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The stern music critic Piero Scuraffi was sprawled in an armchair in his underwear and slippers, in the dim light, with headphones in his ears. It was hard to tell whether he was sleeping or otherwise, and his belly was protruding from his sauce-stained tank top. It was the seventh or eighth time I found myself facing that scene, and it was the seventh or eighth time my gastric juices flared up. "Mr. Scuraffi, where should I put these records?"... "Mr. Scuraffi? Mr. Scur..."
A belch flickered in the dark!! The maestro raised his hand and pointed to an empty corner. I complied. I had been working as an assistant in his apartment for over a week now; my job was to organize stacks of his vinyl records, moving the old ones already listened to make room for new ones, cataloging everything. All this while he continuously listened to records to "criticize".
You might say: such a job should be heaven for any music lover and old vinyl enthusiast, damn it! And this even considering the critic's decade-long total hatred towards a group like the Beatles, and therefore the total absence of their records in the house. Oh yes, a real paradise! Well, I would say: But also No!
You know, it wasn’t ideal having to feed that good man at every meal and change the feces bucket installed in his special deluxe armchair every evening. Sure, the pay was high, but I had reached my maximum limit of tolerance, both visually-olfactorily and especially audibly. Let's say that the more a record was "demanding," the more our hero tended to praise it with strange circumlocutions. For instance, that day started with Mr. Scuraffi's morning listen to the famous "Concerto per bicicletta da corsa e bicchieri di tamarindo in do" by the feared Panamanian artist Pri Cacapelota. Two hours and twelve. On the big stereo. Then a snack and back to it, in order, with two records of Israeli new wave, with an avant-garde surf group from Hawaii (such as Magic Tsunami’s Ass) and with the rare and forbidden "Sinfonia per un ciabattino sarcastico" by the Hungarian Jhonny Mazurca II. Now, however, he was sleeping. Soundly.
I attached the IV with the soup and sat in the dim light. My gaze fell on some old vinyls: Trout Mask Replica, Faust, Suicide, Red Crayola... and yes, dear old Scuraffi, you have introduced me to a lot of stuff; after all, I'm truly grateful to you from the bottom of my heart... I got up to arrange the last stack of records, and inadvertently touched a protrusion of one of the lower shelves with my foot. I became distracted and some records fell to the ground, and the covers broke, with a sound of plastic distorted by the floor's rot. Scuraffi woke up with a start and shouted in the dark: "But this dissonance is purely heavenly-cacophonic-Roy Montgomery!!! His wild eyes shone in the dark, like the very white ones of Louis Armstrong. The maestro then concluded with a baritone fart, and fell back mortally on the armchair. "Exactly!" I picked up the records and gathered the pieces but noticed an opening in the wall: "What the hell?..."
A part of the wall must have opened, perhaps it was a secret door. I must have triggered a mechanism with my foot. I entered slowly, under the precise snoring of the stern critic, and a thin, very dim bluish light began to bounce off my face. I went inside. I stopped. It was a small room of about 10 square meters, and on the wall in front of me, there was a small altar from which the light emanated. On the altar, I glimpsed a couple of vinyl records, one all white, one with road stripes on it and with... One moment, I looked up: now I was petrified, because there were four very large cardboard figures placed far above the altar looking down at me. Sideburns, mop-top haircuts, glasses, smirks. In order I recognized George Harrison, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr. Above them, there was a sign that said: "The greatest musical-group of all times". To the side of the room, there was a lectern with a book on it. I approached: it was a diary. I opened it to the first page and began to read... "The Beatles are the greatest band of all time, it seems obvious to me". My legs were frozen. I was confused, my heart beating fast... "The heights reached by the perfection of many of their songs are unparalleled in musical history, Lennon and McCartney were true geniuses..." But how can it be?! Scurà, is that really you saying these things?...
I came across a page with the title written in bold: "Revolver". The page was divided into two parts with "real review" and "fake review (to be put on his personal site)" written above. I compared them.
