In a past life, Fresh and the Qualifier used to get paid to write about music. For years they toiled through a tag-team article called Counterbalance, going head to head, hashing out the relative merits of new releases for the local Chicken Dinner Newspaper. But that was a long time ago - before the economy crashed, sending their frivolous Arts & Entertainment section down in flames.
After wandering in the wilderness, lost and directionless, Fresh and the Qualifier have returned to take on their most challenging assignment: the Greatest Albums of All-Time. Do these critics' darlings hold up, or are they just hyped up?
Often parodied, referenced by everyone from Joan Didion to Vincent Bugliosi, and literally analyzed backwards and forwards, few albums loom as largely and ominously as The Beatles, aka The White Album. With a whopping 30 tracks ranging from bare sketches to ornate arrangements, The White Album may be the most controversial album in the Beatles' oeuvre. But is it a masterpiece or self-indulgent wankery from four guys who haven't heard the word "no" in a while? Fresh and the Qualifier investigate.
Qualifier: Before we begin, Sir Fresh, we should probably establish one ground rule: avoid discussing whether this should have been cut down to a single album. That parlor game has been played since November 1968, and I'd say it's pretty well played out. That being said, this is an unruly tangle of an album, and even though I've heard it hundreds of times, it still feels like a lot to digest.
Fresh: I'll adhere to that ground rule, even though I've groused about just such things in previous installments. But just so we're clear, I don't think this album should be consolidated - I think it should be chopped up and re-released as three separate albums. The Beatles (Pretty, Well Orchestrated Songs), The Beatles (These Songs Rock A Little) and The Beatles (We Are Taking Copious Amounts Of Controlled Substances And Then Recording The Results And Selling It To The Public As A Lark).
Seriously though, I love this record. Mostly because it's full of gems and it documents the Beatles slowly unraveling. It's like watching them realize they are stuck in a very small box. They do their best to push against the boundaries but after failing to break out they turn their aggression on each other. And then it's just a free-for-all. Well, maybe not for Ringo.
After wandering in the wilderness, lost and directionless, Fresh and the Qualifier have returned to take on their most challenging assignment: the Greatest Albums of All-Time. Do these critics' darlings hold up, or are they just hyped up?
Often parodied, referenced by everyone from Joan Didion to Vincent Bugliosi, and literally analyzed backwards and forwards, few albums loom as largely and ominously as The Beatles, aka The White Album. With a whopping 30 tracks ranging from bare sketches to ornate arrangements, The White Album may be the most controversial album in the Beatles' oeuvre. But is it a masterpiece or self-indulgent wankery from four guys who haven't heard the word "no" in a while? Fresh and the Qualifier investigate.
Qualifier: Before we begin, Sir Fresh, we should probably establish one ground rule: avoid discussing whether this should have been cut down to a single album. That parlor game has been played since November 1968, and I'd say it's pretty well played out. That being said, this is an unruly tangle of an album, and even though I've heard it hundreds of times, it still feels like a lot to digest.
Fresh: I'll adhere to that ground rule, even though I've groused about just such things in previous installments. But just so we're clear, I don't think this album should be consolidated - I think it should be chopped up and re-released as three separate albums. The Beatles (Pretty, Well Orchestrated Songs), The Beatles (These Songs Rock A Little) and The Beatles (We Are Taking Copious Amounts Of Controlled Substances And Then Recording The Results And Selling It To The Public As A Lark).
Seriously though, I love this record. Mostly because it's full of gems and it documents the Beatles slowly unraveling. It's like watching them realize they are stuck in a very small box. They do their best to push against the boundaries but after failing to break out they turn their aggression on each other. And then it's just a free-for-all. Well, maybe not for Ringo.
Q: Ringo famously quit the group for two weeks during the recording of this album, and when you manage to tick off Ringo, you're clearly dysfunctional. Tensions apparently ran high during these sessions, possibly exacerbated by the fact that they had just returned from an extremely long camping trip with Mike Love. That tension appears to have manifested itself in the lack of esprit de corps that is painfully evident here.
