The Cavern
Rock & Words
ABBEY ROAD (The Beatles, 1969)
Artist: The Beatles (A)
Recording Dates: Feb 22 – Aug 20 1969
Release Date: 26 de Septembee 26th, 1969. UK
Record label: Apple
Producer: George Martin
Rating: 10 (MUST HAVE, ICONIC ALBUM)
Era: Hard Rock (1968-???)
Subgenre: Hard Rock
Best Song: Ufff! Really?
Tracklist: 1) Come Together; 2) Something; 3) Maxwell's Silver Hammer; 4) Oh! Darling; 5) Octopus's Garden; 6) I Want You (She's So Heavy); 7) Here Comes The Sun; 8) Because; 9) You Never Give Me Your Money; 10) Sun King; 11) Mean Mr Mustard; 12) Polythene Pam; 13) She Came In Through The Bathroom Window; 14) Golden Slumbers; 15) Carry That Weight; 16) The End; 17) Her Majesty.
I don't know if it's an iconic album or not. I mean, die-hard Beatles fans know, without a doubt, that this is the best, by far. What we don't know is why! Ha! For the rest of us mortals, they generally go with the Peppers or the White Album. Because of the time it was released, I don't know if it was somewhat overshadowed by being almost simultaneous with the Stones' Let It Bleed and Led Zeppelin II, tremendous albums with which it fiercely battled and alternated the number one spot for several weeks. Even though it had to compete with two of the best albums in history, it sold more than 4 million copies in the first two months after its release and, to this day, is the Fab Four's best-selling album. Some critics panned it for the artificial sounds of the still quasi-experimental Moog synthesizer. Rolling Stone would call it “Complicated rather than Complex” or The NY Times would say that “Collectively it’s impressive, but individually, no song is special.”
What undoubtedly became iconic is its cover. So simple, so casual (it was actually supposed to be more than twenty photos), the four Beatles crossing a zebra crossing on the corner of the street that shares the album's title and the studios where they recorded all their masterpieces. Something so simple, so opposed to the bombastic and elaborate Sgt. Pepper's, and which I think became a much more absolute and universal symbol. I have the image on the back of my car. Countless references and parodies, from the RHCP's (which made me hate them for a few years), to Paul himself as a solo artist, the Simpsons, the Muppets, everyone has done their own version. Going to London and not taking a ridiculous photo at that pedestrian crossing, which now looks so different, is like you haven't even been to London.
Regarding the album that we don't know why is the best Beatles album, it's true! At first listen, it's a very simple album, with scattered songs that have nothing to do with each other in the first half, and some medleys in the second. I group them into two, from "Sun King" to "She Came In Through The Bathrobe Window" and from "Golden Slumbers" to "The End," although many consider it a single continuous medley. What's so great about "Mean Mr. Mustard" or "Sun King" on their own? Nothing. The album is initially nice, very cute, very digestible, but perhaps it goes unnoticed because there isn't a gigantic universal anthem like "All You Need Is Love," "Hey Jude," "Revolution," or "Let It Be." The closest thing is perhaps "Come Together," which is a very Lennon-esque self-satirical piece, very strange for an anthem. Or “Something”, one of the greatest love songs in history, but no, it’s not an anthem: It’s a ballad.
There isn't one track that stands out on its own, and that's because all the tracks are colossal. They seem simple at first listen, but when you fall in love with the Beatles and start delving into their discography, after the overhyped grandeur of Sgt. Pepper's falls away, when you listen enough to realize that the White Album is a double album by four solo artists and not a band, you generally place Abbey Road on an unattainable pedestal. Why? I don't know, really. Perhaps because of that apparent simplicity.
