FEATURE: Long, Long, Long: The Beatles' The Beatles at Fifty-Five

FEATURE:

 

 

Long, Long, Long

  

The Beatles' The Beatles at Fifty-Five

_________

OTHERWISE known as the ‘White Album’…

 IN THIS PHOTO: The Beatles (John Lennon, Ringo Starr, Paul McCartney and George Harrison) on 28th July, 1968 during the famous ‘Mad Day Out’ shoot/PHOTO CREDIT: Stephen Goldblatt via The Beatles

I am going to bring in some features and details around The Beatles’ 1968 eponymous album. Released on 22nd November that year, it was a sprawling and wonderfully eclectic double album from the band. Whereas there were splits starting to form – various members would use different spaces and studios at Abbey Road (then-EMI) to get tracks down -, I don’t think there was as much tension between Ringo Starr, Paul McCartney, John Lennon and George Harrison as has been documented. Starr did leave when Paul McCartney criticised his tom-tom playing on one track (I think Back in the U.S.S.R.). He returned soon after, only to find his drum kit garlanded in flowers. John Lennon got proper stressed with McCartney playing Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da over and over. That frantic piano coda that you hear at the start was Lennon’s abgry (yet inspired) response! There were times when Lennon would listen to a McCartney recording and make suggestions. They were still very much invested and friends - though that idea of them recording in the same studio was not broken. For anyone who saw Peter Jackson’s The Beatles: Get Back, the guys did start to jam and perform together when writing Let It Be (released in 1970). I am going to do some other features about The Beatles ahead of its fifty-fifth anniversary next month. I will talk about their spiritual retreat to Rishikesh and what impact that had on their relationships and music. I will also rank the thirty tracks. I might also discuss the impact and legacy of The Beatles and where it fits in their canon – and how critics have reviewed it through the years. I am going to come to some reviews for the album. I want to do some housekeeping before moving on. Recommend podcasts, videos, books and sources where one needs to go to learn more about The Beatles. In terms of its making and impact, there is so much to discuss – that I cannot accomplish in this first feature.

You can own The Beatles on vinyl here. There are also options here. In terms of podcasts, I can thoroughly recommend the two-part chat David Quantick had for I am the EggPod (part 1 is here; part 2 is here). You should also get Quantick’s book about the album, Revolution: The Making of The Beatles’ White Album. Another book worth owning is Brian Southall’s The White Album: The Album, The Beatles and the World in 1968. I am going to get to some features that explore the story behind and recording of The Beatles. First, The Beatles Bible go into detail about the band’s ninth studio album. I have selected the sections that discuss the background to the album, in addition to some of the events and atmosphere in the studio when the band were recording:

“Recorded: 30, 31 May 1968
4, 5, 6, 10, 11, 20, 21, 26, 27, 28 June 1968
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, 9, 11, 12, 15, 16, 18, 19, 22, 23, 24, 25 July 1968
9, 13, 14, 15, 16, 20, 21, 22, 23, 28, 29, 30 August 1968
3, 5, 6, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 23, 24, 25 September 1968
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 13, 14 October 1968

Producers: George Martin, Chris Thomas, John Lennon, Paul McCartney

Engineers: Geoff Emerick, Peter Bown, Ken Scott, Barry Sheffield, Ken Townsend

Released: 22 November 1968 (UK), 25 November 1968 (US)

John Lennon: vocals, electric guitar, acoustic guitar, bass guitar, piano, organ, Hammond organ, harmonium, harmonica, tenor saxophone, drums, timpani, percussion, tape loops, effects, samples, handclaps

Paul McCartney: vocals, bass guitar, six-string bass guitar, piano, electric guitar, acoustic guitar, organ, Hammond organ, electric piano, flügelhorn, recorder, drums, tambourine, bongos, percussion, handclaps

George Harrison: vocals, electric guitar, acoustic guitar, bass guitar, Hammond organ, drums, percussion, samples, handclaps

Ringo Starr: vocals, drums, tambourine, bongos, castanets, sleigh bell, maracas, percussion, effects, handclaps

George Martin: piano, celesta, harmonium

Eric Clapton: lead guitar

Chris Thomas: piano, Mellotron, harpsichord, organ, electric piano

Yoko Ono: vocals, effects, samples, handclaps

Mal Evans: backing vocals, trumpet, handclaps

Pattie Harrison, Jackie Lomax, John McCartney: backing vocals, handclaps

Maureen Starkey, Francie Schwartz, Ingrid Thomas, Pat Whitmore, Val Stockwell, Irene King, Ross Gilmour, Mike Redway, Ken Barrie, Fred Lucas, various others: backing vocals

Jack Fallon, Henry Datyner, Eric Bowie, Norman Lederman, Ronald Thomas, Bernard Miller, Dennis McConnell, Lou Sofier, Les Maddox: violin

