The Beatles: On Air - Live At The BBC Vol. 2

THE BEATLES: ON AIR: LIVE AT THE BBC VOL. 2 (1963-1966; 2013)

CD I: 1) And Here We Are Again (speech); 2) Words Of Love; 3) How About It, Gorgeous? (speech); 4) Do You Want To Know A Secret?; 5) Lucille; 6) Hey, Paul... (speech); 7) Anna (Go To Him); 8) Hello! (speech); 9) Please Please Me; 10) Misery; 11) Iʼm Talking About You; 12) A Real Treat (speech); 13) Boys; 14) Absolutely Fab (speech); 15) Chains; 16) Ask Me Why; 17) Till There Was You; 18) Lend Me Your Comb; 19) Lower 5E (speech); 20) The Hippy Hippy Shake; 21) Roll Over Beethoven; 22) Thereʼs A Place; 23) Bumper Bundle (speech); 24) P.S. I Love You; 25) Please Mister Postman; 26) Beautiful Dreamer; 27) Devil In Her Heart; 28) The 49 Weeks (speech); 29) Sure To Fall (In Love With You); 30) Never Mind, Eh? (speech); 31) Twist And Shout; 32) Bye, Bye (speech).

CD II: 1) 1) I Saw Her Standing There; 2) Glad All Over; 3) Lift Lid Again (speech); 4) Iʼll Get You; 5) She Loves You; 6) Memphis, Tennessee; 7) Happy Birthday Dear Saturday Club; 8) Now Hush, Hush (speech); 9) From Me To You; 10) Money (Thatʼs What I Want); 11) I Want To Hold Your Hand; 12) Brian Bathtubes (speech); 13) This Boy; 14) If I Wasnʼt In America (speech); 15) I Got A Woman; 16) Long Tall Sally; 17) If I Fell; 18) A Hard Job Writing Them (speech); 19) And I Love Her; 20) Oh, Canʼt We? Yes We Can (speech); 21) You Canʼt Do That; 22) Honey Donʼt; 23) Iʼll Follow The Sun; 24) Green With Black Shutters (speech); 25) Kansas City / Hey-Hey-Hey-Hey!; 26) Thatʼs What Weʼre Here For (speech); 27) I Feel Fine (studio outtake).

General verdict: Pitiful, really. Just pitiful.

Look, we get it, many of us still have these delightful sexual fantasies of waking up in bed with a brand new Beatles album. But when the original Live At The BBC was officially released in 1994, for all its relative freshness and historical importance it was not for nothing that the compilers actually selected material from several preserved shows, rather than simply taking the first few in their entirety and saving the remaining ones for later. They were actually working on choosing the better takes, the less heard rarities, even the funniest studio banter between the boys and their BBC host Brian Matthew. And back in 1994, there were clearly no plans in the air for a sequel: they took the best and let the worst lie.

Who would have guessed, alas, that either popular demand, or corporate greed, or both, would ascend to such lamentable peaks by the second decade of the 21st century that Apple would renege upon its unspoken pledge, and make the «dregs» officially available as well? Well... okay, anybody with the most basic predictive powers and a healthy amount of cynical attitude most probably could. And in all honesty, there is nothing inherently wrong in making the entirety of archival content preserved from the greatest pop band of all time publicly available. But this is simply not how you go about it.

If you want to have a proper historical document, what you actually do is take all the stuff, arrange it in proper chronological order and release it, as a «deluxe package» or «special limited time release only» whatever. Such a Live At The BBC Complete Edition would be objectively unimpeachable — aimed at history buffs, mostly, but actually doing its job properly for all the history buffs, you know, the way they do with all those latest mammoth-size King Crimson or Bob Dylan releases. On Air does precisely the opposite: it gives you a chronologically bizarre mish-mash of mostly second-rate performances that were rejected the first time around, leaving the completist still yearning for more and the more casual fan confused as to what the hell s/he has just been offered.

If, for some reason, you have never heard the original Live At The BBC, you will find here many live versions of Beatles classics that are inferior to the studio originals, but worth hearing just for that special brand of youthful Beatles enthusiasm that still oozed out of the Fab Four even within the confines of a radio program. If, for some totally incomprehensible reason, you have never heard any songs from the Beatles, period (or, at least, their early period), On Air is, of course, a five-star album, because hearing these songs even with flubbed notes and occasionally off-key vocals still does not detract from their ultimate greatness. But if you are saddled with all that experience, well, I am sad to say that:

(a) the only two completely «new» songs are a cover of Chuck Berryʼs ʽIʼm Talking About Youʼ and of Tony Orlandoʼs interpretation of the old standard ʽBeautiful Dreamerʼ. Both are taken from early 1963 performances for Saturday Club, featuring very shitty sound quality. Chuckʼs song at least features a credible John performance, but also shows how little suited George was to the position of a lead guitarist in a blues-rock band — the Stones kick the shit out of them with this kind of material anyway. ʽBeautiful Dreamerʼ is about as good as ʽMy Bonnieʼ was, which is hardly a compliment. Thatʼs all you get, folks;

(b) the absolute majority of the other songs was already featured on the original Live At The BBC — at worst, in equally competent versions, at best, in vastly superior ones as far as playing and recording quality were concerned. Sure, I only really listened to the album once, and I may have missed some subtle cute nuances every now and then, but who really expects subtle cute nuances from the Beatles in concert?;

(c) of the numerous bits of studio banter between the boys and Matthew, I do not remember even a single one that would match the occasional humor and wittiness of the original. Most of this is just stupid trash-talk that needed to be spoken because you had to say something into those mikes, and you couldnʼt always be expected to come up with something funny and/or intelligent even if you had the dirty mind of a John Lennon. Oh, they sing "Happy Birthday Dear Saturday Club" at one point. If that ainʼt a true Beatles highlight, I donʼt know what is.

Honestly, it is a little sad to realize that this might be the final review for the final official album release of previously unheard Beatles material — even sadder to realize that this might not be such a final review, because who knows what the future still has in store for us. Having Fun With The Beatles On Stage? Eight Hours Of Relaxing Nature Sounds — The Beatlesʼ Footsteps On The Threshold Of Abbey Road Studios? The Beatles Live At Wherever There Was No Recording Equipment In The First Place, But You Can Feel Their Presence All The Same? Come to think of it, the possibilities are endless.

In the meantime, do not waste your time on this shameless scam. There is actually a 9-CD bootleg edition out there called The Complete BBC Sessions, which does precisely what I was talking about — collect everything the band did in chronological order and provide you with a wholesome, historically cohesive perspective, if not necessarily give you nine hours of thorough musical enjoyment. Just get your thieving hands on this package instead, and show those money-grabbing capitalists at EMI what social justice, artistic taste, and personal accuracy are all about.

The Beatles: Anthology 3

THE BEATLES: ANTHOLOGY 3 (1968-1969; 1995)

CD I: 1) A Beginning; 2) Happiness Is A Warm Gun; 3) Helter Skelter; 4) Mean Mr Mustard; 5) Polythene Pam; 6) Glass Onion; 7) Junk; 8) Piggies; 9) Honey Pie; 10) Don't Pass Me By; 11) Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da; 12) Good Night; 13) Cry Baby Cry; 14) Blackbird; 15) Sexy Sadie; 16) While My Guitar Gently Weeps; 17) Hey Jude; 18) Not Guilty; 19) Mother Nature's Son; 20) Glass Onion; 21) Rocky Raccoon; 22) What's The New Mary-Jane; 23) Step Inside Love/Los Paranoias; 24) I'm So Tired; 25) I Will; 26) Why Don't We Do It In The Road; 27) Julia.

CD II: 1) I've Got A Feeling; 2) She Came In Through The Bathroom Window; 3) Dig A Pony; 4) Two Of Us; 5) For You Blue; 6) Teddy Boy; 7) Rip It Up/Shake Rattle And Roll/Blue Suede Shoes; 8) The Long And Winding Road; 9) Oh Darling; 10) All Things Must Pass; 11) Mailman Bring Me No More Blues; 12) Get Back; 13) Old Brown Shoe; 14) Octopus's Garden; 15) Maxwell's Silver Hammer; 16) Something; 17) Come Together; 18) Come And Get It; 19) Ain't She Sweet (Rehearsal); 20) Because; 21) Let It Be; 22) I Me Mine; 23) The End.