But instrumentally, it's a work of art, incredibly complex in its apparent simplicity. McCartney lays down colossal, unpredictable bass lines, far more mature than in his psychedelic phase. Around this time, he must have been one of the best bass players on the planet, if not for his speed, then at least for his creativity in taking the lead with the four strings. The riff in "Come Together," where he uses his entire arm, has to be among the top 10 in history. The bass line in "Something" is exquisitely complex, without stealing the spotlight from George's guitar and vocals, but adding a touch of elegance. The bass in "Oh! Darling" is also another of his most outstanding performances with the quartet. In short, the entire album is a masterclass in bass playing, showcasing a more mature, creative, and powerful sound than on any other album. Paul is the most involved and committed, and it seems impossible that just a few months later, he would be the one to deliver the final blow to the group. George is at his best, not only as a guitarist (the notes he drops in "Oh! Darling" like burning flames, the solo in "Something"...) but also as a songwriter. He had already won accolades on the White Album, and here he delivers two tremendous songs, one of which should be in any Beatlemania fan's Top Ten, one of the greatest love songs ever written. John is perhaps the most understated, but he contributes enormously with the backing vocals and second guitar, adding the more unusual and complex elements to the songs, which ultimately balance the album. And Ringo is impressive, perhaps at his peak as a drummer, forming a formidable rhythm section with Paul at that time. The intricate rhythms of "Come Together" (one of the most recognizable drum patterns on the planet), the passion he pours into "Oh Darling," the power of "I Want You," and those seemingly random but unrepeatable off-beats throughout the album... And even as a songwriter, he's arguably the best song he's ever written. It's not just beautiful, it's outstanding, and it could have been the best track on other albums by the quartet!
Abbey Road is the Beatles' instrumental pinnacle. And vocally. The harmonies are perfect, heavenly; "Because" and "Sun King" show us why they were the only ones capable of competing with the Beach Boys for the title of best harmonica creators, with the added detail that it's only three Beatles voices against five Beach Boys. It's the only Beatles album where we find something resembling a mini-bass solo by Paul (in "I Want You"), a drum solo by Ringo (in "The End"), and a triple guitar solo (also in "The End").
It's the only Beatles album I ever played all the way through, not in one sitting, but with different bands at different times. I know it by heart, not just in my head, but with my fingers. From the early '90s, when I was just a kid who barely knew how to hold a guitar and the seed of Moby Dick was being sown with three acoustic guitars, "Here Comes The Sun" was one of the first songs we played in cafes or at jam sessions. At some point, I was supposed to play the rapid descending arpeggios in the song. Later, we rehearsed minor tracks like "Mustard," "Polythene," and "Maxwell," but I don't think we ever played them live. Around that time, before Moby Dick went electric and emerged as such, even before the Anthologies, we recorded "Because" with three voices, and that's when I finally began to love the song's complex structure, which many consider a weak point of the album. With that song, I learned to harmonize and stay in my own groove without following another vocalist. With Moby Dick, we played "Come Together," and I got blisters on my left index finger, but it was that song that gave me my "bass player's callus." Also with Moby Dick came "Something," which was one of our live highlights. We only ever played "Octopus" in an electric version, using it as a warm-up. With my second band, Plastic Soldiers, I finished the rest of the album. The medley at the end of the album was one of the most complicated pieces we ever played live. With the incredibly difficult blues-Latin-prog bass line of "I Want You," I finally felt like a major league bassist and not an amateur, since Paul improvises and creates almost unrepeatable progressions as the song progresses. Plus, I got the spotlight on stage for that moment when everyone falls silent and the bass launches into those rapid solos. By the time the band broke up, I only had "Oh! Darling" left to play. I dusted off my bass shortly before my daughter was born, and it was the first song I played in this latest phase, where, lacking a band due to other priorities, I "play with the computer." I chose that song as a kind of dedication to my little one, and fortunately, I haven't stopped playing it from time to time since. It's an exquisite line, much more complex than it seems, but I can finally say that my fingers know this album inside and out. What I mean is that Abbey Road accompanied me throughout my limited evolution as a musician; it helped me grow, it made me sing, and I owe the callus on my index finger to it, so I can say it has even marked me physically. "Something" was the first song I dedicated to that twenty-something girl I had just met and who is now my wife. I used to sing "Octopus' Garden" to my first son to lull him to sleep. "Oh! Darling" to my daughter. His songs have taken on different meanings throughout my life, as I know has happened with most of you.
But Corvan! You've written over two pages and you haven't even started the review! True. However, there's little I can add that hasn't already been said better. George Starostin gave it the best possible definition, something like: "If the White Album is an encyclopedia of rock genres, Abbey Road is an encyclopedia of human emotions." Amen. It's a musical gem, very difficult to define because of its seemingly simple and beautiful exterior, but which is, at its core, incredibly complex, like life itself. And yes, perhaps the Times review at the time was true; individually, no song surpasses or is better than anything they had done. But it's as an album, as a whole, that Abbey Road rises like no other album. Like life itself, which by days, by episodes, by the eternal present, seems bland, but seen in its entirety is invaluable.
