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“Across the Universe” – David Bowie
(Words/music: John Lennon & Paul McCartney, available on Young Americans, Virgin 1975) 

The Beatles’ recording of “Across the Universe,” recorded primarily on February 4, 1968, gradually unfolds itself and lets subtle layers of strings and harmonies roll out as the song progresses.  It’s appropriate, given both the song’s famous opening line and the way John Lennon described the song “flowing” into him one night in bed.  With its Sanskrit mantra mixed in, “Across the Universe” thrives on this circular interconnectivity on both the lyrical and musical level.

All this makes David Bowie’s version a little stranger.  Where Lennon’s performance flows effortlessly, Bowie’s version lags.  Anchored by a strong backbeat, the rest of the song feels like it’s moving in slow motion – the harmonies are strained and stretched out and the guitar melodies expand past their original length.  This isn’t a bad thing, either.  In fact, a straight-ahead cover from Bowie would be boring and out of character.  Instead, as it appears with the rest of the “plastic soul” Young Americans, Bowie’s universe feels slightly melted and warped and just slightly more irregular than Lennon’s perfect circle.  However, even with slightly disjointed parts, Bowie’s version reaches a moment of connectivity as well when Lennon shows up and trades off vocals at the end.  If Lennon’s original is a meditation, Bowie and Lennon’s trade off feels like resolution in the face of hardship.  With disjointed pieces and all, it’s a reminder that sometimes inner peace comes from ourselves rather than our surroundings.

More on David Bowie: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: david bowie | john lennon | the beatles | 1975 | virgin records | 1970s | cover song |
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“Something” – Paul McCartney
(Words/music: George Harrison, available on Back in the U.S. – Live 2002, Capitol 2002)

The school where I worked on my masters’ degree had a clock above the library that played a different melody every hour.  The first time I noticed the clock (and the only melody I can remember it playing) it was playing “Something.”  It was a bright, sunny afternoon early in my first semester, and as the notes carried across the campus, everything looked more vibrant.  It fit the scene so perfectly that I didn’t even realize what I was listening to until it was almost over; George Harrison’s simple melody seemed natural coming out of the bells of a clock tower, so I didn’t even realize that it was out of context right away.

It’s this simplicity that Paul McCartney’s ukulele version honors.  During his 2001-2002 world tour, McCartney took a break from his greatest hits revue to perform Harrison’s signature Beatles tune, accompanied by four tiny strings.  Recently, he’s performed the ukulele bit as an introduction, segueing into the traditional Abbey Road arrangement, but on this live album he performs the whole song by himself, including singing the lead guitar part.  Even in this reduced setting, “Something” still captivates, as a 60 year old man and a ukulele alone kept tens of thousands of fans enraptured for three minutes.  It’s appropriate, given that Harrison’s singing about the simple way that love affects us.  It’s also a tribute to the versatility of Harrison’s song that whether in its lush studio arrangement, a clock tower bell system, or a tiny stringed instrument, the beauty radiates through.  Rather than lean on its instrumentation, Harrison’s song relies on its melody and its honesty – in short, he made it simple to make it sound good.

More on Paul McCartney: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: paul mccartney | George Harrison | the beatles | 2002 | 2000s | capital records | live version | cover song |
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“Setting Sun” – The Chemical Brothers with Noel Gallagher
(Words/music: Noel Gallagher, Tom Rowlands, and Ed Simons, available on Dig Your Own Hole, Astralwerks 1996)

Even Oasis apologists won’t deny the Gallagher brothers’ overt Beatles’ emulations, and if they lifted a few moves from the Beatles, then Noel certainly took notes on “Tomorrow Never Knows” before making “Setting Sun” with the Chemical Brothers.  The Beatles’ track stands as one of the band’s most experimental moments, including the birth of automatic doubletracking, alternate vocal amplification methods, and a backwards, pitch-shifted guitar solo among others (Wikipedia’s entry on the song goes into future detail for you gearheads).  Gallagher and the Chemical Brothers used a lot of these techniques for similar effects.  They even use a dramatically similar beat as the basis of “Setting Sun.”