The journey ends here, much the same way as it started. No matter if we are dealing with the ten­se, but cooperative sessions for the White Album, or with the angry madhouse at Twickenham in early 1969, or with the final solemn ritual of completing the circle with Abbey Road, what we have here are nearly always bad — relatively bad, of course — work-in-progress versions of what would, in the end, become timeless masterpieces, regardless of the emotional states of their crea­tors at the time. Be it 1963 or 1969, the Beatles always chose the best take for the official record; no exceptions that I could be aware of.

However, one of the major bonuses of Anthology 3 is that it offers much more «new» stuff to the casual listener than the second volume — apparently, the 1968-69 sessions resulted in a larger number of canned outtakes than sessions for the previous years. Quite possibly, this had to do with the band members now working much more on their individual own than before — and con­sequently running far stronger risks of having their contributions vetoed by other members be­cause of not being «Beatlesworthy» enough.

So it is up to us to decide now whether John's ʽWhat's The New Mary Janeʼ, George's ʽNot Guil­tyʼ, or Paul's ʽStep Inside Love / Los Paranoiasʼ were rightly excluded from the official canon or cruelly wronged by being shelved for almost thirty long years. I would say that, all things consi­dered, the wait time should have been shorter, but also that I mostly agree with the vetoes.

ʽNot Guiltyʼ is often highlighted as a first-rate Harrison song that was abandoned much too easily, and should not have waited until 1979, when George finally decided to rework and release it on his eponymous album. But the vocal melody of the song is so seriously underwritten that «first-rate», as far as I can tell, is out of the question — it is hardly a coincidence that, when it came to emptying George's stunning backlog on All Things Must Pass, ʽNot Guiltyʼ was not seen fit for inclusion even without the vetoing block of his former colleagues. It's got a fine riff, some terrific guitar pyrotechnics in the largely instrumental coda, and primetime Harrison lyrics, but it defini­te­ly lacks that certain «something» — be it the transcendence of ʽWhile My Guitarʼ, the catchy humor of ʽPigsʼ, the subtle minimalism of ʽLong Long Longʼ, or even the outright whackiness of ʽSa­voy Truffleʼ. Good song, but if they gave all 5 to me and told me to exclude one, I'd have made the same choice as John and Paul. Did Ringo have a vote at all?..

Another «lost classic» is John's ʽWhat's The New Mary Janeʼ, one of his «nutty» numbers that indulges in the pleasure of going from simple absurdist piano-led music hall ditty (almost like a parody on something Paul could have done) to an alien world of spooky sound collages, like a blueprint for much of Amon Düül II's work on Tanz Der Lemminge three years later (or may­be not, but somehow that association did spring into my mind). When the final version of The Beatles was being assembled, the track was pulled in favor of ʽRevolution #9ʼ — a much longer piece that did not have any musical basis at all. Should ʽMary Janeʼ had taken its place? Years earlier, I would definitely have said yes; now I am not at all sure — no matter how absurdist and silly some of John's stuff might sound, ʽMary Janeʼ lacks «killer guts» where even ʽCry Baby Cryʼ has some. It's more of a musical joke fit for something like the second LP of John's own Sometime In New York City, where he was fooling around with the «Elephant Memory Band». A darn fine musical joke, though, and it's good to know that it has not been lost.

1968 and, most prominently, 1969 introduced plenty of tunes that later surfaced on the Beatles' solo albums — here, in particular, we have an attempt to record ʽTeddy Boyʼ (later included on McCartney) and George's ʽAll Things Must Passʼ (later included on, naturally, All Things Must Pass). The former was and remains kinda fluffy, if cute — and no, that's not «Paul in a nutshell», if you want to know — and the latter's potential remained half-hidden until Phil Spector came and laid a wall of ten million instruments on it. But the 1969 sessions also yielded lots of uninspired waste — there is no better way to understand the futility of the band's attempt at «getting back to its roots» than to listen to their perfunctory run through a medley of old rock'n'roll hits, performed with none of the enthusiasm or motivation that they had in the early Cavern days. And ʽMailman, Bring Me No More Blues?ʼ Really, that could have been done by anyone. The only small piece of true joy on Disc 2 is Paul's original demo of ʽCome And Get Itʼ — a nice song, generously dona­ted to Badfinger... who actually improved on it, since Badfinger were one of the very few bands to carry on the «original spirit» of the Beatles, whatever it was.

Elsewhere, it's the same old story. Vocal harmonies for ʽBecauseʼ without the instrumental track. Nice, but they were fairly well discernible with the instruments already. A raw take on ʽOctopus' Gardenʼ with George still fumbling and fussing around with the guitar solo, quite far from per­fection. ʽThe Long And Winding Roadʼ with Paul trying out a spoken rather than sung version of the bridge — what is this, Elvis time? An ʽOh! Darlingʼ tried out in an all-out comic mode — here, the bridge is crooned in a hilarious falsetto rather than screamed out at the top of one's lungs. Wind your way back to The White Album and everything stays mostly the same...

...probably with the exception of the original acoustic demo for ʽWhile My Guitar Gently Weepsʼ, which sounds like an entirely different song from what it eventually became — a meditative con­fessional, rather than a grand lament for the fate of mankind. Although its evolution was a bless­ing, it is still very pleasing to have the starting point as well: the major highlight of Anthology 3, with ʽMary Janeʼ, ʽNot Guiltyʼ, and ʽCome And Get Itʼ all coming in for the second spot in a tier that lags significantly behind.

It goes without saying that the historical value of all this stuff, as usual, is priceless. It is useful to know, after all, that the original line in ʽPiggiesʼ went "...clutching forks and knives to cut their pork chops" rather than the final "eat their bacon" — "bacon" fits the verbal flow better than "pork chops", even if it may make less sense (people do tend to eat pork chops rather than bacon for dinner, I guess). Or that the original version of ʽHappiness Is A Warm Gunʼ contained a direct lyri­cal reference to Yoko — who, as it seems, provided some inspiration for the song, a fact all Yoko-haters should keep in mind. Or a million or so similar observations that each of us can make by thoroughly studying these documents. One thing surely cannot be denied — studying the development of Beatles songs can actually be far more enjoyable than enjoying the final takes of  thousands of other bands. Think of the Anthology project from that angle, and it might take its proper respectable place in the band's regular discography some day.

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The Beatles: Anthology 2

THE BEATLES: ANTHOLOGY 2 (1965-1967; 1995)

CD I: 1) 1) Real Love; 2) Yes It Is; 3) I'm Down; 4) You've Got To Hide Your Love Away; 5) If You've Got Trouble; 6) That Means A Lot; 7) Yesterday; 8) It's Only Love; 9) I Feel Fine; 10) Ticket To Ride; 11) Yesterday; 12) Help!; 13) Everybody's Trying To Be My Baby; 14) Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown); 15) I'm Looking Through You; 16) 12-Bar Original; 17) Tomorrow Never Knows; 18) Got To Get You Into My Life; 19) And Your Bird Can Sing; 20) Taxman; 21) Eleanor Rigby (strings only); 22) I'm Only Sleeping (Rehearsal); 23) I'm Only Sleeping (Take 1); 24) Rock And Roll Music; 25) She's A Woman.

CD II: 1) Strawberry Fields Forever (demo); 2) Strawberry Fields Forever (take 1); 3) Strawberry Fields Forever (take 7 and edit piece); 4) Penny Lane; 5) A Day In The Life; 6) Good Morning Good Morning; 7) Only A Northern Song; 8) Being For The Benefit Of Mr Kite-1; 9) Being For The Benefit Of Mr Kite-2; 10) Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds; 11) Within You Without You (instrumental); 12) Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (reprise); 13) You Know My Name (Look Up The Number); 14) I Am The Walrus; 15) The Fool On The Hill (demo); 16) Your Mother Should Know; 17) The Fool On The Hill (take 4); 18) Hello Goodbye; 19) Lady Madonna; 20) Across The Universe.