And it's precisely because it's that compilation of emotions that the Beatles were going through when they recorded it. I don't know if John ever reached the level of rage he displays in "I Want You" with the Plastic Ono Band. George achieves one of the most beautiful ballads on the planet with "Something," and another optimistic and luminous track with "Here Comes The Sun." Ringo overflows with innocence and optimism in his underwater garden. Paul pours out his frustration in "You Never Give Me Your Money," delivers another gigantic ballad that even made Lennon jealous with "Oh! Darling," and showcases his misunderstood sense of humor with "Maxwell's." There's Rock & Roll like in their early days, and they close with a song in which all four pour their hearts out, each giving their best, displaying their personal style and the magic that results when they combine them, creating a gem that is a tremendous team effort, with everyone shining. That's why it's such a fresh, relevant, and universal album, one that continues to grow with each listen.
The details of the album are already well-known, but I'll give a quick recap. We all know that the Beatles were in the process of breaking up since the White Album and the Get Back sessions, which would later be released as Let It Be. Shortly after finishing these sessions, just weeks after the legendary rooftop concert, they went back into the studio. Nobody said, "Hey, this is our last album, we have to do it right," but deep down they knew it; you could feel it in the air. And the four of them, the five of them, including Martin, gave their all for this album, which is the very definition of a "Swan Song." George Martin agreed to produce them again on the condition that it be in his style, like in the old days, with almost live recordings, and that at the first sign of trouble, he'd quit. And indeed, the four Beatles told everyone to go to hell and achieved one last sublime collaboration as a team, precisely because they knew it was the last time.
The recording debuted the 8-track machine at Abbey Road Studios, which allowed for mixing and experimentation, true stereo drums, triple-tracked vocals for "Because" and "Sun King," and also marked the first use of the Moog synthesizer, which George had used on his album Electronic Sound. The sound is crystal clear like no previous album, thanks not only to the technology but also to the fact that a then-unknown Alan Parsons contributed as a sound engineer.
Most of the songs were already written; some had been composed in Rishikesh, worked on for the White Album sessions, others originated for Get Back but hadn't been included. They continued working on the tracks for several months, but most of the final versions were only completed in July. Despite being disparate, the album achieves a unity that Peppers only aspires to. On side two, the songs fit together as if they had been created for that purpose, despite the different tempos and tones. But now it's impossible to listen to "Mean Mr. Mustard" without expecting to hear "Polythene Pam" right after, just as "Carry That Weight" loses all its impact if listened to separately from its companions.
The album opens with Paul's brilliant slide bass line, culminating in an octave finish, on "Come Together". Seriously, it's a marvel, sweeping across his entire arm in one of the best bass riffs ever. Ringo is no slouch either, with a monumental rhythm section, creating bursts with offbeats and traversing the entire drum kit in a magnificent and complex roll, before launching into a tribal drumming style with the bass drum and toms. One of the most recognizable drum lines in rock. A staccato melody, with Lennon's almost primal, desperate voice, tinged with darkness, returning to major and distorted tones in the choruses. It's unlike anything they had done before. The lyrics are cryptic, following the meaning of "I'm The Walrus" and "Glass Onion," which are referenced. The song supposedly began as a campaign anthem for Timothy Leary's gubernatorial campaign in California, but it evolved over time. Many speculate that each verse is dedicated to each Beatle, but it actually seems more like a self-parody of the generational leader Lennon had become. Musically, it's both simple and complex. The instrumentation is minimal yet intricate, particularly the rhythm section. The guitar is sparing, with some distortion in the choruses. There's a bridge with a brief keyboard solo, followed by a guitar solo from George, who ultimately shines with minimalist flourishes, pulling the strings for a kind of solo in the coda. The backing vocals were done by John himself, using overdubs, revealing the conflicts he was already having with Paul. Lennon would be sued for being vaguely similar to a Chuck Berry song. The lawsuit wasn't settled out of court until 1973, in an agreement where John agreed to record three Berry songs on his next album, which in turn forced him to record an LP of covers, Rock & Roll. John only performed this song live once, at Madison Square Garden, with Klaus Voormann on bass. I don't really know what else to say about the song. It's catchy, dark, brilliant, hypnotic, with John's biting wit, perhaps the most memorable lines from Paul and Ringo, forming a devastating rhythm section. It generally appears on compilations, but it's true that it can hardly be considered an anthem, and it seems more like a track that could fit on any of John's solo albums. Even so, it has a certain strange appeal that has made it essential and legendary.
