tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28716901181997924152024-03-05T14:29:20.152-08:00hey dullblogAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09054118876539799264noreply@blogger.comBlogger386125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-87853507088746365312013-08-08T07:56:00.002-07:002013-08-08T07:56:38.886-07:00We're now at Heydullblog.comHey folks--the new Wordpress site is fully functional, so go over to <a href="http://heydullblog.com/">Heydullblog.com</a>!<br />
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Please do not comment over here--go over there from now on.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09054118876539799264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-29142106295310774462013-08-01T16:01:00.003-07:002013-08-01T16:01:54.649-07:00Migration to Wordpress!As some of you may know, we've talked about migrating this site over to Wordpress for years. We think traffic will be higher, it will look much better, and Wordpress' ever-increasing bells and whistles will give us more ways to improve the site experience generally.<br />
<br />
Now that I'm feeling better, I was finally able to start this process, and the other Dullbloggers are enthusiastically fixing/updating their posts. Devin just wrote me to say that he was reformatting a bunch of stuff, adding images, etc. This is terribly exciting to me because, as great as HD is, it's only the tippiest-tip of the iceberg. My goal is for us to have the best Beatles fan site on the web—simultaneously a place for seasoned fans to engage in intelligent discussion and discover nooks and crannies of Beatledom that they might enjoy, and a place for newbies to browse and share in this thing we all love. There's a lot of stuff that we currently don't do—like interviews—which a sharp-looking site would make a lot easier.<br />
<br />
What makes me think this Beatle-vana is possible is our splendid commentariat, which is why I'm writing to say:<br />
1) Go over and take a look at www.heydullblog.com.<br />
2) Is there anything we absolutely should have on the new site? Tell us in the comments section of THIS post.<br />
3) If you like, start commenting over there--comments are so much of this site, and I want to make sure the new setup is easy to use, and really robust. And I want to make sure that we don't lose any comments in the change-over. For example, I've been watching @Karen commenting on the gargantuan Time-Lapse Photography thread; <a href="http://My%20goal%20is%20to%20make%20this%20the%20best%20Beatles%20fan%20site%20on%20the%20web%E2%80%94a%20place%20for%20seasoned%20fans%20to%20engage%20in%20intelligent%20discussion%20and%20discover%20nooks%20and%20crannies%20of%20Beatledom%20that%20they%20might%20enjoy,%20and%20a%20place%20for%20newbies%20to%20browse%20and%20share%20in%20this%20thing%20we%20all%20love./" target="_blank">she sourced the John and Paul moped trip</a>. Such a great nugget, @Karen, thank you.<br />
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So go check it out. I will be adding this post to the new site momentarily.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09054118876539799264noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-3078556759304277892013-07-31T07:20:00.000-07:002013-07-31T07:20:30.244-07:00Forward into the past<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Our town of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, recently hosted festivities and commemorations around the sesquicentennial of the Civil War battle that occurred in the fields all around us. Tourists there were many; and where tourists gather, chatchkis will be sold. Among them, this arresting item: Lincoln, Pickett, Lee, and Meade crossing a road made famous little more than a century after the battle that brought them together. Figures of the past are called forth to recreate a tableau, utterly independent of themselves, that to us is itself an image from, and of, the past; yet the combination propels both a bit farther on into the future. I love it!Devin McKinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15334142800484018908noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-47423994660552303682013-07-29T10:47:00.000-07:002013-07-29T10:47:21.646-07:00Plea to Paul: Let it be when it comes to claiming credit <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
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Last Thursday <i>Rolling Stone</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> online published <a href="http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/q-a-paul-mccartney-looks-back-on-his-latest-magical-mystery-tour-20130725">an interview </a>with Paul McCartney
about his current tour. It sounds like a stellar show—I’m sorry I haven’t been
able to see it this year—but I groaned when I got to the part of the interview
in which McCartney says, of adding “Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite!” to the
setlist, that he was “happy to kind of reclaim it as partially mine.” I just
want to say to him: please don’t keep pouring kerosene on those embers. Please
step back and let that frustration go, because you’re fueling the dynamic that
seems to keep you feeling insecure. </span></div>
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Here’s the relevant question and
answer from the interview:</div>
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Q: What made you want to revisit those particular songs?</div>
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A: Well, for instance, "Mr. Kite" is such a crazy,
oddball song that I thought it would freshen up the set. Plus the fact that I'd
never done it. None of us in the Beatles ever did that song [in concert]. And I
have great memories of writing it with John. I read, occasionally, people say,
"Oh, John wrote that one." I say, "Wait a minute, what was that
afternoon I spent with him, then, looking at this poster?" He happened to
have a poster in his living room at home. I was out at his house, and we just
got this idea, because the poster said "Being for the Benefit of Mr
Kite" – and then we put in, you know, "there will be a show
tonight," and then it was like, "of course," then it had
"Henry the Horse dances the waltz." You know, whatever. "The
Hendersons, Pablo Fanques, somersets…" We said, "What was 'somersets'?
It must have been an old-fashioned way of saying somersaults." The song
just wrote itself. So, yeah, I was happy to kind of reclaim it as partially
mine. But like I said, you've got to look what you're doing when you play that
one.”</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Predictably,
this is the answer that generated the most comments, including plenty of
attacks on McCartney as a conscienceless credit-stealer newly taking credit for
a Lennon song. Actually, McCartney’s claim about “Mr. Kite” isn’t that new. In <i>Many
Years From Now </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(1998), McCartney says that
“almost the whole song was written right off this poster. We just sat down and
wrote it. We pretty much took it down word for word and then just made up some
little bits and pieces to glue it together. It was more John's because it was
his poster so he ended up singing it, but it was quite a co-written song. We
were both sitting there to write it at his house, just looking at it on the
wall in the living room." (318)</span> However, William J. Dowdling's "Beatlesongs" (1989)
lists Mr. Kite as a 100% Lennon song. Lennon is quoted about the song’s coming
from the poster: "I hardly made up a word, just connecting the lists
together. Word for word, really." (172) No mention of McCartney adding
anything
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Here’s
the thing: even if what McCartney is saying is true—even if he did participate
in writing “Mr. Kite” more than Lennon mentioned—I wish he would stop saying it,
or things like it. I feel a great deal of sympathy for McCartney’s situation,
because there can be few things more difficult than being the former artistic
partner of a man nearly universally lauded as a genius and frequently
considered a saint. Over the years McCartney has endured some unconscionably
nasty digs (over and above deserved criticism, which he’s also received), and
most of the nastiest compare him slightingly to Lennon. Hearing Lennon
described, repeatedly, as the Beatles’ sole genius has to sting, especially
given McCartney’s substantial, and well-documented, contributions to the band’s musical
legacy. The hateful dismissal McCartney has often suffered is epitomized for me
by a comment made in 2000 by “Kathleen Keplar” on George Starostin’s original
“Only Solitaire” site: “Lennon was the organ grinder...McCartney was the
monkey.” When McCartney gets defensive, I can see that that’s partly in
response to people throwing darts.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span> But
when he asserts that he deserves more credit, McCartney stirs up
more of the same kind of attacks, and the whole cycle repeats. Here are
a couple of samples from the <i>Rolling Stone </i>comment thread:</div>
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"John S. Damm": "Bloody Conquistador with your boot on the throat of John Lennon's
memory, legacy and your friendship with him. What will you do now with
your drawn sword Sir James Paul McCartney?" </div>
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"CBP": “One finds sad--pathetic in the precise sense of
pathos--his hopeless, evidently bottomless Sea of Insecurities. The driving
force of Fab Four was murdered more than 30 years ago; yet, Sir Mega[lo] can't
quite lay to rest his juvenile credits war with a long-fallen rock-qua-social
genius. Verily, methinks he doth protest too much. Too much, and for too long . . . . the more he seeks to carry the weight, as it were, the more unbearable
is his specific lightness of being. Time to retire, take wing to the
dacha, Macca. Turn the business over to a younger, less disingenuous
tribute band. Them freaks was right..."</div>
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"LenThea": “Amazing, Paul can't do an interview without taking
credit for a John Lennon song. Whether he contributed a word or a sentence he
just can't seem to help himself, and since John isn't alive to counter anything
he says he does it all the time. Despite his enormous talent and recognition,
he still has a tremendous need to claim a bit of a John song. He has an
unbelievable need to get credit, even when he doesn't need it. It screams
volumes about his insecurity and about his incredible need for recognition and
reassurance of who he is. With all he's accomplished, he's competing with John
even in death. How pathetic.”</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>With
regret, I have to agree that McCartney’s credit-claiming is pity-inducing. It’s
a mark of how badly hurt he has been, of how much he still needs approval and
recognition. As much as it might smart for him to let go of such claims—and I’m
pretty sure he believes what he’s saying about the songs he discusses—I think
letting go is the only escape from the vicious circle of “claim credit, get
attacked, feel more hurt, claim credit, get attacked . . . .” </div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>If
I had McCartney’s ear for a few minutes, I’d ask him to err more often on the side
of generosity towards Lennon, and to believe that he can afford to do that.
