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Rishikesh, India
The Beatles travelled here to study Transcendental Meditation with the
Maharishi. The relaxing weeks in India yielded a bumper crop of new compositions. A jam
session on location was filmed and aired at a later date on Italian television. |
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Kinfauns
Esher, Surrey
The Beatles began rehearsal sessions at George's home on May 20, 1968. Here they
recorded demos of virtually all of the songs that would appear on The Beatles
(aka the "White Album"), and some unreleased songs. |
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EMI/Trident Studios
3 Abbey Road, London, NW8/
Wardour Street, London W1
The Beatles worked on the album for five months. Each man essentially wrote most of
his songs alone, but then subjected them to the other's input once studio work began.
Often, however, only one or two of The Beatles were present at "White Album"
sessions. Although George Martin pleaded with them to cut the work to a single album
containing only the best songs, they refused, and The Beatles was issued as a
double LP, even retaining John's experimental "Revolution 9," despite the
others' protests. |
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By the time the Beatles reconvened to record the
followup to Sgt. Pepper, they had already begun to splinter, with each member doggedly
pursuing a musical vision that didn't necessarily jibe with the others'. It also didn't
jibe with what the group achieved on their groundbreaking 1967 album, either. If the
Beatles were consciously trying to distance themselves from the layered, whimsical sound
of Sgt. Pepper, they couldn't have done better than The Beatles, also known as
the White Album due to its plain white cover. Although it's blessed with the same studio
trickery and segued sequencing, none of the songs replicate the sophisticated pop
synthesis of that record -- in fact, very few of the songs on the long, sprawling double
album sound as if they're full-fledged band efforts. Each song is an entity onto itself,
each song tries a different style. There is no internal logic, as there was on Sgt. Pepper
-- the White Album simply sprawls forth, touching on anything that it can imagine. For
some, particularly fans of the seamless Pepper, this makes for a frustratingly scattershot
record, but for other listeners, the White Album is a singularly gripping musical
experience. There certainly is filler littered throughout the record, but all the filler
has a purpose, contributing to the overall feel of the album. Furthermore, the filler
isn't so much filler as it is disconnected ideas, all executed brilliantly and
elaborately. No idea, not even the minute-long dissonant rant "Wild Honey Pie"
or the simple vamp "Why Don't We Do It In the Road," is simply thrown away --
it's milked of all of its possibilities. Perhaps this is because each member was so
possessive of their own musical ideas that they wanted to devote all their energies to
their own track -- it's certainly the reason why the record became a double album, simply
because no one had the desire to sort through the material to craft a single record. Then
again, the White Album needs to spread out, it needs to have its loose ends and detours,
because what is interesting about the album is its sprawl. Never before had a rock record
been so self-reflective or ironic about rock -- unlike Zappa, who wore his satire on his
sleeve, the Beatles deliver the Beach Boys send-up "Back in the USSR" and the
British blooze parody "Yer Blues" straight-faced, so it's never clear if these
are affectionate tributes or the wicked satires they are. Also, it's inherently
fascinating to hear McCartney develop the charming domesticated tunesmithery ("I
Will," "Blackbird," "Mother Nature's Son") that would later
distinguish his solo work while Lennon rocks ("Everybody's Got Something to Hide
Except Me and Monkey") and rants ("Revolution 1," "Happiness is a Warm
Gun," "I'm So Tired") into his own solo style. That's hardly the extent of
their contributions, however. Lennon also turns in two of his best ballads with "Dear
Prudence" and "Julia," scours the Abbey Road vaults to create the musique
concrete 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," trivals Syd Barrett for British childhood psychedelia.
McCartney doesn't reach quite as far with his efforts, simply because he values songcraft
too much, but his songs are continually stunning, from the music hall romp "Honey
Pie" to the mock country of "Rocky Raccoon," from the ska-inflected
"Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da" to the proto-metal roar of "Helter Skelter."
Clearly, the two main songwriting forces of the Beatles were no longer on the same page,
but neither were George and Ringo. Lennon & McCartney stuck to the traditional
allotment of two Harrison 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
that deserved wider exposure. And Ringo, who was allowed to record his first original song
ever, turns in a delight with the lumbering, country-carnival stomp "Don't Pass Me
By." All of it's impressive on it's own terms, none of it was quite meant to share
album space together, but somehow The Beatles (a singularly ironic title,
considering the fractured state of the band), creates its own style and sound through its
mess. And, in its own way, it was nearly as influential as Sgt. Pepper, since scores of
post-punk bands picked up on various threads running throughout the record, and many of
the great albums in rock history -- Exile on Main Street, London Calling -- approximated
the same great sprawl that makes The Beatles so unique. |
