force and fury of “I Want You (She’s So Heavy).” Paul moved to the piano for a climactic “Hey Jude.” The show concluded with John and Paul singing “I Don’t Want To Spoil The Party,” The Nerk Twins, the British Everly Brothers. And The Beatles said good night.
During all their years of insane, unprecedented, hysterical popularity, The Beatles never performed an encore. No. They did their show, and they got out. So tonight would be history on top of history. The arena thundered with the eager noise of delirious fans wanting more!
Back on stage, soaking in the applause, beaming with pride and satisfaction (wait–wrong band!), The Beatles were ready to oblige.
Thank you, Beatle people. It says here we passed the audition! “Get Back.” “A Day In The Life.” “Eleanor Rigby.” And finally, Larry Williams‘ “Dizzy Miss Lizzy.” The clock struck eternity. The enchantment ended. This amazing, amazing night was over.
Record labels fell over each other trying to secure the rights to release a live album of The Beatles’ MSG show. Paul, George, and Ringo were each already under contract with competing labels, though John was a free agent. But it didn’t matter; the show was not officially recorded, and would forevermore be only the stuff of memories and bootlegs. Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on.
The Beatles would never again perform together before a live audience. The four discussed the comic merit of taking NBC’s Saturday Night up on its offer, but ultimately decided it wasn’t something they wanted to do. George Harrison did appear on Saturday Night with guest host Paul Simon; Harrison participated in an opening skit about trying to claim the $3000 the show offered for The Beatles to come on the show, as producer Lorne Michaels deadpanned that he thought it was clear the offer was for four people, not just one. Simon and Harrison then teamed up for lovely renditions of “Here Comes The Sun” and Simon and Garfunkel‘s “Homeward Bound.” John and Paul appeared together on a subsequent episode, carrying out John’s initial joke to demand $1500 for an appearance by two Beatles. The former Fabs played two acoustic sets on the show, without outside accompaniment: Eddie Cochran‘s “Twenty Flight Rock” (the first song Paul played for John when they met in 1957), “Norwegian Wood,”and “Blackbird,” then “In My Life” and “Yesterday.” The two harmonized on each song; notably, it was the first time Lennon had ever sung “Yesterday” in public. Later in the same show, John and Paul plugged in with the NBC house band for a blistering medley of “I Saw Her Standing There” and “Rain.”
And with that, John Lennon once again withdrew from the spotlight, making good on his vow to be Sean’s Daddy, nothing more, nothing less. Paul McCartney, George Harrison, and Ringo Starr returned to their own careers. The three of them performed together at Eric Clapton‘s wedding to George’s ex-wife Patti Boyd on May 19th, 1979.
John came out of retirement in 1980 for Double Fantasy, a new album with Yoko. He did a short small-venue tour in support of the album, and enlisted the members of his son’s favorite group The Flashcubes to play with him. Lennon had struck up a friendship with the ‘Cubes when he arranged for them to play for Sean at a private party on December 8, 1980, the same night police arrested an armed individual loitering outside The Dakota; the unidentified man killed himself while in custody, leaving many to shudder at the thought of what might have happened if the Lennons had returned home earlier. Paul joined Lennon and The Flashcubes on stage at Carnegie Hall for the encore of their final show in March of ’81.
Sadly, a rift developed between Lennon and Harrison. John felt that he’d been deliberately snubbed in George’s autobiography I Me Mine. Relations between the two were strained for quite some time thereafter, though they eventually made amends. Ringo generally remained on good terms with each of the other three, though even our little Richard occasionally grew tired of always being viewed as a Beatle, no matter what.
The Beatles declined an invitation to perform at Live Aid in 1985. The group’s 1988 induction into The Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame offered the seemingly certain prospect of a Beatles reunion, but Paul did not attend, citing the sticking point of still-lingering business disputes with his former co-workers.
Finally, the morass of The Beatles’ Sargasso Sea of legal complications and intricacies was navigated and left behind by the dawn of the ’90s. John, Paul, George, and Ringo cooperated and fully participated in the making of The Beatles Anthology, a comprehensive video history of the act you knew for all those years. Proposals for a new Beatles album or tour or one-off concert were ruled out immediately, but they performed several songs together on the Anthology video. Although this would be their final full collaboration, all four remained on cordial terms through George’s death in 2001. The others agreed to honor George’s memory by leaving The Beatles in the past. There would be no more public reunions of any kind. In the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.
As a young band playing bars in Hamburg and Liverpool, The Beatles fantasized of becoming The Toppermost Of The Poppermost. It was a heady, unlikely dream for four ne’er-do-well punks from a rough-and-tumble seaport town. But the dream came true. Decades later, we dream on still.
The dream isn’t over. We do believe in Beatles. And you know that can’t be bad.
You can support this blog by becoming a patron on Patreon: Fund me, baby! THE BEATLES: LIVE AT MADISON SQUARE GARDEN 1976
Revolution Helter Skelter While My Guitar Gently Weeps You Won’t See Me No Reply Crackerbox Palace Ticket To Ride Strawberry Fields Forever It Don’t Come Easy Come Together Here Comes The Sun Penny Lane Johnny B. Goode Whatever Gets You Thru The Night Maybe I’m Amazed I Am The Walrus Magical Mystery Tour With A Little Help From My Friends Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds Something Back In The USSR Photograph We Can Work It Out Day Tripper What Is Life Let It Be Don’t Pass Me By I Want You (She’s So Heavy) Hey Jude I Don’t Want To Spoil The Party