Some of McCartney’s own statements exhibit an understanding of their
interdependence that shows up how unnecessary this kind of small-stakes
wrangling over who wrote what is. In the last paragraph of the “John” chapter
in <i>Many Years From Now</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, McCartney sums
it up: "A body of work was produced that I don't believe he alone could
have produced, or I alone could have produced . . . . The truth of the matter
is, John and I were kind of equal. It really did pan itself out about equal.
That's one of the amazing things about it. People can say, 'Oh, well, it wasn't
Paul, it was John, or it wasn't John it was Paul," but I was there know
that's not true, the other Beatles know that's not true. So much of it was team
effort, joint effort, there really was so much of it."</span></div>
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Note that “kind of,” so similar to
“kind of reclaim it as partially mine.” But no “kind of” is necessary in a
statement about the importance of their partnership. Lennon and McCartney
achieved heights together that neither could have scaled alone, and even the
songs they wrote independently during the Beatles years bore each other’s marks
(rare indeed is the song that had no contribution, musically or lyrically, from
the other). Malcom Doney, in his excellent <i>Lennon and McCartney</i> (1981),
expresses this reality beautifully: "They shared with Picasso, and other
major artists, the ability to soak up the stimuli thrown at them by their
environment: contemporary music, words, images and experiences all became
re-ordered and re-distributed to spill out into great music. But it was
essentially a partnership. It only really worked with the two of them. When
they wrote together, sparks flew. Each with his individual genius was able to
counterpoint the other, excesses held in check—a creative clash of opposites. What
they produced is evidence of a pairing of minds that transcended the mechanics
of the making."</div>
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Amen. So I’d ask McCartney to let
go of the “mechanics of the making.” Those pale in importance next to the fact
that Lennon and McCartney consistently brought out the artistic best in each
other, and that each man’s finest work was created through that partnership.</div>
<span class="fullpost"></span>Nancy Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622655838552297555noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-87746992528952396922013-07-27T02:30:00.001-07:002013-07-27T02:30:05.710-07:00Experiment: Two WordsGEORGE: I wrote "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" at my mother's house in Warrington. I was thinking about the Chinese I Ching, the Book of Changes...the Eastern concept is that whatever happens is all meant to be, and that there's no such thing as coincidence—every little item that's going down has a purpose. "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" was a simple study based on that theory. I decided to write a song based on the first thing I saw upon opening any book—as it would be relative to that moment, at that time. I picked up a book at random, opened it, saw "gently weeps," then laid the book down again and started the song. (In the BEATLES ANTHOLOGY, quoted in MANAGE YOUR DAY-TO-DAY: BUILD YOUR ROUTINE, FIND YOUR FOCUS, & SHARPEN YOUR CREATIVE MIND)
Hey Dullbloggers: Pick up a book at random right now and open it. What two words do your eyes fall on?
I'll start: "Quarto, Folio"Ed Parkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06968478096142741974noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-56548505524539062042013-07-23T13:09:00.000-07:002013-07-23T13:09:32.090-07:00Psychedelia in the UK: "A Technicolor Dream"Any of you that have been interested by my burblings on "psychedelia"—by which I mean the whole gestation, birth and decay of the flower-power movement—will be interested in a video I streamed from Netflix last night: "A Technicolor Dream." It documents the UK scene: the Albert Hall poetry reading in 1965; the Indica bookstore; IT; The London Free School; UFO; and finally the Fourteen Hour Technicolor Dream on April 30, 1967.<br />
<br />
Lots of Beatles-related stuff in here, from McCartney's right-hand Miles, to footage of a very stoned John Lennon. Here's the trailer…<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/yCzNM8dJqTM?rel=0" width="420"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09054118876539799264noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-80718702986857407932013-07-21T17:11:00.003-07:002013-07-31T06:08:49.641-07:00Dullblog Book Report<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ghehzatI8eQ/UeyAOk_3QlI/AAAAAAAAC1g/jbn8vbzlx-A/s1600/9781451612387_p0_v2_s260x420.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ghehzatI8eQ/UeyAOk_3QlI/AAAAAAAAC1g/jbn8vbzlx-A/s320/9781451612387_p0_v2_s260x420.JPG" width="211" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">BEATLES VS. STONES</i></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">By John McMillian</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Simon & Schuster</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">288 pages, $25</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">October 29, 2013</b></span></div>
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A character in Jonathan Lethem’s novel <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Fortress of Solitude</i> claims that every small-group dynamic
found in fiction or in life is comprehensible via the Beatles model of
organizational relationships:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The
Beatles thing is an <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">archetype</i>, it’s
like the basic human formation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Everything naturally forms into a Beatles, people can’t help it.” He
illustrates this theory by applying it, convincingly, to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Star Wars</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Tonight
Show</i>. (For the record, the archetypal roles—or “four sides of the circle,”
as the title of a Beatles bootleg once had it—are said to be those of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">responsible-parent</i>, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">genius-parent</i>, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">genius-child</i>, and the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">clown-child</i>.)</div>
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It is a longstanding tendency of Beatle fans to feel, in
this or some similar way, that their favorites encompass the whole of humanity—every
personality type, psychological disposition, emotional style. Fans of the
Rolling Stones have never fostered any such fancy. The Jagger-Richards
domination was, almost from the beginning, so strong that the band’s geometric
equivalent, rather than a circle with four sides, might resemble two rhombi
connected by crescents to a string of three shapes (Jones-Taylor-Wood heptagon,
Wyman trapezoid, Watts kite) trailing behind like an essential but subordinate
tail. A self-completing solid of arcs and edges versus a stylized scorpion:
That, in one formulation, is Beatles vs. Stones. It is about the only contrast
between the groups not tracked by John McMillian in his book of that title. The
two groups, he writes, “represent two sides of one of the twentieth century’s
greatest aesthetic debates,” one with inkblot meaning for each individual: Which
you prefer is “thought to reveal something substantial about [your]
personality, judgment, or temperament.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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In a succinct introduction, McMillian enumerates the
standard polarities assumed to separate the groups: “The Beatles may be described as
Apollonian, the Stones as Dionysian; the Beatles pop, the Stones rock; the
Beatles erudite, the Stones visceral; the Beatles utopian, the Stones realistic.”