The opening drum roll of “Something” continues. What can I say about this song that hasn't already been said? Just the thought of leaving it to Joe Cocker (who, by the way, did a tremendous version) and then discarding it with the Beatles sends shivers down my spine. It is perhaps the most beautiful love ballad in history, dedicated by Harrison to his wife, Patty Boyd. Later, Clapton would dedicate “Layla” to her, possibly the second-best love song ever. And yet, Patty would still be left without either of them... George pours his heart out to create a masterpiece, the best single on the album, which he began writing in 1967. It is emotional, majestic, simple, spiritual, wonderfully moving, and George sings with such intensity and honesty that it's impossible to end up with dry eyes when you're fully immersed in the song. The guitar work is the best he ever did with the Beatles, from that ascending scale in the intro that repeats as the main motif, to the slow chords with tremolo and light wah-wah, to the solo at 1:40, which in itself is the greatest instrumental love poem in history—tender, immense, as emotive as Harrison's own voice. He may have had better solos in terms of speed and technique, but in terms of what he conveys with his guitar, this is, in my opinion, the solo that has cemented George's place in history. Ringo creates a strange, off-beat beat, adding his peculiar fills and scattered drum rolls throughout the choruses. Paul once again steals the show with a superb and elegant bass line, which doesn't steal the spotlight due to its volume, but is complex, gives the song cohesion, harmonizes with the guitar tones, and never lets up in its playful exploration. If this line is removed, the song falls apart dramatically. Billy Preston's Hammond organ arrangements add that celestial, majestic air that shines through in the choruses, accompanying the soaring riff. And let's not forget Martin with his sublime string arrangement! The lyrics are simply beautiful. When I met Hiz, it was the first song I dedicated to her, and today, almost 10 years and two children later, I can't think of a better song to dedicate to her. It's the second most covered Beatles song (after "Yesterday"), Frank Sinatra would say it was his favorite Lennon-McCartney song, and they themselves would acknowledge that it's George's best song. "Something" is so great, so beautiful, because it's the very definition of love. When it hits you this hard, it's "Something," in the way they look, the way they move, something you can't define or decipher, something unique to you and no one else... love is that something, and no one has been able to define it better than George in this song, in the desperation with which he shouts those "I don't know, I don't know," which are nothing but his impotence at not being able to define it better than that "Something."
We continue with “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer”, a Paul song that tries to be hilarious. I have nothing against it, but as a standalone track, especially after the couple of John and George songs, I don’t think it holds up very well. I somehow associate its lightheartedness and silly feel with “Mustard” and “Polythene,” and I think it would have fit much better as a medley with those pieces. It’s not bad; it’s funny, about a serial killer who dispatches his victims with a hammer. It would be funnier if it weren’t based on a true story about a writer who was going to deliver a script for a Beatles film in 1967. The day he was to meet with the quartet to show them the script, he was found dead from a tranquilizer overdose, along with his lover, whom he had murdered with a hammer. Paul’s humor can sometimes be darker than John’s. Lennon would say the song was “Music for Grannies,” and he refused to participate in the recording. McCartney was excessively perfectionist with the track, and they repeated take after take for three days, until even Harrison was exasperated. Paul himself overdubbed the backing vocals, somewhat as revenge for "Come Together." George plays bass here, a Fender Bass VI, and therefore it sounds simpler than what Paul usually produced at that time. Mal Evans played the anvil to create the hammering effect, and this is where the Moog synthesizer made its first appearance, played by Paul. Ultimately, the track is pleasant, lighthearted, and tries to be funny, and I don't think it's bad, but it doesn't quite measure up to the rest of the album. I maintain that it would have been better suited to side two, accompanying John's humorous tracks.
