It’s Election Day So…It’s the Beatles

By David Corn  November 8, 2022

The Beatles at a press conference at the Warwick Hotel in New York City, August 22, 1966. AP

It’s Election Day, and it’s almost all over but for the shouting—and the lawsuits, vote counting controversies, election denialism, and possible additional chaos to come. I’m not predicting anything in particular, but merely acknowledging that we may no longer have elections in the United States free of disinformation battles and efforts to overturn results. The ride might be bumpy these coming days. And even more tumultuous after that, should the Republicans gain control of one or both houses of Congress. I’ve commented extensively here and elsewhere on the turmoil that would result. No need to bang that drum today. My traditional Election Day routine is to vote, clean my office, and noodle a few ideas for a story to write after the results become clear. There’s not much I could put in the newsletter today that wouldn’t repeat what I’ve already written or lessen your sense of dread.

So instead, I offer you…the Beatles.

Some of the most popular non-political items in Our Land have been about the Fab Four, so it seemed fitting to reprise these previous offerings as a palate cleanser before we face the music of the midterm elections. I certainly know that I could use a respite, having  spent the past few weeks breaking news on the most extremist of the extreme GOP candidates. I reported that Ohio Senate candidate J.D. Vance flip-flopped on his opinion about the infamous racist Charlottesville march and that he appeared on the podcast of a right-winger who once said “feminists need rape,” where Vance called for the “de-Nazification” of the federal government, meaning illegally purging anyone in the civil service deemed not sufficiently loyal to Trumpism. I wrote about the similarity between Vance’s elite-denouncing, anti-woke rhetoric and that of Giorgia Meloni, the Mussolini fangirl in Italy. I noted how Vance and Arizona GOP Senate contender Blake Masters, each the beneficiary of millions of dollars in campaign bucks from libertarian, Trumpish billionaire Peter Thiel, were Big Tech-bashing hypocrites.

I revealed that as part of his TV show hucksterism Pennsylvania Senate candidate Mehmet Oz promoted an anti-vaxxer who became a leading disseminator of Covid disinformation. Another scoop: Arizona GOP gubernatorial candidate Kari Lake’s campaign ran an ad featuring a Phoenix businessman that did not disclose he was a virulently homophobic and Islamophobic pastor whose church called for the “submission” of wives. And I repeatedly wrote about the extremist ties of Mark Finchem of Arizona and Jim Marchant of Nevada, each a QAnon-friendly election-denier and GOP secretary of state candidate. Finchem, I revealed, was connected to far-right, militia-related groups that engaged in voter intimidation and was closely associated with a lawyer involved in a fake-electors scheme. If either of these two guys win, he will oversee elections in a crucial swing state. Not to state the obvious, but that’s bad news for democracy.

There’s just been too much GOP nuttiness and irrationality to cover this campaign season. (Did I mention election deniers Doug Mastriano in Pennsylvania, Adam Laxalt in Nevada, Herschel Walker in Georgia, and Don Bolduc in New Hampshire?) And some of the wingnuts, election-deniers, QAnoners, and Thielites may win. For many American, that will be discouraging and present profound challenges. But there will be plenty of time to sort out how best to deal with those lunatics, liars, and bigots who end up in power. For now, remember to vote, and, ladies and gentlemen…the Beatles.

Got anything to say about this item—or anything else? Email me at ourland@motherjones.com

Has Paul McCartney Finally Won Me Over?

(July 24, 2021)

I was always a John guy, not a Paul guy. Paul didn’t even place second. He was behind George. The reasons were obvious. Lennon was biting, acerbic, and subversive. McCartney was merry and eager to be your mate. John was politics. Paul was entertainment. (“Imagine,” the global peace anthem Lennon wrote with Yoko Ono fifty years ago, opened the Tokyo Olympics on Friday.) I knew which side of that divide I was on. And yet, in my dotage, as I was watching the new Hulu documentary series, McCartney 3,2,1, I softened on this once all-important distinction. In this six-part series, acclaimed producer and music exec Rick Rubin, a pioneer of hip hop, chats with McCartney in a recording studio with a console that allows them to listen to and remix the individual tracks of assorted Beatles tunes. A free-flowing conversation ensues, as the pair discusses how the Fab Four recorded many of their culture-changing creations.

The series is chockful of wonderful moments, as Sir Paul describes the various techniques they developed in the studio and the nifty tricks they employed during slapdash, on-deadline sessions. The guitar riff on “Hard Day’s Night,” for instance, was recorded at half speed, an octave lower, and then sped up in the final mix because Lennon couldn’t play it fast enough. (Do we now feel cheated knowing this?) There’s an oscillator tone that only dogs can hear on Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (which got its name because McCartney misheard Ringo Starr when the drummer asked for the salt and pepper.) And as McCartney shares poignant memories of his former bandmates and their early days, he affirms that his songwriting partnership with Lennon—arguably the most successful artistic collaboration in human history—succeeded because of their yin-yang dynamic. He was the sunny optimist; Lennon was the dark cynic. McCartney points out with a chuckle that when the group was recording “Getting Better” and he sang, “It’s getting better, a little better all the time,” Lennon threw in, “It can’t get no worse.” In a nutshell.