But McMillian—whose previous book was the excellent <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Smoking Typewriters: The Sixties Underground Press and the Rise of
Alternative Media in America</i> (2011)—acknowledges that none of these traits are categorical, that each stereotype is
complicated by contradiction and overlap. He takes a similar view of the
processes by which the bands took up opposing positions in the popular mind,
arguing that while it was in some measure an expedient media creation fed
throughout the ‘60s by fan bias, it also has a natural grounding in the
competitive proximity of two gifted, ambitious collectives occupying much of the
same musical and geographical space:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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It is sometimes said that the “rivalry”
between the Beatles and the Stones was just a myth, concocted by
sensationalizing journalists and naïve teenyboppers. In reality, we are told[,]
the two groups were always friendly, admiring, and supportive of each other. It
is doubtful, however, that their relations were ever so cozy or uncomplicated. The
two groups clearly struck up a rapport, but that never stopped them from trying
to outperform each other wherever and however they could. And as most people
understand, emulous competition rarely nourishes a friendship; more often it
breeds anxiety, suspicion, and envy.</div>
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McMillian means to disturb the “conventional wisdom” around
the Beatles-Stones duality, but purely as a means of arriving at a greater
historical clarity. He has no personal case to argue for or against either band:
“In this dual biography, I’ve merely juxtaposed the Beatles and the Stones,
examined their interrelations, and shown how their rivalry was constructed.” Though
he admits to a preference, McMillian does not reveal it. That is not only fair,
given that he writes as a historian and not a critic, but also wise: Had he
revealed his own preference even at the very end, it might have cast a pall of
impartiality over the proceedings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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The Beatles’ and the Stones’ trajectories through the 1960s
were hardly parallel lines, but they were common paths. Both were English
groups influenced by American styles; both sought stardom in the US as the
ultimate and essential peak of success; both held dominion over the London pop
scene at its apex of influence; both were embroiled in the drug and revolution
wars of the late ‘60s; both were natural counterparts in larger debates about
pop and rock, rebellion and concession, authenticity and contrivance, rockers
and teenyboppers. McMillian details the processes by which the Beatles (raised
on Liverpool streets of moderate-to-extreme roughness and baptized in the pits of
Hamburg clubland) and the Stones (chip-on-shoulder types from middle-class
London suburbs who opted for the fringe and filth of bohemian living) came to their
precipices of success, and by which their respective managers, Epstein and Oldham,
fashioned them in images nearly the exact opposite of their apprentice-level
selves.</div>
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In one sense at least, the Beatles may be seen as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">a priori</i> more “authentic” than the
Stones: They hit the music scene first, and so were the defining influence. As
has been well known for many years, Oldham modeled his Stones to be the
anti-Beatles. In the words of journalist Chris Hutchins, “Brian [Epstein] left
the way open for the Stones to occupy a very large vacancy”; or as Greil Marcus
wrote, “It was the Beatles who opened up the turf the Stones took as their
own—there was no possibility of a Left until the Beatles created the Center.” Likewise,
the Stones’ incorporation of the Beatles’ musical influence was often so blatant
as to appear less absorption than appropriation (“Yesterday,” a string ballad,
was followed by “As Tears Go By,” ditto; the sitarized “Norwegian Wood” was
echoed by “Paint It Black”; <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pepper</i>
was imitated, or parodied, or something, by <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Satanic Majesties</i>).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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But it would be foolish to claim that because the Stones’
musical influence on the Beatles was not so obvious, it was less profound. Influence
takes different forms, and one is the imperceptible stress of competition. There
can be no doubt that the Beatles’ necks registered the Stones’ hot breath just
as keenly as that of Dylan, the Beach Boys, or the wizards of Motown. If the
Beatles were to stay ahead, they needed a competitive entity like the Stones—also
a band, also English, with a hunger for novelty similar to their own—to stay
ahead <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">of</i>. McMillian is quite good at
tracking this tension, and at keeping it alive for the reader. His book reads
fast, as if self-propelling. He doesn’t linger too long on one episode before taking
up the next.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And there is always a next. The London fashion photographer
David Bailey, who took some of the best contemporary shots of both groups, is
quoted, “I thought of the Beatles as a boy band, a very manufactured group when
they started out,” whereas “the Stones seemed to grow organically”—which demonstrates
handily the pitfalls of mistaking image for reality, as well as how little the common
cant about “authenticity” has to do with good music. The standard benediction
on the Stones, and concomitant knock on the Beatles, has always been that there was
something somehow <i>realer</i> about the Stones; that their combination of black influence,
rebel stance, sexual display, drug hipness, and wild musical style constituted
an image not patched together or appropriated but, as Bailey says, “organic.” Who
can say why that is—except to suggest that that image confirms an image that
confirms the observer to himself? Or that that image is one that regards broad
popular acceptance, particularly among grownups and females, as illegitimate? Or
that there is a deep male narcissism, often indulged by women, coiled at the
center of that image?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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McMillian cannily relates this orthodoxy of the organic to
what we call rockism, “a particular kind of snobbery [which] privileges
feelings over technique, and emotion over craft,” and which in the ‘60s, long
before it was named, led blues purists and proto-rockists to scorn “pop’s lumpen
love of the Beatles.” He also quotes a key insight from Phil May, lead singer
of the London blues-rock band the Pretty Things, contemporaries and near-slavish
imitators of the Stones. At Stones shows, May recalls, male libido and male
prerogative were excited, where they’d been stifled or dulled by earlier pop
shows, which most boys attended at the behest of their dates and disdained as girly affairs. But come the mid-‘60s
and the Stones’ particular type of “organic” badassery, “the chicks were pushed
further and further back because they were physically overwhelmed.” By the late
‘60s, the audience at a Stones concert is predominantly male. By the ‘70s and ‘80s,
it is overwhelmingly so—as are the audiences for hard rock, heavy metal, and progressive
rock. Here we are at the heart of the male-female, rock-pop, fanboy-teenybopper
dynamic—and the Beatles-versus-Stones debate. McMillian is well aware of this,
but he could have gone further down this road, a road that forked at a certain
point, with the mass audience, the bisexual audience—the Beatles’ audience—sticking to the main route while the fan-boys carved out their cults elsewhere. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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“The Stones were the cool group,” McMillian writes, “because
they valorized youth in ways that the Beatles did not.” Valorized youth to
itself, perhaps—which may be one reason why the Stones are perhaps not as good
a group as the Beatles to grow old with: They flattered youth and made a fetish
of youthful attitudes like disdain, diabolism, and cruel sexuality. (All exciting
spices in the ghoulash of art and life, but simply not as enticing after a
certain point of maturity.) The Stones were, however, sometimes seen as a
better group to be young with—especially
in the antiestablishment atmosphere of America in 1968. McMillian builds on his
previous book’s richly detailed history of the underground press with an
authoritative composite of that press’s response to the “Revolution”-“Street Fighting
Man” kerfuffle. He retrieves livid passages from agit-prop broadsheets and radical
rags like the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">San Diego Door</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Space City! </i>to limn a fuller picture
than we’ve previously had of just how the groups’ differing responses to street revolt went down with the radical audience. We witness a fascinating display of rock archeology as John Lennon
spends most of 1968 (and beyond!) trying, like an aggrieved virgin, to decide if he will or he won’t; and Mick Jagger,
flush with the underground approval that greeted the anti-utopian “Street
Fighting Man” and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Beggars Banquet</i>, goes
from revolutionary hero to “half-assed male chauvinist prick” in little more
than a year.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Beatles and Stones in ‘68 is a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">locus classicus</i> of rock and politics in full flaming collision. Both bands have continued to weather criticism for the positions they