Even with shared pieces, the final puzzles differ in both tone and purpose.  The Beatles track, largely composed by John Lennon (McCartney brought the tape loops and Ringo accidentally titled it), grew out of an experience with LSD and draws on the “mind expanding” qualities the drug purportedly offers.  It’s somewhere between a hallucination and a meditation.  Conversely, “Setting Sun” attacks intensely with the abrupt shifts and jarring sounds.  Perhaps it’s an easy association, but hallucinogenics in the 1990s were often associated with these intense, rave-like situations rather than the meditative, mind-expanding experiments in the 1960s.  Appropriately, Gallagher’s lyrics flirt with danger and seduction, as they could either be a vague come-on to someone in a dance club or merely a flirtation with some kind of social taboo.  Either way, it offered Gallagher the opportunity to create something more intense than his day job while also offering the Chemical Brothers the opportunity to align their big beat sound with a historical musical thread.

More on The Chemical Brothers: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: 1990s | 1996 | astralwerks | noel gallagher | oasis | the chemical brothers | the beatles |
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“With a Little Help from My Friends” – Joe Cocker
(Words/music: John Lennon and Paul McCartney, available on With a Little Help From My Friends, A&M 1969)

For many, Joe Cocker’s version of this song evokes The Wonder Years.  I’m only nostalgic about the show because it was my dad’s favorite show when I was a kid (I was ten when it ended).  Between my parents viewing and the backdrop of Vietnam War-era America, it felt like another world for me.  Of course, the show might make more sense now that I lived through (and have a healthy distance from) my early teenage years.  Regardless, Joe Cocker’s voice makes me think of this show, and perhaps that’s why his version makes sense.

Cocker takes the Beatles’ original, slows it down, and twists the emotions on the original.  I like the bouncy Sgt. Pepper’s take on the song (and as I’ve suggested before, I’m a Ringo apologist), but Cocker’s version focuses on the anguish in the song’s lyrics.  Perhaps it’s Cocker’s voice, particularly the way that he trails off near the end of some of the lines, that makes the song sound worn out, but Cocker’s narrator feels fatigued.  That, combined with the backing vocals that lead him through the chorus and later share the burden with him in the final verse, puts the focus on the aid from friends.  It’s this spirit that the show – one that focuses on growing up during one of the more tumultuous moments in twentieth century America – captures, and having Joe Cocker set the stage every week feels appropriate.

(Side note: I learned tonight that Jimmy Page played guitar on this.  I’m too tired to try to work it in to the rest of the post, so I’ll just share it here).

More on Joe Cocker: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: joe cocker | ringo starr | the beatles | the wonder years | 1969 | 1960s | a and m records |
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“Help!” – The Beatles
(Words/music: John Lennon and Paul McCartney, available on Help!, Parlophone / EMI 1965)

Almost four decades after their split, we still talk about the Beatles.  This week alone, an all-Beatles installment of Rock Band and an extensive box set of remastered albums hit the marketplace, and rather than decry this as a cash grab (which, to be fair, some are suggesting), it’s become an opportunity to celebrate the band anew.  In the upcoming weeks, music geeks will discuss the fidelity of the new reissues, baby boomers will buy these albums yet again, and teenagers will gather to kill Saturday afternoons trying to nail the three part harmonies while mashing plastic buttons.   In each of these cases, the Beatles music will be right there at the forefront of the discussion, debate, and diversions.  It’s only appropriate, as the Beatles remain an element of pop culture that unites people from all ages and backgrounds.  The simple reason for their enduring legacy lies in their songs – no matter what you listen to, you probably listen to the Beatles as well.

