In their Hamburg days, the Beatles relied on pep pills to keep going, but they had mostly been taking medicinal pills, not your actual nasty, illegal drugs. When Dylan suggested that they try a joint, they locked the doors, pulled down the blinds, put towels under the cracks, and lit up, passing it around. They all found it pretty enjoyable–especially Paul, who experienced a great release of ideas and energy.
Dylan’s other influence on the band can be seen in their lyrics. They had long admired Dylan for his songs, the fact that he made the words just as important as the tunes, expressing his own emotions and thoughts. They were already beginning to follow suit, as we have seen, but encouraged by Dylan’s example, Paul and John began to put more of themselves into their lyrics, to try harder, aiming for poetry not platitudes.
John had previously given a hint of his agonies in his poetry and stories, which were written in a stream-of-consciousness style. His first book, In His Own Write, had been published by the distinguished literary firm of Jonathan Cape to wide acclaim and commercial success. But there remained a division in his mind between pop lyrics and his creative writing, the stuff that expressed his inner self.
A well-known TV and print journalist of the time, Kenneth Allsop, interviewing Lennon about his book on 23 March 1964, suggested to him that there should not be such a gap between his literary outpourings and his pop lyrics. Not on air, but in the BBC TV green room, he urged John to show his feelings more.
Perhaps that conversation did eventually help, along with the meeting with Dylan, or perhaps these ‘interventions’ were incidental and the Beatles were progressing anyway. The lyrics had progressed with each album, and they would have continued to evolve. You could also argue that the drugs didn’t bring about changes either, they simply released what was there.
The big obstacle standing in the way of their development was the manic pace of life after Beatlemania took hold. Throughout 1964, they were rushing round the world, working nonstop. Occasionally they were able to take their time, reflect on things and polish material, but mostly it was a case of snatching moments where and when they could.
They knew they had to produce another album before the year was out as the fans and the industry, both in the UK and the USA, demanded it. The new album was called Beatles For Sale–there was no song with that title, it was one of Ringo’s lines, moaning about all the demands and pressures now being made upon them. They all felt the same way–that they were just goods, being trundled round the world and offered for sale.
Because it was such a rush job, they were unable to cobble enough original compositions together in time to fill the album; they managed only eight, then threw in six written by other people to complete the track list. So in one sense, they were going backwards rather than forwards, as the last album had been all theirs.
On the cover of the album, the photograph by Robert Freeman shows them looking a bit fuzzy and out of focus, their expressions rather worried, possibly knackered. Whereas their previous three albums had featured sleeve notes by Tony Barrow in the traditional Tin Pan Alley manner, the Beatles For Sale sleeve notes, written by Derek Taylor,* manage to be upbeat yet at the same time offbeat.
I Feel Fine
The A side of their single, released on 27 November 1964, just before the album. The lyrics are fairly conventional, the sort of happy ‘I love you’ stuff they had been singing for years, without a trace of tears or misery or rejection or anger. ‘I Feel Fine’ is 100 per cent cheerful and optimistic because, well, John feels fine. The only subtext is that perhaps it’s because he buys her diamond rings that she feels fine, but this is not dwelt upon.
The big attraction is the music, starting with another of the most recognizable Beatles openings ever–that long, low, sustained guitar note which resonates and vibrates because of the feedback John had deliberately worked into the recording. When using electric guitars on stage, it often happened that the amplifiers picked up the noise and sent it back. They would sometimes try to eliminate it, but other times they used it, making it part of their live act. According to John, this single marked ‘the first time feedback was used on record’. Apparently he had leaned his guitar against an amp, heard what he thought was an interesting noise, and persuaded George Martin to use it. A sign that, after two years in the studio, they now considered themselves masters of their art, willing and eager to experiment, instead of waiting to be told what they could and could not do by their technical masters.
She’s A Woman
The B side of ‘I Feel Fine’, written by Paul since John had the A side. It has a clear drugs reference–‘Turn me on when I get lonely’–just five weeks after their meeting with Dylan. Rather subtle and easy to miss, because it could be taken several ways, the reference was not publicly noticed at the time, otherwise radio stations would have banned it. It was at John’s insistence that Paul shoved that line into his song–letting Dylan see a deliberate reference this time, not a mistaken one.
Paul remembers the song coming in his mind as he walked from his house–and then recording it the same day at Abbey Road. It’s a good rock and roll song, though Paul’s voice does get a bit high in places towards the end, when he seems to be forcing it. The lyrics included one of Pauls’ worst ever rhyming couplets: ‘My Love don’t give me presents / I know that she’s no peasant.’
No Reply
This track opened the album in a fairly mournful, downbeat way. John calls on his girl, but gets no reply. He tries to phone, but they say she is not at home–then he sees her coming out with another boy, hand in hand: ‘I nearly died.’
It is the first Beatles song with a narrative, a sort of story, with a beginning and end. John admitted he had stolen the idea from ‘Silhouettes’, a 1957 record by a New York group called The Rays. In that song the boy watching outside knows he is being cheated on when he sees the silhouette of the lovers behind a curtain–a more subtle denouement than John’s, which has him ringing up his girl and getting no reply. In real life, he never rang girls–or so he told Playboy in a 1980 interview. In the fifties, Paul’s family were one of the minority that did have a telephone, because his mother was a midwife.