took in the late ‘60s, or didn’t take, or took and then took back; their fans and
detractors, explicators and users are likewise eternally vulnerable to the
revisionist’s scold. McMillian, historian-not-critic, declines to pass judgment,
and good for him, because many of the rest of us have. We know how the Beatles,
the Stones, their fans, and their critics <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">should</i>
or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">should not</i> have reacted to
everything in their world back then. We can plainly see where musicians and
audience were visionary and where they were shortsighted. Retroactively, we can
topple any stance, justify any equivocation, or vice versa. What we can’t so
easily do is see the Beatles and Stones as human beings, and admit that yes,
they were passionate—but mainly about their music, not about politics or
pushing society in a better direction, except insofar as those were incidental
to the music; that they were, as much as they were anything, young and
fashion-conscious; that they were not particularly farsighted, analytical, or
politically informed; that they were innovators within a status quo of which
they were uniquely successful products. It was not in the nature or ability of
the Beatles or Stones to be revolutionaries, or to respond intelligently at
every point to the exploding components of a world that at the flashpoints of
1967-69 demanded nothing so much from them as the “proper” allegiance—be that
to the establishment, or to the revolution, or to their art, or to the future. Even
less could they begin to imagine the rampant revisions of future analysts like ourselves,
we who fault or praise them according to our personal preferences and from our elevated
vantage—this moment in time where we, like everyone before us, imagine we can
see for miles in every direction, but are in fact only looking back from
somewhere a bit further down the same long, long road.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I spot very few mistakes in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Beatles vs. Stones</i>, and those are minor—though there’s one inaccurate
lyric, and McMillian leads into his discussion of “Street Fighting Man” having
forgotten to identify the song. His style is not particularly vivid, but it is
smart, and his pages flow, even past the occasional crag of cliché (“a
limousine whisked [them] away”; the Beatles were “generational pied pipers”). Having
cautioned us that he is not a critic, McMillian proves it in the few passages
of musical or lyrical analysis, which send the reader’s eyes skipping stone-like
over the smooth surface of things that have been said before. He has a tendency
now and again to let the descriptive line go slack: “[They] kept going into
these long, intentionally sloppy improvisational blues jams… Oldham was so
oblivious that he didn’t even realize he was getting punked.” That’s lazy, colorless,
first-draft writing, easily mistaken for an interview quote from someone who’s
not a writer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Beatles vs. Stones</i>
concludes with an “Epilogue,” and the epilogue ends with brutal abruptness—a
short paragraph on John Lennon’s assassination. The logic of ending this book
this way is not difficult to make out, or to work out, but it is a bad
miscalculation. It doesn’t ring, rouse, resonate, or resound. It does
nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>McMillian slams a door, cuts off
a conversation, and the voices and lingerings of “one of the twentieth
century’s greatest aesthetic debates” all blow away as ash in a quick
wind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, I cry out, now is the moment
for the author to step up, not to vanish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Culmination is called for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a
sucker for culmination—for end statements that are both totalizing and cryptic,
poetic and tangible, that encompass theme and event in a unified field of
meaning while leaving wide and undeclared the vista that spreads beyond the
book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is that too much to ask?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps the components of a wrap-up are
scattered throughout the earlier chapters; perhaps McMillian could give me what I
want simply by cutting and pasting a few passages into a different order.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will he do that in a future edition?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Probably not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ending remains abrupt, alienating, an emptiness diminishing all
before it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The majority of the “Epilogue” is given, in fact, to a
takedown of the Stones post-<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Exile</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s undeniable that, from one perspective,
the worst thing they ever did for themselves was to not break up at the right
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>McMillian recounts the Stones’
accumulation through the 1970s, ‘80s, ‘90s, aughts, and ‘teens of megatours,
corporate sponsorships, time-wasting albums, coin-snatching compilations, inflated admission prices, and licensed crap affordable and desirable only to those fanboy-jock executive millionaires who literally have so much money they don’t know
what to do with it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet again, we find it
is impossible to survey the results of the Stones’ commercial elephantiasis and
not come away damning the deadly sin of avarice—the band for promoting it, ourselves
for ever having fed it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet again,
we’re reminded of the classic line Nik Cohn wrote far back in 1968, in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rock from the Beginning</i>, to end his
chapter on the Stones, whom he loved:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And
if they have any sense of neatness, they’ll get themselves killed in an air
crash, three days before their thirtieth birthdays.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Did anyone ever write anything similar about the
Beatles?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would it have occurred to
them?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or did the Beatles guarantee themselves
a longer life in sound, memory, the collective daydream not simply by having
the sense to break up before they fell apart, but also by landing on the world stage
less beholden than the Stones to purist or rockist claims of authenticity;
to someone else’s rebel yell; to the proprietary
pulse of the penis?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps it’s upon
questions like these—and one’s personal response to them—that the Beatles-vs.-Stones
debate tilts, and is finally won.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the
Beatles.</div>
Devin McKinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15334142800484018908noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-25046332932838929722013-07-18T20:21:00.001-07:002013-07-18T20:21:53.754-07:00POV<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/ETiDNME4tMA" width="420"></iframe>
From Dullblogger Hua: "She's Leaving Home" from the perspective of a girl leaving home. (Anyone know anything about Kathy McCord?)
Ed Parkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06968478096142741974noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-60427257259352039532013-07-17T16:44:00.001-07:002013-07-17T16:44:18.637-07:00Devin after reading the preceding item<img alt="" height="200" 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" width="174" />Devin McKinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15334142800484018908noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-71277705341310918022013-07-17T10:44:00.000-07:002013-07-17T10:44:17.157-07:00Some vinyl to complete your collection<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggFE2QmQ7xnebZJSOZDWCRkDYatvEgg9EMN3ga5To7a7m9Tux9bVX5rgEaI7DFXFBnOfPOZHeHTxapJ6hn5M6OnypAAbUevmyD5OSLn7jzHpADzcopR4Wp6PohNhjqLCIqtrOapeVBaoK-/s1600/lf.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggFE2QmQ7xnebZJSOZDWCRkDYatvEgg9EMN3ga5To7a7m9Tux9bVX5rgEaI7DFXFBnOfPOZHeHTxapJ6hn5M6OnypAAbUevmyD5OSLn7jzHpADzcopR4Wp6PohNhjqLCIqtrOapeVBaoK-/s400/lf.jpeg" width="397" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's amazing how many men used to wear horn-rimmed glasses, isn't it?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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For those of you with a little extra scratch, two Beatles vinyl rarities are up for sale: <a href="http://dangerousminds.net/comments/the_beatles_white_album_number_a0000001_is_up_for_sale" target="_blank">number A0000001 of The White Album</a>, and <a href="http://entertainment.ha.com/c/item.zx?saleNo=7081&lotNo=46156" target="_blank">a copy of <i>Sgt Pepper</i></a> with various Capitol execs dotting the crowd in the background.<br />
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The White Album, which was purchased in 1989 for $1000 (seems cheap even for then), is expected to fetch—well, it has an opening bid of $10,000, so God knows.<br />
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The <i>Pepper</i>, on the other hand, has an opening bid of $15,000.<br />
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You can read a bit more about this White LP over at Dangerous Minds; I've pasted the COA they reproduced below.<br />