Fortunately, McCartney immediately redeems himself with “Oh! Darling”, a song that grows more and more impressive each time I listen to or play it. Paul seemed jealous of “Something” and wanted to create his own epic ballad. It doesn't quite reach the heights of “Something,” but it's perhaps the best love song McCartney ever wrote, a ballad reminiscent of the late 50s and early 60s due to its chord structure. Paul delivers another monumental bass performance, with all four strings constantly moving, lending tremendous fluidity to the slow chord progression. Ringo sounds phenomenal, bringing an unexpected energy and playing a decisive role in the climaxes. John was fascinated by the song and insisted that he sing it. Paul arrived early at the studio for a week to record the vocal takes, as he could only manage one take at a time (similar to John with “Twist & Shout”). John was never convinced and tried to do his own version, improvising verses about Yoko's recently finalized divorce, as we can hear on Anthology 3, but Paul wouldn't budge, and we should be grateful for that. His vocal performance is sublime, screaming at the top of his lungs but without losing the emotion and sincerity of his dedication to Linda. John didn't sabotage the song; on the contrary, he contributes with a great, fuzzy, choppy rhythm guitar, but above all, with the duet backing vocals with George, which, according to Geoff Emerick, were very well hidden in the mix. Preston plays the grand piano, and George grapples with a circular arrangement in the bridge, letting the notes fall like flaming drops laden with distortion. A brutal team effort to achieve a well-rounded, emotional song that grows in power and which, in my opinion, is a highly underrated Beatles track.
Ringo couldn't be left out of this magnum opus, and he contributed "Octopus's Garden", arguably the best song of his entire career. It's undeniably a children's song; George helped him a bit and humbly declined to be credited, but Starr's effort deserves recognition. The song is enchanting from beginning to end. Regardless of the spectacular arrangements—from the Harrison-esque guitar intro, the stunning three-part harmonies, Paul's magical piano, John's 12-string guitar, and the multitude of underwater effects vaguely reminiscent of "Yellow Submarine"—the melody composed by Ringo is stellar. He wrote it in 1968, on a yacht trip with a friend in Sardinia, after trying squid. Ringo exudes innocence, optimism, and humor. Perhaps dedicated to Zack, I'm surprised by the tremendous commitment the other three showed, as their teamwork is once again evident in giving the song its proper acclaim. It wasn't to everyone's taste, and at the time it was criticized for its overproduction, but it's one of the Beatles' little gems.
Side A closes with John's "I Want You (She's So Heavy)", the longest Beatles song (not "Hey Jude," as many believe), clocking in at almost eight minutes. Only John could come up with such an unusual song. Not only because of its unusually long length, but also because there are hardly any lyrics. John shouts during long passages, but that's practically the title; there are only 14 distinct words in the entire track. Did you notice that? I bet you didn't! It feels fluid, not tiresome. It is dense, though. The whole atmosphere evokes the heaviness of the title, but not in a bad way. Furthermore, it's the only Beatles song that could be considered Progressive Rock. It has multi-part sections that progress and become more complex and intense. It begins with a descending arpeggio played by John (who's on lead guitar here; George would say he sang and played simultaneously, just like live). Almost immediately, we move into a section of stops and starts, and then it begins to flow more smoothly into a blues pattern, before leading into an instrumental bridge where everyone falls silent for a moment so Paul can show off with two incredibly fast mini-solos. That's it. But the sections keep repeating, each time with greater complexity. Ringo increases the cymbal rhythm while with each repetition, Paul delivers an increasingly intricate and spectacular bass line, improvising, making it impossible to follow, with some jazzy and Latin touches, literally covering the entire neck of the bass. Because this calculated improvisation is impossible to imitate, this line is what I consider my graduation as a bassist, since I had to improvise faster and faster, all more or less with the same precision. It's a true masterclass in bass playing, but also in a very unusual style for McCartney. Then we return to the descending arpeggios, there's an organ solo from Preston, and before we know it, we're in the colossal 3-minute coda, with Lennon's Moog synthesizers creating that hurricane-like, dense atmosphere, raising the tension to a mammoth degree, more and more, giving the impression that the song is about to explode at any moment, until it abruptly ends at 7:47. It feels like they stretched the track out until the vinyl ran out. In reality, there were still 20 seconds left, but John asked Parsons to cut right there, God knows why. Critics panned the Moog's white noise effects, but how else did they create that apocalyptic feel? It's a very strange, unsettling track, with colossal instrumentation, and after Helter Skelter, I think it's the heaviest in their entire discography. The final session in which the guitar overdubs were added, on August 20, 1969, would be the last time the four Beatles would be together in the studio… or anywhere else.