FAKE: Revolver was thousands of years late on rock music... the album, which is extremely polished, is an even more "light" version of the previous one.
REAL: Revolver is an exceptional work, containing some of the most beautiful songs ever... compared to the excellent Rubber Soul, the compositional vein has increased, and you're faced with a tracklist of songs forming an absolutely superb “musical thread”, encountering true creative masterpieces...
Songs like "Eleanor Rigby," "I'm only sleeping," "Here, there and Everywhere," "For no one" are pure musical pearls that will remain forever and serve to live better..."
My God! Scuraffi loved the Beatles, indeed, HE WORSHIPPED THEM! What a discovery, folks. I smiled. The Beatles were still watching me crouched from above the altar. The diary had a clarification on the last page: "I could never explicitly say how much I loved the Beatles because it wouldn’t be appropriate for a serious music critic. I mean, who can tolerate perfect songs of not even two minutes each, each with perfect tricks and timeless melodies: I mean, it's too much, you tend to hate them, it's simpler to totally dismantle them. What the hell, Paul didn’t even know music at first and he did what he did, while musicians who really wore themselves out with study are still unknown to this day. In the Beatles, there was something mystical, AND I love them."... I stayed there a bit longer, then exited the small room, closing it, and slowly tried to leave. I stepped on bits of plastic on the floor and made a small noise. Scuraffi awoke with a start, but then remained half-asleep. I smiled. I timidly tried to say: Piero, do you like "Here, there and everywhere" by the Beatles? Scuraffi smiled and nodded placidly. "And then don't you think you should put it in the list of the most beautiful songs ever?"... "...Yes.... yes, tomorrow I'll get up and do it right away... it's the most beautiful song...". He fell asleep. I detached the IV and slowly left. I would never return.
Outside, the stars shone above my head. Tomorrow never knows...
P. S. References to existing people are not intended to be derogatory or offensive, and all the more absurd and perhaps "heavy" descriptions should not obscure the utmost respect and esteem the author holds for anyone who might feel implicated. I hope it's understood that the intent is purely humorous and that this review is read with a big smile. Thank you all.
Tracklist Lyrics Samples and Videos
01 Taxman (02:41)
Let me tell you how it will be
There's one for you, nineteen for me
'Cause I'm the taxman,
Yeah, I'm the taxman
Should five percent appear too small
Be thankful I don't take it all
'Cause I'm the taxman,
Yeah, I'm the taxman
If you drive a car, I'll tax the street
If you try to sit, I'll tax your seat
If you get too cold, I'll tax the heat
If you take a walk, I'll tax your feet
Taxman
'Cause I'm the taxman,
Yeah, I'm the taxman
Don't ask me what I want it for (ha ha Mr. Wilson)
If you don't want to pay some more (ha ha Mr. Heath)
'Cause I'm the taxman,
Yeah, I'm the taxman
Now my advice for those who die (Taxman)
Declare the pennies on your eyes (Taxman)
'Cause I'm the taxman,
Yeah, I'm the taxman
And you're working for no one but me (Taxman)
02 Eleanor Rigby (02:10)
Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people
Eleanor Rigby
Picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window
Wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong
Father McKenzie,
Writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near
Look at him working
Darning his socks in the night when there's nobody there
What does he care
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong
Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people
Eleanor Rigby,
Died in the church and was buried along with her name
Nobody came
Father McKenzie
Wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave
No one was saved
All the lonely people (Ah, look at all the lonely people)
Where do they all come from
All the lonely people (Ah, look at all the lonely people)
Where do they all belong
05 Here, There and Everywhere (02:28)
To lead a better life,
I need my love to be here.
Here, making each day of the year
Changing my life with a wave of her hand
Nobody can deny that there's something there.
There, running my hands through her hair
Both of us thinking how good it can be
Someone is speaking but she doesn't know he's there.
I want her everywhere
And if she's beside me I know I need never care.