“Help!” reminds me of the way their songs continue to inspire wonder.  In college, I helped out a friend of mine on his senior music project.  As a music student with a concentration with songwriting and recording, his “recital” consisted of performances of a variety of different styles of compositions.  One day, while rehearsing one of his songs, he came in excited that he just learned how to play “Help!” the night before.  At that point, I knew the song but hadn’t spent a whole lot of time thinking about it.  He walked me through the chord progression, marveling not only at the harmonic selections but also the ways they were voiced.  I followed along as he played through the intro/chorus and the first verse calling out the chords and their variations, marveling simultaneously at the way each chord fell perfectly into the following chord as well as my friend’s wide-eyed wonder at the whole thing.  Here was a composition student (who wrote some very meticulous, very beautiful arrangements for his recital) at the brink of speechlessness over a sub three minute pop song.  In retrospect, this was one of those moments that helped shape my appreciation for art – specifically noting the skill and precision in making something extremely difficult look easy.  It also helped recontextualize the Beatles, cementing that idea that their catalog contains a lifetime of personal revelations waiting to be unearthed gradually.

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TAGGED UNDER: the beatles | 1965 | 1960s | video games | moments of personal revelation |
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“Young Americans” – David Bowie
(Words/music: David Bowie, available on Young Americans, Virgin 1975)

In completely isolated circumstances – never having heard the song before nor knowing that it is a David Bowie song – “Young Americans” requires a slight leap of faith to get into it.  Knowing the song, the opening drum notes are enough to guarantee that I will do nothing but listen to this song for the next five minutes.  However, I understand how the unfamiliar might be put off by the opening; the cascading piano keys and the absurdly prominent honking saxophone makes the song sound like the type of soft-rock fare heard while shopping in a drug store.  Bowie eventually rewards the listener’s patience as slowly all of the different layers come in, starting with the moment the backing vocals enter during the first chorus. Featuring future star Luther Vandross, Bowie’s backing singers push his own vocal performance as he tries to keep up with them.  Slowly, he settles into the song and works himself up into a soulful fervor.  Maybe it’s his background singers pushing him to compete with them, perhaps Bowie gets more worked up as he goes deeper into his cynical look at life in the 70s, or maybe it’s just a superb arrangement with an excellent bridge leading into the final climax.  Regardless, Bowie turns in perhaps his finest vocal performance, especially in the last minute and a half as he sounds like a man possessed, tossing off line after line until his band stops and Bowie puts his cracking falsetto squarely into the spotlight.  Bowie’s vocal performance alone makes this an essential song, but it’s the flawless arrangement that catapults “Young Americans” into the stratosphere.   I even kind of like that damn saxophone even though it’s a little too loud for my taste.

To me, the most interesting line is the borrowed line from the opening of “A Day in the Life” in that final stretch run.  My friend Mike and I discussed it a while back and we agreed that the single line fits only because it’s the perfect length – any more and it would derail the song.  I see a few different reasons for the line (“I heard the news today, oh boy”).  First, it could be a hat tip to John Lennon, who guests on two other songs on Young Americans.  It also fits the thematic content of the song – Bowie fills his song with details of racism, economic depression, and social injustice (among other bummers) and his backing singers offer the line almost like a Greek chorus commenting on the plot.  It’s important that the backing singers and not Bowie get this line as well, letting it work as a bit of call-and-response, as the line triggers Bowie’s most impassioned segment of the song.  It also creates this sort of dialogue between Bowie’s sketch of American life in the 1970s with Lennon’s depiction of youthful boredom in 1960’s England.  Mike summarizes the conversation as “Life in England is full of tedium and repetition… Yeah, well America’s just as bad, it’s just more hedonistic.”  I’m inclined to agree with his interpretation.

