The Beatles
The Beatles 1967-1970

THE REVIEW

Always there, on that same floor, with longer hair and a few more years since registering at the registry office. It seems the ceiling color has changed. When no one knew them, it was white. Even the camera angle had tilted a few degrees; they don’t wear the same clothes, but they are still the same. Those magnificent four English lads.

I got the album containing the soundtrack of their animated series as a gift. My first Beatles LP. Undoubtedly the least significant, bought also because it was the cheapest. I was disappointed because I was in love with "When I'm sixty-four," absent even from the collection. The answer was in the spicy Sergeant, the orchestra leader for the bachelors' association! In the absence of festive occasions, and due to a report card extremely lethal for a father who was a teacher, something not even a birthday could dissolve, I had to resort to a memory expansion and a ton of willpower to scrape a 7 in biology (it was previously 4) and cunningly request Sgt. Pepper's as a gift. An incentive to buy them all despite the essential collection.

This time, compared to the red one, a flute plays. The harmonica had been abandoned a while ago now. Just two years before. In the prelude to the Great Work, glass bulbs are shattered during the dismantling of an old colorful organ. There, in those boundless mental states where nothing is real, and where glimpses of old England persist in barbershop windows, among courteous people and firefighters in emergency.

Other music, other genres, things never heard before and never heard again. The last notes played to test their effectiveness, the murmuring of the audience in anticipation, a distracted accordion, and the sergeant's impromptu intrusion begins, indelibly conquering souls of over four generations ago. The colors, the sounds, the acids, the experiments. Nothing will be the same again. Not even when the colossal orchestral vortex will be swept away by the triple piano chord played simultaneously. And what would resemble the Marseillaise, will only be a diversion.

It's time to board the bus now, just a few months have passed but everything has changed. The film will not be in luck, but the walrus undoubtedly will. Even the fool, the one who spends days on the peaks spinning around to mimic the sun. That hello that seems a goodbye but is a see you later, tends to highlight human figures denigrated for too long. That warm embrace that wants to show the positivity of life, despite everything, will continually urge, until it results in an electric clatter of a cultural revolution. And to think that half a decade before it was all about love.

The year of confusion, of division, of financial and emotional corrosions, of the poisons of the rising sun and intermittent presences. The guitars can lament and vent in heart-wrenching cries, and despite the sun always returning attempting to warm those now cold hearts, one must resign to the bitterer side. That prophetic "Let it be," traveling long and winding roads around the universe, will mark the end of a group and the beginning of an unforgettable legend.