Three Beatle Responses

I always enjoy little "snippets" like these, which highlight the various different Beatle Personality Types (covered in detail in the book Beatleology). The clips below are taken from Anthology, and capture the reactions of Paul, George, and Ringo on the subject of being awarded the MBE.

First, the Paul response, the "Ram," the personality type most likely to take the award - any award - seriously. Notice also that he takes it upon himself to make his opinion the group opinion, setting himself up as the spokesperson for the collective:



Next, the George response, the "Dark Horse," the one most likely to be a bit more "realistic" about the whole thing, and to come off as more-or-less cynical and jaded in the exchange:



Finally, the Ringo response, the "Octopus," the one most given to hedonism and fun and partying and soaking up the "good time" of it all:



Enough said?

We Can't Work it Out: 10 Keys to a Non-Productive Argument

Conflicts in relationships (romantic, familial, professional, etc.) are a fact of life. Hopefully they are infrequent, rather than characteristic, but they do seem to be unavoidable at times. A conflict or an argument can be a double-edged sword, however; an argument can either be a chance to get to know your partner better (and thus create deeper intimacy), or it can be destructive to the relationship.

If your goal is to destroy the relationship and create heartache (not to mention heart-burn) down the road, these ten key principles will help you reach your goal as quickly as possible.

(Of course, if you'd prefer to practice good communication skills with your partner and build the relationship, even in the midst of an argument, I recommend practicing the exact opposite of these ten principles.)

1) Use "you" statements - In order to sabotage an argument right from the start, it is important to make a lot of statements to your partner that begin with the word "you." For example: "You don't care about me," "You are so insensitive," "You are so blind," etc. For maximum effect, pepper these statements with passive-aggressive qualifiers that lessen your responsibility for having made the statement. For example, "You apparently don't think I'm important," "I guess you don't care what I think," and "Obviously, you aren't listening." These are value-loaded statements that cast your partner in a morally deficient light, and are guaranteed to invite hostile, defensive come-backs. Avoid statements that require you to take ownership for your feelings; owning the responsibility for the way you feel leaves the possibility open that you might have misinterpreted something. Never say, for example, "I feel neglected," "I feel misunderstood," "I feel like I'm not being heard," "I feel hurt," and so on. This might leave the door open for your partner to say, "I'm sorry you feel this way, how can I help you feel better?", and that might lead to conflict resolution.

2) Assume the worst - Ringo is the model to mimic here. When he sang, "I'm sorry that I doubted you, I was so unfair," he was giving an example of how to assume the worst about your partner. Your partner doesn't show up on time? Assume it's a personal assault on your feelings, and not that there may have been a hair-losing car crash. Giving someone the benefit of the doubt is a good way to avoid further angry arguments. If your partner leaves his dirty underwear on the floor for the 19th time in two weeks, assume it's because he just knows this will drive you crazy, and he's doing it on purpose just to be insensitive (this is a great opportunity to make another generalized "you" statement, such as, "You always do this, just to annoy me!"). If your partner decides to go out to the movies with her girlfriends and doesn't invite you along, assume it's because she doesn't want to be with you (capitalize on this with another value-loaded "you" statement, such as, "You clearly don't enjoy my company!"). If you assume your partner is someone with good-will, you run the risk of not even being able to start a relationship-destroying argument.

3) Invalidate your partner's feelings - It is very difficult to continue an argument if your partner refuses to follow principle #1 above, and insists on making statements like, "I felt disrespected when you were flirting with that girl at the checkout." However, all is not lost. You can continue to add fuel to the argument simply by invalidating or minimizing your partner's feelings with more "you" statements such as, "You're being too sensitive," "You have no reason for feeling that way," "You're being ridiculous," or (one of my favorites), "You shouldn't feel like that." This is especially easy to do if your partner has misunderstood you or misinterpreted your actions. If he says, "I felt ignored by you today," simply come back with, "I wasn't ignoring you." This effectively removes your partner's basis for even feeling the way they do, and invites further defensiveness: "You were too ignoring me!", to which you can retort, "I was not!", and on it goes. Never surrender any ground by acknowledging the validity of your partner's experience by saying something stupid like, "I'm sorry you felt disrespected, that must have made you feel insignificant," or, "I'm sorry you felt ignored today, you must have felt very alone inside." Just remember, "nothing is real," not even your partner's feelings and experiences.