The sweet acoustic guitar notes of “Here Comes The Sun” are like a sunrise after the apocalypse of the previous track. I think George wanted to create precisely THAT effect. 1969 was particularly tough for George. He'd been arrested for marijuana possession, briefly quit the Beatles during the Get Back sessions, had his tonsils removed… For the British, after a long winter, a warm summer is expected, so this song was a song of hope to himself, in a way. In the midst of his weariness, one day he dropped everything and went to visit his friend Clapton in Hurtwood. Strolling through Eric's garden, he had a kind of revelation after the rain stopped: “I've made it through the hard times, the good times are coming.” He asked Eric for an acoustic guitar and started composing the song. The track is exactly that, a ray of hope, light made music, in that way that only George Harrison could create. After that delicate, crystalline intro, the voice enters with a soft melody. Don't you just love how he sings "It's alright"? Catchy, sweet, beautiful, punctuating each verse with guitar arrangements using a capo on the seventh fret. Then flutes, cellos, and other instruments enter, including the Moog synthesizer, played this time by George, who had introduced it to the group. Ringo sounds spectacular on the fills and snares, multiplying himself in a very complex way without overwhelming the song. For the bridges, they play an exquisite descending scale, "Sun, sun, sun, here it comes…" after which there's a section of the orchestra that plays a reversed scale to return to the verse. A video was recently released in which George Martin shows Dhani Harrison the small guitar solo his father had made for this section, but which they ultimately didn't include. Dhani's face of surprise must be the same as the one we all had when we first saw that video. The orchestration contributes to that clean, morning atmosphere. John wasn't at the sessions because he was recovering from a car accident. George added another guitar after the session was over. They also added a harmonium and the handclaps you hear halfway through the song. It's a beautiful track, somewhat overshadowed by "Something," but after that and "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," it has to be Harrison's best song with the Beatles.
“Because” is the other side of the coin. It’s a John song, very nostalgic, like an autumn sunset. When people talked about this album as the Beatles’ “swan song,” I always thought of this song. “That’s how swans must sing,” I used to tell myself in my teens. The song begins with a melancholic harpsichord arpeggio, which creates mournful figures throughout the song. John was actually playing Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” and ended up creating these figures by playing it in reverse, and he loved it. John’s guitar playing the same figure was processed through a Leslie speaker. Harrison plays the Moog synthesizer here, enhancing the aura of loneliness in the lyrics. But the important thing here is the spectacular vocal symphony achieved by John in the middle register, Paul in the high notes, and George in the low ones. Not content with the result, they added overdubs to two other tracks to achieve that perfect nine-part harmony, of overwhelming beauty. I only truly appreciated it when I tried to sing along to Moby Dick. One of the things we have to thank the Anthologies for is the a cappella version of the song, which highlights the spectacular vocal work on the track, and which, in my opinion, made this lost gem from Abbey Road much more appreciated...
Next up is “You Never Give Me Your Money”, which I always found incredibly sad. The piano that Paul brings in, the almost desolate quality of his voice, George's guitar sounding like tears, the understated cymbals… I always assumed that part was something like a musical version of No One Writes to the Colonel, and it would fill me with overwhelming melancholy. Now I know that Paul wrote it as a reproach to Allen Klein, who had the quartet firmly in his grip, taking control of their assets and not giving them a penny. John took it as an attack on him, and I'd say this was another one of Paul's “Granny Songs.” I disagree. I mean, Paul has songs for grandmothers, like “Martha My Dear” and “When I'm Sixty-Four,” among others, but the heartbreaking piano intro deserves just as much praise as the one in “Because.” Then Paul makes a drastic change—in his voice, his mood, his rhythm, his tone. A kind of swing at 1:10 with that affected "Lady Madonna" voice, then shifts into that gorgeous mid-tempo bridge, "But all that magic feeling, nowhere to go," which I've always found exceptional, with its heavenly triple backing vocals. Then comes Harrison's acid guitar solo, with its pauses and bursts (follow Ringo!), until it settles into a steady rhythm and enters the "One Sweet Dream" section. Here, the tempo changes spectacularly for the coda in descending arpeggios, and a final guitar solo with John and George singing "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, all the children go to heaven" as the song fades away with that spectral Moog sound and the chirping of crickets. I think it's one of Paul's most underrated songs. It's a true gem of Progressive Pop, a six- or seven-part suite of barely four minutes in which nothing sounds forced or out of place. What they achieve is truly impressive. That the lyrics, at least the beginning, are so awful, well, that's another story. Oh, by the way, this is supposed to be the start of the first medley, since it connects with the ending effects of the next song, although I personally prefer to consider it a standalone track and think of the medley as beginning with "Sun King."
