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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:

99. “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band”

98. “She Said She Said”

97. “Tell Me Why”

96. “Because”

95. “Yellow Submarine”

94. “I Should Have Known Better”

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The phrase “I Should Have Known Better” is usually followed up by something negative that the speaker encountered against their better judgment. Examples: “I should have known better than to eat that sixth burrito.” Or “I should have known better than to go to a movie starring Keanu Reeves as a molecular biologist.” You get the picture.

But The Beatles, and songwriter John Lennon in particular, turn the phrase upside down on this buoyant number from A Hard Day’s Night. In this case, Lennon is singing that he should have expected his new love to be wonderful and rosy, which makes you think that previous relationships of this song’s protagonist hadn’t been exactly the stuff of jewelry commercials.

I know I’ve been hard on the ubiquitous Lennon harmonica in the early years of the group, but it worked on a few occasions, and “I Should Have Known Better” is certainly one of them. It’s the perfect table-setter for Lennon’s elongated “Iiiii” at the start of the song, immediately and expertly grabbing the listener’s attention.

The lyrics go a bit haywire down the road. After singing the girl’s praises for the first few verses, Lennon changes his tune a bit when he starts demanding “more.” Come to think of it, this guy is so fickle, maybe it’s the girl who should have known better.

93. “I’m A Loser”

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What must it have been like for a teenager in 1964 to hear John Lennon, leader of the world’s biggest band and one of the most popular men on Earth, singing “I’m A Loser?” While they could always play it off as just a song and Lennon playing a part, some of it must have sunk in, even with the message masked in those legendary harmonies and George Harrison’s Carl Perkins-influenced guitar phrases.

A recurring theme of Lennon’s work with The Beatles was the way he embedded his fears and insecurities into those pristine pop songs. Anyone looking for hidden messages in the recordings of the group should start there, so artfully are they woven into each song’s fabric.

It was around this time that The Beatles got turned onto the startling work of Bob Dylan, and Lennon in particular tried to work his own spin on Bob’s confessional lyrics. But “I’m A Loser” shows how different the two men’s styles were. Dylan could insinuate his way toward a feeling through opaque phrases and lyrical detours, getting from Point A to B by going through Points G, X, and Q. Lennon, while lacking Dylan’s facility with metaphors and other poetic techniques, could couch his message just as effectively in fetching pop melodies.

Producer George Martin loved putting the refrain right at the beginning of a song to grab listeners with the hook. Usually that technique served joyful songs like “Can’t Buy Me Love” or “She Loves You;” here, it has a startling effect. It’s almost too in-your-face, flaunting the melancholy so flagrantly that it loses some effect. The lyrics from that point are essentially a retread of 50’s classic “The Great Pretender.” Check out the two key lines: “I seem to be/What I’m not,” from the older song; “I’m not what I appear to be,” from “I’m A Loser.”

Beatles For Sale, on which “I’m a Loser” appears, is a fascinating album. Essentially a rush job to fulfill contractual obligations, it includes just eight Lennon/McCartney originals. About three-quarters of those are decidedly downbeat ruminations on lost love. Maybe they were weary from the road, maybe Dylan’s influence was taking effect. Even the unsmiling faces of the group on the cover betray the dark side of “the Mania,” as George Harrison often called it.

“I’m A Loser” may not have been executed perfectly. But it wins points for boldness and for its insistence that, even for a Beatle, life could be anything but Fab.

92. “All My Loving”

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They were just barely getting started, but Paul McCartney already had it. On 1963’s “All My Loving,” Paul showcases his impeccable melodic skills and unparalleled ability to craft a song that could burrow into the pleasure center of the average human brain in seconds and remain there forever.

Writing a pop song is a tricky business. Just looking at the lyrics of “All My Loving” makes it seem like a rather innocuous bit of poetry. And, just taking the music at face value, you get a pleasant enough piece of work driven by John Lennon’s chugging rhythm guitar.

But when you hear it all put together, little nuances begin to take shape. Like the internal rhymes that seem to pop out of nowhere as Paul sings his love letter. Or the high harmonies added, by Paul himself, to the last verse that highlight the urgency of young lovers who must, however briefly, spend time apart.

Better yet, try to imagine “All My Loving” with any other lyrics. The originals are irreplaceable, aren’t they? They scan perfectly with the melody and hit all the right accents throughout. Trying to complicate the words or make them any deeper wouldn’t have worked. Subtle abilities like the ones Paul flaunts on “All My Loving” are characteristic of the truly gifted, easily overlooked though they may have been by teenage girls who couldn’t get past that first line: “Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you.”

Use an argument like this one anytime some dimwit tries to downplay the songwriting ability of Paul McCartney. It’s all yours, free of charge.

91. “Any Time At All”

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Here is another song that likely served as a bit of wish fulfillment for millions of female fans of The Beatles. The idea of John Lennon devotedly waiting for the call of a damsel in emotional distress undeniably held great appeal for the girls. And, to cover all bases, Paul made sure to share in the vocals in the chorus so the ladies would have two Beatles from which to choose when holding this imaginary conversation.

I love the wham-bang opening of this song: that snare drum snap and then John bellowing “Any Time At All” with powerful conviction. It’s then balanced by the more subdued verses, sort of like John busting through the door of the girl’s house but then gently sitting down at her bedside to hear her problems.

Lennon has admitted the song’s similarities to “It Won’t Be Long,” recorded the previous year. The urgent beginnings of the two songs are indeed almost mirror images, only “It Won’t Be Long” sustains that rush of adrenaline a little bit better. But “Any Time At All” does just fine with its soothing promise of help whenever it’s needed most, a reassuring thought no matter who is doing the promising.

90. “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da”

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I’ve never fully understood the negative reaction to this song, either by fans or critics or Beatles other than Paul. The amount of bile spewed toward it is totally disproportionate to its relatively modest ambitions.

John and George may have resented the song for Paul’s endless attempts to perfect the track. Legend has it that a feeling-no-pain Lennon pounded out the opening piano chords in disgust when McCartney wavered about the tempo.

Their distaste for the song may be justified on that account. But why everybody else? Well, my guess is that they judge it as a reggae song and see The Beatles as interlopers on that sound. But, really, aside from Paul’s bass clusters (which don’t sound all that different from the ones on “Taxman,” for that matter) and the “Bra’” patois in the chorus, is it really that reggae?

Why can’t we judge it like a pop song with a hint of something different? In that regard, you can’t deny that it’s catchy and melodic like so many McCartney tracks throughout the band’s history (and beyond). It’s also got some interesting production sweeteners, including the “la-la-la” backing vocals and the prancing horns, not to mention that piano that sounds like it was borrowed from the nearest speak-easy.

I also don’t see the brouhaha over the lyrics. It’s a boy-meets-girl story that The Beatles told a million times before without any derision, with the little role reversal of Desmond and Molly in the final verse even presaging the ERA movement, dare I say? (OK, that’s pushing it, I’ll admit, but I really feel the need to protect this song for some reason.)

Because it was 1968 and in the band’s more contemplative period, there’s a tendency to expect dark meditations on loneliness from every song. What happened to having fun, something that was in short supply in the waning years of the group? “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” is at least an attempt to return to more carefree days (ironic, since it apparently only exacerbated group tensions).

So don’t believe the hype, people. Give the song a fresh listen without any hang-ups and you might be surprised. Unless you hold a grudge for the annoying version of it used as the theme song to the 90’s ABC drama Life Goes On. I can’t really defend that.