4) Hide your true feelings - If your partner attempts to validate your feelings and thus bring resolution to a conflict, you must bury your feelings and show no vulnerability. If your partner has done something to make you upset, and he says something sensitive, such as, "You seem irritated right now, is there anything I can do to make you feel better?", deny that he has accurately read your feelings. Say something like, "No, I'm fine," and then walk away, or say, "No, it's nothing, it's just something stupid, don't worry about it," and refuse to go any further into detail. This will allow you to nurture the bad feelings towards your partner, which will help you build a reservoir of hostility over the next few days, weeks, or even months. Only when the negative feelings have fully ripened should you execute the surprise "reveal," preferably in the context of a future argument, thus blind-siding your partner (if he says something like, "I had no idea - when I asked you about this earlier, you said everything was fine," then you know you have succeeded). Emotional vulnerability paves the path to intimacy and conflict resolution. Always, always, always hide your feelings away.

5) Manipulate - Manipulation is a great way to prematurely end an argument, get your own way, and leave issues unresolved so that they can ferment, grow rotten, and be brought up again in future arguments. Be subtle about it, though. If you and your partner are arguing, for example, about how to spend your tax refund, you can manipulate the situation by resorting to a blend of steps 1, 2, and 4. Try a statement like, "Well, I can see why you wouldn't want to spend that money on a new couch, because you know how much I wanted a new couch [assuming the worst], and you apparently don't care about what I want [passive-aggressive "you" statement and assuming the worst], so just forget it about it, I don't care anymore [hiding your feelings]." If all goes well, your partner will key in on the "you don't care about what I want" statement, and, in an attempt to go above-and-beyond to prove the opposite, will surrender to your wishes. Even if this does not work, and your partner takes at face-value your statement, "I don't care anymore," this gives you the chance to nurse the grudge and bring up the incident at a later date. Macca succinctly communicates this principle with the lyric, "While you see it your way, run the risk of knowing that our love may soon be gone."

6) Get your point across - Some people think that the goal of communication is to get to know your partner by seeking to understand them, thus building intimacy. This is decidedly not conducive to destructive arguments, so instead, follow the principle that communication is about stating your point of view, no matter what. Talk longer, talk louder, repeat yourself, and generally do whatever it takes to keep your opinion in the forefront. Once your partner has heard your point of view, disconnect from the conversation. You have been heard, mission accomplished, no further need to listen to your partner or make sure you have reached an agreement. Dialogue is not nearly as important as monologue. Bombard your partner with words and don't give him or her a chance to reflect those words back to you in order to guarantee mutual understanding. If you do it right, your partner will surrender out of sheer exhaustion and just to get you to shut up.

7) Make demands - This is a variation on key principle #1 above, because it relies on "you" statements. The subtle twist here is that these statements will begin with "demand" words, such as, "You need to," "You should", "You can't", and so forth. These are value-loaded statements as well, implying that if your partner doesn't act on what you say, or disagrees with you, he or she is clearly in the wrong. For example, "You should spend less time watching movies" implies that your partner is doing something morally deficient, and is far more punchy a statement than saying, "I would like it if you spent less time watching movies." Or again, saying "You need to quit working so much overtime" is much more conducive to an argument than saying, "I'm worried about how much overtime you're working, I would feel so much better if you were able to cut back." Those kinds of statements imply that your partner has the freedom of choice, which rarely leads to a good, old-fashioned verbal barney.

8) Qualify your apologies - Saying the words "I'm sorry" can diffuse an argument faster than you can wink. However, you can still say the words, which puts you in the superior moral position, while simultaneously qualifying the apology in such a way as to undercut its sincerity. Simply add the words "if" or "but" to the apology. For example, "I'm sorry I offended you, but you shouldn't have gotten so upset." Or again, "I'm sorry if I said something to hurt you, I didn't know you'd take it that way." The "but" quickly shifts the focus away from your partner's feelings and sets the stage for the next point of argumentation; the "if" implies that you really don't empathize or even agree with your partner's feelings (see #3 above, on invalidating your partner's feelings and experience). It would be too easy to simply say, "I'm sorry you felt offended by what I did," or "I'm sorry that you felt hurt by what I said." Always qualify the apology; not only does this leave the door open to continue the argument, but now you can always go back to the statement, "I already apologized for that!" This will leave your partner feeling unsatisfied with the apology (because there was no empathy or validation of feelings), and it gets you off the hook for the perceived offense.