John Underwood, Keith Cummings, Leo Birnbaum, Henry Myerscough: viola

Eldon Fox, Reginald Kilbey, Frederick Alexander: cello

Leon Calvert, Stanley Reynolds, Ronnie Hughes, Derek Watkins, Freddy Clayton: trumpet

Leon Calvert: flügelhorn

Tony Tunstall: French horn

Ted Barker, Don Lang, Rex Morris, J Power, Bill Povey: trombone

Alf Reece: tuba

Dennis Walton, Ronald Chamberlain, Jim Chester, Rex Morris, Harry Klein: saxophone

Art Ellefson, Danny Moss, Derek Collins: tenor saxophone

Ronnie Ross, Harry Klein, Bernard George: baritone saxophone

Raymond Newman, David Smith: clarinet

ncredited: 12 violins, three violas, three cellos, three flutes, clarinet, three saxophones, two trumpets, two trombones, horn, vibraphone, double bass, harp

The Beatles’ ninth original UK album, and their 15th in the United States, was their first double-length release. Commonly known as the White Album, the self-titled collection of 30 songs stands as a majestic cornucopia of styles, born from one of the group’s most creative periods.

The background

Although financially secure, critically and commercially acclaimed, and assured as figureheads of popular music, by the summer of 1968 The Beatles were in a degree of turmoil. The previous year they’d achieved possibly their crowning glory in Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, and suffered their first major artistic failure in the Magical Mystery Tour television film.

By 1968 The Beatles’ world had changed immeasurably from their early days. Having stopped touring in 1966, they were set free to explore the possibilities from inside the studio, and began enjoying the time that their fortunes allowed. Their musical output may have slowed from the mid-1960s, but their creativity was as strong as ever.

After Sgt Pepper changed the world, the world keenly awaited The Beatles’ next step. They had released just the six-track Magical Mystery Tour EP and the ‘Lady Madonna’ single since then, and there was widespread speculation in the press that they were a spent force.

While recording the album, the group was in the process of launching the multimedia business Apple Corps, while coping with various upheavals including drug busts, changing relationships and substance abuse.

The Beatles were old hands at dealing with such pressure. They turned away from the elaborate excesses of Sgt Pepper, recording instead a simple collection of 30 songs under an even simpler name: The Beatles.

George Martin later claimed he had wanted the group to omit the album’s weaker songs and focused instead on producing a solid single-disc release.

I thought we should probably have made a very, very good single album rather than a double. But they insisted. I think it could have been made fantastically good if it had been compressed a bit and condensed. A lot of people I know think it’s still the best album they made. I later learnt that by recording all those songs they were getting rid of their contract with EMI more quickly.

George Martin
Anthology

Ringo Starr agreed with the sentiment.

There was a lot of information on the double album, but I agree that we should have put it out as two separate albums: the ‘White’ and the ‘Whiter’ albums.

Ringo Starr
Anthology

Despite its faults as a collection, Paul McCartney stood by the album, saying that the wide variety of songs was a major part of its appeal.

I think it was a very good album. It stood up, but it wasn’t a pleasant one to make. Then again, sometimes those things work for your art. The fact that it’s got so much on it is one of the things that’s cool about it. The songs are very varied. I think it’s a fine album.

I don’t remember the reaction. Now I release records and I watch to see who likes it and how it does. But with The Beatles, I can’t ever remember scouring the charts to see what number it had come in at. I assume we hoped that people would like it. We just put it out and got on with life. A lot of our friends liked it and that was mainly what we were concerned with. If your mates liked it, the boutiques played it and it was played wherever you went – that was a sign of success for us.

Paul McCartney
Anthology”.

The Beatles began recording the White Album on 30 May 1968, shortly after Apple Records was set up. The first song to be attempted was ‘Revolution 1’, at the time just known as ‘Revolution’.

Recording continued througout the summer of 1968. The Beatles also recorded the single ‘Hey Jude’/‘Revolution’ in July 1968, although neither song was ever considered for inclusion on the album.

Although the early sessions were harmonious, with The Beatles working together to make the best of each others’ compositions, by the third month tensions began to rise. While recording the album, the group was in the process of launching the multimedia business Apple Corps, while coping with various upheavals including drug busts, changing relationships and substance abuse.

While not all of the White Album recording sessions were strained, there were frequent conflicts and disagreements within the group. The authority of George Martin, who had closely steered The Beatles during their formative years, began to wane during the sessions, and he was still much in demand by other recording artists.

At one point Martin spontaneously left to go on holiday, leaving his assistant Chris Thomas to produce the group. Often The Beatles found themselves essentially working alone with EMI’s engineers.

For the first time I had to split myself three ways because at any one time we were recording in different studios. It became very fragmented, and that was where my assistant Chris Thomas did a lot of work, which made him into a very good producer.

George Martin
Anthology

On 16 July the group’s engineer Geoff Emerick, who had played a key role in developing The Beatles’ recordings since Revolver, quit the sessions, announcing that he was no longer willing to work with the group.