More on David Bowie: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: david bowie | 1975 | 1970s | virgin records | track analysis | john lennon | luther vandross | quoting other songs | the beatles |
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“It Don’t Come Easy” – Ringo Starr
(Words/music: George Harrison and Richard Starkey, available on The Concert for Bangladesh, Apple/EMI 1971)

I had never really thought too much about who wrote “It Don’t Come Easy,” but after researching it today (and giving it another close listen), it doesn’t surprise me that George Harrison had a hand in its composition (and some claim that he wrote the entire thing, giving it to Ringo to help jump start his career).  Everything about the arrangement would make it fit in with All Things Must Pass – a jangly opening guitar riff, the carefully layered arrangement (with my favorite parts being the horns and the backing vocals) all bear Harrison’s signature.  Still, today’s Ringo’s day on Some Songs Considered (and I have a feeling that I’ll write about at least one more Harrison composition in the future, it seems likely with another 350+ entries in front of me).

Perhaps because he didn’t write as many songs, or because he played an instrument many deem “easy” (to which I suggest that anyone who thinks that should sit behind a drum kit and feel overwhelmed by all the different things going on), or simply because his band mates were three of the most influential musicians and songwriters of the popular music era, Ringo becomes at best an afterthought and at worst a punching bag for many.  Still, he deserves to be more than “the drummer,” and occasionally he gets this respect that he deserves.

Two brief stories:

1.  In the late 90s, I subscribed to Modern Drummer magazine (a bit of a misnomer in that it focused about 40% of its attention on drummers of previous eras) in a fleeting attempt to hone my drumming chops.  I know I have a couple years worth of these magazines in my parents’ storage shed somewhere, but one issue sticks out to me.  The editors of the magazine polled their readership and posted the top 20 (or 25, I don’t remember and I can’t find a link to it online, sorry).  One of the best parts of the list was the inclusion of five testimonials from the reader ballots – one sentence quips why these drummers received other drummers’ votes.  Ringo appeared maybe half way through the list (appropriately) and I will never forget the testimonials:  all five of them read the same exact thing: “Ringo is the reason that I play the drums.”  I think many of us take the Beatles for granted (especially people of my generation who have listened to our parents sing their praises our entire lives), but this is a band that meant a tremendous amount to a tremendous amount of people.  I don’t remember the precise reason why I started playing the drums (more on that in another post), but I understand how if I grew up in the late 60s that Ringo’s fun-loving, effervescent personality (and deceptively simple playing) would make the drums attractive.  Who wouldn’t want to be bopping along behind the kit to any of those Beatles’ classics (or, alternately, hasn’t air drummed that part in “Come Together”).

2. Last year, Ringo announced that he would stop signing autographs through the mail. If you think about it, the man must receive an absurd amount of Beatles memorabilia in the mail – I have a hard enough time responding to a couple e-mails a day, let alone signing all of the pictures, portraits, and other assorted personal items people send along.  However, many took this as Ringo devolving into a cranky old man shunning the fans who gave him the wealth and fame he enjoys.  I was disappointed at this reaction – he’s already given up some of the world’s greatest songs, what more does he owe us?  Needless to say, when I heard this story about how he still signs letters for fans (and with an absurd turnaround time), I smiled heartily.  I hope that Ringo always remains the “happy” Beatle.

I picked the live version of “It Don’t Come Easy” for a couple reasons.  First, I think it sounds better played a little faster – it has a little more life and urgency as Ringo tries to keep up with the all-stars George Harrison assembled for his charity concert.  More importantly, however, is the huge applause that the crowd gives Ringo upon the first line; while musicians and critics snub him, fans still love Ringo and I think that gives us all something to think about.  Sure, it’s important to approach everything with a critical eye, but at some point we have to remember why we fell in love with music in the first place.  I don’t even care that Ringo flubs the lyrics in the last verse (I didn’t notice it until it was pointed out to me, in fact), it’s still a great song (regardless of the author) and Ringo serves it well as the everyman singer who’s happy to be performing for all of us.

More on Ringo Starr: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: 1970s | 1971 | concert for bangladesh | defense of Ringo | dubious authorship | george harrison | personal reflection | ringo starr | the beatles | EMI | Apple Records | former beatle |
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