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PS—Devin's birthday is coming up. Just sayin'.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB2wcpjtAgQYPYe7-8F3UFX23RtxNW20ZGRlOVhgqWmQ_aHIQyVHVvaA2DpC2KqOJwvVhRVeU6sDUnCntUvKIwZrMq-GwprHeYC6qUBBoMgLHjJoZ70EM5RS0y0ooQ_HJgbSKJDojH5yNt/s1600/etihwmublarettel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB2wcpjtAgQYPYe7-8F3UFX23RtxNW20ZGRlOVhgqWmQ_aHIQyVHVvaA2DpC2KqOJwvVhRVeU6sDUnCntUvKIwZrMq-GwprHeYC6qUBBoMgLHjJoZ70EM5RS0y0ooQ_HJgbSKJDojH5yNt/s400/etihwmublarettel.jpg" width="311" /></a></div>
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(h/t <i>Dangerous Minds</i>)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09054118876539799264noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-13383505865813602042013-07-12T19:12:00.000-07:002013-07-12T19:12:05.022-07:00Full of turtle thoughtsAs mentioned <a href="http://heydullblog.blogspot.com/2013/06/hes-at-it-again.html">before</a>, my introduction to a <a href="http://www.nybooks.com/books/imprints/classics/turtle-diary/">new edition of Russell Hoban's </a><i><a href="http://www.nybooks.com/books/imprints/classics/turtle-diary/">Turtle Diary</a></i> compares it to "Eleanor Rigby." A version of the essay can now be read at <a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/arts/books/2013/07/russell_hoban_s_novel_of_middle_age_turtle_diary_reviewed.single.html">Slate</a>.Ed Parkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06968478096142741974noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-59955631096005881952013-07-12T15:20:00.000-07:002013-07-12T15:21:39.930-07:00No way I'm not re-posting this<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-guBqyMvdlws/UeCAgDx_xAI/AAAAAAAAC00/RRwh4jZybvg/s1600/John+Julian+Happy+Days.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-guBqyMvdlws/UeCAgDx_xAI/AAAAAAAAC00/RRwh4jZybvg/s320/John+Julian+Happy+Days.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Courtesy of Tom Sutpen's <a href="http://networkedblogs.com/N3Lza" target="_blank">If Charlie Parker Were a Gunslinger, There'd Be a Whole Lot of Dead Copycats</a>, which I've more than once called "the best blogsite there's ever been, ever."<span class="fullpost"> (This appears under the heading "When Legends Gather.") I'm pretty sure that's Jerry Paris with half of his grinning face cut off at the right side. He was Rob and Laura's neighbor on "The Dick Van Dyke Show," plus he directed 200 eps of "Happy Days."</span>Devin McKinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15334142800484018908noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-12059710881228527702013-07-08T06:09:00.000-07:002013-07-08T17:41:20.170-07:00Oh for God's sake — Pt. 2; or, Reality without quotesA friend sent this link to a <i>Guardian</i> article titled <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/theobserver/2003/jan/19/featuresreview.review" target="_blank">"31 Songs That Changed My Life,"</a> in which a variety of English creatives (actually, not enough variety: only six are women) name and briefly describe a song they found<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> in some way determinative of their personal development</span>. Per the <i>EW</i> "best album" list below, I don't like such lists yet I almost always look at them. This entry caught me: #15, by Scottish crime novelist Ian Rankin:<br />
<i><br /></i> <i><b> Midnight Rambler by The Rolling Stones </b> <br />
I have chosen this from my favourite Rolling Stones album: I'm
obsessed with them, and have used many titles of their songs as titles
for my short stories and novels. 'Midnight Rambler' was the first time
I'd ever heard a rock group sing about a serial killer - it's abou<span id="goog_524322220"></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_524322221"></span>t the
Boston Strangler. It was the end of the Sixties, and when The Beatles
were singing 'All you Need is Love', The Stones, who were a good,
liberal, rock group, were a bit more realistic. </i><br />
<br />
The foolishness of this is self-evident. I take "realistic" to refer to that which touches upon reality, or at least consensus reality, meaning the reality that most humans feel they share. It is certainly a reality that serial killers exist, and that they continue to do their work (on TV shows like "The Following" and "Hannibal" and in novels like Rankin's, anyway). But the number of humans affected in any way by serial killers other than through such entertainments is somewhere beneath infinitesimal<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">—whereas the number of those affected by love, the concept or the thing, its </span>presence or its lack, is precisely the number of people who have ever lived. <br />
<br />
Yet Rankin's is a perspective that has held sway among significant numbers of listeners since the mid-1960s, long before the Stones were singing anything as explicit as "Midnight Rambler." Hunter S. Thompson's famous comment was that the Beatles just wanted to hold your hand, while the Stones wanted to pillage your town<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">—the comparison itself making it clear which pursuit Thompson, given his pathologies and his genius, found more vital, true, "realistic." </span>Many folks, as we know, associate realism as an artistic or philosophical value exclusively with the bloody and the ugly<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">—</span>or at least with their own daydreams of same; and not because horror is inherently more real than anything else on earth but because a dalliance with certain accepted signifiers of horror helps those people feel realer (tougher, cooler, more hard-boiled, less illusioned) than they otherwise suspect themselves to be.<br />
<br />
I am confident in describing this feeling because I feel it too; I always have. And a feature of my protracted adolescence was the secret sub-feeling that the Beatles' achievement was perhaps not as weighty as that of the Stones for exactly these reasons. As a consequence, I've always sought out the ugly and the violent, the dissonant and the dark, the perverse and the hidden in the Beatles' art, partly because it interests me more to look beneath the surface than to describe what is perfectly self-apparent, and partly because like any daydreamer of darkness I feel enlivened, as if a need is being met, when I'm in some kind of imaginative touch with sensations that I find objectively unpleasant.<br />
<br />
But damn it: You grow up eventually. Your obsessions remain but your focus spreads. You realize that horror as most of us know it (for most of us have never been touched intimately by murder or war) is just another kind of romance novel, and that an undue emphasis on the grungy and decadent is just another brand of naivete<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">—</span>albeit one with a hipper label. You still dally with the dark, because it is fun; because it answers that need which is still there and probably always will be; because it feels like you're pursuing an essential part of the full human story. But you start appreciating love and hope and air and light in ways you never could before, not back when you were an adolescent whose innocence lay in his cynicism: his "realism."<br />
<br />
Having thus grown up and spread out, you realize yet again why the Beatles are supreme. I still love the Stones, always will. But I've often felt that in singing songs about sex killers and interracial whorehouses and cocaine blitzes<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">—not to mention violent revolution, at the moment when it was culturally advantageous to do so</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">—</span>they in a certain sense took the easy route to mythic status. It's never been uncool to call yourself a Stones fan. On the other hand, extolling or just entertaining the philosophical implications of "all you need is love" will almost never make you appear the hippest person in a given room. The Beatles always flirted with, and especially in the late '60s and throughout the '70s were recurrently accused of, just that kind of irrelevance<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">—the kind that hinged on signifiers, words like "love" and phrases like "violent revolution" and quasi-ideas like "war is just a shot away," which the Stones had up front and the Beatles merely ("merely"!) had embedded in the texture and the tragedy of their sound, a contrast in explicitness that for many meant that the Beatles weren't as </span>"realistic" (impossible to use that word without meta-quotes) as the Stones.<br />
<br />
But the people saying that in the '60s, from the pioneering rock critics to rank-and-file radicals, were, I recognize yet again to my astonishment, mostly about half my age at the time. We may think we have it sussed out, but if life teaches you anything it's that there are always surprises ahead, and that they will work changes on you that you can't begin to foresee. That the Beatles only grow in stature as I age, whereas the Stones shrink to something that is often a little less than life-size, to me says a lot more about a rock group's relevance than does that group's willingness to write, sing, and play an eight-minute song (even a good one) about a sex killer. Meanwhile the reduction of "realism" to the trappings of violence says rather more about the listener than about the work. To travel, as Ian Rankin seems to, on the assumptions that 1) because a
thing is violent and ugly it is by definition more realistic than things which are not; and that 2)
creative work about that violent and ugly thing is intrinsically more
worthwhile betrays, at the very least, a remarkably stunted view of what reality<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">, </span>without quotes, contains.<br />