9) Surrender your position - This goes hand-in-hand #4 above, hiding your true feelings. Some people believe that an argument can be resolved in such a way that both parties are allowed to retain their point of view. It's called "agreeing to disagree" or "reaching a compromise." Of course, everyone knows that an argument can only end when one of the parties bends to the other person's will and gives something up. If you cannot manipulate your partner into surrendering to your wishes, you can take the path of conflict avoidance by simply surrendering yourself. Statements such as, "Fine, we'll do it your way", or "You know, it doesn't matter to me anymore" allow you to end the argument without any lasting resolution. It also allows you to play the victim and wallow in martyrdom, while simultaneously giving you a trump card to play in a future argument. If you surrender your position without reaching real resolution, you can effectively put your partner in a position of future obligation ("you owe me one"), or ongoing guilt.

10) Bail out early - Emotional detachment is a relatively quick way to end an argument without reaching resolution or building intimacy. You can disconnect from an argument very early by simply walking away and ignoring the problem, hiding your true feelings (see #4), surrendering your position (see #9), throwing in a terse "I don't want to talk about it," or promising "we'll talk about this later" without ever following through on that promise. Bailing out of an argument sends the message, "I'm not really invested in this relationship, or in you," and reduces the risk of emotional vulnerability; it prevents further honing of communication skills, and creates obstacles to intimacy. This is a sure-fire way to create an environment for future no-holds-barred arguments, in which any one or more of these ten key principles can be put to use again. With any luck, you can destroy a perfectly good relationship within a few short months.

Yeah, I Need Love

"Simply put, Pauls are lovers. They cannot function without love. Pauls are hopeless romantics - and they are annoyingly codependent girlfriends, boyfriends, and spouses." (Jaquette, Beatleology, p. 62)

Ah, the hopeless romantics. Where would the world be without them and their constant output of silly love songs, poetry, and sentimentalism? But the Inner Paul sign can truly be a double-edged sword, because romanticism itself can be a double-edged sword. There's nothing wrong with a good dose of sentimentalism, but when it begins to manifest itself in the form of codependency, it's time to step back and consider a few things.

There is a somewhat common theme in love songs, and it's a theme that presents an interesting paradox: the notion of possession. It's a recurring refrain in many Beatles lyrics: "I'm so proud to know that she is mine" (Good Day Sunshine), "Now you're mine" (Ask Me Why), "You'll be mine, girl" (Things We Said Today), "We'll have some fun when you're mine, oh, mine" (Little Child), "Let me know that you're mine" (Twist and Shout), "It's getting better since you've been mine" (Getting Better). I suppose, as a wind-swept romantic notion, it's alright - perhaps even expected. There is some element of exclusivity in the arena of real love: I'll be yours and yours alone, if you'll be mine and mine alone.

The potential difficulty here, however, is that possession doesn't work out very well in the real world of actual relationships. If I am in a relationship, the first and foundational truth is that I am in that relationship with another person, and the concept of possession does not apply. I can possess an object, but not a person. What becomes of the idea of exclusivity, then? This is the constant tension in any healthy relationship: if he belongs to her, and she belongs to him, it is only because both of them, as autonomous individuals, have voluntarily chosen to stay with the other person. The flip side is that either person can voluntarily choose to leave at any time, because neither person truly surrenders their autonomy. This on-going tension is precisely what highlights the truth of real love: it must be rooted in trust. He cannot truly possess her, even though in some ways that might put him more at ease. He can only trust that she will stay. As long as both of them remain where they are, they will always be together, but it will not be because one of them has claimed ownership of the other.

The manifestation of codependency in a relationship, which is rooted in an attempt to possess the other person, is really a revelation of insecurity at best, or outright distrust at worst. She does not fully trust that he will stay, and so she attempts to possess him more firmly, as a way to make up for the deficiency of trust. He lacks self-security, and worries that her interests in other things outside of their relationship indicate a lack of interest in him, and so he tries to cling harder to her in order to fill the internal void.