With no-one taking overall control, the sessions often drifted without direction, with The Beatles recording numerous takes in an attempt to find inspiration. Among these was a 27-minute version of ‘Helter Skelter’. Another song, George Harrison’s ‘Not Guilty’, had more than 100 takes before it was abandoned; it remained unreleased until Anthology 3 in 1996.

Many of the songs were recorded as mostly solo efforts, with different Beatles occupying separate studios at the same time. Paul McCartney became used to working alone, although since Sgt Pepper he had taken a dominant role in recordings and was often happy to work on ideas without the rest of the group.

I remember having three studios operating at the same time: Paul was doing some overdubs in one, John was in another and I was recording some horns or something in a third. Maybe it was because EMI had set a release date and time was running out.

George Harrison
Anthology

On the White Album McCartney’s ‘Wild Honey Pie’, ‘Mother Nature’s Son’, and ‘Blackbird’ were all recorded without the other Beatles, and ‘Why Don’t We Do It In The Road?’ was a spontaneous recording produced by McCartney and recorded with a little help from Ringo Starr.

On 20 August, McCartney was working on the brass overdub for ‘Mother Nature’s Son’ when John Lennon and Ringo Starr entered, as engineer Ken Scott later recalled:

Paul was downstairs going through the arrangement with George [Martin] and the brass players. Everything was great, everyone was in great spirits. Suddenly, half way through, John and Ringo walked in and you could cut the atmosphere with a knife. An instant change. It was like that for ten minutes and then as soon as they left it felt great again. It was very bizarre.

Ken Scott
The Complete Beatles Recording Sessions, Mark Lewisohn

Two days later Starr walked out of the band. Although he rejoined within a fortnight, for a while it was intended as a permanent departure. The Beatles recorded ‘Back In The USSR’ and ‘Dear Prudence’ without him.

I left because I felt two things: I felt I wasn’t playing great, and I also felt that the other three were really happy and I was an outsider… I had a rest and the holiday was great. I knew we were all in a messed-up stage. It wasn’t just me; the whole thing was going down. I had definitely left, I couldn’t take it any more. There was no magic and the relationships were terrible. I’d come to a bad spot in life. It could have been paranoia, but I just didn’t feel good – I felt like an outsider. But then I realised that we were all feeling like outsiders, and it just needed me to go around knocking to bring it to a head.

I got a telegram saying, ‘You’re the best rock’n’roll drummer in the world. Come on home, we love you.’ And so I came back. We all needed that little shake-up. When I got back to the studio I found George had had it decked out with flowers – there were flowers everywhere. I felt good about myself again, we’d got through that little crisis and it was great. And then the ‘White’ album really took off – we all left the studio and went to a little room so there was no separation and lots of group activity going down.

Ringo Starr
Anthology”.

Recorded between Abbey Road Studios and Trident, London, The Beatles went to number one around the world upon its release in 1968. Before the anniversary on 22nd November, I want to take a moment to properly get inside a fascinating work! Whilst many say the album is variable in quality, one cannot deny that some of the band’s classics can be found. From George Harrison’s Long, Long, Long to Paul McCartney’s Blackbird and Back in the U.S.S.R. to John Lennon’s Happiness Is a Warm Gun and Revolution 9. Before getting to a couple of reviews, there are three features I want to source from – the last of which argues The Beatles is the band’s best albums. I am going to start out with a feature from The New Yorker from 2018. They talk about this “accidental perfection” of the album. I want to bring in their words regarding the album’s background. From when The Beatles arrived back in the U.K. from India. Those first stages:

“Upon returning to England from Rishikesh, India, in April, 1968, John Lennon and George Harrison stripped and sanded the psychedelic paintwork off of their Gibson J-160E and Casino guitars; Donovan, one of the many musicians who had accompanied them to the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi’s ashram for an advanced transcendental-meditation course, had told them that this would improve the sound. “If you take the paint and varnish off and get the bare wood,” Harrison explained later, “it seems to sort of breathe.” This stripping away of psychedelic symbolism was part of a larger campaign that the band undertook to remove the layers of Beatles mythology, habit, and convention that had accumulated since their beginnings, as Liverpool teen-agers—before Germany and America, before Astrid Kirchherr’s arty portraits had fetishized their mop-top haircuts, before Ed Sullivan and “A Hard Day’s Night,” and Shea Stadium, and the rest of it. Psychedelia, and the Beatles’ influential participation in it, had peaked with the release of their landmark 1967 album, “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band,” the surrealist tracks on which had beguiled the world and, many said, inspired the Summer of Love. The American political theorist Langdon Winner observed, “The closest Western Civilization has come to unity since the Congress of Vienna in 1815 was the week the ‘Sgt. Pepper’ album was released. . . . At the time I happened to be driving across the 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.”