<span class="fullpost"></span>Devin McKinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15334142800484018908noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-25814099468825429772013-07-02T00:18:00.000-07:002013-07-02T00:18:18.080-07:00Oh for God's sake--Okay, today I had the kind of experience the internet is made for. I was sitting in my doctor's office reading <i>Entertainment Weekly</i> and—look, I know that if I'm reading <i>EW</i>, I get what I deserve. I suppose I am showing my age, expecting a magazine to be not-idiotic because it's on paper, but still: there I was reading EW's list of the <a href="http://www.stereogum.com/1395702/entertainment-weeklys-100-greatest-albums-ever/list/" target="_blank">Top 100 LPs of All Time</a> and <i>Revolver</i> is #1, and <i>White</i> is #12, and <i>Abbey Road</i> is #22 and <i>Rubber Soul</i> is #65 or something, and…<br />
<br />
<i>Sgt. Pepper</i> isn't even listed. Are you <i>trolling</i> me, <i>EW</i>?<br /><br />Now I realize I ride a couple of hobby horses pretty hard on this blog. Recently a commenter called me out on that, and he/she isn't entirely wrong. But folks—in a world where <i>Sgt. Pepper</i> isn't even listed in the Top 100 LPs of All Time, you gotta speak up.<br />
<br />
I know a bit about compiling lists—see here for my <a href="http://splitsider.com/2013/05/a-comprehensive-guide-to-the-best-humor-books-ever-written/" target="_blank">essential comedy bookshelf</a>—and every such list is flawed, and personal, and designed to spur discussion. But there's something <i>woefully wrong with your brain</i> if you like <i>Revolver</i> enough to put it at #1, and not even list the follow-up which, in addition to being an extension of <i>Revolver</i> in some important ways, and hugely innovative in its recording technology, packaging, and conception, at the time (as I have endlessly pointed out) was considered to be the absolute epitome of artistry in not just rock, but one of the high points of popular culture of the last 100 years. Were all those people that wrong? Were all the lists that commonly placed <i>Pepper</i> at or near the top that wrong? Or are the <i>EW</i> compilers playing some kind bullshit rock-snob game that shows just how infantile and, yeah, immature rock music is as an art form?<br /><br />In addition to currency bias, in the world of pop culture criticism there's a premium put on a kind of emotional hardness—what a 14-year-old boy thinks serious artists act like. It's very male, and very adolescent. In this worldview, <i>Pepper</i> (and the brief psychedelic movement for which it stands/stood) is definitely uncool. For the very same reasons, and to the same degree that Paul McCartney, the supposedly simple/happy/emotive/romantic/merely-entertaining Beatle, is uncool. Guys, just say Paul has girl-cooties and be done with it.<br />
<br />
If somebody likes The Beatles, but doesn't like <i>Pepper</i>, I think that's fine; a bit idiosyncratic, but whatever. Ditto if a person likes The Beatles, but doesn't like McCartney—you run into those people, bundle of contradictions though they may be. But if you're a critic (or better yet a board of critics), you have a responsibility to be aware of your biases, and account for them, and have a little humility in the face of previous critical opinion. And not be a bunch of idiots.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5AkyZO-YeEHRrwjHG1YpTeCucrS2fZDyJ42eU6X6Vo9ErOnrGnuMnnTuqnNELNIFcHgEVgsOR-9mguO3YMcMU4OBauy5RnnxzX_NS6U9aYn6LLHQ4mvMQgNRIZx1CuGCMFWAg3or8T5ee/s580/670519_01-580x385.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5AkyZO-YeEHRrwjHG1YpTeCucrS2fZDyJ42eU6X6Vo9ErOnrGnuMnnTuqnNELNIFcHgEVgsOR-9mguO3YMcMU4OBauy5RnnxzX_NS6U9aYn6LLHQ4mvMQgNRIZx1CuGCMFWAg3or8T5ee/s400/670519_01-580x385.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Pardon my girl-cooties!"<br />"I don't care!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<i>Sgt Pepper</i> is regularly downgraded precisely because it—like The Beatles themselves—puts the lie to the idea that current pop culture is the best it's ever been. This myth of progress is at the very heart of <i>EW</i>, and everything like it. <i>Pepper</i> organically achieved what forty years of ever-better marketing hasn't been able to replacate. And in this world of pop culture, where what's new and now must be better than what's old and then or else the whole mechanism stops, that's an unforgivable sin. <i>Pepper</i> bruises the modern ego because nothing—not <i>Nevermind</i>, not <i>Never Mind the Bollocks</i>, or anything else—has ever come close to what it achieved.<br />
<br />
Here's Jim Dickson, mentor of The Byrds:<br />"It was totally awesome. <i>Sgt Pepper</i> was so far beyond anything we could imagine producing or doing that it overwhelmed us. It was like Miles Davis with <i>Sketches of Spain</i>. He just left everybody in jazz with no place to go...What was new in it? Well, all that George Martin production, a backdrop of British music-hall and the tremendous construction, the continuity of songs, the braveness of the music. You could be frightened to death and hear that album and feel OK. It was magnificent. Overwhelming power."<br />
<br />
Or activist Keith Lampe, who recalled listening to it with Abbie Hoffman:<br />
"When 'Day in the Life' ended there was silence for a long, long time. It increased our confidence in the future a great deal. It was as though the millennium was at hand, and so the music was necessary to us as activists. It was something that allowed us to keep building momentum rather than exhausting oursevles in repetitive exercises. And I still think of it as a tremendous cultural importance, and its effects are still to be seen here and there today."<br />
<br />
Or the writer Langdon Winner:<br />
"At the time <i>Sgt Pepper</i> was released I happened to be driving across country on Interstate 80. In each city where I stopped for gas or food—Laramie, Ogallala, Moline, South Bend—the melodies wafted in from some far-off transistor radio or portable hi-fi. It was the most amazing thing I've ever heard. For a brief moment, the irreparably fragmented consciousness of the West was unified, at least in the minds of the young."<br />
<br />
But let's end with Allen Ginsberg, who knew a thing or two about cultural landmarks:<br />
"After the apocalypse of Hitler and the apocalypse of the Bomb, there was [in <i>Sgt Pepper</i>] an exclamation of joy and what it is to be alive...They showed an awareness that we make up our own fate, and they have decided to make it a cheerful fate...Remember this was in the midst of the Sixties, it was when some of the wilder and crazier radicals were saying "Kill the pigs." They were saying the opposite about old <i>Sgt Pepper</i>. In fact The Beatles were dressing up in uniforms, but associating themselves with good oldtime vaudeville authority rather than sneaky CIA, KGB, MI5 or whatever. It was actually a cheerful look round the world...for the first time, I would say, on a mass scale."<br />
<br />
And that cheerfulness, ladies and gentlemen, is what real revolution—real rebellion—real change and real courage looks like. If you can't see that, the problem isn't with <i>Pepper</i>, it's with your own head.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09054118876539799264noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-59260972814697349522013-06-29T07:08:00.000-07:002013-06-29T07:08:11.007-07:00He's at it againThis month, I wrote two introductory essays—one for Harold Lloyd's 1923 film <i>Safety Last!</i> (see here), the other for <a href="http://www.nybooks.com/books/imprints/classics/turtle-diary/">Russell Hoban's 1975 novel </a><i><a href="http://www.nybooks.com/books/imprints/classics/turtle-diary/">Turtle Diary</a></i>. I give a nod to the Beatles in each.<br />
<br />
In <i><a href="http://www.bookforum.com/review/11888">Bookforum</a></i>, Brian Gittis takes up the book-compared-to-music thread that I put in my Hoban intro. <br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 14px;"></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In his introduction to the New York Review's reissue of Russell Hoban's oddball 1975 novel </span><span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Turtle Diary</i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, Ed Park characterizes the book as a sort of literary cousin to the Beatles' "Eleanor Rigby." It's a humble tale of urban loneliness, quotidian in flavor—which makes it an anomaly in Hoban's large, very strange, increasingly out-of-print body of work. To extend the music analogy, the Hoban boxed set is a hard-to-label compilation—"Eleanor Rigby," yes, but also works of elaborate, Wagnerian fantasy, Zappa-level weirdness, and kid-friendly tunes. Through a career that spanned more than seventy books, Hoban tackled post-nuclear apocalypse dystopia (</span><span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Riddley Walker</i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">), the disembodied spirit of a Crusades-era Jew (</span><span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Pilgermann</i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">), and internet pornography obsession (</span><span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Angelica's Grotto</i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>)</i>—and also subjects such as bedtime (</span><span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Bedtime for Frances</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">) and birthdays (</span><span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>A Birthday for Frances</i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">) in his popular series of illustrated books for children about a family of badgers. (Hoban's 1968 book </span><span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>The Mouse and His Child</i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, about a mechanical mouse navigating a world of junkyards and authoritarian rodents, fuses his interests in children's and dystopic literature.)</span></blockquote>
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<br />