I am not much of a bootleg guy, but it did so happen, accidentally, that I heard John's early demo for ʽReal Loveʼ (not for ʽFree As A Birdʼ, though) way before the remaining Beatles started wor­king on it, and I distinctly remember thinking — «that melody is quite gorgeous, really, I wonder how it would sound on a Beatles record». Well, as it turns out, it does not sound way better than the barebones original on a Beatles record — mainly because the Beatles record is really a Jeff Lynne / John Lennon record with accidental Beatles participation (George throws in one of his tasty slide solos).

But because there is no McCartney bridge; because John's vocals and, most im­portantly, John's words come through more clearly than on ʽFree As A Birdʼ; finally, because the song was not quite as heavily advertised as «New Beatles material in twenty-five years!» — be­cause of all these things, ʽReal Loveʼ comes through as just a caring tribute to John's memory, and, unlike ʽFree As A Birdʼ, it never fails to bring a sentimental tear to my eye while playing. And, in fact, as a final post-scriptum to the Beatles' legacy, it works better than ʽFree As A Birdʼ — where they turned ʽFree As A Birdʼ into a sort of metaphorical meditation on the band's fate and legacy itself, ʽReal Loveʼ, on the contrary, is not self-centered, but is instead a message to the world, the simple, but effective kind, the Beatles kind — "no need to be afraid, it's just real love" hits with the same intonations as "don't carry the world upon your shoulders", despite coming from John rather than Paul. Well, after all, the love for Love was one thing that united both.

It's all too bad that ʽReal Loveʼ has to introduce what I still view as the weakest, «sagging-est» of the three Anthology packages. Spanning the «magical metamorphosis» years of 1965-67, these 2 CDs neither give the listener an impressive number of previously unheard titles (no matter whe­ther good or bad), nor reward him with enough fleshed-out alternate takes to start thinking about «an alternate White Album» or something. Instead, in order to fill out space, we have to sit thro­ugh some really superfluous tracks, such as the Stack-o-Tracks-influenced strings-only arran­gement of ʽEleanor Rigbyʼ or, even worse, the voiceless arrangement of ʽWithin You Without Youʼ (why? why? all of these sitars and sarods were quite perfectly audible with George's voice, thank you very much).

These are just the extremes; more often are the situations where you just end up with «non-final mixes», genuinely painful to listen to «for pleasure». It gets particularly unbearable on Disc 2, where, for instance, we are offered to sit through an ʽI Am The Walrusʼ without the strings and the noise overdubs — had Roy Wood and Jeff Lynne heard that mix, there would have been no Electric Light Orchestra for sure. Or a ʽLucy In The Sky With Diamondsʼ without the keyboards. Or an ʽA Day In The Lifeʼ without the orchestral crescendos. Uh... yeah, there was a time — a short time — when these songs really were that naked. Are we supposed to understand that the general public should think of these early takes and demos as «alternate approaches»? They just sound like naked demos, nothing more. They're still great, but who would be interested in tasting a chocolate cake without the chocolate? Only the baker, perhaps.

Altogether, we get three songs that we never knew before from the Beatles (not counting ʽReal Loveʼ), and one of them isn't even a song: "12-Bar Original", recorded in late 1965, is the Beatles trying to be Booker T & The MGs for a few minutes (the unedited take on bootleg records actual­ly goes over six of them) — long enough for us to understand why the Beatles so quickly decided to leave the 12-bar blues business to the Rolling Stones. (Not that there weren't a lot of 12-bar blues bands back then who were quite happy with this kind of technical and imaginative levels, but that's why the Beatles are number one and most of those bands are forgotten). ʽIf You've Got Troubleʼ is a Lennon/McCartney composition that they gave to Ringo, but were so horrified with the results that they quickly retired the silly number and replaced it with ʽAct Naturallyʼ. Only ʽThat Means A Lotʼ, later donated to P. J. Proby, has a fine, Beatles-worthy middle eight, but otherwise, as Ian McDonald rightly pointed out, is (possibly a subconscious) melodic re-write of ʽTicket To Rideʼ — and whoever heard of the Beatles humiliating themselves with remaking ear­lier material?

The live performances on the first disc continue Anthology 1's trend of convincing the listener that the Beatles were, in fact, a very good live band when they could hear themselves — tracks 9-12, recorded at the relatively small ABC Theatre in Blackpool, are excellent, including a histori­cal moment: the introduction of ʽYesterdayʼ to the general public. (In the movie, the look upon Paul's face as John presents him with a large bouquet of flowers during the applause is absolutely priceless, as is George's sneery introductory remark of "...and so, for Paul McCartney of Liver­pool, opportunity knocks!"). But, of course, the perfunctory performances of ʽRock And Roll Musicʼ and ʽShe's A Womanʼ from the June 30, 1966 Tokyo concert, coming straight off the Revolver sessions, clearly show how far ahead the band was in its studio flight — and why they decided to cancel further live appearances.

But ahead or not, Anthology 2 does a good job of showing just how many bad ideas the Beatles could go through before settling on the good ones. Notice how awful the sitar sounds during the bridge sections of ʽNorwegian Woodʼ? Good lads, they took it out. Doesn't the sharp «rocking» guitar sound out of place in the chorus of the otherwise mild-folksy ʽI'm Looking Through Youʼ? You'll find it gone for good in the final version. Doesn't this take on ʽTomorrow Never Knowsʼ, with its straightforward, de-funkified drumming, seem like lazy stoner rock? By the time of the final takes and overdubs, it would turn into a psychedelic ocean. Don't the woodwind / brass solos on ʽPenny Laneʼ sound chaotic and extraneous compared to the rest of the piece? How marvelous it was for them to finally settle on that little sad/triumphant note mix of the piccolo trumpet. Isn't that acoustic guitar rhythm on take 4 of ʽFool On The Hillʼ unable to convey the required atmos­phere of sadness that Paul's original piano melody provides so well? And so on, and on, and on...

One might get a kick, perhaps, from the full (extended) version of ʽYou Know My Nameʼ (I am not sure; six minutes of silliness seem a bit too long), but everything else on the second disc only has this «positive through negative» effect — I definitely urge every aspiring songwriter to study the evolution of these songs, because, really, there is nothing wrong with perfectionism, no mat­ter how much the simplistic perception of «indie culture» tries to convince the aspiring songwriter otherwise. As a historical piece, Anthology 2 is priceless (except that it will only whet any cre­dible historian's appetite for more), but do not make the mistake of trying to «enjoy» it. If the Beatles never released their original songs this way, they obviously never wanted you to «enjoy» them this way. Well, at least, not until three of them got old, mellow, and generously forgiving of their own mistakes and blueprints.

PS. One track I do like a lot is the «Giggle Version» of ʽAnd Your Bird Can Singʼ, if only be­cause it is a mean mean feat to see the band able to carry the tune so well when they are literally falling over their feet with laughter from the very beginning. Be careful, it's infectious.

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The Beatles: Anthology 1

THE BEATLES: ANTHOLOGY 1 (1962-1965; 1994)

CD I: 1) Free As A Bird; 2) Speech by John Lennon; 3) That'll Be The Day; 4) In Spite Of All The Danger; 5) Speech by Paul McCartney; 6) Hallelujah I Love Her So; 7) You'll Be Mine; 8) Cayenne; 9) Speech by Paul Mc­Cartney; 10) My Bonnie; 11) Ain't She Sweet; 12) Cry For A Shadow; 13) Speech by John Lennon; 14) Speech by Brian Epstein; 15) Searchin'; 16) Three Cool Cats; 17) The Sheik Of Araby; 18) Like Dreamers Do; 19) Hello Little Girl; 20) Speech by Brian Epstein; 21) Besame Mucho; 22) Love Me Do; 23) How Do You Do It; 24) Please Please Me; 25) One After 909 (Sequence); 26) One After 909; 27) Lend Me Your Comb; 28) I'll Get You; 29) Speech by John Lennon; 30) I Saw Her Standing There; 31) From Me To You; 32) Money (That's What I Want); 33) You Really Got A Hold On Me; 34) Roll Over Beethoven.