“Sgt. Pepper” had its detractors: the British critic Nik Cohn complained that “it wasn’t much like pop. . . . It wasn’t fast, flash, sexual, loud, vulgar, monstrous or violent. . . . Without pop, without its image and its flash and its myths, [the Beatles] don’t add up to much. They lose their magic boots, and then they’re human like anyone else; they become updated Cole Porters, smooth and sophisticated, boring as hell.” “ ‘Sgt. Pepper’ is called the first concept album, but it doesn’t go anywhere,” Lennon observed years later; the next record, he believed, would be a chance “to forget about ‘Sgt. Pepper’ and get back to making music.” Brian Epstein, the record-store manager who discovered and managed the Beatles, had died unexpectedly in August of 1967; without Epstein, without the pressures and demands of touring (which they had stopped after 1966), and having reached this apparently historic peak of artistic and worldly success and fame, the Beatles were finally free from all constraints and paternal influences. When they eventually soured on meditation and the ashram culture—as Lennon would relate in his savage renunciation, “Maharishi” (eventually renamed “Sexy Sadie”)—there were, finally, no father figures left at all.

The sojourn in India, led by Harrison, had been an attempt to start over, accelerating the stripping-away process that would culminate in their most ambitious musical project. “I remember talking about the next album, and George was quite strict,” McCartney said. “He’d say, ‘We’re not here to talk music—we’re here to meditate.’ ” But the songwriting—inspired by the locale, the Maharishi’s lectures, and, especially, the impromptu celebrity community there—had accelerated, and Lennon soon sent a postcard to Ringo Starr (who had tired of meditation sooner than the others and returned to London), saying, “We’ve got about two LPs worth of songs now, so get your drums out.”

The Beatles’ transition from performance to studio work, and the atomized process it allowed and encouraged, now reached its apotheosis. George Martin, who was the Beatles’ Maxwell Perkins, producing all but one of their albums, explained, “The ultimate aim of everybody [had been] to try and recreate on records a live performance as accurately as possible. . . . We realized that we could do something other than that.” “Sgt. Pepper” is a simulacrum of a performance, the concert crowds replaced by recorded cheering, but the new record would remove this narrative crutch. Also gone was the picturesque subject matter: the street landscapes and polite courtships, the elderly couples and fumbling suitors and office workers trapped in suburban patterns, intruded upon by surrealism, like figures in Magritte paintings. In their place would be a clear, raw vision of an unsafe, chaotic world.

 PHOTO CREDIT: David Refern/Getty Images

As McCartney recounts in his notes accompanying the new edition, “We had left Sgt. Pepper’s band to play in his sunny Elysian Fields and were now striding out in new directions without a map.” The Abbey Road studios became the Beatles’ safe space, where, as McCartney writes,“the tensions arising in the world around us—and in our own world—had their effect on our music but, the moment we sat down to play, all that vanished and the magic circle within a square that was The Beatles was created.” Fitting together like a novel or a painter’s canvas, “The Beatles” abandons psychedelia for a more sophisticated set of aesthetic principles, embracing the avant-garde: Lennon had begun spending time with a new girlfriend, the conceptual artist Yoko Ono, who had been associated with the Fluxus movement, a group that pledged in its manifesto to “purge the world of dead art, imitation, artificial art, illusionistic art, mathematical art . . . promote a revolutionary flood and tide in art, promote living art, anti-art, promote non art reality to be fully grasped by all peoples, not only critics, dilettantes and professionals [and] Fuse the cadres of cultural, social & political revolutionaries into united front and action.”

“The Beatles” is as much a concept album as “Sgt. Pepper,” and the concept is, again, right in the title: a top-to-bottom reinvention of the band as pure abstraction, the two discs, like stone tablets, delivering a new order. (“By packaging 30 new songs in a plain white jacket, so sparsely decorated as to suggest censorship,” Richard Goldstein wrote in his New York Times review, “the 
Beatles ask us to drop our preconceptions about their ‘evolution’ and to hark back.”) The songs progress through a spectral, mystical, and romantic dimension, the soundscape itself becoming fluid and associative. The Beatles’ ability to conjure orchestras and horns and sound effects and choirs out of thin air imbues the tracks with a dream logic. The juxtaposition of order and disorder, of the ragged and the smooth, of the sublime and the mundane, of the meticulously arranged and the carelessly misplayed, provides what the critic John Harris called “the sense of a world moving beyond rational explanation.” The music seemed to absorb the panic and violence of 1968, the “year of the barricades.” As the Sunday Times critic commented, “Musically, there is beauty, horror, surprise, chaos, order; and that is the world, and that is what the Beatles are on about: created by, creating for, their age”.

PopMatters tackled the ”glorious, quixotic” mess that is The Beatles’ 1968 album. The fact that so many reviews and features call the album a ‘mess’ is not really an insult! It is a thirty-track album with all sorts of genres and sounds put together. Lord knows how much of a headache is must have been to sequenced the album to ensure that it was gripping from start to finish?! Is there one or two of the four sides that is imbalanced and a little stronger than the rest?! These are questions fans have been having since The Beatles arrived:

“Blackbird” is another solo recording by McCartney, a beautiful piece about the civil rights movement. It’s deceptively complex, with multiple signature changes as McCartney finger-picks his guitar and taps his foot for the beat. With its charming melody, McCartney’s sweet vocal and the uplifting nature of the lyrics, a strong argument could be made that “Blackbird” is McCartney’s strongest piece on the album.