This is the gist of the Inner Paul's paradox. His frequent expressions of love and sentimentality are not bad things, in themselves, but he must make an effort to be aware of his motives. She may call him five times a day, but why is she doing it? Is it because she was thinking about him, and just wanted to tell him "I love you"? Or is it because she's nervous that they haven't talked in a few hours, and she needs to know where he is and what he's doing (which is a way of retaining control)?

There's a fine line between the chaos of possession and the creation of sentimentality. The Inner Pauls of the world are full-to-overflowing with love, which means that "they need to not only feel love but give love constantly." (Jaquette, Beatleology, p. 63) This can be a great strength in a relationship, because the relationship will never be lacking the spark of those first, heady days when love was new. But if this personality trait is not tempered and kept in check, it can smother and ultimately destroy the relationship.

If you are in a relationship with an Inner Paul, you should be aware of his or her need for frequent reassurance and gestures of love, and celebrate your partner's sentimental and romantic streak. If you are an Inner Paul, you need to be aware of your "smothering potential", and check your motives once in a while: are you sending him flowers because you love him and just wanted him to know that, or is it because you're afraid of losing him and you're trying to keep him tethered to you? Try to take a step back and remind yourself that your partner is a person and not an object to be possessed, knowing that if you treat her and honor her as a person, she will never have a reason to look elsewhere for the love that you so naturally are able to express.

Come Together

The question came up again recently: who is your favorite Beatle?

I don't think I've ever liked that question, really, because it tends to inspire a blank stare in response, and then I just look foolish (or stoned, but, I repeat myself).

The short answer to the question is this: I can't decide who my favorite Beatle is, any more than I can decide which of my vital organs is my favorite. I need them all, and I need them to be together (my vital organs and Beatles).

The longer answer, I suppose, is something like this ...

Aristotle said it best (and although I cannot prove it yet, I'm sure he was referring to The Beatles when he said it): "In the case of all things which have several parts and in which the totality is not, as it were, a mere heap, but the whole is something beside the parts, there is a cause." (Metaphysics, Book VIII, part 6) Or, as the more popular re-wording goes, "the whole is greater than the sum of its parts."

Each individual Beatle brought something unique to the table, a particular "part" that formed the "whole." And those individual "parts" formed something entirely unrepeatable in the context of the other three Beatles; Paul McCartney's knack for melody, for example, took concrete shape within the framework of The Beatles in a way that was different from how it took shape within the framework of Wings.

In other words, I can't say, "Paul was my favorite, because he wrote the prettiest melodies." Paul wrote great songs, but his ability to write was not a static talent; it took on a very different dynamic when it was assimilated into the larger world of Beatledom.

And this is why I love The Beatles more than any other band; this is why my appreciation for The Beatles goes far, far beyond merely liking their melodies or their lyrics. In a time when the rock-band formula was to emphasize a leader and lump his "backup band" together, The Beatles remained a collective unity. Bill Haley and the Comets; Buddy Holly and the Crickets; Gerry and the Pacemakers; Paul Revere and the Raiders; Tommy James and the Shondells; Rory Storm and the Hurricanes; John Lennon and the Beatles?

It doesn't work, because that's not who The Beatles were. George Martin recognized this almost immediately; he writes in his memoir, All You Need is Ears, "When I first met them, there was no obvious leader ... I put them to the test individually ... I was thinking, on balance, that I should make Paul the leader. Then, after some thought, I realised that if I did so I would be changing the nature of the group. Why do that? Why not keep them as they were?" (All You Need is Ears, p. 124)

After going to see The Beatles play at The Cavern Club, and seeing the marked difference between their group-based performance and the performance of the other leader-plus-backup-group bands that night, George Martin concluded, "A group they were, and a group they had to stay." (All You Need is Ears, p. 125)

The Beatles, as a unified group, represent a life philosophy that I believe in, and something I try to put into practice: we human beings were intended for community, not for isolation. Life is meant to be shared with others. Look outward, not inward. Diversity within a community can be the catalyst for attaining what could not otherwise be imagined by acting as a "Lone Ranger." As Tim Riley so nicely summed it up, "[The Beatles] embodied the notion that an individual can realize his own identity in a community, even when it consists of four utterly different - even contradictory - parts." (Tell Me Why, pp. 18-19)

So who is my favorite Beatle? This one:

If It's Funny, I Might Not Understand

This pic comes courtesy of the Forthlin Road tumblelog (you know that Forthlin Road is where Paul McCartney lived, right? Just checking.)

