Life in the Key of Song: Strawberry Fields Forever (Revisited)

strawberry-fields2

Living is easy with eyes closed/Misunderstanding all you see,

It’s getting hard to be someone but it all works out/It doesn’t matter much to me.

Those aren’t just defining lines from a defining song by the defining band of all time. They are lines written by the closest thing we humans get to a super hero, at the top of his game, having just shouted down from the mountain top on one of the most innovative, shape-shifting songs of all time, “Tomorrow Never Knows”.

(Don’t take my word for it. Listen to the color of your dreams):

If some people, understandably, think the everything-plus-kitchen-sink approach on the subsequent Sgt. Pepper was in places a tad too haphazard and indulgent, no such concerns can apply here: Lennon knew what he wanted, telling MVP producer George Martin he wanted his vocals to sound like “a hundred chanting Tibetan monks.” No worries, right? Martin, with appreciable assistance from an always-game McCartney, sliced, diced, looped and spliced, and second by painstaking second, reel-to-reel tape transported the magic from Lennon’s mind. To say that this song set the tone for experimentation and was influential across multiple genres, including –or especially– ones that didn’t even exist yet, scarcely does it justice.

Revolver, whether or not it is the “best” album in rock history (who can authoritatively claim this, and more importantly, who cares?), is probably the most important. It inspired Pet Sounds which in turn inspired Sgt. Pepper which in turn inspired everything else: the good, bad and ugly that followed; tomorrow never knew what hit it. It is also perfect. If you disagree, it’s not the album, it’s you. And that’s fine. But move along, because you’re wrong. But (she said, she said) “What about Yellow Submarine?” How can an album that is not filled with perfect songs be perfect? Because.

Lennon, despite the perfectly legitimate and understandable lionizing he was subject to during –and especially after– his life, was, arguably, the most human Beatle. Ringo and Harrison were more down to earth (partly because their abilities, frankly speaking, kept them more firmly grounded), and McCartney has always seemed a genuinely friendly fella (his long and by all accounts happy relationship with wife Linda until her death speaks eloquently of the superficial Sun-King entitlements he was able to avoid or eschew, to his considerable credit). But Lennon, ever inscrutable, bigger than life –and Jesus–(he said, he said) and impossible to pigeon-hole, must be, in the final analysis, the most easy to understand, on human and artistic levels.

It is, therefore, revealing that “Strawberry Fields Forever”, a song that now stands out among (if not above) all others as the most singular Lennon composition (yes, taking into account “In My Life”, “I Am The Walrus”, “Happiness Is A Warm Gun”, “Dear Prudence”, “Come Together” and “Across The Universe” –just to name the true heavy hitters in the Beatles canon and not even taking into account his ten years of solo work) had such humble origins. Listen to the evolution of a masterpiece:

In late 1995 (15 years ago, already?) when The Beatles Anthology series came out, the assorted demo cuts and false starts were something beyond revelatory. Aside from bootlegs (and pre-digital files or the ubiquity of Internet content) this was the first opportunity many people had to peak behind the golden curtain and listen to the best band ever struggling to assemble the songs we learn and sing. The Beatles were sufficiently god-like that we not only never saw them sweat: literally after ’66 as they did not appear live, figuratively in the sense that they were operating at a level approximated by few collectives before or since, dropping new Songs in the Key of Life every other month.

Put another way, The White Album was released three years after Rubber Soul. Three years. Actually stop and think about that for a second. It is—or at least was—tempting to imagine that these albums were dreamed into life through a combination of drugs, meditation, competition and the inexplicable forces of Fate decreeing that these four lads from Liverpool would be the Oracles of our era. In actuality, we now know these magicians sometimes struggled to conjure their spells and in some cases it required a patience and faith we mere mortals are quite accustomed to. Put less pretentiously, making some of the best rock music of all time was hard work. Rather than diminishing the import of these songs, this concession augments it.

Hearing a frustrated Lennon sigh “Canna do it, I canna do it” less than thirty seconds into the first take reveals a Lennon most of us are not accustomed to, or comfortable hearing. He sounds almost defeated and entirely human. That he stuck with it and saw it through is illuminating as it is inspiring. It is also intriguing to hear one of the ultimate psychedelic dreamscapes in its formative stages as a simple acoustic song. While it is always insightful to see the scribbled notes of a poem or story in process, hearing the development of a song so indelibly enshrined in our collective consciousness is arresting, and invaluable. It still doesn’t mean we can comprehend how exactly this song (these songs!) came to be, but it helps us understand and appreciate. One more time, for the first time, forever.