Not quite so nice is Harrison’s snide “Piggies”, a bitter diatribe against society’s greed. Chris Thomas plays the harpsichord, which happened to be in the studio for a classical recording set to take place the next day. The Baroque string section arranged by Martin was added later. The classical pretensions only render the juvenile lyrics all the more jarring — it’s a thin joke of a song. Too bad Harrison’s “Not Guilty”, a track the band attempted to record numerous times before ultimately setting aside, didn’t fill this slot — it’s far superior.

The third animal-song in a row finds McCartney continuing his survey of every musical style possible with his wonderfully ridiculous country and western adventure “Rocky Raccoon”, a folk parody that even features a lively barrelhouse piano solo (played by Martin and sped up). The whole thing is rather absurd, from the exaggerated Western accent McCartney affects in the spoken-word intro, to the lyrics: “Her name was Magill and she called herself Lil, but everyone knew her as Nancy”. Despite all that, or perhaps because of it, “Rocky Raccoon” has a certain goofy charm.

The first composition by Ringo to appear on a Beatles’ album is the countrified “Don’t Pass Me By”, a shambolic novelty that adds another layer to the White Album’s idiosyncratic weirdness. With awkward lyrics (“You were in a car crash, and you lost your hair”) and clunky piano (amplified through a Leslie speaker to give it that Hammond organ feel) that plods away laboriously, “Don’t Pass Me By” is a bit of a mess — and yet it’s endearing all the same. Starr recorded the song with the always-willing McCartney’s help — Lennon and Harrison don’t seem to have participated. The wily fiddle busking over-top of the chaos is played by respected jazz musician Jack Fallon.

Hastily recorded near the end of the album’s sessions, McCartney’s quirky blues shouter “Why Don’t We Do It In The Road” is another figure in the White Album’s collection of curios. The idea apparently sprung from McCartney witnessing two monkeys casually copulating while the band was in India. He delivers a killer rock vocal over the rumbling piano and Ringo’s rock-steady rhythm.

The band mischievously sequences a song about rutting in a roadway alongside an absolutely lovely romantic ballad, “I Will”. Airily brief at under two minutes, “I Will” harkens back to the Beatles’ earlier days, especially with the vibrant acoustic guitar riff that blooms between verses. McCartney uses his voice instead of his guitar for the bass part, giving the track a charming homespun feel.

Lennon’s stunning “Julia” occupies the final slot on Side Two. A poignant ode to his late mother (and also to Yoko Ono), “Julia” was the final song recorded for the album. It’s dreamy and deeply felt, just Lennon over a finger-picked acoustic guitar. As “Martha My Dear” offers a glimpse into McCartney’s future solo career, so does “Julia” for Lennon. It could easily have fit on either Plastic Ono Band or Imagine. Indeed, one of the key tracks on Imagine, “Jealous Guy”, is a similar piece also written around this time and demoed for the White Album as “Child of Nature”.

Disc Two begins with another McCartney blues-rocker, “Birthday”. Built on a ferocious guitar riff that originated in a jam session, McCartney wrote it quickly in the studio and the band recorded it the same evening. Given its simplistic lyrics “Birthday” really should be a throwaway but it works thanks to one of the band’s better group performances on the album. Although never a single, “Birthday” has become something of a standard over the years and is arguably the most widely-known track on the album. It’s followed by Lennon’s ragged “Yer Blues”, which the band perversely recorded jammed together in a tiny storage room adjacent to the main studio. The result is a sloppy mess, with a piercingly shrill guitar solo and a jarring edit at the 3:17 mark. The track seems at least partly a satirical stab at some of the white-boy blues that was percolating in England at the time, but despite this Lennon’s vocal has some genuine feeling and it hints of things to come (“Cold Turkey”, in particular).

We go from Lennon’s haywire suicidal blues to McCartney’s tranquil “Mother Nature’s Son”, a lovely acoustic guitar ballad that had no involvement from the rest of the band. “Mother Nature’s Son” is folksy, prosaic, and another stylistic notch on McCartney’s musical bedpost. Martin arranged the four-piece brass section which adds a warm glow of color to the otherwise stark acoustic recording.

After the nice lull, things heat up quickly with Lennon’s electrifying rocker “Everybody’s Got Something to Hide Except for Me and My Monkey”. Lennon’s vocal is particularly manic, Harrison’s guitar work is blistering, the rhythm is kinetic, and there are shouts of exuberance audible in the background. McCartney madly clangs a fireman handbell through much of the song, adding to the general cacophony and excitement.

