JOHN LENNON: WEDDING ALBUM (1969)
1) John & Yoko; 2)
Amsterdam; 3*) Who Has Seen The Wind; 4*) Listen, The Snow Is Falling; 5*)
Don't Worry Kyoko (Mummy's Only Looking For Her Hand In The Snow).
General verdict: OK, they showed
the world all the love in their hearts. But did people start treating them
better?
It might be ridiculous, I know, but I am seriously tempted to declare ʽJohn
& Yokoʼ, the, uhm, «expressive vocal performance» that occupies all of Side
A of John and Yoko's Wedding Album,
the absolute pinnacle of their avantgarde research program. Unlike everything
else they did, it at least makes a bit of symbolic sense. You could say, for
instance, that by trying out every possible variation of "John" and
"Yoko" — from lethargic mumble to erotic purr to angry reproach to
hysterical screaming, etc. — they are encapsulating the entire spectrum of
male-female relationships in one condensed 22-minute package. You could also
say that, at the very least, with
this performance they actually make a loving tribute to themselves: neither Two Virgins nor Life With The Lions really managed to convey the mad passion they
must have obviously had for each other in those wild days. In any case, it hits
some sort of mark, and if there really
is some sort of objective invisible line that separates «fake avantgarde art»
from «true avantgarde art», I'd make a wild guess that, just for once, they did
cross it here.
Naturally, this does not make the track very
listenable: there are only so many ways you can spell out two names over 22
minutes, which means the guys inevitably have to repeat themselves, and towards
the end, rely on overtly silly moves, such as muttering the names while chewing
on apples (or carrots, whatever they were having that day). I kind of wish the
performance had more script to it, so that they could, for instance, actually
play out a story of romance, family life, conflicts and make-ups through these
calls-and-responses: a more meticulous approach might have turned this into an
almost Steve Reichian experience. Instead, emphasis seems to be on improvising,
and you'd need a hell of a lot of inspiration to mesmerize people by yawning,
stuttering, and munching on apples, among other things. But at least they
finally display a sense of humor about it, which makes it easier to stomach all
the narcissism. (In parentheses, it may be necessary to remind that the track's
primary influence is Stan Freberg's comedic masterpiece ʽJohn And Marshaʼ from
1951 — which did nearly the same thing far more efficiently in about three
minutes' time; but then, Freberg's piece was
openly comedic, whereas the Onos go as far as to substitute cheesy-soapy strings
for the amplified sound of their own heartbeats, making no mistake about the
seriousness of their intentions).
Contrastively, the second side (ʽAmsterdamʼ) regurgitates
the same old shit. Yoko wailing PEEEEEACE! at the top of her razor-sharp lungs,
making me hate high front vowels for the rest of me life; John and Yoko spilling
banalities and stupidities on the same subject before a confused Dutch
journalist; John and Yoko spilling more stupidities in front of each other;
John and Yoko ordering breakfast in bed; John and Yoko going out into the
street and having more silly conversations with bewildered Dutchmen; finally,
John and Yoko having fun with an acoustic guitar and singing whatever comes in
their heads. Essentially, this is just a sequel to the chronicle begun on Life With The Lions, and since not a
lot of different things occurred in the interim, other than the happy couple
getting married, it already feels redundant.
Again, to reward you for your patience the CD
issue includes three bonus tracks — all of them sung by Yoko, but they are
actually harmless, because when Yoko actually tries to sing, she is not too
bad, and both ʽWho Has Seen The Windʼ and ʽListen, The Snow Is Fallingʼ are
decent ballads with an oddly Christmas-like spirit, while the early acoustic
version of ʽDon't Worry Kyokoʼ (whose bluesy riff is a variation on the Everly
Brothers' ʽWake Up Little Susieʼ) has a shade of creepy to it. At the time,
these songs usually ended up as B-sides to John's A-sides (since the couple was
business-savvy enough to understand that sacrificing John's songwriting talents
would cost them way too much), and while they are thematically far more in line
with Yoko-focused LPs, the decision to save them from complete oblivion by
integrating them with the Unfinished
Music series is understandable.
Amazingly, Wedding
Album actually made the US charts, climbing as high as #178: I guess that
many (presumably, male) fans were unable
to resist the urge to reward John with a nice wedding present — alternately,
some might have confused it with the White
Album, for all we know. But despite this surprising endorsement, the record
would become the last in the Unfinished
Music series, for reasons unknown: while subsequent albums would still
occasionally include avantgarde experiments, and Yoko would continue her solo
career, John seems to have had his thirst for the bizarre mostly quenched once
The Beatles were formally no more. It is understandable that throughout
1968–69, he still felt himself under the chivalrous obligation of saving his
melodic side for the band — yet it is also interesting that, once free from all
shackles, he re-embraced that melodic side with such a vengeance that only
reaffirmed the somewhat artificial and forced nature of all that avantgarde
posturing. In the end, I guess he liked being perceived as a rebel and
contrarian, but probably not as a freak; and I have little doubt that he
sometimes despised these eccentric creations of his just as strongly as he
openly despised his ʽI Am The Walrusʼ stage. Except he rarely, if ever, talked
about it, because it's one thing to upset your ex, such as Paul McCartney, and
quite another one to upset your current partner.
It's depressing to think how many gullible souls bought this one due to glowing reviews from Rolling Stone. Though the melody maker review of it has to be the most absurd example of a critic finding meaning where there was none.
ReplyDelete"... Richard Williams, who reviewed [the wedding album] in the British weekly Melody Maker. Williams, the story goes, had apparently been sent a test pressing of the album consisting of two single-sided discs. Though there was nothing but the engineer's test signal on the flip-sides, the critic took these to be half of a double LP:
"Sides Two and Four consist entirely of single tones maintained throughout, presumably produced electronically. This might sound arid, to say the least, but in fact constant listening reveals a curious point: the pitch of the tones alters frequently, but only by micro-tones or, at most, a semi-tone. This oscillation produces an almost subliminal, uneven 'beat,' which maintains interest."
from:
https://rateyourmusic.com/list/schmidtt/rolling_stones_500_worst_reviews_of_all_time__work_in_progress_/2/
My word.... I'm never letting my children be anywhere near a metronome (or study wave physics for that matter) until they listen to ten albums with drums. I just don't want to believe this is possible.
DeleteSeriously if I could appreciate sound the way Mr. Williams does I will never be bored again. Then again, I guess we have our fair share of Richard Williamses anyway these days.