An object of great affection since its release over a half-century ago, the Beatles’ Abbey Road (released 9/26/69) has only grown in prominence since it was issued. In the fifty-five-year interim, this final studio recording of the iconic group has arguably supplanted 1967’s Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band as the quartet’s landmark effort, equaled and (perhaps only) surpassed by The Beatles a/k/a The White Album double set of the year following that landmark above of psychedelia.
Considering the innovation redolent in the Fab Four’s 1966 masterwork Revolver as well as the invention that suffuses its predecessor Rubber Soul (to only a slightly lesser degree), the progression in stature accorded Abbey Road is confounding (notwithstanding some early critical caveats). And hindsight has presented an increasingly stringent set of perceptions regarding the LP, revealing ever more clearly how it suffers from a scarcity of high-quality material, compounded by a lack of discipline applied to the songs in the form of more than a little wayward production.
Even the most famous of its compositions, namely the late George Harrison’s “Something,” is marred with a conventional string arrangement. Surprisingly enough, the weighty and predictable orchestration on that cut was overseen by the quartet’s long-time (and only) producer, George Martin, who had supervised the terse quartet on “Eleanor Rigby.”
Having been contacted by Paul McCartney in the wake of the shambolic Get Back/Let It Be sessions (from which Martin was excluded), the man who earned his British knighthood in 1996 almost, but not quite, returned to his longstanding position as studio producer for the Beatles.
Having learned much of the recording art under his tutelage, the foursome regarded themselves on equal footing with the musically erudite gentleman who had shepherded them through their most ingenious work(s). As a result, Lennon, McCartney, Harrison, and Starr retained their individual and collective independence to a great degree during these sessions, albeit not to the same friction-fraught extent as on their two-record magnum opus.
Yet, at this point in the very next year, the Beatles lacked the necessary willpower and humility to craft a solid set of cohesive tunes. Hence, the extended suite of the longplayer’s side two was less the result of lightning bolt(s) of inspiration than the utter expediency of pragmatism.
For instance, as documented by astute author and Beatles scholar Kenneth Womack in his Solid State: The Story of “Abbey Road” and the End of the Beatles, John in particular couldn’t or wouldn’t be bothered to effectively finish “Mean Mr. Mustard“ or ”Polythene Pam,” so both time in at just over a minute. Personal demons aside, he was also pulled in conflicting directions by his work with Yoko Ono inside and out the ‘Plastic Ono Band’ moniker.
Lennon’s counterpart in what was once a heroic writing partnership did contribute full-fleshed-out compositions. But Paul’s “Golden Slumbers“ and ”Carry That Weight” appear in bombastic arrangements and performances (he oversaw with Martin), both of which are leagues apart from his melodic personal reflection on the band’s business travails, “You Never Give Me Your Money:” the gentility of his vocal delivery there is in stark contrast to the caterwauling that afflicts the two selections above.
And the man’s witty and infectious tuneful recount of an overzealous fan, “She Came In Through The Bathroom Window,” rivals the latter selection. Unfortunately, both of those gems give the lie to the same author’s overbearing whimsy in the form of “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer;” to make matters worse, the artless ode to an early rock called “Oh Darling!” was sequenced in a string on side one, right alongside Ringo Starr’s ill-conceived sequel to “Yellow Submarine,” “Octopus’s Garden.”
Consciously or unconsciously, McCartney may well have been thinking about his first solo work at this time (George Harrison certainly was and is documented discussing said topic with John in Peter Jackson’s Get Back film). From the vantage point of retrospect, the practical reality is that such thoughts and actions on the parts of all four Beatles might have benefitted this project (as would surely have been the case on their 1968 project).
Nevertheless, in correlation with a group effort, such concepts would succeed only if the four individuals did not glean the most superlative of their originals for such efforts and relegate personal self-indulgences to those projects under their own names. In that scenario, Harrison’s “Here Comes The Sun” is a case in point illustrating such generosity of spirit and creative objectivity.
Not only does its lush acoustic foundation make for an ideal second side opener for Abbey Road–especially as it follows the self-consciously artsy drone of heavy electric guitar chording at the end of John’s “I Want You (She’s So Heavy)”–but its arrangement is so dense–with tempered orchestration supplied by Martin)–it virtually hides the electronic textures of Moog synthesizer (with which its author had become so enamored he purchased one of the devices for himself).
George’s finest(?) original number also sits opposite the churning rock of “Come Together” as the opening track of Abbey Road. Lennon’s composite of whimsical wordplay and bedrock musicianship corresponds to the instrumental spotlights afforded each of the four during “The End.” Still, it is ultimately superior to the forced finality of those turns: the redundant contrivance near the record’s conclusion is that rare instance of the Beatles telegraphing their intention(s) too obviously.
And the connections of songs on side two of Abbey Road (then as now) are too tenuous to conjure up any deep meaning, symbolic or otherwise. Even as a recapitulation of the band’s singing skills, the placement of vocal harmonies on “Sun King” and “Because” sound strained. Less egregious in that regard, but placed (in purported error) too late in the sequence, is Paul’s “Her Majesty:” popping up after the main content of the long-player has concluded, its childlike simplicity and good humor is the essence of the McCartney persona at its best (unlike the famous too-cute couplet about ‘the love you take/make’).
Including this ever-so-brief interlude and considering the mere handful of fully-formed selections given well-wrought production, a hypothetical Abbey Road would time out at less than a half hour in duration. In a reimagined form, it might include “Come And Get It,” a consummate piece of pop-rock craftsmanship McCartney eventually handed over to the Apple signees Badfinger, and a cryptic piece of bluesy shuffle by Harrison called “Old Brown Shoe.”
The latter selection was instead released as the B-side of “The Ballad of John and Yoko” single in advance of the LP, poetic justice of sorts as this pairing accurately reflected the motley collection of seventeen cuts on Abbey Road. Only in the most arch sense does it compare favorably with the cache of double A-side singles by the Beatles in prior years, i.e., 1965’s “We Can Work It Out”/Day Tripper,” the next year’s “Paperback Writer”/”Rain” and the monumental ’67 combination of “Strawberry Fields Forever”/Penny Lane.”
Instead of confirming the value-added aspect of material issued separately from and in addition to the long-player (s), the two latterday tracks instead foreshadow the erratic work of a group that’s outlived its usefulness as a viable creative enterprise and unintentionally highlight how marked a contrast is Abbey Road to earlier output from a band teeming with imagination.
With perspective of fifty-plus years, the longplayer’s genuinely legendary cover photos, especially the front cover image of the four men crossing the street–appearing even more distinctly individual than in the separate portraits enclosed in The White Album)–add to the legacy of the Beatles, but mainly for the most sentimental followers (and those who might still be titillated by the ‘Paul Is Dead’ fantasy).
Considering the group’s cultural impact, however, it is a bizarre irony that John, Paul, George, and Ringo did not wholly have their hearts in that effort that would go straight to the hearts of so many for so long.
3 Responses
It’s revolver. Everyone knows its revolver. This is a basic “babys first Beatles article” pick.
Such a pretentious article written by a very snobby writer. I don’t give it any credence.
What does the articl even try to say?