The heavy beat carries it along, like the music for an old-fashioned cowboy film, riding riding riding across the prairie–though apparently it was meant to be a bossa nova beat, which was in vogue at the time.
I’m A Loser
Written by John on a plane during their first North American tour. He is a loser because he has lost the girl, but he feels he is a loser in life anyway. Although he laughs and acts like a clown, it’s all a mask, and he is frowning. The best lines are: ‘I’m not what I appear to be’, which he enunciates carefully, and ‘Is it for her or myself that I cry?’
The song, which has some harmonica playing by John, was influenced by the Beatles’ admiration for Dylan and his folk-style songs. The lyrics appear to reveal more of John’s true self; he probably meant it when he sang that he was a loser, but at the same time he had always been convinced he was a genius even if no one else seemed to realize it. ‘That’s me in my Dylan period,’ he told Playboy in 1980. ‘Part of me suspects I’m a loser and part of me thinks I’m God Almighty.’
His singing is a bit strange, deliberately going low on the last word of each chorus, almost out of tune, sounding a bit embarrassed, as if trying to do something different and unusual, then realizing it doesn’t work as he hasn’t got the vocal range, and covering up by trying to make it funny.
Baby’s In Black
John at his most depressive–his girl is in black, mourning for someone who will never come back, so he is blue, because she never thinks of him.
Could he have been thinking, at the back of his mind, of Astrid–the beautiful, arty, clever, talented girl they met in Hamburg and whom they all loved? She got engaged to Stu, who then suddenly died in April 1962, aged twenty-one. Astrid, when I met her in 1967, was still dressing in black, in a flat with black walls, black furniture, black candles…
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The tune and the first line, ‘Oh dear, what can I do?’ is a steal from the old folk song ‘Oh dear, what can the matter be, Johnny’s so long at the fair.’ Perhaps it began as a parody, before moving on to the image of a girl in black. As for the rhymes–the song contains one of their weaker lines: ‘And although it’s only a whim / she thinks of him.’
‘Baby’s In Black’, from the Beatles For Sale LP, December 1964–possibly in the hand of Mal Evans, one of their two roadies, who was often given the job of writing out the lyrics in the recording studio.
The manuscript version–possibly in the hand of Mal Evans, one of their two roadies–is an early draft. It was later expanded, but those two feeble lines were retained. Alas.
Oh dear, what can I do?
Baby’s in black and I’m feeling blue,
Tell me, oh what can I do?
She thinks of him and so she dresses in black,
And though he’ll never come back, she’s dressed in black.
I think of her, but she thinks only of him,
And though it’s only a whim, she thinks of him.
Oh how long will it take,
Till she sees the mistake she has made?
Dear what can I do?
Baby’s in black and I’m feeling blue
Tell me, oh what can I do?
Oh how long will it take,
Till she sees the mistake she has made?
Oh dear, what can I do?
Baby’s in black and I’m feeling blue,
Tell me, oh what can I do?
I’ll Follow The Sun
One of Paul’s sweetest songs, influenced by Buddy Holly, whom he was deliberately trying to copy at the time. He originally wrote it in the front parlour at Forthlin Road. It had been forgotten during their hard rocking days, but now, in October 1964, they were desperate for new material for the album, so Paul went back to this old number. And didn’t do much new work on it, by the look of the lyrics. They are about the shortest of any Beatles song, just twelve lines–six of which are repeated.
It’s typical of Paul’s upbeat, positive but also perhaps selfish outlook: one day I will be off, my love, as I have to follow the sun. John, by contrast, in such a situation, tended to cast himself as the victim.
Eight Days A Week
Sounds like an early 1963 happy-clappy rocker dance song built round one catchy phrase. ‘John and I were always looking for a title,’ said Paul in the Beatles Anthology book. ‘Once you’ve got a good title, if someone says “what’s your new title” you’re half way there. Of course the song had to be good. If we had called it “I am on the Way to a Party with You Babe” they might say, “Ok” but if you’ve called it “Eight Days a Week”, they say “Oh that’s good.” ’
The title sounds like a Ringoism, and it is often said to have originated with Ringo, complaining about having to work so hard. However, Paul remembers that it came from a chauffeur who was driving him to the house in Weybridge which John had moved into in July 1964. Paul asked the driver if he was busy and he replied, ‘Working eight days a week.’ It was the first time Paul had heard the expression.
Having got the title, and put a rhythm to it, they did little else. The lyrics do not develop beyond I am in love with my babe, and I need her eight days a week. Once they got a good hook, they felt that was enough–which had pretty much been their attitude to songwriting up until 1964.
John was later dismissive about the song, saying he was only writing for the meat market, with his professional songwriter hat on, not as a creative writer trying to express himself.