Another track, another trip. This one is world-weary cynicism and disillusionment. “Sexy Sadie” is Lennon’s bitter repudiation of the Maharishi over unfounded rumours that he made a pass at one of his sexy young adherents. Musically the slow grooving piano-based number is at least partially inspired by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, and ends up as one of the White Album’s more polished productions.

There’s nothing polished at all about “Helter Skelter”, however, McCartney’s attempt to record the loudest song he possibly could. John, Paul and George all bash away madly on their guitars, and Ringo slams into his kit with reckless abandon. The track has been much mythologized, thanks in large part to Charles Manson’s violent delusions. “Helter Skelter” is certainly a blunt force trauma to the head of a song, the most extreme rock the Beatles ever recorded. It’s oddly off-kilter and out of tune, a hurricane of irreverent messiness that exemplifies the ethos of the White Album perfectly.

As with many pieces on the White Album, there seems to be a parodic aspect to it, as McCartney tries to out-Who the Who, whose guitarist Pete Townshend was famous for smashing his guitar at the end of a gig. After the long fade out, it fades back in, before Ringo lets rip with a drum roll and that famous ad-libbed shout, “I’ve got blisters on my fingers!”

In keeping with the White Album’s gloriously perverse nature, the Beatles follow the loudest song with the softest, Harrison’s whispery “Long Long Long”, a lovely waltz infused with palpable spiritual longing. Harrison gently strums an acoustic guitar, McCartney handles the bass and the beautifully whirring Hammond organ, and Ringo displays some deft drum-work — Lennon isn’t on the recording at all. “Long Long Long” is perhaps most notable for its weird spectral ending, with Harrison wailing like a wounded ghost while the band members rattle their instruments ominously”.

In 2018, the BBC argued why you could make a case that The Beatles is the band’s best work. The Fab Four released something too epic, wide-ranging and good to be refuted. I think the weaker songs help in a way. It makes the album more human and interesting:

“The White Album’s working title was A Doll’s House, and it could be compared to a shambling mansion, with ballrooms, bedrooms, nurseries, cellars, and rooms full of junk that are rarely visited. It starts with a joke and ends with a lullaby. Between those two points, this omnivorous record takes bites out of folk, blues, rock’n’roll, ska, country, doo-wop, psychedelia, Tin Pan Alley, musique concrete and easy listening, while offering previsions of prog-rock and heavy metal. Happiness is a Warm Gun alone is three songs in one. Songwriting inspirations include a box of chocolates, a gun magazine, a Little Richard movie, Mia Farrow’s sister, monkey sex and, on the barbed wind-up Glass Onion, The Beatles’ own history.

The White Album was the first major release to deploy incoherence as a deliberate artistic strategy. It contains space-fillers even though there’s no space that needs filling, and is sequenced in such a way as to accentuate its jumbling together of the archaic and the avant-garde, the meaningless and the profound, the generous and the toxic, the ragged and the luminous, the spiritual and the profane, the desperately moving and the too silly for words. Many of John Lennon’s cryptic contributions are an assault on rationality itself. To be an editor is to presume that somehow The Beatles got it wrong and would rather have released 45 minutes of bangers. To be a sprawler is to embrace that rare, intoxicating quality that you might call everythingness. Perhaps that is why they called it The Beatles. This is what The Beatles is in 1968, the title implied. All of it. The whole damn mess.

IN THIS PHOTO: The Beatles entered Abbey Road Studios to start recording on 30th May, and administered the finishing touches on 14th October (1968)/PHOTO CREDIT: Getty Images

Over the years we’ve learned almost everything there is to know about the circumstances of its creation. We know that due to various rows, sulks and walkouts, the first stage of the band’s disintegration, all four Beatles appear on fewer than half the songs. We know about Yoko Ono’s contentious presence, Ringo’s huffy absence from Back in the USSR, John’s contempt for Paul’s “granny music shit”, and so on. We know that they were less than a year away from the last time that they all stood in a studio together, although in the newly released demos we can also hear that there was still plenty of fun to be had, despite those fissures. Even at the time, I imagine, one could hear pop’s quintessential gang of mates splintering into four individuals, and their musical fusions unravelling into discrete genre exercises. Listening to it is like watching an explosion in slow motion.

‘Wild, whirling spirit’

The White Album therefore made a fitting capstone for one of the most wildly eventful years of the 20th Century. The Beatles entered Abbey Road Studios to start recording on 30 May, and administered the finishing touches on 14 October. During that period, Charles de Gaulle quelled the student protests in Paris; Warsaw Pact tanks rolled into Prague; Robert F Kennedy was shot dead in Los Angeles; James Earl Ray was arrested for the murder of Martin Luther King; the Democratic National Convention in Chicago was marked by violence and chaos to the delight of Republican candidate Richard Nixon; the Ba’ath Party seized power in Iraq; the Tet Offensive concluded in Vietnam; the Troubles began in Northern Ireland; Andy Warhol mounted his first exhibition in Britain (and survived an assassination attempt); feminists protested the Miss America pageant in Atlantic City; censorship in British theatres came to an end, prompting the cast of Hair to take to the stage naked; Britain’s first abortion clinic opened its doors; and Nasa launched the first manned Apollo mission (Apollo 7). And that was just the 20 weeks while the Beatles were in the studio.It was an everything-at-once kind of year.