CD II: 1) She Loves You; 2) Till There Was You; 3) Twist And Shout; 4) This Boy; 5) I Want To Hold Your Hand; 6) Speech by Eric Morecambe and Ernie Wise; 7) Moonlight Bay; 8) Can't Buy Me Love; 9) All My Loving; 10) You Can't Do That; 11) And I Love Her; 12) A Hard Day's Night; 13) I Wanna Be Your Man; 14) Long Tall Sally; 15) Boys; 16) Shout; 17) I'll Be Back (Take 2); 18) I'll Be Back (Take 3); 19) You Know What To Do; 20) No Reply (Demo); 21) Mr Moonlight; 22) Leave My Kitten Alone; 23) No Reply; 24) Eight Days A Week (Sequence); 25) Eight Days A Week; 26) Kansas City/Hey Hey Hey Hey.

There is no better way to understand the real meaning of «quality control» than to give a good lis­ten to any of the three Anthology volumes. When the Beatles saw the light, and knew that it was good, they let it out. When they were not sure, they left it in the can. It is really as simple as that. Despite the sometimes inadequately warm reception that the Anthologies got upon release — for the most part, from Beatle-hungry fans with an anti-bootleg disposition — I insist that there is not even a single track on any of these six CDs that would in any way be «better» than its original counterpart. The demos are demos, the work-in-progress mixes are in progress, the abandoned arrangements were abandoned for a good reason, and the outtakes remained outtakes for an even better one. Take together even the most polished of these versions, and they will still suck next to what we have always known.

On the other hand, the sheer historical value of the Anthologies is certainly priceless — with one important drawback: as a «history package», this set is drastically incomplete, and will never tru­ly satisfy the dedicated Beatles scholar. Clearly, the Beatles scholar will want to hear all of the preserved takes, so as to assess each song over the natural course of its development; and the Bea­tles scholar might, in fact, be offended at the idea of creating new tracks by splicing together parts of different takes — this is like tampering with history, man. It's one thing when you are making your original ʽStrawberry Fields Foreverʼ out of two entirely different visions for the song; it's quite another thing when somebody is twiddling and reshuffling your stuff thirty years after the fact — be it even under your own supervision.

Still, we have to admit that «history lite» is a necessity as well; the difference between Antholo­gies and a complete package of everything that remained on the cutting floor is like the difference between a school textbook of history and a multi-volume edition for high-level scholars, each of which has its audience. And from that point of view, the amount, selection, and sequencing of the material processed for the collection seem to be just about right. We get to see the Beatles as ini­tially lousy students of American rock'n'roll, as constantly improving energetic live performers, as generators of all sorts of musical ideas, good and bad, as perfectionists and innovators, and, above all, as human beings made of flesh, blood, testosterone, good humor, and bile — a fact that is occasionally forgotten behind the immaculate appearance of their official recordings.

Anthology 1 is often called the weakest of the three volumes, for an objective and easy-to-under­stand reason: it covers their early «formative» years, halting right at the end of 1964, and a large chunk dates back to the pre-Please Please Me era, where the tracks frequently involve horren­dous sound quality and, sometimes, a shot of embarrassment. To me, however, it has always been and still remains the most interesting and intriguing of the three sets — not only does it feature the largest amount of songs (most of them non-originals, but still...) not featured on regular Beat­les albums, but it is here that we actually witness the biggest transformation of all: the amazing maturation of a sincere, vivacious, but still somewhat clueless and clumsy pop-rock band, into the greatest pop outfit of its generation.

It is not even entirely clear how far do we have to extend that «maturation period». All of the pre-1962 era material is either grossly amateurish (early Quarrymen records) or atrocious (the 1960 recordings at Paul's house in Liverpool; even when the sound quality is relatively acceptable, as on the instrumental Shadows knock-off ʽCayenneʼ, there is nothing here to suggest that these guys would go on to something bigger than art school, or working in a local garage). The Ham­burg recordings from 1961 are already a major step forward: while backing Tony Sheridan, «The Silver Beetles» finally became professionals, and John and George's ʽCry For A Shadowʼ is a fine, driving, catchy instrumental that is every bit as good as the Shadows' best hits, and maybe even better — because the entire band is getting into it with less restraint and a more «primal» attitude than Hank Marvin ever allowed his boys.

Then there are selections from the January 1962 Decca tapes — all covers, with the exception of two early Lennon/McCartney originals (ʽHello Little Girlʼ, later turned into a minor hit by The Fourmost, and ʽLike Dreamers Doʼ, later covered by The Applejacks). If you need my opinion, I might have turned these guys down, too, based on this stuff, were I a Decca decision taker back in 1962. The covers almost slavishly follow the originals — and the Beatles, even at their best, would never out-humor such masters of the «fun rock» genre as the Coasters; let alone the fact that handing the lead vocal part on a Coasters cover (ʽThree Cool Catsʼ) to George Harrison, at that time the «clumsiest» singer of them all, could never be a good idea. And that early Len­non / McCartney stuff... don't get me started. Saccharine teen-pop, imitating radio fluff of the day — next to ʽHello Little Girlʼ, even ʽP.S. I Love Youʼ sounds like Brahms.

Basically, the wonder of it all is that the Beatles only turned into professional, original song­writers upon signing the EMI contract — which brings George Martin into the picture, and soli­difies his «fifth Beatle» status to a previously unsuspected degree. As ʽPlease Please Meʼ and even the early incarnation of ʽOne After 909ʼ emerge from the sad shadows of ʽHello Little Girlʼ, we get an altogether unexpected leap in quality, and then — there is no turning back.

Yet there are fascinating and intriguing slips and trial-and-error bits all over the place. On the se­cond disc, for instance, there is a barely listenable take on ʽAnd I Love Herʼ with Paul «bleating» over the top of his range and the main guitar hook of the song still nowhere in sight; an early de­mo for ʽI'll Be Backʼ as a slow waltz, crumbling to pieces by the time the band gets to the bridge; a thoroughly lame early Harrison composition (ʽYou Know What To Doʼ) that was originally intended to be the 14th track on A Hard Day's Night, but was allegedly — and jus­t­ly — ri­di­cu­led by the rest of the band and turned George off songwriting for almost a year; and an early take on ʽEight Days A Weekʼ that starts off as a Beach Boys vocal harmony tribute — a rather inse­cure and out-of-place "oooooooohhh..." that works far less effectively than the eventual fade-in of the guitar melody upon which they would settle later.

In the end, the only studio material that could probably make it onto «real» (non-historical) an­thologies, is a finished 1963 take on ʽOne After 909ʼ — the original also sounds like another tri­bute to the Shadows, but I have always loved its detached, cool, ironic hide better than the more bluntly aggressive rooftop delivery from 1969 — and ʽLeave My Kitten Aloneʼ, a rather vicious Lennon-dominated cover tune that probably should have made it onto Beatles For Sale instead of ʽMr. Moonlightʼ. But maybe they thought it sounded too hateful or something (John would later summon much the same mood for ʽRun For Your Lifeʼ).

But there is also some prime-time live stuff here: carefully selected performances from mid-size venues, mostly, where the Beatles could still hear themselves above all the din and, most impor­tantly, were dedicated to giving the fans all they had to give. The crown jewel consists of five tracks from a Sweden performance on October 24, 1963: here you will find the tightest, most fo­cused and compact ʽI Saw Her Standing Thereʼ that you are ever going to find, a ʽRoll Over Beet­hovenʼ on which George manages not to mess up any of the trademark Berry-licks, and a ʽYou Really Got A Hold On Meʼ on which John, as was usual for him, mixes up the lyrics and still gets away with it — showing all of us how little the words really mean on all these tunes.

Of all the three volumes, Anthology 1 is the one that is most fully equipped with monologuish bits from the accompanying movie (all of them on Disc 1, for some reason), but this is not a big bother since all the bits are very short; and Disc 2 also captures the full version of a brief comedy sketch with Eric Morecambe and Ernie Wise, culminating in a joke performance of ʽMoonlight Bayʼ — the jokes are mostly awful, and the performance is below-the-belt clownish, but the Beatles really did a lot of that on TV in the early days, and, once again, we do need to be re­minded from time to time that these guys were only human.