Everyone knows what happened next. Just before Sgt. Pepper helped define the Summer of Love and introduce the mixed blessing also known as the concept album, The Beatles released what is arguably the most transcendent single of all time. McCartney (as always, making it sound easy), contributed “Penny Lane”, which is neither as oblique nor unsettling as “Strawberry Fields Forever”, but is disarmingly rich in detail and the product of a songwriter firing on all cylinders. Lennon, of course, had agonized over his snapshot of youth seen through the glass hazily, and with the final touches –as was often the case circa ’67– of the visionary George Martin, saw his simple reminiscence mutate into the surreal sound-bomb it remains today.

Nothing is real. And nothing to get hung about.

Strawberry Fields Forever.

Cranberry sauce.

What he said.

Share

Life in the Key of Song: Strawberry Fields Forever

Living is easy with eyes closed/Misunderstanding all you see,

It’s getting hard to be someone but it all works out/It doesn’t matter much to me.

Those aren’t just defining lines from a defining song by the defining band of all time. They are lines written by the closest thing we humans get to a super hero, at the top of his game, having just shouted down from the mountain top on one of the most innovative, shape-shifting songs of all time, “Tomorrow Never Knows”.

(Don’t take my word for it. Listen to the color of your dreams):

If some people, understandably, think the everything-plus-kitchen-sink approach on the subsequent Sgt. Pepper was in places a tad too haphazard and indulgent, no such concerns can apply here: Lennon knew what he wanted, telling MVP producer George Martin he wanted his vocals to sound like “a hundred chanting Tibetan monks.” No worries, right? Martin, with appreciable assistance from an always-game McCartney, sliced, diced, looped and spliced, and second by painstaking second, reel-to-reel tape transported the magic from Lennon’s mind. To say that this song set the tone for experimentation and was influential across multiple genres, including –or especially– ones that didn’t even exist yet, scarcely does it justice.

Revolver, whether or not it is the “best” album in rock history (who can authoritatively claim this, and more importantly, who cares?), is probably the most important. It inspired Pet Sounds which in turn inspired Sgt. Pepper which in turn inspired everything else: the good, bad and ugly that followed; tomorrow never knew what hit it. It is also perfect. If you disagree, it’s not the album, it’s you. And that’s fine. But move along, because you’re wrong. But (she said, she said) “What about Yellow Submarine?” How can an album that is not filled with perfect songs be perfect? Because.

Lennon, despite the perfectly legitimate and understandable lionizing he was subject to during –and especially after– his life, was, arguably, the most human Beatle. Ringo and Harrison were more down to earth (partly because their abilities, frankly speaking, kept them more firmly grounded), and McCartney has always seemed a genuinely friendly fella (his long and by all accounts happy relationship with wife Linda until her death speaks eloquently of the superficial Sun-King entitlements he was able to avoid or eschew, to his considerable credit). But Lennon, ever inscrutable, bigger than life –and Jesus–(he said, he said) and impossible to pigeon-hole, must be, in the final analysis, the most easy to understand, on human and artistic levels.

It is, therefore, revealing that “Strawberry Fields Forever”, a song that now stands out among (if not above) all others as the most singular Lennon composition (yes, taking into account “In My Life”, “I Am The Walrus”, “Happiness Is A Warm Gun”, “Dear Prudence”, “Come Together” and “Across The Universe” –just to name the true heavy hitters in the Beatles canon and not even taking into account his ten years of solo work) had such humble origins. Listen to the evolution of a masterpiece:

In late 1995 (15 years ago, already?) when The Beatles Anthology series came out, the assorted demo cuts and false starts were something beyond revelatory. Aside from bootlegs (and pre-digital files or the ubiquity of Internet content) this was the first opportunity many people had to peak behind the golden curtain and listen to the best band ever struggling to assemble the songs we learn and sing. The Beatles were sufficiently god-like that we not only never saw them sweat: literally after ’66 as they did not appear live, figuratively in the sense that they were operating at a level approximated by few collectives before or since, dropping new Songs in the Key of Life every other month.

Put another way, The White Album was released three years after Rubber Soul. Three years. Actually stop and think about that for a second. It is—or at least was—tempting to imagine that these albums were dreamed into life through a combination of drugs, meditation, competition and the inexplicable forces of Fate decreeing that these four lads from Liverpool would be the Oracles of our era. In actuality, we now know these magicians sometimes struggled to conjure their spells and in some cases it required a patience and faith we mere mortals are quite accustomed to. Put less pretentiously, making some of the best rock music of all time was hard work. Rather than diminishing the import of these songs, this concession augments it.

