Featured Stories

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:

24. “She Loves You”

23. “Rain”

22. “I Don’t Want To Spoil The Party”

21. “Yes It Is”

20. “Here, There, And Everywhere”

19. “You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away”

LISTEN HERE  

It took him a few tries, but John Lennon was finally able to take his Bob Dylan fixation and imbue it with his own personality and voice. The end result, “You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away,” stands as one of the great Beatles slow songs, powerfully personal and hauntingly hung-up.

I’m not sure the psychological advice being passed out by Lennon’s buddies in this song is the best. Instead of discussing his feelings of woe and hurt, John is advised to bury the contents of his heart so as not to look like a fool. All of the pain is evident in his voice though, and the way that refrain of “Hey” is shouted out, it’s clear that he can’t abide hiding any more.

Anyone who doubts Lennon’s melodic chops should check out this lovely tune, which doesn’t overplay the sadness. The flute clears the air at the end, leaving a trace of hope in those final few notes. But it’s hard to buy it, not after John’s aching self-examination. (Calling himself “two-foot small” is a winning touch, even if it was apparently a studio accident that the line came about in the first place.)

And so, even though the chorus of clowns persuasively serenades John to do otherwise, he movingly exposes his anguish. “You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away” wisely disregards its own advice, and we, the listeners, are the ones who benefit the most at the singer’s expense.

18. “Tomorrow Never Knows”

LISTEN HERE  

There was just no pleasing John Lennon sometimes. Despite George Martin doing everything short of standing on his head to create the sound that Lennon envisioned for this track and eventually producing one of the most influential songs of the century, John later downplayed it as falling short of what he wanted. If this stunningly futuristic piece of studio wizardry wasn’t what he had in his head, I almost shudder to imagine what was. It might have melted our faces right off as we listened to it.

The closing track on the masterful Revolver, “Tomorrow Never Knows” is The Beatles invitation to their listening audience to join them in undiscovered worlds that couldn’t be contained by the finite boundaries of simple pop music. Those who willingly followed would see this song as the gateway to the amazing music the band would release in 1967.

At the base of it all is the insistent groove, with Paul’s droning bass and Ringo’s whip-cracking beat. On top of it all is a phantasmagoria of sounds. You can never be sure if the instruments in the breaks are being played forward or backward. Birds shriek maniacally, or is that human laughter? It’s all as surreal as the poetic Underworld of Virgil or Dante.

It’s also a suitable background for Lennon’s mind-expanding exhortations. The process he describes is neither living nor dying, but he implies that it’s somehow essential. It’s another case of a Beatle being inspired by something (here, The Tibetan Book of the Dead as re-imagined by Timothy Leary) and giving it enough of a personal spin to prevent it from seeming slavish to the source material. Here, that spin is evident in Lennon’s subtly letting the air out of the somber proceedings (“Play the game, existence to the end.”)

There is so much noteworthy about this song, be it the break from a chorus-based structure to the obvious psychedelic bent, that it never ceases to surprise. It seems like the only one nonplussed by “Tomorrow Never Knows” was its creator. Who says Paul was the perfectionist?

17. “Lady Madonna”

LISTEN HERE  

Let me be the first to say that I can relate to Paul McCartney’s ode to motherhood, as I proudly consider myself to be the product of an all-time great Mom. She managed to raise my two brothers and me all by herself for much of our lives, to put us through school despite an average salary, to provide a shining example for the proper way to live life by being good to others and respecting ourselves, and to forgive us on the numerous occasions in which we failed to live up to that example. I can’t speak for my brothers, but I suspect they’d agree with me that a gutter would have been the best possible end result for any of us were it not for her.

What Paul nails in this #1 smash is the amazing juggling act that Moms across the world perform every day to little or no fanfare. Theirs is an endless world of homework-checking and meal-preparing and bath-drawing and PTA–attending and on and on. Which makes the little detours that Paul takes in his litany of everyday tasks even more telling, whether it’s the brief moment of respite in the middle of all the chaos (“Lady Madonna/Lying on the bed/Listen to the music playing in your head”), or her wistful acknowledgement of her children’s joy (“see how they run.”)

Can I also take the time here to note how incredible this track sounds? That piano practically jumps out of the speakers and grabs you, and Paul’s husky voice is immediate and powerful. Forget about quality for a second. Why is it that these recordings from some 40-years ago sound better that the ones being released today? Was their pixie-dust floating around Abbey Road? Some sort of Mephistophelean deal struck? I need an answer, people!

One quibble though, Paul. What about Saturday? I understand your metrical concerns, but as mine could tell you, there is no taking a day off when you’re a Mom.

16. “Please Please Me”

LISTEN HERE  

I’ve got four observations about this song. Like to hear ‘em? Well, tough, you’re going to hear them anyway.

1) This was The Beatles second single. Second. As in the one after the first. In other words, they went from the relatively prosaic “Love Me Do” to the ramshackle brilliance of “Please Please Me.” So much for a natural progression. It’s like winning a game of Monopoly without ever passing Go. How did they do it?

2) People often mishear the familiar story about how this song came about and give far more credit to George Martin’s contribution. Nobody is a bigger Martin fan than me, but don’t think that he somehow re-wrote this song for the group. The gist of what he said to them was “Speed it up, lads.” The Fab 4 then took the song, completely rearranged it, and came back to the studio with pretty much the finished product, which, again, blows my mind because, well, read point 1 again.

3) Lennon said he drew his inspiration for the song from Roy Orbison (the original had that ever-ascending Orbison balladic sound; you can hear the falsettos in the song as a clear tribute to Roy) and Bing Crosby (an old Crosby standard featured a play on the words “Please” and “pleas”). Which begs the question: what would you get if you combined Roy Orbison with Bing Crosby? Chris Isaak? Michael Buble? A twisted, Golem-like monster? (This is how my mind works, I kid you not.)

4) This has to be one of the most subversive lyrics. Just read them out loud to yourself, or better yet, try them out on your mate. And then duck.

Oh, and by the way, this is a damn fine song.

15. “Nowhere Man”

LISTEN HERE  

From those luscious opening harmonies to the final guitar note, there is not an ounce of flab on this shimmering song off Rubber Soul. Really we’ve reached perfection here, and we’ve still got 14 songs to go.

The harmonies are exquisite throughout, and when Paul switches to the high part in the very last refrain, it pushes this already-impeccable song to yet another level. Paul also gets credit for driving the melody with his bass-playing. It’s subtle enough that you can miss it but not miss its effect. Concentrate on it one time when you’re listening, and I guarantee you’ll be amazed.

John Lennon’s lyrics can work on a number of levels. Many people read the song as an ode to the generation gap, how older people are out of touch with a youthful society. But I hear much more empathy in the lyrics; Lennon seems to want to draw this character in from his self-imposed wilderness. And the line “Isn’t he a bit like you and me?” manages to both humanize the “Nowhere Man” and call attention to our own tendencies to unconsciously isolate ourselves.

“Nowhere Man” is The Beatles at their mid-tempo, introspective best, which by definition, is really as good as popular music can possibly get.

Comments (3)