There’s probably not much that McCartney can say at this stage to cast new light on his relationship with Lennon. Since Lennon’s murder in 1980, their collaboration has been explored in countless books, articles, documentaries, and podcasts. But it’s a delight to watch him revisit their glory days in EMI Studios (later dubbed Abbey Road). A significant component of the conversation focuses on the crucial role of McCartney’s under-appreciated bass-playing in the band’s oeuvre. Rubin and McCartney’s dissection of the bass line on “Come Together” is fascinating. “Now I know what I played,” McCartney says with a laugh.

What’s most beguiling about McCartney is his charming and straightforward description of his sixty-five years of songwriting. Reflecting on his creative process, he tells Rubin: “That’s what I’ve sort of done my whole life. That’s what I am still doing. Just trying to discover a little thing that sounds nice. Someone said Mozart once said, ‘I write the notes that like each other.’ And I like that.” McCartney’s attitude is highly uncomplicated: “That’s what I love about music, life. There’s always that next little song you can be thinking about or writing.” Next little song.

For the harder-edged among us, McCartney could come across as sappy. (“Silly Love Songs”?) But in the Hulu series, his devotion to the task of producing “a little thing that sounds nice” over and over again is heartwarming and admirable. Lennon was the artist-activist who wanted to change the world. Harrison was the spiritual seeker and searcher. McCartney is the cheerful chap aiming to make the planet a happier place with his ditties. (If you want to get happy, join the 61 million people on YouTube who have watched the visit to Liverpool McCartney took with James Corden for the Carpool Karaoke series and his surprise concert at a local pub.)

Eight years ago, I saw McCartney perform at Nationals Park in Washington, DC. I went with low expectations—mainly to accompany a friend—assuming this past-his-prime ex-Beatle would phone in a bunch of golden-oldies to rake in easy money. I was wrong. The performance—his singing, his playing, and the accompanying band’s virtuoso work—was impressive and inspiring. The show featured smart and moving tributes to Lennon and Harrison. Half a century after the Beatles’ first trip to the United States, McCartney was still busting his bum to please, please us. It was menschy.

Still, it was tough to shake the remains of the John-Paul clash that they each fueled with bitter songs about the other following the group’s breakup. That battle drew in passionate partisans. After Lennon was assassinated in 1980, legendary rock critic Robert Christgau, approvingly quoting his wife, wrote, “Why is it always Bobby Kennedy or John Lennon. Why isn’t it Richard Nixon or Paul McCartney?” He continued: “The fact is obvious enough. Dylan, of course. Jim Morrison, possibly. Neil Young, conceivably. But Paul McCartney? Neil Diamond? Graham Nash? George Harrison? Ringo Starr? Never--because they don't hold out hope, even if they'd sort of like to be able to. John Lennon held out hope. He imagined, and however quietistic he became he never lost that utopian identification.” Ouch. Imagine being compared to Nixon in this bloody wake. I cringe when I read that now, especially remembering that at the time, enveloped by anger and grief, I considered this sharp and accurate commentary. My apologies, Mr. McCartney.

I may not be ready to turn in my John Is Number One t-shirt. But after viewing McCartney shooting the breeze with Rubin, I’m prepared to say the John versus Paul debate that once captivated so many was fundamentally stupid. Of course, McCartney and Lennon needed each other—and the tension between them—to produce all that magnificent material. But on his own, McCartney was driven to create music that sounds nice and increases the level of delight in the world. He succeeded. What’s wrong with that? Nothing.

The Beatles: Get Back.

(November 30, 2021)

Imagine being able to watch Ludwig van Beethoven sitting at a piano and plinking away: “Da, Da, Dee, Dum?...Nein, nein, nein….Da, Dee, Dee, Dum? Nein!....Da, Da, Da Dum….Ja, Ja, JAH!” The new and amazing documentary The Beatles: Get Back is a modern-day equivalent. Peter Jackson, who directed the Lord of the Rings films, got his mitts on 60 hours of videotape and 150 hours of audio from the Beatles recording session in early 1969 that led to the Let It Be album, the last record the band released, and an accompanying film of the same name, and he has produced a three-part series that is one of the best documentaries ever made. If the goal of documentary filmmaking is to transport the viewer into a world he or she would otherwise not know, it is hard to envision a more successful outing. For more than seven hours, we are in the room with the Fab Four as they create music and contend with the internal and external conflicts that come with being the most famous and sought-after human beings in the world. This is one of the most voyeuristic experiences you will ever have. It almost feels obscene, as we watch and listen to John, Paul, George, and Ringo work out their songs and their shit. The degree of intimacy Jackson creates is shocking. At times, it is painful to watch.