Of that, Antho­logy 1 keeps reminding us every step of the way indeed. But can that be a cause for unhappiness? Not if you get over 20-30 minutes of excellent live performing, over 20-30 mi­nutes of previously unknown / unexperienced cover tunes and Lennon / McCartney / Harrison originals, not if you really want to know how, sometimes, a fabulous melody does not arrive to the songwriter right on the spot, but is steadily built up along the way, sometimes, with great hardship and toil — you try and deduce for yourself the ratio of inspiration to perspiration. And here is one final hint for you: the difference between the common songwriter and the really great one is that common songwriters — and approximately ninety-five percent of the world's song­writers are «common», I'd say — never succeed in rising above the level of Anthology 1. The truly great songwriter, however, will at least try to make it over to Please Please Me.

PS. No review of Anthology 1 can, of course, get along without a mention of ʽFree As A Birdʼ — the first «new» Beatles song in twenty-five years, consisting of a Lennon piano demo, a Mc­Cartney bridge section, a Harrison guitar solo, and a Jeff Lynne production. (Ringo is in there somewhere, too, but the drum sound is 100% Lynne anyway). Who knows, maybe the Beatles would end up sounding like that in 1995, had things turned out differently, although something tells me John probably wouldn't be too happy of Lynne imposing his sonic attitude on the band (somehow, George, who had already fallen under the Lynne charm during the recording of Cloud 9 in 1987, ended up convincing Paul that this was the right thing to do). In any case, it's a good song that still carries a bit of John's spirit from the late 1970s — and the video row that accom­panied it in the movie was fairly epic as well.

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The Beatles: Live At The BBC

THE BEATLES: LIVE AT THE BBC (1962-1965; 1994)

CD I: 1) Beatle Greetings; 2) From Us To You; 3) Riding On A Bus; 4) I Got A Woman; 5) Too Much Monkey Business; 6) Keep Your Hands Off My Baby; 7) I'll Be On My Way; 8) Young Blood; 9) A Shot Of Rhythm And Blues; 10) Sure To Fall (In Love With You); 11) Some Other Guy; 12) Thank You Girl; 13) Sha La La La La; 14) Baby It's You; 15) That's All Right (Mama); 16) Carol; 17) Soldier Of Love; 18) A Little Rhyme; 19) Clarabella; 20) I'm Gonna Sit Right Down And Cry; 21) Crying Waiting Hoping; 22) Dear Wack; 23) You Really Got A Hold On Me; 24) To Know Her Is To Love Her; 25) A Taste Of Honey; 26) Long Tall Sally; 27) I Saw Her Standing There; 28) The Honeymoon Song; 29) Johnny B. Goode; 30) Memphis Tennessee; 31) Lucille; 32) Can't Buy Me Love; 33) From Fluff To You; 34) Till There Was You.

CD II: 1) Crinsk Dee Night; 2) A Hard Day's Night; 3) Have A Banana; 4) I Wanna Be Your Man; 5) Just A Rumour; 6) Roll Over Beethoven; 7) All My Loving; 8) Things We Said Today; 9) She's A Woman; 10) Sweet Little Sixteen; 11) 1822; 12) Lonesome Tears In My Eyes; 13) Nothin' Shakin'; 14) The Hippy Hippy Shake; 15) Glad All Over; 16) I Just Don't Understand; 17) Top So How Come (No One Loves Me); 18) I Feel Fine; 19) I'm A Loser; 20) Everybody's Trying To Be My Baby; 21) Rock And Roll Music; 22) Ticket To Ride; 23) Dizzy Miss Lizzie; 24) Kansas City/Hey Hey Hey Hey; 25) Set Fire To That Lot; 26) Matchbox; 27) I Forgot To Remember To Forget; 28) Love These Goon Shows; 29) I Got To Find My Baby; 30) Ooh! My Soul; 31) Ooh! My Arms; 32) Don't Ever Change; 33) Slow Down; 34) Honey Don't; 35) Love Me Do.

Although the BBC has really gone on a limb to empty its vaults in the past couple of decades — by now, there must already be hundreds of official releases of sessions recorded by different ar­tists — it is interesting that not a single one of these archival albums ever went «legendary». Some of the packages are, on the whole, rather disappointing (Cream, the Who, etc.), others are consistently listenable and highly enjoyable (Hendrix, Led Zeppelin, etc.), but not a single one ever managed to add something very, very important to what we already knew of the artist in question. (Of the several dozen that I have heard, at least — cannot pretend to completeness of info, or else I'd have to be «swamped in the beeb»).

Of course, one shouldn't really expect too much of archive releases; but the whole «recorded live in the studio» experience is not a completely trivial thing, either — basically, it's a live album re­corded with good quality and without external noise, something that can, at least theoretically, be more than worth our while. Somehow, it is never more than that. As it turns out, a real live album needs external noise — for most bands (unless we're talking of those that have stage fright), an active audience, be it a club, theater, or arena crowd, unlocks some other dimension in the mind, so that they can «lose themselves» in the playing. The BBC studios, on the other hand, never un­locked anything — sometimes, quite the opposite happened instead. Maybe some sort of claustro­phobia, maybe subconscious pressure to exercise restrain and calmness in your playing since no­body is really watching (some of these performances actually were played before small audien­ces, but that usually wasn't enough), maybe a feeling that this is not really a live show, but rather a si­mulation of one — anyway, once they are inside the BBC studio, musicians tend to stick close to the notes and chords, and just provide a half hour of simple fun for those fans who don't have enough money to buy the records (but, perhaps, have enough money to buy blank tapes).

The Beatles, who were among the first of the Beeb's clients to get a deluxe 2-CD official treat­ment of their BBC history — extracted from over 9 CDs worth of material, as can be found on the bootlegged Complete BBC Sessions — are no exception to this general rule. On one hand, it is nice to get over two hours of vintage live Beatles material where you can actually hear the gui­tars and vocals, not just Ringo's drums trying to rise over the girlie din. On the other hand, where would the real live Beatles be without the girlie din? There's something about the whole atmos­phere of this thing that makes them feel naked — no access to either the perfection screen of George Martin or the mighty scream curtain of the fans.

Formally, Live At The BBC is a treasurehouse. It does wisely by focusing on the early shows from 1963, because this way, we now have access to clean recordings of lots and lots of covers that the band performed in their early days — everything from American rock'n'roll (ʽCarolʼ, ʽJohnny B. Goodeʼ, ʽI Got A Womanʼ, ʽToo Much Monkey Businessʼ) to American R&B (even more of that sympathetic Arthur Alexander fellow!) to songs the band must have learned from the repertoire of Billy Fury (ʽNothin' Shakinʼ) to one or two really crappy «Europop» numbers (ʽThe Honeymoon Songʼ, next to which ʽA Taste Of Honeyʼ and ʽTill There Was Youʼ have the anti-establishment potential of a Patti Smith). And, just so you do remember that these are the Beatles you are listening to, a nice, thick selection of originals that also cluster around 1963 and early 1964, but extend a little bit into 1965 as well (ʽTicket To Rideʼ, etc.).

The actual playing, I must say, is almost uniformly bad, and I do mean B-A-D bad. Ringo seems either asleep or dozing half of the time, George is simplifying or flubbing his lines, and Paul is captured in his early-bass stage, when he still had relatively little interest in improving the repu­tation of that instrument. It is especially painful when it comes to straightforward rock'n'roll num­bers: the band is positively sagging on ʽCarolʼ (which the Stones covered in a far sharper and focused manner), ʽI Got A Womanʼ is a total failure next to the Elvis version, etc. Again, it does not really prove that the Beatles completely sucked at playing live — there are plenty of first-rate takes on both originals and covers in the Anthology series, but, somehow, the BBC studios never got them properly attuned. They just don't seem to be trying too hard.

In fact, once the original pleasure of «more Beatles! more Beatles!» had faded away for me, I found that my fondest memories of the album are all related to the silly, but charming bits of ban­ter. John is the undisputed King of Banter here, opening the album with the unbeatable "I'm John, and I play guitar... sometimes, I play the fool", poking fun at silly schoolboy fan poetry with an exaggerated accent (ʽA Little Rhymeʼ), noisily promoting his book (ʽFrom Fluff To Youʼ), gues­sing the name of the band's latest movie in Portuguese (ʽCrinsk Dee Nightʼ... right), and recor­ding what was probably the first little swipe at bandmate Paul while reading a fan letter (ʽDear Wack!ʼ), even if it is just a short interjection, but such delicious tonality! Next to that outpouring, Paul, George, and Ringo all come through as sissies, but everybody is given a few brief moments to shine anyway, and somehow, when the band is talking, they often come across livelier and mer­rier than when they are playing.