This is John, doing his "spastic" or "cripple" impersonation. He did it frequently on stage (apparently very frequently in the Hamburg days) to get a laugh from the audience; the lame foot, the twisted face, the claw-bent hands.

What I find most interesting about this is what John's biographers have said about his almost-irrational fear of the lame, disfigured, or mentally handicapped. Norman writes in John Lennon: A Life that, on one occasion, John was sitting down to a meal in a public place, and when a slightly disfigured individual came in and sat down at a nearby table, John quickly bolted and left his meal behind.

Another twist: John also thought he himself was ugly. You've seen those video clips, where the camera settles on John's face, and he almost immediately pulls his mouth into a tongue-stuffed distortion and crosses his eyes? I think that's a defense mechanism; using humor as a way to distract from a personal insecurity. If I make my face look exaggeratedly grotesque and get you to laugh, it might distract your attention from the (self-perceived) ugliness of my natural face.

The on-stage "gimp" act certainly got more than a few laughs. But when I see it, in pictures like this or in film clips, it makes me slightly sad, because it points up John's inner fears and low self-esteem. And it was so unnecessary. He was a beautiful guy, and the camera captured that on more than one candid occasion, when he didn't realize he was being photographed. But, alas, we tend to mock what we fear, and we tend to fear what we do not understand.

When I remember John, this is how I like to picture him. Without the "spastic" face; without the cold-eyed defiant stare (which was also a defensive facade); just smiling, relaxed, probably unaware that his picture was even being taken. In short, I like to remember the John Lennon face that reflected, to use his own words, "the little child inside the man":

The Beatle Within You (and Without You)

Over the years, my continued interest in psychology, temperaments, personality types, and generally whatever makes people "tick" has brought me into contact with the standard tests and quizzes: The Meyers-Briggs Type Indicator, the DISC profile assessment, the Keirsey Temperament Sorter, the Four Temperament theory, etc.

All of these paradigms operate more-or-less with a "quadrant" model; four temperaments, four profiles, four pairs of dichotomies.

I suppose it was only a matter of time, then, before someone hit upon the brilliant idea of sorting the personality types and temperaments, not merely into four categories, but into Fab Four categories. In their book Beatleology, the Jaquette brothers mix psychology and astrology to present a rather interesting theory: we all have a Beatle within us. We all have an Inner John, an Inner Paul, an Inner George, or an Inner Ringo at work in our personalities, dictating (or at least influencing) how we view the world, how we interact with people, how we experience love, how we work, how we play.

Because we human beings are not one-dimensional, Beatleology proposes further that, in addition to having a primary Inner Beatle Sign, most of us also have a Minor Beatle - a Beatle "Rising" - that further shapes and sharpens the way our primary Inner Beatle manifests itself.

Reading this book was great fun for me, and it was surprisingly accurate in pin-pointing both my Inner Beatle (George) and my Beatle Rising (Paul). Even more fun, I think, is how this material has further defined how I view and interact with others: friends, family, co-workers, etc. It really has helped me, in more than one situation, to know that I'm a George interacting with a Paul in this certain scenario, or interacting with a Ringo in this specific conversation. But it has also helped me keep a realistic perspective of myself, and become more fully who I am and who I was meant to be. Knowing that I have a George-like tendency to over-think and over-reflect keeps me from lapsing into long periods of dark brooding; knowing that I have a strong Paul Rising helps me tap into and access the optimism and positive energy that comes with that Minor Sign.

Absorbing the material in the book has also increased my enjoyment of The Beatles themselves. As I watch clips of interviews, or scenes from their movies, or read their biographies, I find myself repeatedly thinking, "That's very typical Inner John behavior," or, "Of course Paul would say something like that, he's the original Paul Sign!"

John, the introspective, highly creative, slightly impulsive, intelligent, productive, troubled one; Paul, the optimistic, practical, domineering, energetic, overbearing, romantic one; George, the brooding, reserved, pensive, creative, dependable one; and Ringo, the down-to-earth, get-along-with-everybody, unassuming, loyal, peacemaking, what's-for-lunch, fun-loving one.