For example, go back and listen to "Martha My Dear." It's a lovely little tune, but I maintain that had its marshmallowy sweetness been alleviated by a more pronounced contribution from the more acerbic faction of the group, it would have been one for the ages. In other words, put some backing vocals on that number and people would stop jabbering on about how it's about Paul's dog. (Similarly, a touch of Macca cheekiness could have really driven home the point that "Yer Blues" was a satire of British blues.)
F: Agreed - the collaboration that drove the Beatles to the height of the music world is no where to be found on this record. Instead, the listener is treated to lots and lots of Schadenfreude - sweet, sweet Schadenfreude - as the boys from Liverpool claw at each others throats.
And yet, out of this messy professional train wreck, we get to see the Beatles, albeit separately, at the apex of their writing prowess and enjoying the pure thrill of exploring music. Harrison writes "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," the song that arguably defines him as an artist, Lennon answers the Rolling Stones' "Street Fighting Man" with his proclamation of peace on "Revolution 1", McCartney further refines that sappy sweetness that will carry on through Wings and, as normal, Richard Starkey is left to follow up the rear.
Sure, it's a hodgepodge but just think about what kind of album they would have put out if they still liked each other. It may have made Sgt. Pepper's look like a silly little rock dalliance . . .
Q: Or it could have just been Sgt. Pepper II: Nerds in Paradise. Remember, too, that there had been some pretty big changes in that year and half. Dylan and the Stones had put the smackdown on psychedelia with John Wesley Harding and Beggars Banquet. Hendrix and Cream were stripping down their sounds, and hippie-friendly oboists everywhere suddenly found their services no longer required.
The Beatles, at their core, were expert synthesizers. Their greatest strength was taking all of the things that were going on in 1960s pop and through their songwriting prowess create a definitive statement on the state of pop music. You could almost think of their albums as '60s Rock Annual Reports. The White Album shows the transition that was taking place between the more baroque sound that was passing and the rootsy style coming to the fore.
Still doesn't explain "Revolution 9," though.
F: I don't think they would have made Sgt. Pepper Part Deux: Still Marching. The Beatles were too smart for that. But think about the album that could have been. No distractions. No infighting. No Yoko (there's your explanation for "Revolution 9"). It's one of those unanswerable questions that could have changed rock history. Instead, we're left to pick through the detritus.
Q: Ah, but the debris left behind can be fascinating, and I think it's the "minor" pieces on The White Album that give it its unique character. When I first got this record as a mere lad of 13, I focused on the immediate pleasures of "Back in the USSR" and "Glass Onion." But the more time you spend with this album (and for me it's been nearly 30 years), I find a greater appreciation for a song like "Long Long Long," which swoops elegantly from near-silence to a genuinely spooky climax, all without raising its voice. Or the way that "Good Night," a song I once considered way too schmaltzy, sounds almost sinister after "Revolution 9" (and yes, even with a skip button right handy, I still listen to "Revolution 9").
It seems that the infighting and the distractions lent themselves to the darkness that seems to surround the album. But is it possible that the darkness has been assigned to this record ex post facto, given its association with Manson and the general sense that 1968 marked the end of the utopian hippie dream?
F: You raise a good question. It's tough to look at some of those albums through the fog of history. Despite the baggage, I don't think The White Album has any ominous overtones. It's a sprawling, sugar-coated behemoth.
But sweet always goes down better with a touch of sour. On the flip side, I don't think it would hold the place it does with out all of the craziness.
Q: And maybe that's what I think sets The White Album apart. It's a bite of sweet, then a bite of sour, then a bite of cheesy, then "Revolution 9," which is, I'm pretty sure a big bite of vanilla, mustard and ashes. Prior to this, the Beatles were masters at combining flavors, like when my dad started dipping tortilla chips in caramel. I thought we were going to have to put him in a home, but they were delicious! Like kettle corn - in chip form!
F: Your family has weird snacking habits.
Q: Like the Aqua Velva in Zodiac, you wouldn't make fun of it if you tried it.
For example, go back and listen to "Martha My Dear." It's a lovely little tune, but I maintain that had its marshmallowy sweetness been alleviated by a more pronounced contribution from the more acerbic faction of the group, it would have been one for the ages. In other words, put some backing vocals on that number and people would stop jabbering on about how it's about Paul's dog. (Similarly, a touch of Macca cheekiness could have really driven home the point that "Yer Blues" was a satire of British blues.)