But to love her is to need her
Everywhere, knowing that love is to share
Each one believing that love never dies
Watching her eyes and hoping I'm always there.
I want her everywhere
And if she's beside me I know I need never care.
But to love her is to need her
Everywhere, knowing that love is to share
Each one believing that love never dies
Watching her eyes and hoping I'm always there.
I will be there, and everywhere.
Here, there and everywhere.
06 Yellow Submarine (02:42)
In the town where I was born
Lived a man who sailed to sea
And he told us of his life
In the land of submarines
So we sailed up to the sun
'Till we found a sea of green
And we lived beneath the waves
In our yellow submarine
We all live in a yellow submarine
Yellow submarine, yellow submarine
We all live in a yellow submarine
Yellow submarine, yellow submarine
And our friends are all aboard
Many more of them live next door
And the band begins to play
We all live in a yellow submarine
Yellow submarine, yellow submarine
We all live in a yellow submarine
Yellow submarine, yellow submarine
(Full speed ahead Mr. Boatswain, full speed ahead
Full speed ahead it is, Sgt.
Cut the cable, drop the cable
Aye, Sir, aye
Captain, captain)
As we live a life of ease
Every one of us has all we need
Sky of blue and sea of green
In our yellow submarine
We all live in a yellow submarine
Yellow submarine, yellow submarine
We all live in a yellow submarine
Yellow submarine, yellow submarine
We all live in a yellow submarine
Yellow submarine, yellow submarine
11 Doctor Robert (02:17)
Ring, my friend I said you'd call
Doctor Robert
Day or night he'll be there any time at all
Doctor Robert
Doctor Robert
You're a new and better man
He helps you to understand
He does everything he can
Doctor Robert
If you're down he'll pick you up
Doctor Robert
Take a drink from his special cup
Doctor Robert
Doctor Robert
He's a man you must believe
Helping anyone in need
No one can succeed like
Doctor Robert
Well, well, well, you're feeling fine
Well, well, well, he'll make you
Doctor Robert
My friend works for the National Health
Doctor Robert
Don't pay money just to see yourself
Doctor Robert
Doctor Robert
You're a new and better man
He helps you to understand
He does everything he can
Doctor Robert
Well, well, well, you're feeling fine
Well, well, well, he'll make you
Doctor Robert
Ring, my friend I said you'd call
Doctor Robert
Doctor Robert
12 I Want to Tell You (02:32)
I want to tell you,
My head is filled with things to say,
When you're here,
All those words,
They seem to slip away.
When I get near you,
The games begin to drag me down,
It's alright,
I'll make you make me next time around.
But if I seem to act unkind,
It's only me,
It's not my mind,
That is the confusing thing.
I want to tell you,
I feel hung up,
But I don't know why,
I don't mind,
I could wait forever,
I've got time.
Sometimes I wish I knew you well,
Then I could speak my mind and tell you,
Maybe you'd understand.
I want to tell you,
I feel hung up,
But I don't know why,
I don't mind,
I could wait forever,
I've got time.
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By R2061478
With Revolver, they start to get really serious.
Tomorrow Never Knows sounds modern even today, a cross between the Chemical Brothers and the minimalist electronics of Radiohead.
By sausalito
"Revolver is emblematic ... the weakest record in the band's mature discography."
"A record where the disparity between fame and actual value is evident."
By JohnWinston
"Revolver is tinged with psychedelia, ballads, rhythm & blues, nursery rhymes... everything contributes a bit to the creation of this timeless masterpiece."
"Tomorrow Never Knows is the masterpiece within the masterpiece, a drumbeat that hypnotizes the subconscious and leads the psychedelic explosion of 1967."
By david81
Revolver is a revolutionary LP that anticipates the times to come by a year.
A must-have album for every respectable music collection: a Brunello di Montalcino of music!!
By miraggio2
With Revolver, they really started to get serious.
Tomorrow Never Knows still sounds modern today, a cross between the Chemical Brothers and the minimalist electronics of Radiohead.