I recently read an account of the lads' trip to India, and I had to laugh at how accurately their individual reactions to the spiritual quest reflected their Beatle Signs. John looked within himself, and had to wrestle with the inner demons surrounding his crumbling marriage and newly blossoming relationship with Yoko - he left India somewhat disillusioned; Paul used the time in a very practical way, comfortably marrying measured meditation with his creativity, writing lots of new songs, planning the next album; George, like John, became introspective, and quickly attached himself to the spirituality and search for inner meaning - unlike John, he processed things in a more optimistic way (and was furious at Paul for tainting spiritual reflection with commercial planning); and Ringo? Ringo left after two weeks because the food was bad and the weather was unbearable, and frankly, he was hoping India would have made a better "holiday" than it did. Ever the peacemaker, he left without making a splash, unlike John and George later did.

The authors of Beatleology have a web site here, which contains a shortened form of the I Am the Walrus Quiz. This shortened version of the personality test is probably enough to pin-point your primary Beatle Sign, but I would recommend buying the book and taking the full-blown exam (approx. 50 questions) to discover both your primary Beatle Sign and your Minor Beatle Sign.

Much more on the subject to come, eventually. Stay tuned.

Through the Revolving Door

I don't subscribe to everything that Tim Riley says in his book, Tell Me Why.  But when he came right out and took the firm stance that the best album in The Beatles' catalog is Revolver, and not, contrary to popular opinion, Sgt. Pepper, I mentally saluted the man for having the courage to say it.

He got me thinking.  What makes Revolver such a great album goes beyond, I think, the mere meat and bones of each individual song.  They are great songs, individually, no question about it.  And there is a substantial amount of "maturity" that shows on these songs: the guitar solo in "Taxman" breaks free of typical blues-based scales and heads East for a more Indian sound; "I'm Only Sleeping" features a backwards guitar solo; both "She Said She Said" and "And Your Bird Can Sing" showcase some gritty guitar tones that foreshadow the classic rock sound of the 70s, and move further away from the clean "twang" of the early 60s sound; "Love You To" introduces a full range of Indian instrumentation, and takes a daring risk by sticking with a title that makes no grammatical sense.

Those are the songs, individually.  Taken as a whole, however, they come together (right now) to tell a more complicated story that holds up very well.  The album is not just a collection of songs on display; the album is a complete work of art, with individual messages that also become fragments of a larger mosaic.  And I think Revolver does this in a way that Sgt. Pepper doesn't.

The album is neatly bookended by "Taxman" and "Tomorrow Never Knows", two songs that form the abstract outline of the album's story: all is vanity and a chasing of the wind, because we're only working for someone else anyway, and the only true meaning in life is "the meaning of within," which is to say, "love is all."  The rest of the songs on the album only do their part to support and affirm this message.

Right out of the gate, The Beatles back up the delivery truck right to the listener's front door, and start unloading entire skids of Hard, Cold Reality.  "Taxman" and "Eleanor Rigby" form a musical one-two punch: death and taxes are the only guarantees.  Already, only two songs into the album, we are a long, long, long way from mop-tops and woo-yeahs.

After this rather shocking wake-up call, "I'm Only Sleeping" offers one solution to the hard edges of life: you can always ignore it, or find a way out through escapism.  Yawn, blink, shrug it off.  There are taxes to be paid and lonely people in the world, but "don't shake me" now, and "don't spoil my day," because "after all, I'm only sleeping."  It's a valid proposal.  Some people choose to throw themselves into life and treat it like a battle; it's kill or be killed.  For John, however, this approach holds no appeal: those are the "crazy" people who are always "running everywhere at such a speed, until they find there's no need."

Running parallel to this particular form of the escapist dream is another kind of escape.  In "Doctor Robert", the exit path is lined with drugs of whatever kind: pain-killers, acid, pot, or any other drug of choice.  The good doctor is ready to offer a drink from his "special cup" in order to provide a short-cut to the desired end: "feeling fine."  Riley draws attention to the use of the church organ and choir-boy sound in the bridge; it seems as though both medicine and religion get a bit of a nose-tweaking here, by being implicitly linked together in the music.

"Love You To" makes its own contribution to the discussion, which is both affirming and cautious.  The fact is unavoidable, "A lifetime is so short," and "a new one can't be bought," and so our time is most rewardingly invested in acts of love: "make love all day long, make love singing songs."  Still, there is the parting warning: "There's people standing round who'll screw you in the ground."  Once again, reality is acknowledged, but hope is not despaired of.