F: Agreed - the collaboration that drove the Beatles to the height of the music world is no where to be found on this record. Instead, the listener is treated to lots and lots of Schadenfreude - sweet, sweet Schadenfreude - as the boys from Liverpool claw at each others throats.
And yet, out of this messy professional train wreck, we get to see the Beatles, albeit separately, at the apex of their writing prowess and enjoying the pure thrill of exploring music. Harrison writes "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," the song that arguably defines him as an artist, Lennon answers the Rolling Stones' "Street Fighting Man" with his proclamation of peace on "Revolution 1", McCartney further refines that sappy sweetness that will carry on through Wings and, as normal, Richard Starkey is left to follow up the rear.
Sure, it's a hodgepodge but just think about what kind of album they would have put out if they still liked each other. It may have made Sgt. Pepper's look like a silly little rock dalliance . . .
Q: Or it could have just been Sgt. Pepper II: Nerds in Paradise. Remember, too, that there had been some pretty big changes in that year and half. Dylan and the Stones had put the smackdown on psychedelia with John Wesley Harding and Beggars Banquet. Hendrix and Cream were stripping down their sounds, and hippie-friendly oboists everywhere suddenly found their services no longer required.
The Beatles, at their core, were expert synthesizers. Their greatest strength was taking all of the things that were going on in 1960s pop and through their songwriting prowess create a definitive statement on the state of pop music. You could almost think of their albums as '60s Rock Annual Reports. The White Album shows the transition that was taking place between the more baroque sound that was passing and the rootsy style coming to the fore.
Still doesn't explain "Revolution 9," though.
F: I don't think they would have made Sgt. Pepper Part Deux: Still Marching. The Beatles were too smart for that. But think about the album that could have been. No distractions. No infighting. No Yoko (there's your explanation for "Revolution 9"). It's one of those unanswerable questions that could have changed rock history. Instead, we're left to pick through the detritus.
Q: Ah, but the debris left behind can be fascinating, and I think it's the "minor" pieces on The White Album that give it its unique character. When I first got this record as a mere lad of 13, I focused on the immediate pleasures of "Back in the USSR" and "Glass Onion." But the more time you spend with this album (and for me it's been nearly 30 years), I find a greater appreciation for a song like "Long Long Long," which swoops elegantly from near-silence to a genuinely spooky climax, all without raising its voice. Or the way that "Good Night," a song I once considered way too schmaltzy, sounds almost sinister after "Revolution 9" (and yes, even with a skip button right handy, I still listen to "Revolution 9").
It seems that the infighting and the distractions lent themselves to the darkness that seems to surround the album. But is it possible that the darkness has been assigned to this record ex post facto, given its association with Manson and the general sense that 1968 marked the end of the utopian hippie dream?
F: You raise a good question. It's tough to look at some of those albums through the fog of history. Despite the baggage, I don't think The White Album has any ominous overtones. It's a sprawling, sugar-coated behemoth.
But sweet always goes down better with a touch of sour. On the flip side, I don't think it would hold the place it does with out all of the craziness.
Q: And maybe that's what I think sets The White Album apart. It's a bite of sweet, then a bite of sour, then a bite of cheesy, then "Revolution 9," which is, I'm pretty sure a big bite of vanilla, mustard and ashes. Prior to this, the Beatles were masters at combining flavors, like when my dad started dipping tortilla chips in caramel. I thought we were going to have to put him in a home, but they were delicious! Like kettle corn - in chip form!
F: Your family has weird snacking habits.
Q: Like the Aqua Velva in Zodiac, you wouldn't make fun of it if you tried it.
Nice work gents. I left a comment earlier, but the damn thing effed up and I lost my motivation to write it all back down. To sum, I backed into the Beatles and while I have upmost respect, I don't suk the Fab 5 like others. That said, I love Rocky Raccoon, for what it's worth. Keep up the nice banter. And for the record, sour cream and pretzels are the bomb diggity.