Every Little Thing
This track came as a surprise to me–playing it now, I realized I didn’t know it and had no memory of having heard it back in the sixties. Little wonder, I suppose, as it is highly forgettable, a bit of dirge, with a lacklustre beat and poor words–every little thing the girl does, she does for him. Paul told Barry Miles in his 1997 biography that he had written it in his bedroom in Wimpole Street with Jane in mind, as a love song–but it can’t have thrilled her much, and certainly would not today, given the implication that it is a girl’s duty to serve her man.
I Don’t Want To Spoil The Party
Written mainly by John on the USA tour, in hotel rooms and aeroplanes, flying between concerts–and feeling pretty pissed off, by the sound of it. A girl has been bad to him, but he’ll still go to the party, in case his disappointment shows. The tune does have its fans, but the narrative is flat and static.
What You’re Doing
Written mainly by Paul. Again it sounds like several other Beatles songs, before and after. There are some nice harmonies but the lyrics are repetitive–the girl is lying to him, making him cry. And yes, making him blue. Unusual for Paul to confess to crying, but it appears that his romance with Jane was running into problems. He has admitted the song was a bit of failure: ‘You sometimes start a song and hope the best bit will arrive by the time you get to the chorus… but sometimes that’s all you get.’
The manuscript is in Paul’s hand and written on headed notepaper from the La Fayette Motor Inn in Atlantic City. It shows that there were some changes in the middle eight for the final version. It was originally ‘waiting just for you’, not ‘here for you’, and then he had two attempts at the next line which appear to read ‘wondering what you gonna do / if you [something] that’s true’. The last line, which was originally ‘Should you want a love it’s me / that’s true’, became ‘Should you need a love that’s true, it’s me.’
Not exactly poetry, or even half-decent pop lyrics.
Look what you’re doing, I’m feeling blue and lonely,
Would it be too much to ask of you,
What you’re doing to me?
You got me running and there’s no fun in it,
Why should it be so much to ask of you,
What you’re doing to me?
I’ve been waiting here for you,
Wond’ring what you’re gonna do,
Should you need a love that’s true,
It’s me.
Please stop your lying, you’ve got me crying, girl,
Why should it be so much to ask of you,
What you’re doing to me?
‘What You’re Doing’, from Beatles For Sale, December 1964, in Paul’s hand on an Atlantic City motel notepaper.
Beatles For Sale is, on the whole, a bit of a disappointment. With hindsight, we can see influences for change in their lives in 1964, but none of that is reflected in the album. Instead it betrays evidence of overwork, lack of time and limited creative energy (Paul’s ‘I’ll Follow The Sun’, arguably the prettiest song, is at least four years old), hence the need to fill it up with six songs by other composers. Though John and Paul contributed four songs each, John is still very much the leader.
They were always pretty clear-headed about which songs had worked and which hadn’t–though John was later inclined to get a bit carried away, rubbishing everything: ‘When I was a Beatle, I thought we were the best fucking group in the world,’ he told Playboy in 1980. ‘As far as we were concerned we were the best–but we thought that we were the best before anybody else had even heard of us, back in Hamburg and Liverpool. But I am disappointed with every record they ever fucking made. So I cannot give you an assessment of what the Beatles are.’
5
HELP!
August 1965
Ticket for Shea Stadium concert, New York, 15 August 1965, which had a world record audience for a pop concert of 55,600 and took $304,000 at the box office.
The idea of John or any of the Beatles needing help seemed potty. How could they, when they were so young, rich, famous, adored? Had they not got everything in this world they had always wanted, everything that anyone could ever want? Snap out of it, John! That was what I and probably most people at the time thought to ourselves, if we thought seriously about the meaning of the lyrics. But of course we didn’t. It was just a pop song with a catchy hook, not meant to be taken seri
ously. Surely?
We now know, because John later told us, that this was the first really personal song he wrote–and that it truly was a cry for help.
‘The only true songs I ever wrote were “Help!” and “Strawberry Fields Forever”. They were the ones I wrote from experience.’ So he told Rolling Stone in an interview in 1970.
In the 1980 Playboy interview he expanded on this: ‘I didn’t realize it at the time. I just wrote the song because I was commissioned to write it for the movie. Most people think it’s just a fast rock ’n’ roll song. But later I realized I really was crying out for help. So it was my fat Elvis period.’
I first met John in March 1964 on the set of A Hard Day’s Night when the Beatles were filming at the Scala Theatre in London. I didn’t get much out of him, he was just larking around, making jokes about an illuminated sign that read Sounds On–meaning the sound was on, so they were recording, but he was giving a thumbs up and saying ‘Sounds on’–a fashionable phrase at the time to indicate that something was good, OK, right on. My interview with him never appeared, perhaps because I failed to explain the joke–or maybe it wasn’t very funny in the first place.
In 1967 when I got to know him better, spending hours with him at Kenwood, his home, I could see he was often down, fed up, miserable, sitting around, doing nothing, remote, distracted. I put this down to unhappiness with his marriage; disappointment that being rich and famous turned out not to be enough, but not knowing what next to do in his life; and to taking too many nasty drugs, which were leaving him befuddled, switched off from the world.
The Beatles Lyrics Page 9