We continue with “Sun King”, a John track, unusually peaceful and tranquil. A sort of Lennon-esque version of “Here Comes The Sun,” with the organs dominating, a slow melody, also sung in triple voice, and the octave bass subtly guiding the music. The melody is gentle, like a damp, dew-filled dawn in the English countryside. It's almost a pleasure to hear John singing “Everybody's happy, everybody's laughing,” considering the troubles he was dealing with at the time. At the end, Lennon plays around with the lyrics. I thought it was Italian, but they're actually just messing around, adding “cuando para mucho” and then throwing in whatever came to mind in a mix of Italian and Spanish. At 2:26, Ringo does a drum roll that stops abruptly, and we continue without further ado…
“Mean Mr. Mustard”, a little tune written in India, was based on a newspaper article John read. He thought it was funny, but didn't take it seriously, until miraculously it made it onto the album. A version closer to the original is on the Anthology; it was four minutes long and faster. This version has much more instrumentation and backing vocals. And his sister Shirley, in the original, changes to Pam to connect it to the next song. It's fun and takes the opportunity to throw in a barb or two in the lyrics. Originally, “Her Majesty” followed, but on the last day, Paul decided it didn't fit between the two tracks and removed it from the album. Geoff Emerick thought someone had made a mistake and added it at the end. The others found out and decided they liked it, perhaps the only serious mistake on Abbey Road.
Then come the sequence of three guitar riffs that kick off “Polithene Pam” with that characteristic drumming and George’s high-pitched flourishes. Exquisitely crafted backing vocals, a faster tempo brilliantly driven by Ringo, and a powerful melody, sung almost breathlessly in John’s more nasal voice. It’s based on a fan from the Cavern days, nicknamed Polithene Pat. I can’t imagine this song without the previous one, and indeed, without the following one. Towards the end, George adds a playful guitar solo that serves as a descending transition to…
“She Came In Through The Bathroom Window”, composed by Paul when Jessica Samuels, a fan, snuck into his house through the bathroom window! Paul sings the banal lyrics with a gigantic, catchy melody, delivering a melodramatic bridge in minor keys and masterfully returning to the playful rhythm. Ringo… Ringo again. This record proves he was vastly underrated, perhaps his most brilliant performance on drums. The song ends in under two minutes, closing the first medley.
The second track opens with “Golden Slumbers”. I can’t listen to “Once There Was a Way” without getting goosebumps. A beautiful piano, with classical undertones, recaptures that tremendous melancholy of “You Never Give Me Your Money,” but with a great deal of hope and tenderness. It’s a lullaby, but the best lullaby ever written. Paul found the sheet music for Thomas Dekker’s “Craddle Song,” a lullaby from 1603, on his father’s piano. Since Paul couldn’t read sheet music well, he made his own version, which retains little of the original. Martin’s string arrangements create a delicate, precise velvet glove. The bass is understated, punctuated at just the right moments. Then comes the climax with Ringo's drum roll, Paul practically shouting the title as a horn section sounds majestic, and you can imagine a legion of angels watching over the sleep of Heather, Paul's stepdaughter, to whom I suppose it was dedicated. I've always loved the song, but the personal touch is that I started rehearsing it with Plastic Soldiers when my wife, Hiz, was pregnant with my first child. She would come to rehearsals, and the little one would jump and kick precisely when we started this song. As a baby, his face would light up when we began to sing it to him… “Sleep pretty darling, do no cry, and I will sing a lullaby,” as if he recognized it. It's incredible the intensity it can reach in the mere minute and a half that this section lasts. When it ends, it flows immediately into…
“Carry That Weight”, which begins with Ringo’s drum roll and the four of them singing the chorus, is really just that part. The rest is a kind of reprise of the theme from “You Never Give Me Your Money” and a verse that had been left out, in addition to George’s superb solo and Martin’s horn arrangements. Then we return to the chorus with Starr’s voice dominating. It’s assumed that Paul was talking about the weight that being a Beatle represented for the four of them at that point. At the end, George plays a slightly distorted arpeggio that provides a transition to the next song. It lasts just over a minute and a half. “Golden Slumbers” and “Carry That Weight” were recorded in a single take during the same session, on July 2nd.
