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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:

119. “Polythene Pam”

118. “Hold Me Tight”

117. “Got To Get You Into My Life”

116. “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds”

115. “Can’t Buy Me Love”

114. “I Want To Hold Your Hand”

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In terms of importance to the Beatles’ career trajectory, “I Want To Hold Your Hand” would probably be number one with very little debate. It was the song that solidified their phenomenon in England after “Please Please Me” and “She Loves You” had set the table, and it was the song that introduced them in America, becoming a huge hit through leaked copies before Capitol even had the chance to launch their expensive marketing campaign for the band. It was the right song at the right time.

But this list is about the quality of the songs and their performances plain and simple, and “I Want To Hold Your Hand,” though no doubt thrillingly enthusiastic, doesn’t hold a candle to many, many lesser-known songs in the group’s catalog.

The song’s tune and structure are impeccable. It builds drama right from the start with the little intro rising into the first verse. Several times during the song, vocal and instrumental phrases are repeated to whip things into a frenzy, and it’s not too hard to get caught up in it. Ringo’s firecracker drum fills are an underrated aspect to the proceedings, as is Paul’s bass riff that’s like a question mark inserted between the lines of the verses, answered by his and John’s infectious vocals.

But all of the drama serves lyrics that are strictly bubble gum. This is the kind of unthreatening sentiment that’s been the bread and butter of teen idols since the dawn of time. Considering that Brian Epstein had given the band the directive to write the song specifically for the U.S. market, you could infer that the boys didn’t think too highly of the Americans’ taste in music. Then again, their instincts proved correct, because the song was a monster hit in the States.

Luckily the boys quickly moved beyond “I Want To Hold Your Hand” and its choir-boy innocent take on romance. As a song that served a purpose, it deserves all the credit in the world. But it still pales against the might of some of the musical achievements that The Beatles already had under their belt and, quite obviously, the ones that were still to come.

113. “Savoy Truffle”

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No, it’s not a dance craze that was briefly popular in ’68 at the time of it’s inclusion on The White Album. The “Savoy Truffle” of this George Harrison number is the piece of candy that puts you over the edge into tooth decay after you’ve made your way through a sampler box of chocolates. Inspired by Harrison buddy Eric Clapton’s fondness of sweets (and his subsequent dental problems), this funky song is like a sugar rush itself: tasty but leaving you wanting something more substantial.

Harrison fetishizes the sweets in the song; those exotic names of the treats just sound good. The desire he describes is reminiscent of someone jonesing for something far stronger than a piece of candy (“I feel your taste every time we’re apart.”) But like any junkie knows, the withdrawal isn’t going to be pretty (“The sweat is going to fill your head/When it becomes too much/You’re going to shout aloud”).

But let’s not get too carried away looking for metaphors. Instead, let’s enjoy those wild horns, which really stand out as a White Album flight of fancy that works. And try to control the hunger pains while you listen. If you can’t, keep your dentist on speed-dial.

112. “The Continuing Story Of Bungalow Bill”

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It was never a good idea to get on John Lennon’s bad side, especially if he had a guitar nearby. Once again, we’re back to The White Album (how many freakin’ songs are on that album?), as Lennon levels his lacerating wit at an unsuspecting American who killed a tiger while in India at the same time as The Beatles’ retreat with the Maharishi. John couldn’t reconcile the gunplay with the spirituality of the retreat, and took dead aim with his guitar.

That retreat proved extremely fertile songwriting territory for Lennon, especially in terms of his converting real-life events into songs (“Sexy Sadie” and “Dear Prudence,” for two other examples). On “Bungalow Bill,” he effectively annihilates the object of his derision by sarcastically defending him. He also reveals that the hunter was a Mama’s boy (“In case of accidents he always took his Mom”), really rendering him quite pathetic. Whether this guy was as bad as Lennon made him out to be is really moot, since John had the bully pulpit of being in the world’s most famous band to air his side of the story.

John skimped on the tune here, relying on the cast-of-thousands vocals in the chorus to mask this flaw. (Side note: Have you ever noticed that when all four Beatles are singing at the same time, it’s Ringo’s voice that you hear? Discuss.) Choosing Yoko to sing the role of the mother is a bit dodgy; she makes her sound like a 5-year-old.

“Bungalow Bill” may have proved victorious over his prey, but he will always be on the wrong end of John Lennon’s crosshairs. And there’s no defense for that.

111. “With A Little Help From My Friends”

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Ringo gets the spotlight on this Sgt. Pepper’s standard, forever putting his stamp on the album by nailing that famous final note. Nobody else in the band could do the sad-sack character of this song justice. Starr makes you want to be one of those friends helping him get by.

The music is relatively tame, bouncing harmlessly along on piano and Paul McCartney’s tuneful bass. The gentle side of The Beatles would be copied to great AM-radio success in the 70’s by bands like 10CC, and “With A Little Help From My Friends” is the template that those descendants followed.

The highlight of the song is Starr’s performance, especially in the Q and A sessions he holds in the verses with the other members of the band. “What do you see when you turn out the lights?” “I can’t tell you but I know it’s mine.” That self-deprecating one-liner is a perfect embodiment of a lonely soul’s lament.

The power of the Joe Cocker version has eclipsed the Fab 4’s own on the cultural landscape. While such a histrionic performance would have seemed hopelessly out of place on Sgt. Pepper’s, Cocker located depths in the song that were invisible until he got his hands on it. Ringo’s Billy Shears would doubtless have been impressed and, staying in character, would have seen it as yet another blow to his ego. Lucky he always has his friends to prop him up.

110. “Good Night”

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What better way to end The White Album, that overstuffed, erratic, insane masterpiece that The Beatles foisted upon an unsuspecting world in 1968, than with this tender lullaby sung by Ringo Starr with instrumental backing that sounds like the combo playing behind St. Peters at the Pearly Gates? “Good Night” is so wackily appropriate that it’s impossible to imagine the album ending any other way.

John Lennon wrote the song for his son Julian years before it was recorded, meaning that the younger Lennon inspired both the ridiculous (“Good Night”) and the sublime (“Hey Jude”). Not that the song is the odd thing; it’s a perfectly charming, albeit extremely simplistic, call to slumber that certainly has been accompanying the progeny of Beatles’ fans on their way to slumber for 40 years.

But, oh, that arrangement. John famously told George Martin to do it up like Hollywood. George responded by getting his hands on every orchestral instrument short of a gong and letting the session musicians play at Maximum Syrup level. Ringo sings at times like he’s afraid of all the gentle ruckus behind him, as if any minute he might be garroted by a harp string.

Somehow it all sounds charming. Madcap right to the very end, The White Album closes with something totally unexpected and yet incredibly apt: a whisper.

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