Beatles aside—read the new edition of <i>Turtle Diary</i>, if you haven't experienced it already. You won't be sorry!Ed Parkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06968478096142741974noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-69439334830696740632013-06-25T18:50:00.000-07:002013-06-25T18:52:43.301-07:00Double Fantasy Live: Follow-UpSince I <a href="http://heydullblog.blogspot.com/2013/05/sean-to-play-double-fantasy-cool-or.html">posted</a> about the prospect of Yoko Ono and Sean Lennon doing <i>Double Fantasy</i> live, I wanted to post <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2013/jun/24/double-fantasy-live-review">this link</a> to a review of the performance. Sounds like Sean was just in the band.<br />
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Carry on --<br />
<br />Nancy Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622655838552297555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-74036232745223260722013-06-24T20:10:00.000-07:002013-06-24T20:10:13.483-07:00Movie Poster of the Week: NVUJ!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Japan!</td></tr>
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Apparently that genial hot mess <i>Help!</i> is coming out on Blu-Ray next week. While looking for illustrators this evening I found <a href="http://mubi.com/notebook/posts/movie-poster-of-the-week-richard-lesters-help" target="_blank">a nice round-up</a> of the various posters for the film. These two are just a sample; if you like graphic design, it's definitely worth a look.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilo6SX8wl21npF-BhQfp-slDw30XJ9dcAiL-vdJOFhvo-c0d5DCeUDtKDgwDKbJWWAPmwgSL9OA8HYPmKdmwmIq_bP86iBxXSClVA8PoHJwe4LIO01LY-BPF1C6bLcknipCYwABTtr2t2l/s1600/Help_France.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilo6SX8wl21npF-BhQfp-slDw30XJ9dcAiL-vdJOFhvo-c0d5DCeUDtKDgwDKbJWWAPmwgSL9OA8HYPmKdmwmIq_bP86iBxXSClVA8PoHJwe4LIO01LY-BPF1C6bLcknipCYwABTtr2t2l/s400/Help_France.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">France.</td></tr>
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Really, guys, none of these posters are necessary. You had me at Eleanor Bron. :-)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09054118876539799264noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-35239332656412530152013-06-24T09:23:00.000-07:002013-06-24T09:23:11.140-07:00I've just seen (part of) a face: McCartney on the Colbert Report<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Paul McCartney's hour-long June 12 appearance on The Colbert Report was great fun -- if you missed it, you can watch it all <a href="http://www.colbertnation.com/full-episodes/wed-june-12-2013-paul-mccartney">here</a>. Colbert's introduction was characteristically hilarious and pointed. McCartney plays so many instruments he's "a one-man karoke bar without the weird videos," and Colbert is hosting a "150-person Paul McCartney concert. So Oprah, you and your free cars can suck it."</div>
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And the interview featured McCartney seeming looser and happier than he's been in many others. Partly this had to be knowing Colbert was a fan who would throw softballs right over the plate, but partly it's down to the vibe Colbert reliably establishes. He can make fun of himself, and invites his guests to lighten up similarly. When McCartney responded to Colbert's question about why he recorded "Band on the Run" in Lagos with "it was the climate and disease," it was pretty funny. And I loved the way he delivered the line "at times I was begrimed" when Colbert asked about the reception of "Ram" and early Wings efforts.</div>
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Predictably, there were no stunning revelations, though it was nice to hear McCartney attribute the Beatles' consistent musical quality to the band's "incredible democracy," in which the endorsement of all band members was needed to include a song. And speaking of songs . . . . . why, oh why, given carte blance to do the songs he wanted from his entire catalog, did he go with "Hi, Hi, Hi" as one of six songs to do? I know he's promoting the re-release of "Wings Over America," but why not "Picasso's Last Words" or "Bluebird"? Arghhh . . . .</div>
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Still, watching the episode, I felt we were getting as close to the "real Paul McCartney" as we were ever going to. The experience reminded me of this photo, taken by Linda McCartney, which is the single most revealing portrait of Paul.</div>
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This photo captures the way McCartney both courts the public's eye and wants to retreat from it. It IS his public presentation: jokey and theatrical on the surface, defensive underneath. He's happy to give an audience what it wants, but he's going to be cagey about what he discloses. He's basically at ease with being a performer, in a traditional rock-as-showbiz sense, as John Lennon wasn't. And part of being a performer is never fully lowering that velvet jacket. Playing it safe in this way often gets McCartney labeled "insincere," but I think it's intelligently self-protective. </div>
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Lennon and McCartney, despite their many similarities, had opposite reactions
to the pressures of performing and fame. In his 70s interviews John talked about how
humiliating it had been to be one of the "Fab Four," how he hated
wearing suits, how horrible concert experiences had been. After the
band's break up he went to being "just John" with a vengeance: there was
to be no separation between his public and private selves. He and Yoko
were going to talk to reporters while lying in bed. Their private life
would become the subject of his songs. "Yoko and me . . . that's
reality." I'm not sure how far he acknowledged that this posture inevitably involved
performance, since the public and private selves would never be identical. (Check out Michael's post <a href="http://heydullblog.blogspot.com/2013/05/time-lapse-photography.html">"Time-Lapse Photography"</a> and its comment thread for more fascinating thoughts on this question, from multiple perspectives.)</div>
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I see "Double Fantasy"
(the album and the surrounding interviews, which function as a whole
performance) as his doubling down on the idea of making all his art a
direct expression of a private self, an insistence that it is possible to
live as a public figure without subterfuge. As such I find it both
admirable and pretty terrifying. It's terrifying because, as Michael
Gerber has often pointed out on this blog, it's finally impossible to
live that out without burning up in the process.</div>
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Not
so McCartney, of course. He's maintained a separation between his public and private selves, and he sees disguise and indirection as all in good fun. Whether he's listing a songwriting credit as
"Bernard Webb," presenting the Beatles as Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts
Club Band, or releasing music as part of the initially-mysterious entity The Fireman,
he's consistently playing with both revealing and concealing. I don't think he's really trying to fool us, because it's too transparent. McCartney is
always acknowledging what he's doing as a performance. He's showing us
the jacket he's pulling up. </div>
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Nancy Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622655838552297555noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-32489399542150361772013-06-22T05:35:00.003-07:002013-06-22T05:35:49.587-07:00Which Beatles album is actually their last?Rob Sheffield in <a href="http://www.rollingstone.com/culture/blogs/pop-life/hey-its-friday-wanna-argue-about-the-beatles-last-album-20130614">Rolling Stone</a>:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
So let's argue: Which album truly counts as the grand finale?</blockquote>
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The case for <span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Let It Be</span>: It came out in 1970, which was after 1969. The case for <span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Abbey Road</span>: (1) virtually all of <span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Let It Be</span> was in the can before the <span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Abbey Road</span> sessions even began; (2) <span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Abbey Road</span> feels more like a classic Beatles record; (3) "I Want You (She's So Heavy)" was the last time all four played in the studio together; (4) the last song on <span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Abbey Road</span> is called "The End"; (5) except for "Her Majesty"; (6) rebounding from the <span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Let It Be</span> debacle was the main reason the lads summoned up that team spirit for <span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Abbey Road</span>; (7) "Her Majesty" is awesome; (8) in the end the love you take is equal to the love; (9) you make.</blockquote>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">What do you think?</span></span>Ed Parkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06968478096142741974noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-49232079552695561872013-06-20T16:35:00.000-07:002013-06-20T16:35:02.289-07:00Climax filled with climaxes<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #353535; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;"></span><br />