IN THIS PHOTO: The Beatles on their Transcendental Meditation course in India/PHOTO CREDIT: Getty Images

The White Album explicitly acknowledges almost none of this. On the rare occasions that it is political, it is muddled, petty or vague. John Lennon was so conflicted about that spring’s wave of protests that he hedged his bets on Revolution 1 (“Don’t you know that you can count me out… in”), and his inscrutable Stockhausen-inspired sample collage Revolution 9 obscured more than it revealed. Only decades later did Paul McCartney reveal that Blackbird was meant to be an ode to the women of the civil rights movement. George Harrison’s Piggies is a sour pellet of misanthropy fired at anyone foolish enough to be ordinary. Most of the songs were written during a Transcendental Meditation course in India, a long way from the barricades of Paris or Prague.

Some ‘68 radicals resented The Beatles’ distance from the frontlines (and scolded Lennon to his face) but The White Album didn’t need to describe the year’s events in order to capture its wild, whirling spirit. Like Radiohead’s OK Computer or the Specials’ Ghost Town, it is one of those records where a band’s internal turmoil mingled with the unrest of the wider world: by being true to their own tensions and insecurities, The Beatles connected powerfully with those of their listeners. To many people, 1968 felt exciting, infuriating, liberating, terrifying, funny, sad, depressing, exhausting and bewildering.

Between the tumbling madness of Helter Skelter, the helpless spectatorism of While My Guitar Gently Weeps, the suicidal grind of Yer Blues, the macabre whimsy of Rocky Raccoon, the defeated sigh of I’m So Tired, the hallucinatory swoon of Dear Prudence, the sonic maelstrom of Revolution 9, and the gentle stoicism of I Will, here was an album that expressed every emotion and its opposite. If you felt that things were falling apart and the centre could not hold, then, boy, did The Beatles have the perfect record for you. In the Sunday Times newspaper, Derek Jewell wrote that The Beatles were “created by, created for, their age”.

In a far less enduring review, New York Times critic Mike Jahn dismissed the album as “hip Muzak, a soundtrack for head shops, parties and discotheques,” and unfavourably compared it to jazz-rock group Blood, Sweat and Tears. Oops. But I can sympathise with anyone tasked with reviewing The White Album the week it came out, because even now it’s impossible to summarise. That’s what keeps it alive. Its illustrious predecessor Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band can feel, decades later, like a snow globe of 1967: exquisite, of course, but sealed tight, impermeable to new interpretations. The White Album feels roomy, unguarded and, in some peculiar way, malleable. Every time I hear it, there’s always something I’ve forgotten or can’t pin down.

On the face of it, one of the busy, dissonant Pop Art collages that made Richard Hamilton famous might have been a more apt sleeve design for such a teeming album, but his blank-slate minimalism sends a different message: make of this what you will. As EM Forster said of Herman Melville’s novel, “Moby-Dick is full of meanings: its meaning is a different problem.” Fifty years later, in another era of upheaval, dislocation, paranoia and confusion, The White Album remains pop music’s great white whale: forever enthralling, forever elusive”.

I will finish up with a couple of reviews. As you can imagine, The Beatles received near-perfect reviews from many upon its release. It is one of those albums where most of the reviews give it five stars. AllMusic were appropriately impressed by a staggering work from a band heading in different directions:

“Each song on the sprawling double album The Beatles is an entity to itself, as the band touches on anything and everything it can. This makes for a frustratingly scattershot record or a singularly gripping musical experience, depending on your view, but what makes the so-called White Album interesting is its mess. Never before had a rock record been so self-reflective, or so ironic; the Beach Boys send-up "Back in the U.S.S.R." and the British blooze parody "Yer Blues" are delivered straight-faced, so it's never clear if these are affectionate tributes or wicked satires. Lennon turns in two of his best ballads with "Dear Prudence" and "Julia"; scours the Abbey Road vaults for the musique concrète collage "Revolution 9"; pours on the schmaltz for Ringo's closing number, "Good Night"; celebrates the Beatles cult with "Glass Onion"; and, with "Cry Baby Cry," rivals Syd Barrett. McCartney doesn't reach quite as far, yet his songs are stunning -- the music hall romp "Honey Pie," the mock country of "Rocky Raccoon," the ska-inflected "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da," and the proto-metal roar of "Helter Skelter." Clearly, the Beatles' two main songwriting forces were no longer on the same page, but neither were George and Ringo. Harrison still had just two songs per LP, but it's clear from "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," the canned soul of "Savoy Truffle," the haunting "Long, Long, Long," and even the silly "Piggies" that he had developed into a songwriter who deserved wider exposure. And Ringo turns in a delight with his first original, the lumbering country-carnival stomp "Don't Pass Me By." None of it sounds like it was meant to share album space together, but somehow The Beatles creates its own style and sound through its mess”.