Still, even without the banter, the record is still worth owning for at least the following tracks: (a) ʽSoldier Of Loveʼ — John had the perfect voice to offer interpretations of Arthur Alexander's ballads, and this one is a worthy companion to ʽAnnaʼ; (b) ʽSome Other Guyʼ — a rocking high­light from the Cavern days, available here in good sound quality; (c) ʽThe Hippy Hippy Shakeʼ, done a little slower and lumpier than either Chan Romero's original or the Swinging Blue Jeans' hit version from 1963, but saved by Paul's ʽLong Tall Sallyʼ-style hysterical vocals and the over­all heaviness of the rhythm section; (d) the dark slow waltz of ʽI Just Don't Understandʼ — just because anything sung by John Lennon is always better than anything sung by Ann-Margret; (e) Little Richard's ʽOoh! My Soulʼ — if you actually loved Paul doing ʽLong Tall Sallyʼ, you'll love this, because there's really very little difference.

Only one previously unissued original surfaces here: ʽI'll Be On My Wayʼ, a song very much in Buddy Holly's style that the Beatles originally donated to Billy J. Kramer, then rearranged it in a slightly less Crickets-derived manner and tried playing with themselves. It doesn't take a lot of in­tellect to understand why it never ended up on a proper Beatles album, but it's nice to have it all the same — every once in a while, you need to reassure yourself that the Beatles were human, af­ter all, and did actually learn and improve by trial and error rather than have God establish a bee­line from heaven right around the time Ringo joined the band.

In short, this is far from the «great lost live Beatles album» — something that may yet surface on the market one day if somebody really puts his mind to the idea. But it is a modestly good package all the same: at the very least, kudos to the BBC for focusing on the little-known stuff rather than on a dozen versions of ʽFrom Me To Youʼ or ʽI Feel Fineʼ, and for including just the right amount of banter with merry announcer Brian Matthews — just enough to make the whole thing homely, and compensate for the bits of clumsiness and occasional discomfort in the playing. The only real disappointment is that I never get the feeling that the Beatles really enjoyed play­ing at the Beeb — even at the Hollywood Bowl, you could sense more inspiration fighting its way through the deafening screaming than in these studios. At the Beeb, there was really nothing to fight against. Maybe that's why the enthusiasm is so low.

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The Beatles: At The Hollywood Bowl

THE BEATLES: AT THE HOLLYWOOD BOWL (1964-1965; 1977)

1) Twist And Shout; 2) She's A Woman; 3) Dizzy Miss Lizzie; 4) Ticket To Ride; 5) Can't Buy Me Love; 6) Things We Said Today; 7) Roll Over Beethoven; 8) Boys; 9) A Hard Day's Night; 10) Help!; 11) All My Loving; 12) She Loves You; 13) Long Tall Sally.

For some reason, this album still has not seen a properly authorized CD release; maybe they are just waiting to lay George Martin peacefully in his grave before that happens, considering how re­luctant he was to put it on the market back in 1977 — when the release was triggered by the concurrent propagation of the horrible Live At The Star-Club, Hamburg tapes from 1962. Be­cause there was no way Capitol could stop these recordings from going public, they quickly nee­ded their own reply, and ended up holding George at the allegorical gunpoint. Various factual sources will let you know how much of a challenge it was to handle and process the old tapes; the whole thing was anything but a love affair, and so, the only officially released Beatles' live album still remains sort of a bastard, despisable child.

Ironically, though, as the years go by, its importance increases, if only because there are so many young fans now who do not know the proper answer to the question: «So why exactly did they stop touring?» One good listen to Hollywood Bowl will provide that answer. Although the tracks are taken from two different periods, more or less equally divided between August 23, 1964, and August 29-30, 1965, little had changed in the interim: the banshee wailing flying over the amphi­theater never loses a single decibel of intensity. You, the listener of At The Hollywood Bowl in its LP form, have the magnificent benefit of actually hearing the band. The girls in the audience did not have that benefit — not that they had any need of it. And the band itself did have need of it, but couldn't have gotten it unless somebody built a soundproof glass wall around them. Like the blue bubble around Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band in Yellow Submarine.

That said, the Beatles did play well under the circumstances. Occasional flubbed notes in Harri­son's solos or a few tripped beats here and there could happen at any Beatles show, screamfest or no screamfest, and John's major stage curse — that of constantly forgetting the lyrics and having to mumble, improvise, or fall back on older verses — was, I am fairly sure, aggravated by his nonchalant personality rather than teenage howling getting him off the right track. They were ne­ver «great» stage performers, but they did what they could do: rev up the energy level of their studio recordings and play them faster, crazier, more aggressively, the way any good rock show should assert its advantages over the «calculated perfection» of the studio.

The problem was not that they «couldn't play»; the problem was that they couldn't improve. In the studio, every new batch of recording sessions brought on new discoveries and challenges. Live, there was no way they could profit from these discoveries. It is quite telling that, although the per­formances from 1964 and 1965 are shuffled, there is hardly any way to distinguish earlier and later stuff — even if, in August 1965, less than two months separated the Beatles from the break­throughs of Rubber Soul. (Well, clearly, other than the numbers performed — in 1964, they couldn't have been singing ʽHelp!ʼ or ʽTicket To Rideʼ, but I'm not talking about that).

The oddest moments, I think, are the ones where either John or Paul strike up some clumsy, «hu­morous» stage banter — banter that, under normal circumstances, could either be ignored or pro­duce a laughing reaction, but under Beatlemania rule, triggered something much simpler: «A Beatle is talking — time to scream louder!» They genuinely seem lost on that sea, talking and joking to no one in particular, and playing well enough to not lose confidence in themselves, but who really cared? A few headshakes, a few falsetto whoo-whoos, and that's all they need to send the audience to heaven. Led Zeppelin sure hope they could get away that easily.

Today, there is no pressing need to hunt down Hollywood Bowl as long as you already have a general idea of what a Beatles live show used to be like — for which purposes, the Anthology CDs and videos would be perfectly sufficient. Maybe someday the tapes will get the benefit of proper remastering, and the setlists will be expanded to make this document more coherent and comprehensive (at the very least, there is something disrespectful about the almost random shuf­fling of the running order). But clearly, none of these performances will ever replace the studio originals in your heart — although I do admit that, Ringo yells his head off quite effectively on ʽBoysʼ, going at it far more ferociously than when locked in the comfort of Abbey Road Studios. On the other hand, the decision to strip ʽThings We Said Todayʼ of a part of its subtlety, and in­troduce the bridge with a rock'n'rollish "yeh!" on Paul's part, was a mistake. They should have rather included more Carl Perkins in the program.

Of course, the only official live Beatles album (bar The BBC Sessions, which isn't really «pro­perly» live before a real audience) cannot and will not get a thumbs down. What might get a thumbs down is the band's uncompromising decision to quit touring, once and for all. Had they endured just one more year (and even then, when you look at their touring schedule for 1966, you will see that they already spent an absolute minimum of time on the road many months prior to abandoning the practice altogether), the screaming would have died down on its own, and then, finally... remember that the best touring years for the Stones and the Who, two of the Beatles' finest competitors, only began around 1968-69; before that, live bootlegs and scraps of official recordings show that they had relatively limited advantages over the Beatles on the stage. But, as they tell us, history knows no ifs, so let us just bear with the fact that Paul Is Dead, after all.

The Beatles: Past Masters, Vol. 2

THE BEATLES: PAST MASTERS, VOL. 2 (1965-1970; 1988)

1) Day Tripper; 2) We Can Work It Out; 3) Paperback Writer; 4) Rain; 5) Lady Madonna; 6) The Inner Light; 7) Hey Jude; 8) Revolution; 9) Get Back; 10) Don't Let Me Down; 11) The Ballad Of John And Yoko; 12) Old Brown Shoe; 13) Across The Universe; 14) Let It Be; 15) You Know My Name (Look Up The Number).