As if to capitalize on this central point, that above all else there is the pursuit of love, the next track on the album, "Here, There, and Everywhere", is nothing less than a solemn hymn in honor of love's delights.  After everything that has come before it, this song is a refreshing departure from the darker corners of reality.  Paul's soothing voice reminds the listener that love is just as good as you'd think it could be, and despite the nightmare of death and taxes, the truth remains that "love never dies."

This song is only one part of a trilogy of love songs found on this album.  "Good Day Sunshine" and "Got to Get You into My Life" round out the picture, celebrating the joy and bliss to be found in sharing the adventure of life with a partner.  In love, "I've got something I can laugh about," and permanence and stability become the antidote to the rest of life's fickle temporalities: "I want you to hear me say we'll be together every day."

This trilogy of love-in-song, however, is neatly balanced by a counter-trilogy that keeps the listener from drifting too far into naive, ignorant bliss.  Love is central, love is good, love is the answer, yes; but it is not to be taken lightly, or treated flippantly, and even love comes with its own set of challenges.  In the trilogy of "For No One", "I Want to Tell You", and "And Your Bird Can Sing", we come face-to-face with the potential pitfalls of the human relationship: being misunderstood ("you don't get me"), finding it hard to be heard ("you can't hear me"), being taken for granted ("she no longer needs you"), dealing with a head "filled with things to say" and struggling to "speak my mind and tell you."

Finally, there is "Yellow Submarine".  Paul has said on more than one occasion that this tune was intentionally written as a children's sing-along song, and as such, it serves a specific purpose within the album's storyline.  Life is a balance; there is joy and there is sorrow; there is loneliness and there is star-crossed love; there is yawning indifference or drug-induced flight, and there is responsible engagement.  In the midst of it all, "Yellow Submarine" introduces the concept of retaining a child-like innocence and wonder; a little bit of fantasy here and there isn't a bad thing.  It keeps things light and playful.  If everything is given its proper place, and balance is retained, then "every one of us has all we need."

As a concept album, I think Revolver unintentionally accomplishes what Pepper intentionally attempted, but failed to do.  Pepper doesn't hold together as tightly as Revolver.  With its flashy costumes and circus trips and newspaper taxis, Pepper tries to fly off into a fantasy world, but it never stays there; it keeps crashing back into the world of runaways and mind-numbing suburban life and news headlines.

I'm not saying Pepper is a bad album.  The songs are fantastic, as songs.  But as a collective whole, it just doesn't present a coherent story in the way that Revolver does.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An afterthought: this is, admittedly, a lot of analysis to choke down.  It might even be an exercise in reading too much between the lines.  So do yourself a favor and indulge in a little treat - God knows you deserve it.  Set aside an hour, preferably a relaxing hour of the night; get your copy of Revolver, in whatever format you enjoy (bonus points, however, if your format is vinyl); mix yourself a scotch and coke, or some other similar adult beverage; absolutely, smoke 'em if you got 'em; set the volume low enough that your ears don't bleed, but loud enough that you can still hear the clicks of the plastic guitar picks against the nickel-plated strings.

And listen to the music.

Really, really listen.

The Songs He Was Singing

Paul, on writing "I'm Looking Through You", and on songwriting as a way of dealing with emotional baggage:

"[Jane] went down to the Bristol Old Vic quite a lot around this time. Suffice it to say that this [song] was probably related to that romantic episode and I was seeing through her facade. And realising that it wasn't quite all that it seemed. I would write it out in a song and then I've got rid of the emotion. I don't hold grudges so that gets rid of that little bit of emotional baggage." (Paul McCartney, Many Years from Now, p. 276)

Good advice from the guy whose default demeanor is wink-and-thumbs-up. Don't sit around with a grudge. Do something creative with it. Write a song, write a poem, draw a picture, turn it into a short story, journal it - hell, get out a couple of cans of Play-Doh and make a throwaway sculpture. Anything is better than burying the baggage and letting it ferment.

Listen to what the man said.

All Together Now

"From the outset, [The Beatles] embodied the notion that an individual can realize his own identity in a community, even when it consists of four utterly different - even contradictory - parts. Their view of the world, as seen through their records, affirms a sense of perspective no matter what they happen to be singing about: whether it's a broken heart or some shattered illusion, the individual slant is always framed in a group context." (Tim Riley, Tell Me Why, pp. 18-19)