George's guitar in "Carry That Weight" transforms into a short, rocking solo that kicks off "The End". Paul delivers his signature screamed "Oh, yeah, all right, are you gonna be in my dreams tonight!" in a wonderful scale that ends abruptly, leaving Ringo to drive the rhythm with the bass drum, which then kicks off the quartet's only drum solo at the :20 mark. It lasts barely 15 seconds, but it's fantastic. The backing vocals then enter with "love you's" and the distorted guitar in the background, which morphs into that masterful three-guitar solo. Paul, George, and John, in that order, each play two beats of the solo that begins at :55, alternating in that order for three rounds. Each guitarist's style is distinct: Paul's very melodic, George's more technical and bluesy, and John's more raw and gritty. Immediately after Lennon's third solo, at 1:30, the guitars fall completely silent, leaving only the plucked piano that begins "And in the end, the love you take, is equal to the love you make," accompanied by Harrison's riffs, a superb three-part harmonization, and a spectacular time signature change mid-phrase, right on the "you make," culminating in a heavenly "AhhAAAAAhhh" and the final guitar solo that closes the song. Paul would say (just like with "Yesterday") that if he'd had more musical knowledge, that time signature change at the end would have been impossible. The entire song is superb; it's all four Beatles playing solos, even Ringo, contributing their individual talents to create one of their best collaborative pieces. I think that last line is very, very underrated. Even John would acknowledge it in a 1980 interview. “And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make,” is one of Paul's best lines, almost as significant as John's “All You Need Is Love.” It's one of the Beatles' greatest legacies, and somehow it hasn't been given the recognition it deserves. I mean, it's the last line of the last song on the last Beatles album! And it's so great and so brilliant. It's simply the very definition of the Beatles. Their farewell. The explanation, so simple, of why they are so great, why 40 years after their breakup they are still the biggest band on the planet, why 3-year-olds sing their songs, why they are and will always be untouchable… because in the end, the love you reap is equal to the love you sow, and the Beatles simply poured their hearts and souls into it and gave it their all during their 8-year recording career, on their 13 studio albums and on each and every one of their singles. The legacy they left transcends their music. That is to say, that's the medium through which they conveyed it to us, but the reason for their greatness is explained in "All You Need Is Love," in "Something," and is rounded out with "The End." If someone were to ask me at gunpoint what my favorite Beatles song is right now, and has been for some years now, I would have to say the final medley from Abbey Road, considering these three songs as a single unit. It's also the best song I've ever had the honor of playing, complete with backing vocals.
I'll never forgive Geoff Emerick for including "Her Majesty" at the end. I mean, the song is lovely, not just funny, but a tremendous political slap in the face from Paul, something unusual for him. But this wasn't its place. I suppose it was sung from Mr. Mustard's perspective when he finally meets the Queen, but the line "Someday I'm gonna make her mine" still packs a punch. Did the Queen know about this when she knighted him? Anyway, it's about 20 seconds long, but in that instant it completely ruins the effect that "The End" and that endless line with which it closes as the final Beatles legacy would have had. It was called "The End" for a reason, damn it!
Abbey Road is a colossal album, one that grows with each listen, revealing more and more to me each time. Even after this review, I still don't fully understand why it's so great. Perhaps it's because it's such a reflection of life itself. The songs are seemingly simple, at least in their tonal structure. But upon closer examination, each track is complex, showcasing exceptional instrumental skill from all four musicians. There's experimentation with the sounds, incorporating the Moog synthesizer, which we're accustomed to today but was groundbreaking at the time, and this is further emphasized in the sequence of songs that make up the medleys. It's not a rock opera, not by a long shot, but the concept was groundbreaking for its time. However, I think the most important thing is that the effort and dedication everyone poured into this album is palpable. It's evident in every note. And there's a certain sense of farewell. It's the very definition of a swan song.
Abbey Road gradually became my home, a haven of music where I feel a deep warmth every time I enter. It's the soundtrack of my life. It's the record I want played at my funeral. Of all my vinyl collection, it's the one I want to hold in my hands when I'm buried. Those final lines, which so simply explain why the Beatles are the greatest and most beloved band in the universe, and which I try to live by as my personal philosophy, are the ones I want engraved on my epitaph: “And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make…”
By Corvan
Dec/31/2013