The second volume of the singles oversees the band enter adulthood, and, consequently, will be of more interest to those who like to see these guys chasing the meaning of life instead of you-know-what. Of course, I respect the opinions of people who assert that you-know-what and the meaning of life are the exact same thing, and that the Beatles did the world a major disfavour when they stopped thinking of happiness as the art of «just to dance with you» and began thin­king of it as a «warm gun». I get their point, but I'm not one of them — and, therefore, Vol. 2 by definition is going to show up more frequently on my playlists than Vol. 1.

One tiny element of displeasure is that Vol. 2, for sheer technical reasons, lacks the smooth con­tinuity of Vol. 1. Since all of the band's A- and B-sides from 1967 already constitute the second side of the Magical Mystery Tour LP, they are not included in this collection; thus, we have a straight jump from ʽRainʼ to ʽLady Madonnaʼ, as if the band went on hiatus at the height of the Flower Power era, and neither ʽStrawberry Fields Foreverʼ nor ʽAll You Need Is Loveʼ ever exis­ted. In a more perfect world, a well-rounded Beatles CD catalog could perhaps consist of Sgt. Pepper and Magical Mystery Tour proper (the movie soundtrack) on one disc, and the ac­companying singles properly distributed among the two volumes of Past Masters. But, obvious­ly, that is not going to happen — and, anyway, with the little plastic discs on their way out, it's all up to you to program your sequencing the way you like it.

For a bit of fun, let us talk about the weaker or less famous stuff on this release, and then we'll see if I have anything revolutionary to say about the likes of ʽHey Judeʼ or ʽGet Backʼ. So here we go — random observations on an incidental compilation.

ʽThe Ballad Of John And Yokoʼ. Apparently, the only thing that puts the «Beatles» tag on this song is that Paul happened to be hanging around in the studio when John got the urge to record it (and a well-trained ear with seasoned knowledge of Paul's solo career will probably recognize his own, rather straightforward, drumming style). Otherwise, not only do the never-ending lyrics vio­late the Beatles' autonomy, but they seem to be far ahead of the melody as well. I've always en­joyed it for a laugh, but it is odd that Paul vetoed ʽCold Turkeyʼ (which, with a little doctoring, could have been turned into a proper Beatles song), but okayed this rather pedestrian travelogue. John must have caught him in a good mood.

ʽLet It Beʼ. I do not like George's solo on the single version. The Leslie speaker effects are fine, but the effect is subdued and humble, compared to the far more dynamic and passionate solo on the album track. Some people might say that this repetitive stateliness is exactly what the song needs, but I always saw ʽLet It Beʼ as a song that goes up and comes down — not a stern church hymn or anything: Paul McCartney ain't no Handel. But in the end, it's good to have both ver­sions so that we can happily waste away hours of our lives arguing about these things.

ʽThe Inner Lightʼ. Probably the weakest of all of George's «Indian» songs (but, in true eclectic fashion, the lyrics actually paraphrase the Tao Te Ching) — but in terms of effect, not structure: structurally, it is often described as particularly complex, unusual, and the closest in tone and ar­rangement to true Indian music. Which might just be exactly why it never struck me as all that amazing: a personal achievement for George, perhaps, but if I want something fairly close to In­dian music, I'll probably just go straight ahead for some real Indian music. The «galloping» sarod rhythms are funny (by the way, there is no sitar on this song — just sarod and Indian wind instru­ments), but not convincing enough for me to see George himself — he's kinda lost in the conse­quences of the novel idea to set basic Chinese philosophy to an Indian melody.

ʽAcross The Universeʼ. Uh... nice birdies. No limits to the happiness of The World Wildlife Fund, for whose purposes the song was originally recorded. Teenage girls singing backup instead of Phil Spector strings. Your choice or mine? Funny enough, every time I replay the song in my head, I only remember Lennon and his guitar anyway — meaning, honestly, that I don't care.

ʽYou Know My Name (Look Up The Number)ʼ. A frickin' LOST MASTERPIECE. Probably the only more or less «genuine», if utterly tongue-in-cheek, «jazz» number the Beatles ever recorded, an almost vicious send-up of its lounge variety, and with a brief and dashing sax solo at the end contributed by no other than the Rolling Stones' own Brian Jones. The only time in Beatles histo­ry that a sheer musical joke dared to make it to a B-side — and, although one time is quite eno­ugh, wouldn't we feel a little poorer without at least one?

ʽOld Brown Shoeʼ. This one is surprisingly rough rock'n'roll for George's «late Beatles» period, when his Carl Perkins fandom phase was already long overcome: he would never again play in such fast tempos for a long long time. In fact, this «aggressive love song» style is usually John's, not George's. It was not included on Abbey Road, and for good reason — it is too brutal to up­hold George's ʽSomething / Here Comes The Sunʼ image on that album. But I dare say that, this once at least, the band could have given him the honor of having the song as an A-side, since it is in every way superior to ʽThe Ballad Of John And Yokoʼ.

And then come the «biggies» that require no extra publicity. ʽRainʼ, originally hidden on the B-side of ʽPaperback Writerʼ, these days finally gets its deserved dues as one of the greatest classics of the psychedelic era. And while, spirit-wise, it is a John show all the way — «birth of the cool», Lennon-style — its finest asset is still the rhythm section; the more I listen to it, the more I am inclined to think that Paul and Ringo were trying to work a bit in the style of The Who, where Paul would play faster, more complex runs (fitting in plenty of bass expressivity, considering the song's slow motion), and Ringo would be working in energetic «drum leads» that keep threate­ning to take the listener's attention away from the guitars. But since Paul is no Entwistle, and Rin­go is no Keith Moon, the end result is still different.

Lastly, the rocker in me is always a little sad that ʽRevolutionʼ always gets such a reserved wel­come compared to its A-side, because on the sheer musical side of things, the rock sound that the band gets on that thing is, again, something utterly without precedent. The whole track just sizzles with electricity — every time I listen to it, I get the feeling of standing near a high voltage power trnasmission line. There's been lots of people known to professionally handle distortion, but this particular way goes beyond Hendrix. I'm pretty sure George must have played his part with rub­ber gloves on his hands, for safety reasons.

And the best song of the lot? I am going to play the game of «being special» here — and, instead of the predictable ʽHey Judeʼ, nominate ʽDon't Let Me Downʼ. It is curious that, where in the next few years John's «Yokosongs» would mostly be of a purely romantic nature (ʽOh My Loveʼ and suchlike), in 1969 he must have really been scared of his own feelings — ʽI Want Youʼ is where he almost goes over the top with that fear, but ʽDon't Let Me Downʼ is a little more restrained. The verses are like a sledgehammer, driving that feeling of eternal, unbreakable love into the ground — the final «she done me good» borders on animalism — and then comes the fear that this love might be breakable, after all. It's one of the greatest «this-moment-is-so-good-please-God-don't-let-it-end» songs in pop history, and the energy that John lets out with this perfor­mance is unprecedented. When they played it on the roof, they didn't require plugging in.

Overall, Vol. 2 covers lots more ground than Vol. 1 — from the still relatively early days of ʽDay Tripperʼ, which announced the beginning of the «maturation» process, through the «psycho» and «elder statesmen» years, you have here the folksy Beatles, the psycho-cool Beatles, the back-to-roots Beatles, the let's-get-personal-Beatles, and the don't-give-a-damn-Beatles. What you do not get at any of these stages is let-the-standards-fall-Beatles — even the «worst» songs I mentioned are still memorable and engaging. Everything is a must hear, even ʽThe Ballad Of John And Yo­koʼ. Admit it, it's more fun to learn about their daily activities when John sings it to you than when you read about it in some sloppy biography.

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The Beatles: Past Masters Vol. 1

THE BEATLES: PAST MASTERS, VOL. 1 (1962-1965; 1988)

1) Love Me Do; 2) From Me To You; 3) Thank You Girl; 4) She Loves You; 5) I'll Get You; 6) I Want To Hold Your Hand; 7) This Boy; 8) Komm, Gib Mir Deine Hand; 9) Sie Liebt Dich; 10) Long Tall Sally; 11) I Call Your Name; 12) Slow Down; 13) Matchbox; 14) I Feel Fine; 15) She's A Woman; 16) Bad Boy; 17) Yes It Is; 18) I'm Down.

