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To most Beatles fans, choosing between the songs of the Fab 4 is a bit like choosing between children. But, on the JamsBio exclusive, Playing The Beatles Backward, one intrepid fan dares to rank the original songs of The Beatles and give his reasons why in a worst-to-first countdown. Check back each day for the next five songs on the list, prepare to hit the message boards to defend your favorites, and follow the countdown all the way to Number 1.

The complete list to date.

The Last Five:

149. “Dig It”

148. “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer”

147. “Julia”

146. “Day Tripper”

145. “Blue Jay Way”

144. “Birthday”

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Ah, those savvy Beatles. Whereas most rockers put out the obligatory Christmas song to cash in on those royalties once a year, Paul McCartney figured out that a song commemorating a birthday would pay off year-round. After all, every day is somebody’s birthday, at least by my calculations.

OK, so maybe I have my cynical pants on right now. The motives for “Birthday” were likely far more innocent than that. They likely just wanted a lighthearted romp to place among all the weirdness that would end up on the White Album. It’s interesting that both discs start off with relatively straightforward McCartney rockers (“Back In The U.S.S.R.” on disc 1 and “Birthday” on disc 2), yielding no indication of the insanity within.

“Birthday” wins points for harking back to the group’s early days with the simple lyrics (rhyming “dance” and “chance”, for instance) and the driving rock and roll. That riff is catchy as hell, the hyper-speed beat puts Ringo front and center, and he swats it out of the park.

And I’d take it over boring old traditional “Happy Birthday” any day.

143. “Baby You’re A Rich Man”

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Take one song from Column A, another from Row A, mash them up together, and…presto-chango! You’ve got yourself a B-side. The Beatles recorded the two main parts of “Baby You’re A Rich Man” (the “beautiful people” part, written by Lennon, and the refrain, written by McCartney) separately, and then decided that the two songs worked better as one. The technique had worked once before on “A Day In The Life.” Here, not so much.

You could say that this song equals less than the sum of its parts, some of which are actually quite memorable. That bizarre squealing instrument heard at the start is a clavioline, a precursor to a synthesizer that gave the song an exotic feel.

And some of Lennon’s lyrics are sneaky good here, as he suggests that the rewards of wealth may be shallower than the recipient would expect (”What did you see when you were there/Nothing that doesn’t show.”). John could certainly relate to the trappings of fame and how they failed to fill the emptiness inside of him. Here, he doles out his wisdom for others.

But the one-note chorus breaks the nifty spell conjured up by those philosophical lines sung in tender falsetto. The refrain seems to be celebrating the person’s ascension to the wealthy class, creating a bothersome contradiction to what has come before. These songs would have been better served had they been developed separately rather than being forced into an awkward fit.

142. “Cry Baby Cry”

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Written by John Lennon as a lullaby, albeit a skewed one in which adults concoct homemade séances to amuse children, “Cry Baby Cry” is another example of a song finding its way onto the White Album for no better reason than because it existed. It does add to the spooky vibe of the album overall though, leading, via a hidden Paul McCartney song called “Can You Take Me Back,” into the abyss of “Revolution 9.”

John’s depiction of royalty is based far more on Lewis Carroll than on reality. The whole thing has an unreal vibe to it, and when I try to visualize the king and queen in the song, I picture them stepping right off of playing cards.

The band serves this song well by taking it from its acoustic beginnings and giving it a fetching pop sheen. There’s even a harmonium on hand to sweeten the proceedings, and the descending piano notes give the song a somber feel in spite of the light lyrics.

As for “Can You Take Me Back,” you could look at the plea inherent in its title as McCartney’s secret wish for his band. He would overtly come out and make similar exhortations for a return to simpler times in subsequent songs when it was far too late to do anything about it. His message here came when it sounded like something still could be done to rectify the situation. By throwing it away at the end of “Cry Baby Cry,” Paul prevented any deep investigation into the song snippet’s meaning at the time. In hindsight though, it looks like the first crack in the façade.

141. “Only A Northern Song”

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I’ve read some contradicting reports about the impetus for this psychedelically shambolic George Harrison composition. Some sources claim that the song came from early sessions for Sgt. Pepper’s but was left off when it proved an improper fit for that album. Others say that it was written a year later, in 1968, when producers for the Yellow Submarine film requested one more song and George trundled off to write it, returning in an hour with “Only A Northern Song.” While the latter story is far more amusing in light of the song’s self-deprecating lyrics, the liner notes for Anthology 2, written by the noted Beatle historian Mark Lewisohn, agrees with the former tale, so I’m going with that.

And thus it was a wise decision to keep “Only a Northern Song” off Sgt. Pepper’s, not based on its worthiness as a song, but based on the fact that the dissonant instruments and overall loonyness would have been hopelessly out of place on the thematically tight finished album. Yellow Submarine was the proper place for this kooky yet endearing number.

I learned in a film class in college that when an actor in a movie addresses the camera and, hence, the audience, it’s called breaking the fourth wall. Well, I don’t know if there is a similar term for music, but that’s what George does here, making conversation with the listener and showing admirable modesty at that.

I love the way, when he sings “you may think the chords are going wrong,” the chord change in the music does indeed veer off in an unexpected direction. I also think there may be a subtle dig at his bandmates in the lines “If you think the harmony/Is a little dark and out of key/You’re correct/There’s nobody there.” Whereas John and Paul were constantly touching up each other’s songs, George was often left to his own devices on the songs he wrote.

It’s a clever song that, by its own admission, is just a tossed-off little ditty. But the fact that it’s willing to make such an admission is admirable indeed, a byproduct of George’s unflinching honesty as a songwriter.

140. “Penny Lane”

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Lusciously melodic, exquisitely constructed, and impeccably performed, “Penny Lane,” in spite of all that, has always left this humble listener a bit cold. I’ve never been able to quite put my finger on it, but, after giving it a few spins in preparation for this list, I think I’ve pinpointed the reasons for some of my ambivalence.

First of all, it is unremittingly cheerful. Now, there’s nothing inherently wrong with that, I suppose, but it seems like forced mirth to me. All the images of blue skies and flowers and friendly neighbors are a little too untouchable. None of it feels real even though it is based on a real place. Had Paul allowed a little darkness into his idyllic setting, it might have thrown all that sunshine into a more poignant relief. All the brightness here makes me want to shade my eyes as I’m listening.

I also find it fascinating to compare it to “Strawberry Fields Forever,” since both songs were initially intended for a project of songs depicting the Beatles’ childhood (a project that would be shelved in favor of Sgt. Pepper’s). Lennon later stated that his initial attempts to write “Strawberry Fields” embarrassed him as they had a grade-school essay feel to them. Isn’t that how “Penny Lane” sounds at times, with a play-by-play rundown of all the people who pass through? Even though the descriptions are detailed, the characters are cardboard cutouts without any life to them.

There are moments when “Penny Lane” almost transcends all this, like when that piccolo trumpet soars majestically above it all or when Paul sings “Penny Lane is in my ears/And in my eyes,” a brilliant way to describe the power of the memory he holds. But the memory as he then describes it is a little too mundane to have any real lasting effect.

So while I continue to admire the musical achievement of “Penny Lane,” I don’t think I’ll ever love it quite as much as some of the more modestly produced songs in the Beatles’ catalog, songs yet to come on this list.

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