Hearing a frustrated Lennon sigh “Canna do it, I canna do it” less than thirty seconds into the first take reveals a Lennon most of us are not accustomed to, or comfortable hearing. He sounds almost defeated and entirely human. That he stuck with it and saw it through is illuminating as it is inspiring. It is also intriguing to hear one of the ultimate psychedelic dreamscapes in its formative stages as a simple acoustic song. While it is always insightful to see the scribbled notes of a poem or story in process, hearing the development of a song so indelibly enshrined in our collective consciousness is arresting, and invaluable. It still doesn’t mean we can comprehend how exactly this song (these songs!) came to be, but it helps us understand and appreciate. One more time, for the first time, forever.

Everyone knows what happened next. Just before Sgt. Pepper helped define the Summer of Love and introduce the mixed blessing also known as the concept album, The Beatles released what is arguably the most transcendent single of all time. McCartney (as always, making it sound easy), contributed “Penny Lane”, which is neither as oblique nor unsettling as “Strawberry Fields Forever”, but is disarmingly rich in detail and the product of a songwriter firing on all cylinders. Lennon, of course, had agonized over his snapshot of youth seen through the glass hazily, and with the final touches –as was often the case circa ’67– of the visionary George Martin, saw his simple reminiscence mutate into the surreal sound-bomb it remains today.

Nothing is real. And nothing to get hung about.

Strawberry Fields Forever.

Cranberry sauce.

What he said.

Share

Back To Bach

It’s that time of the year, prompting reflection, peace and positive vibes. At least if you’re smart and do most of your holiday shopping online.

I doubt it’s just me, but there is something about Christmas approaching that rekindles a lifelong obsession with classical music.

(This is music I enjoy throughout the year, but there are certain works, at certain times, that lend themselves to certain occasions.)

And during a time of the year that can (should?) be equal parts somber and celebratory, it is only appropriate to invoke the old masters.

And if we want to talk about the masters, we must begin with the master, the only man both Mozart and Beethoven must bow before: Johann Sebastian Bach.

(What’s the big deal about Bach? Here’s some advice for the uninitiated.)

Bach, perhaps more so than Mozart of Beethoven (though I prefer the other two) presents the ultimate good news/bad news scenario for beginners. On one hand, you can dive into virtually any of his works and come away educated, inspired, awed. On the other hand, to say he was prolific is like saying Mitt Romney had a proclivity for stretching the truth. Bach’s canon is unwieldy, astonishing, intimidating. You could spend the rest of a lifetime trying to get your ears around it, which seems only fair since he spent virtually his entire life creating it.

Even if you’ve never heard Bach (impossible) or don’t care for him (improbable), you’ve heard his direct and enduring influence via other artists. Two quick, easy examples, below.

Brandenburg Concerto No. 2:

The Beatles: “Penny Lane” (yet another instance of how indispensable George Martin was: Mac was listening to –and enjoying– the Brandenburg and told Martin he’d love to incorporate the piccolo trumpet; a crucial moment on one of the all-time great singles in rock history followed):

Bourrée in E minor (Suite in E minor for Lute, BWV 996):

Jethro Tull, “Bouree”:

You can google (and then YouTube) his more popular works, ones you will realize, after hearing, “oh, that’s Bach”. (Ones like this and this.) And eventually you will also realize: woah, he covered all types of sound, feeling and expression. That’s why he’s the master.

Here are five of my personal favorites:

It’s hard to argue with perfection and pretty much the entirety of his Brandenburg Concertos is just that, perfection:

Violin concerto (BWV 1041: II, Andante)

Incidentally, my personal favorite recording of that movement is on this disc, featuring the excellent Viktoria Mullova (get a cheap, used copy at Amazon).

Concerto No. 3 in D Minor (Vivace) (I prefer the appropriately slowed down versions; when it’s too quick it loses the “voice of God” authority it requires):

Oboe Concerto in G Minor

Last and most definitely far from least, if you’ve never spent some time with Bach’s cello suites, you are depriving yourself of the greatest glories:

This is just a cursory sampling of low-hanging (however brilliant) fruit, and even these handful of pieces must leave one overriding impression: the variety and virtuosity is staggering. Of course it’s impressive enough to master both performance and composition of a single instrument; to conceive, and perfect, entire works for full orchestras must remain an example of the greatest heights we are capable of attaining as human beings. Bach did it first and, arguably, he did it best.

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Life in the Key of Song: Strawberry Fields Forever

Living is easy with eyes closed/Misunderstanding all you see,

It’s getting hard to be someone but it all works out/It doesn’t matter much to me.

Those aren’t just defining lines from a defining song by the defining band of all time. They are lines written by the closest thing we humans get to a super hero, at the top of his game, having just shouted down from the mountain top on one of the most innovative, shape-shifting songs of all time, “Tomorrow Never Knows”.