In the CD age, one way to treat the Beatles' extensive singles catalog could have been to scatter it as bonus tracks tacked on to contemporary LP releases. On a certain level, that would have wor­ked well, because the singles frequently shared the same spirit as the LPs. Clearly, ʽWe Can Work It Outʼ is very much a Rubber Soul-type song, ʽPaperback Writerʼ embraces Revolver, and ʽHey Judeʼ is every bit as 1968-ish as The White Album.

Since the Beatles had, from the very beginning, enacted a very strict «no-filler» policy, they never shared the «save the best stuff for the singles, use the worst stuff to pad out the LPs» ideology that plagued the record industry all the way up to the «concept album» revolution. Instead, the singles were tasty trailers — in­sightful previews of things to come that were every bit as good as the things to come themselves, only shorter. ʽStrawberry Fields Foreverʼ left your head spinning, but it also left you craving for more, and somehow, you knew more was coming.

On the other hand, bonus tracks are all right, but a proper chronological sequencing of all the of­ficially released non-LP material may be even more right. The release of Past Masters way back in 1988 was probably the first time in history when a major band's «odds and ends» were treated with equal respect to the band itself and its fans: for comparison, no such comfortable collection has so far been made available for The Rolling Stones. And it gives you one more chance to wit­ness, this time in a brief, condensed, but equally «legitimate» version, the band's amazing deve­lopment from teen pop fakirs to seasoned magicians. These songs are every bit as good as LP ma­terial, and in quite a few cases, better; fossilizing them as «bonus» additions would be a psycho­logical disservice to the listener.

Vol. 1 is, expectedly, slightly less revered than Vol. 2, since it only manages to cover the band's early period — right up to Help!, stopping short at the breakpoint after which the Beatles would begin to regard themselves as superheroes and, consequently, act like ones. But that should not imply that the songs are in any way inferior to LP material from 1963-65. ʽFrom Me To Youʼ, ʽShe Loves Youʼ, ʽI Want To Hold Your Handʼ and, a bit apart chronologically and stylistically, ʽI Feel Fineʼ rank among the greatest A-sides ever released in the era when rock'n'roll was young, innocent, stylish, and British. Do I need to write about them? Probably not.

Ah, but what about ʽI Feel Fineʼ and its allegedly pioneering use of feedback on record? Pete Townshend used to scoff at that, claiming that The Who had already become good friends with manually controlled feedback by then — unfortunately, The Who never got around to recording their first feedback-containing singles until 1965, so, as far as I know, Liverpool still holds the trophy here. What is more important from a non-historical standpoint is that the single feedback note gives the song an odd shade of «rough mystery». Let's face it, it is somewhat monotonous, what with that cool, but repetitive riff dominating the entire song, and there's nothing like a sharp twaaaaang of feedback to set up an intriguing start.

But enough about the big ones. Most of the rest of the tracks are B-sides and EP material that was previously available on the old Rarities LP, which the regular average fan never bought — de­priving himself of a wealth of beautiful material. Well, not all of it is equally beautiful. The Ger­man versions of ʽShe Loves Youʼ and ʽI Want To Hold Your Handʼ are sheer novelties that do not even let you properly ridicule the boys' accents due to harmony singing and echo. That the Beatles, too, had to undergo the humiliating ritual of recording in a poorly mastered foreign lan­guage «to capture an overseas market», like so many of their peers, says a lot about the record in­dustry, but does not add much to one's respect for the band.

The EP Long Tall Sally from mid-1964 is hardly a major conquest in Beatles history either, but it does feature some of their most inventive cover versions. The title track is such a stone cold Little Richard classic that I cannot bring myself to asserting that the Beatles did it better: it is a milestone in the «McCartney Screams» saga (supposedly, it was John who goaded Paul into gi­ving it his all, convincing him that he could yell it out along with the best of 'em), but still, Paul McCartney is no Richard Penniman when it comes to revving up the larynx.

But all three covers (Little Richard's ʽLong Tall Sallyʼ, Carl Perkins' ʽMatchboxʼ, and Larry Williams' ʽSlow Downʼ) share the same advantage: they take basic rock'n'roll numbers that used to be pure entertainment, albeit with a naughty subtext, and add an odd pinch of desperation, at times descending into sheer madness. When Larry Williams sang ʽSlow Downʼ, it was fun. When Lennon took the lead, it turned into an open-text anthem of acute sexual hunger. ʽLong Tall Sal­lyʼ is screamed out by Paul at the top of his screaming range — yes, it is shakier and shallower than Little Richard's version, but way more hysterical. Coupled with George's equally hysterical guitar leads, it turns the band's take on the song into their wildest bit of «outside» rock'n'roll ever. Even ʽMatchboxʼ, given over to Ringo whose «range» is non-existent in principle, gets a slightly apocalyptic gloss with its echo effects over everything and double-tracked vocals. Funny, only the sole original on the EP, John's ʽI Call Your Nameʼ, remains completely hysteria-free — it is set in John's «chivalrous» mode (compare ʽAll I've Gotta Doʼ or ʽAnytime At Allʼ), even if the lyrics are about separation and longing, and is of a completely Hard Day's Night caliber.

Then there are the B-sides. Personal favs here would include ʽI'll Get Youʼ, one of their best ear­ly «kiddie love songs» (I've always loved the way its vocal melody unfurls without a single glitch from the opening "oh yeahs" to the chorus), and, naturally, ʽThis Boyʼ, arguably the greatest B-side from the band's early period — if only for its mid-section, where the intensity of John's vocal performance would not be truly matched again until... well, for quite some time.

I have to admit that ʽYes It Isʼ has always been too slow moving for me to enjoy it fully — even though I also admit that the song, solemnly dirge-like as it is, would not really work at any other tempo, and that in terms of depth of sentiment, it beats ʽBaby's In Blackʼ all to hell. It's also in­triguing: is it just about trying to pull oneself together after a breakup, or is she dead? Is it a song about a dead loved one? Could it be?...

I also have to admit that ʽI'm Downʼ has always seemed way too much of a self-penned Little Richard imitation/tribute for me to enjoy it fully — even if, technically, it is one of those classic McCartney rock'n'roll numbers. In reality, though, it is a hybrid. Behind all the rock'n'roll screa­ming and Harrison's stinging leads lies a classic pop chorus, seeking its strength in vocal harmo­nies. I mean, the song is bluesy and all, but the chorus really belongs in the ʽPlease Please Meʼ ballpark, doesn't it? Not even sure if Paul ever wrote one wholesome «non-pop» rocker in his life. Not that it's a big problem or anything. But in between ʽI'm Downʼ and John's cover of Larry Williams' ʽBad Boyʼ — two of their loudest tracks from early 1965 — I always found myself veering towards the latter if there was any frustration to be vented.

Actually, it is kind of a funny thing: with the Stones on their heels, the Beatles never laid a claim to the title of «bad boys of rock'n'roll», yet there still is a very small handful of titles in their catalog where John's mean, aggressive side comes out with a vengeance — you know that at moments like these, he'd be beating poor little Mick to a pulp in his corner. I sometimes think that when he was recording ʽBad Boyʼ, he simply let that nasty 15-year old Liverpudlian hooligan re­inhabit his body once again — that, despite the lack of personal authorship and the essentially comic lyrics, he felt some sort of intimate bond here, almost to the point of making a pledge to turn this humorous number into something much more dark and troublesome. Maybe it is not a complete success (it is very hard to intensify and terror-ify songs that were originally conceived as comic parodies), but the very fact that, for instance, the cover version omits kooky backing vocals ("he's a... bad boy") that accompany each line of the original, supports my point.

Anyway, altogether I would say that the ratio of good-to-great titles on Vol. 1 is more or less con­sistent with the band's normal LP ratios from 1963-64; omit the German versions and the in­teresting, but rather useless alternate single version of ʽLove Me Doʼ (with session drummer An­dy White replacing Ringo on a rather pointless whim from George Martin), and you just got your­self another high-level early Beatles album. Congratulations.

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