There is so much tension within the band. (At one point, George quits the Beatles and walks out, saying, “See you 'round the clubs.” But he does return.) A year after the death of Brian Epstein, the group’s manager, Paul strives to take on the role of a father figure who can impose discipline upon the lads so they can, within the three weeks allotted, create the album and television show they have agreed to produce. John, with Yoko Ono never more than inches from his side, arrives in what appears to be a strung-out state; he is highly unfocused. George bristles at Paul’s efforts to impose his vision of the under-construction songs on the rest of the band. And Ringo is just eager to go along. (One lovely moment occurs when Ringo gazes at Paul at the piano and sweetly and sincerely says that the TV show they have yet to sort out should be just Paul at the keyboard for an hour.) It seems as if this is the end of the Beatles. And the original Let It Be film emphasized this swan-song narrative.

But then...magic happens. After the boys convince George to return, they settle into the daunting task at hand. And the music comes together. The unfinished tunes Paul and John have brought in take form, while George contributes ready-to-record numbers. The process is helped by the appearance of keyboardist Billy Preston, who drops by to say hello and is recruited to become the fifth Beatle for this project. And we watch as the band transforms bits and pieces of songs into what will become iconic music: “Let It Be,” “Get Back,” “Across the Universe,” “Two of Us,” and more. It is fascinating to be looking over their shoulders as the Beatles engage in the artistic process shaped by assorted psychological dynamics and external demands. (The idea of a television show is canned, but will there be a public performance at the end of all this?)

As the band bears down, there is joy, silliness, camaraderie, and productivity. They work well together, calling out chords, testing lyrics, and crafting arrangements. In a way, it’s what every garage band has ever done. (“You go from the E to G...Do the verse twice, then the lead.”) Except it’s the Beatles doing it. What’s most heartening is not only do they succeed; they enjoy it. You can see it on their faces when they crowd into the control room to listen to the playback. They evince pride and pleasure, as if to say, “We still got it.” And they do.

The documentary series, only available on Disney+ (I signed up to watch), ends with the legendary Beatles performance on a rooftop in downtown London. The band runs through several songs before the bobbies shut them down for “disturbing the peace.” After years of being only in-studio musicians, they relish playing before an audience, as limited as it is. And there’s a payoff: Each number is an improvement on the version they had rehearsed and recorded in the studio. It is a reminder—for them and those watching—of their thrilling days as in-person entertainers who wowed their way from obscurity to global celebrity. We now know this was the last time John, Paul, George, and Ringo would perform in public as the Beatles. Did they have an inkling of that at the time? After the abbreviated concert, they repair to the control room to listen to the recordings of the rooftop gig, and producer George Martin says that was a “very good dry run” for another and fuller show. He was right, but that was not to be.

Paul McCartney

(June 14, 2022)

Six days before he was to turn 80 years old, I was in the 11th row at one of Paul McCartney’s final shows of his Got Back 2022 concert tour. The former Beatle worked damn hard Sunday night at Camden Yards in Baltimore. Two hours and 45 minutes of nonstop songs from his more than six-decades-long canon. Everything was impressive. He doesn’t phone it in. He plays counterpoint bass lines and simultaneously sings melodies. He screams on “Hey Jude.” There are no long water breaks or filler material. Sir Paul doesn’t cheat. After all these years, he’s still a working-man musician delivering the goods. There was plenty of nostalgia. He opened with “Can’t Buy Me Love.” He played the first song he, George Harrison, and John Lennon ever recorded: “In Spite of All the Danger.” But he also featured offerings from his recent albums. There were pyrotechnics. On “Live and Let Die,” flames burst from the stage. Real flames. You could feel the heat. And there was much poignancy. As a tribute to Harrison, he played “Something,” starting the song by strumming on a ukulele that the Quiet Beatle gave him many moons ago. To honor Lennon, he performed “I’ve Got a Feeling,” singing along with Lennon, thanks to director Peter Jackson, who made the wonderful The Beatles: Get Back documentary and who isolated the Lennon vocals on the track used for the Let It Be movie and album. It was eerie to have octogenarian Paul duetting with the 28-year-old John, but a tear gathered in my eye.

Paul McCartney waving a Ukrainian flag during his concert at Camden Yards in Baltimore on June 12, 2022.

McCartney has assembled an impressive band that recreates Beatles magic and the fun-and-sassy Wings tunes without sappiness or cheap mimicry: Brian Ray on guitar and bass; Rusty Anderson on guitar, Abe Laboriel Jr. on drums; and Wix Wickens on keyboards. They ain’t no tribute band. With their fearless leader, they capture the feeling of modernity the Beatles songs had at their origins and that unfathomably they still retain. At the end of the night—after playing Abbey Road’s closing triptych, “Golden Slumbers,” “Carry That Weight,” and “The End”—McCartney said farewell: “There’s only one thing left to say—see you next time.” Next time? He’s been entertaining us since he was 15. We all know that after all these years, at this stage of the game, “next time” is an iffy proposition. But McCartney’s lot in life is to deliver joy and fun. While watching him still toiling hard to please his audience, it was not that difficult to believe there just might be a next time.

Here's a video from another show of the McCartney-Lennon duet:

And if you still need a touch of Beatles joy—or just joy—and you’re not one of the 67 million people who have watched this, do so immediately:

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