(Don’t take my word for it. Listen to the color of your dreams):

If some people, understandably, think the everything-plus-kitchen-sink approach on the subsequent Sgt. Pepper was in places a tad too haphazard and indulgent, no such concerns can apply here: Lennon knew what he wanted, telling MVP producer George Martin he wanted his vocals to sound like “a hundred chanting Tibetan monks.” No worries, right? Martin, with appreciable assistance from an always-game McCartney, sliced, diced, looped and spliced, and second by painstaking second, reel-to-reel tape transported the magic from Lennon’s mind. To say that this song set the tone for experimentation and was influential across multiple genres, including –or especially– ones that didn’t even exist yet, scarcely does it justice.

Revolver, whether or not it is the “best” album in rock history (who can authoritatively claim this, and more importantly, who cares?), is probably the most important. It inspired Pet Sounds which in turn inspired Sgt. Pepper which in turn inspired everything else: the good, bad and ugly that followed; tomorrow never knew what hit it. It is also perfect. If you disagree, it’s not the album, it’s you. And that’s fine. But move along, because you’re wrong. But (she said, she said) “What about Yellow Submarine?” How can an album that is not filled with perfect songs be perfect? Because.

Lennon, despite the perfectly legitimate and understandable lionizing he was subject to during –and especially after– his life, was, arguably, the most human Beatle. Ringo and Harrison were more down to earth (partly because their abilities, frankly speaking, kept them more firmly grounded), and McCartney has always seemed a genuinely friendly fella (his long and by all accounts happy relationship with wife Linda until her death speaks eloquently of the superficial Sun-King entitlements he was able to avoid or eschew, to his considerable credit). But Lennon, ever inscrutable, bigger than life –and Jesus–(he said, he said) and impossible to pigeon-hole, must be, in the final analysis, the most easy to understand, on human and artistic levels.

It is, therefore, revealing that “Strawberry Fields Forever”, a song that now stands out among (if not above) all others as the most singular Lennon composition (yes, taking into account “In My Life”, “I Am The Walrus”, “Happiness Is A Warm Gun”, “Dear Prudence”, “Come Together” and “Across The Universe” –just to name the true heavy hitters in the Beatles canon and not even taking into account his ten years of solo work) had such humble origins. Listen to the evolution of a masterpiece:

In late 1995 (15 years ago, already?) when The Beatles Anthology series came out, the assorted demo cuts and false starts were something beyond revelatory. Aside from bootlegs (and pre-digital files or the ubiquity of Internet content) this was the first opportunity many people had to peak behind the golden curtain and listen to the best band ever struggling to assemble the songs we learn and sing. The Beatles were sufficiently god-like that we not only never saw them sweat: literally after ’66 as they did not appear live, figuratively in the sense that they were operating at a level approximated by few collectives before or since, dropping new Songs in the Key of Life every other month.

Put another way, The White Album was released three years after Rubber Soul. Three years. Actually stop and think about that for a second. It is—or at least was—tempting to imagine that these albums were dreamed into life through a combination of drugs, meditation, competition and the inexplicable forces of Fate decreeing that these four lads from Liverpool would be the Oracles of our era. In actuality, we now know these magicians sometimes struggled to conjure their spells and in some cases it required a patience and faith we mere mortals are quite accustomed to. Put less pretentiously, making some of the best rock music of all time was hard work. Rather than diminishing the import of these songs, this concession augments it.

Hearing a frustrated Lennon sigh “Canna do it, I canna do it” less than thirty seconds into the first take reveals a Lennon most of us are not accustomed to, or comfortable hearing. He sounds almost defeated and entirely human. That he stuck with it and saw it through is illuminating as it is inspiring. It is also intriguing to hear one of the ultimate psychedelic dreamscapes in its formative stages as a simple acoustic song. While it is always insightful to see the scribbled notes of a poem or story in process, hearing the development of a song so indelibly enshrined in our collective consciousness is arresting, and invaluable. It still doesn’t mean we can comprehend how exactly this song (these songs!) came to be, but it helps us understand and appreciate. One more time, for the first time, forever.

Everyone knows what happened next. Just before Sgt. Pepper helped define the Summer of Love and introduce the mixed blessing also known as the concept album, The Beatles released what is arguably the most transcendent single of all time. McCartney (as always, making it sound easy), contributed “Penny Lane”, which is neither as oblique nor unsettling as “Strawberry Fields Forever”, but is disarmingly rich in detail and the product of a songwriter firing on all cylinders. Lennon, of course, had agonized over his snapshot of youth seen through the glass hazily, and with the final touches –as was often the case circa ’67– of the visionary George Martin, saw his simple reminiscence mutate into the surreal sound-bomb it remains today.

Nothing is real. And nothing to get hung about.

Strawberry Fields Forever.

Cranberry sauce.

What he said.

Share