I will end with Pitchfork’s deep review in 2009. They awarded it a perfect ten when they provided their thoughts. Many share that sort of passion and praise for the album. The Beatles still sounds truly breathtaking fifty-five years after its release:

“The Beatles, the band's complex and wide-ranging double album from 1968, is all of these things. It's a glorious and flawed mess, and its failings are as essential to its character as its triumphs. People love this album not because every song is a masterpiece, but because even the throwaways have their place. Even so, for the Beatles, being all over the place was a sign of trouble. The disintegration of the group as one "thing" is reflected in every aspect of the record, from its recording history (John Lennon, Paul McCartney, and George Harrison sometimes worked in separate studios on their own songs) to its production (generally spare and tending to shapeshift from one song to the next) to the arrangements of the songs (which tend to emphasize the solo voice above all). Visual changes were also apparent. Until The Beatles, the group's album artwork tended to depict the band as a unit: same haircuts, same jackets, same costumes, same artist's rendering. But The Beatles was packaged with separate individual color photos of John, Paul, George and Ringo, and they now appear almost forebodingly distinct. All of a sudden, the Beatles neither looked nor sounded like a monolith. So soon after Pepper and the death of manager Brian Epstein in 1967, the writing was on the wall.

But the backstory of The Beatles, while fascinating, is inessential to the album's appeal. Yes, they wrote most of it in India on acoustic guitar, while on a pilgrimage of sorts in early 1968 to see the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Some of Lennon's songs, including "Sexy Sadie" and "Dear Prudence", are based directly on the group's disillusioning experiences there. But it's the spectral, floating mood of "Prudence" and Lennon's playful, faintly condescending vocal in "Sadie" that stay with you. And while we know that Lennon's new love, Yoko Ono, was a regular presence during the session, much to the rest of the band's chagrin (McCartney has claimed that she would sometimes sit on his bass amp during a take, and he'd have to ask her to scoot over to adjust the volume), and that her influence on him led to the tape collage "Revolution 9", the more important detail is the final one, that the biggest pop band in the world exposed millions of fans to a really great and certainly frightening piece of avant-garde art.

In one sense, "Revolution 9" almost seems like The Beatles in microcosm: audacious, repetitive, silly, and intermittently dull, but also pulsing with life. If the individual Beatles hadn't been on such a songwriting roll during this time or if the album hadn't been sequenced and edited so well, The Beatles could easily have been an overlong slog, a Let It Be x2, say. But somehow, almost in spite of itself, it flows. The iffy jokes ("Rocky Raccoon", "The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill", "Piggies") and genre exercises (Lennon's aggro "Yer Blues", McCartney's pre-war pop confection "Honey Pie") are enjoyable, even without knowing that another gem is lurking around the next corner.

If The Beatles feels more like a collection of songs by solo artists, they've also each got more going on than we'd realized. John is even more hilarious than we'd imagined, wanting nothing more than to puncture the Beatles' myth ("Glass Onion"), but he's also displaying a disconcerting willingness to deal with painful autobiography in a direct way ("Julia"). Paul's getting disarmingly soft and fluffy ("Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da", "I Will"), while simultaneously writing the roughest, rawest tunes in his Beatles oeuvre ("Back in the U.S.S.R.", "Helter Skelter"). George is finding a better way to channel his new Eastern-influenced spiritual concerns into a rock context, while his songwriting toolkit continues to expand ("While My Guitar Gently Weeps", "Long Long Long"). And even Ringo Starr writes a decent song, a country & western number with weirdly thick and heavy production ("Don't Pass Me By"). Listening as the tracks scroll by, there's a constant feeling of discovery.

But ultimately, the thing about this record is that the Beatles sound human on it. You feel like you're really getting to know them, just as they're starting to get to know themselves. Their amazing run between the latter part of 1965 through 1967 made them seem like a band apart, infallible musical geniuses always looking for another boundary to break. Here, they fail, and pretty often, too. But by allowing for that, they somehow achieve more. White Albums come when you surrender to inspiration: you're feeling so much, so intensely, that you're not sure what it all means, and you know you'll never be able to squeeze it all in”.

On 22nd November (25th November in the U.S.), 1968, The Beatles arrived and created a bang. A year after the planet-conquering Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, we were hearing a very different band. A thirty-track album where they were pushing sonic and lyrically boundaries like never before, what they released was a masterpiece! Last year, The Independent ranked The Beatles as the fourth-best from the band. Far Out Magazine put it in the same position a few years ago. Ultimate Classic Rock put it third in 2015. NME ranked it in fifth in their 2012 feature. No matter where you place it in relation to the other album, one cannot deny the sheer gravity and importance of the album. You can read more here in regards how The Beatles was received at the time and in the years since. It is a long, long, long album…though it is one that will…

STAY in the memory forever.

Sam Liddicott