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The film wrings dozens of gags from the chaos that is Harold’s workday behind the fabric counter—as when, attempting to hand off a parcel to a little old lady amid the throng, he shouts, “Who dropped that fifty-dollar bill?” and the mass of matrons subsides like the Red Sea getting the Moses treatment—but it’s in the final half hour, when Lloyd reluctantly assumes the role of the human fly, that <i>Safety Last! </i>delivers something close to pure pleasure. Watching the extended sequence is like listening to the seamless suite of miniatures on side two of Abbey Road: it’s a climax filled with climaxes. Enter at any point, and there’s no escape. You can as easily divert your gaze from whatever fresh hell Lloyd encounters on his unnervingly vertical journey—an out-flung window, a rodent up the pant leg—as you can click off the stereo when “Mean Mr. Mustard” circles to a close. Each thrill feeds into the next; each gag enhances the viewer’s joyful unease. The only sensible way to stop is to reach the end.</div>
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—Some <a href="http://www.criterion.com/current/posts/2804-safety-last-high-flying-harold">Dullblogger</a> on Harold Lloyd's 1923 thrilling comedy classic <i>Safety Last!</i>, now out from the Criterion Collection</div>
Ed Parkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06968478096142741974noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-76990925807478767382013-06-13T07:37:00.000-07:002013-06-13T07:37:09.665-07:00Wings Over an Alternate Universe<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The first sign that this bootleg is a bit weirder than usual is the cover—not the straightforward band photo used on many bootlegs of this show, which <a href="http://www.the-paulmccartney-project.com/_images/artworks/wings-over-switzerland/01_big.jpg">features Paul in a remarkably hideous pink shirt</a>. That whoever put together this cover thought it would be cool to paste a square-shaped snapshot of Linda's head over that of a painted angel <i>who is facing a different direction</i> is a signal, friends, of more weirdness ahead.<br />
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The back cover may lull you into a false sense of security. Here, at least, is the standard tracklist for bootlegs of this show. And the bus photo is standard-issue McCartney goofiness, making it clear that going out on the road small-time with Wings at this point is Magical Mystery Tour Part Deux in the bandleader's mind.<br />
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<span id="goog_344940958"></span><br />
But open the case, and behold THIS tracklist!<br />
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Vol. 1<br />
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It True<br />
We Know That<br />
Speed Travels<br />
Fiper in the Body<br />
Take Place<br />
Quick as Thought<br />Week to Send<br />
Wednesday Night<br />
Brain<br />
Thought Back Down<br />
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Vol. 2<br />
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Surprised and Hurt<br />
Opposite<br />
Hurry Don't Go<br />
Unjustly Treated<br />
Important Man<br />
One Afternoon<br />
Radio Shop<br />
Pointed Out<br />
Hum It To Me<br />
Quite Depressed<br />
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Oh, if only these discs really did contain unreleased Wings songs so titled. What I wouldn't give to hear "Week To Send" or "Fiper In the Body." (That last one is a "Girls School" type rocker, I feel sure.) "Surprised and Hurt" and "Unjustly Treated" could show McCartney in a Lennonesque mood, while "Radio Shop" and "Important Man" could be slice-of-life story songs. <br />
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I feel like emailing these titles to MPL and seeing if they inspire McCartney. I especially want to hear "Radio Shop."<br />
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(I also love that the accurate tracklisting has "I would moon of Kentucky" rather than "Blue Moon of Kentucky.)<br />
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<br />Nancy Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11622655838552297555noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-3512335268050729912013-06-10T14:09:00.000-07:002013-06-10T14:10:20.402-07:00From Dangerous Minds: The Beatles' In-House Astrologer<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkgNegYsAkF9ueUcP5rXiCkHB3TKTTgWjN6NTHJNDq4sp073mXXgjO3ygNBM8onvomFdBy6K7vVxLQ8XR5ejZknekq286pFqXqgL1D9KLnntivjNpGjUbSRzf2BI8yBB6yBdbEPKpfQoCv/s1600/apple2_custom-e407832e86d9dd6fe2f50055c5e34896b4a3c1c7-s6-c30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkgNegYsAkF9ueUcP5rXiCkHB3TKTTgWjN6NTHJNDq4sp073mXXgjO3ygNBM8onvomFdBy6K7vVxLQ8XR5ejZknekq286pFqXqgL1D9KLnntivjNpGjUbSRzf2BI8yBB6yBdbEPKpfQoCv/s400/apple2_custom-e407832e86d9dd6fe2f50055c5e34896b4a3c1c7-s6-c30.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Did Harrod's Food Court have an in-house astrologer, I wonder? </td></tr>
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Since the period of late-1967 to late-1968 has come up in several comment threads of late, I wanted to pass along <a href="http://dangerousminds.net/comments/the_little-known_story_of_the_beatles_on-staff_astrologer" target="_blank">this post from Richard Metzger's site Dangerous Minds</a>. I'd never heard of Caleb Ashburton-Dunning before...I'd just sort of assumed the existence of someone like him. Or a whole bunch of someones.<br />
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I personally do not use fortune-telling, seances or any other such stuff as a path towards good life-decisions, but I suspect that they could be, for some people, a useful gateway into their intuition/non-linear thinking. Since John Lennon had an all-consuming trust of intuition, it was natural that he would embrace them the moment they bubbled into Western consciousness. Unfortunately divination can also be used as justification for all manner of silly/hurtful activities, and it certainly seems like John's moving into these realms did not increase his stability or wisdom. Or his happiness.<br />
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Far from shunning authority, Lennon craved it—but for various reasons needed it to be cloaked in esoteric, unconventional garb. For most people, "magic" would be something like The Beatles' lives; absolute material comfort, endless leisure time, the ability to travel anywhere and meet anyone. It is understandable that Lennon particularly kept seeking magic for the rest of his life; it was his craving for it that began the group, and sustained it for so many years. And so to have achieved his wildest dreams, then <i>still</i> felt the endless pinches of human existence—the parade of gurus and oracles and cures and theories makes perfect sense.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09054118876539799264noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-42772816178147607182013-05-31T16:02:00.001-07:002013-05-31T16:02:19.646-07:00My Beatle, My Gastroenterologist<br />
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From an amazing interview with one of my favorite authors, Mark Leyner (conducted by Sam Lipsyte, another terrific fictioneer). </div>
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This comes at the very end—well worth reading the whole thing (plus Leyner's original piece that follows, which forms a crazy Mobius strip with the interview itself, it seems to me).</div>
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Here's something funny, though. Last night, I was listening to the Beatles song "You Can't Do That" and it brought tears to my eyes. I mean, big fat tears rolling down my cheeks. Because I have (and have always had) this helpless, completely homoerotic affinity for the voices of John and Paul. Maybe it's not such a tangent from what I've been talking about. It's the unified quality of that sound that gets to me. Their voices evoike for me this ever-receding paradise, the impossibility of holding on to things yo ulove most, the evanescence of everything, all that -- and it's just heartbreakingly beautiful. I remember how people used to bitch about those crazy tapes of the Beatles at Shea Stadium, about how you couldn't hear the music, that all you could hear was screaming , the sreaming of all those thousands of girls. But I've always loved that din especially--that vast, unreelenting din of screaming girls that almost completely overhwlems the sad, beautiful voices of John and Paul. That's great. That whole thing for me is the real music. </blockquote>
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—Mark Leyner, <i>Paris Review</i>, Spring 2013 (#204)</div>
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Ed Parkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06968478096142741974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-45325628787636791362013-05-29T05:50:00.000-07:002013-05-29T05:50:19.836-07:00EMP 2013: "Which Beatles Album Is Actually Their Best?"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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For the enjoyment of anyone with the requisite interest and 45 minutes, here's myself and a friend, music writer Tom Kipp, debating the question at the Experience Music Project Pop Conference, EMP Museum, Seattle, this April 20 past. Can anyone here guess which album I picked? (That's bon vivant Sean Nelson as our suave m.c., and H.B. Radke handling the audio-video.)<br />
Devin McKinneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15334142800484018908noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2871690118199792415.post-45818797490983322502013-05-28T17:40:00.000-07:002013-05-28T17:40:11.836-07:00Time-Lapse PhotographyEagle-eyed commenter Sonia posted this picture set regarding <a href="http://heydullblog.blogspot.com/2013/03/david-bailey-shoots-brian-epstein-and.html" target="_blank">an earlier post</a>, but I found it so striking, I wanted to give it a full post.<br />
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David Bailey took the ones on the left. Anybody know who took the second set?<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09054118876539799264noreply@blogger.com143