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Rating: The Year of Our Lord 1966. The preparations for the revolution are in full swing, but no one seems to care, it seems. The rubber soul permeates and cages the invisible ones of millions of listeners around the world. An Italian sound experimenter, still hidden for a little while among the incandescent, crunchy brown clods of Etna, will make the surfaces of vinyl perfectly smooth by listening to it over and over. Beyond the boundaries of the coadjacent ocean, beach boys will marry it to produce what would seemingly collect sounds destined for pet puppies. Or quite the opposite.
A handful of months ago, the relatively long ode to romantic (and not just) love that had inflamed the hearts of millions of howling girls has decidedly ended. Besides, it was time to change direction, since even a more determined, more fluid, more experienced sound could hardly compete with the caustic one of the house of the rising sun. An as yet unidentified chord had, however, prepared the bed of the crossroads on which the beetles would spread indelible asphalt.
An absolutely right phrase poked the bottom of a large group of star-spangled bigoted bumpkins, and among burnings, curses, and the Ku-Klux-Klan, Jane Asher will introduce Antonio Vivaldi to Paul McCartney. The latter, "enchanté," will vigorously shake the composer's hand and let himself be carried away by that stream of strings that characterizes him.
Eleanor Rigby is a solitary soul not because she wants to detach from people or because they relegate her to oblivion for some reason. No one notices she exists. Or almost. Eleanor Rigby is a shadow that appears when you have already left. You can hear her nails scraping the rough pebbles of the churchyard as she retrieves those raw rice grains that have slipped between the cracks. Perhaps she does it to feed herself or to satisfy some strange whim that melancholy imposes on her for a bit of company. Maybe she is not so alone as she thinks.
The curate, Father McKenzie, is perhaps her only friend, even though she is not his housekeeper because he darns his socks himself. Father McKenzie is also alone. When he celebrates mass, he speaks to the lit candles for an anonymous prayer, and those words he gathers at night for the next Eucharist weigh like boulders on his conscience. Words the crucifix in front of him probably does not even believe. When the last petal of that now dry flower falls, it will be him who will bury it. And he will do it properly, getting his hands dirty with the fresh earth that will embrace it. Only to go back to preaching with no one continuing to listen to him.
McCartney writes a very deep poem that frees itself from the not always solid chains of rock for electricity and percussion. The strings slice through the atmosphere of the track like uncertain but precise wingbeats. The cellos' advance creates urgency, generates agitation, as if an impatient death were strugglingly chasing the slow, limping Eleanor before catching and wrapping her in its coils. Of notable effect is the viola phrase at the close of the second verse and Paul's own counter-vocal at the finale. John and George effectively give vigor to the repeated opening lyrics. Only a genius can set to music pain, loneliness, indifference, and death in a little symphony that slightly struggles to surpass two minutes.
Eleanor Rigby has a tombstone and is buried with other family members, who by pure chance have become the most famous deceased of a Liverpool cemetery, located in the Woolton neighborhood where John was born. She was 44 years old and died on October 10, 1939. McKenzie was a surname with a minimum of assonance suitable for the song, stolen from a telephone directory.
Same year, same album, same single, and same side: the first double "A" side in history. John and Paul write a cheerful musically styled story to sweeten the ears of children, entrusting it to Ringo's good-natured, friendly vocal tone.
No one better than he would have taken by hand, as if in a huge ring-around-the-rosie, millions of children to guide them in a fabulous and colorful land inhabited by submarines. The yellow submarine is a merry toy sailing in a whirl of sounds created for the occasion. At the recording, in a studio wrapped in a festive atmosphere of absolute carefreeness, among choristers and sound technicians were Marianne Faithfull and Brian Jones.
John produced the bubble effect simply by blowing into a straw laid in a glass of water. The clamor heard several times was produced by a chain being rustled against the bottom of a metal tub by Alf Bicknell, the group's driver. Jones would go on to spin a plastic propeller in a container full of water and rattle glass plates. The sounds of a flute, an ocarina, a bass drum (Mal Evans and Neil Aspinall), coins dropped on a metal surface (which Pink Floyd would later use for "Money"), and Faithfull shaking a rattling bottle made of plastic filled with mineral ore would be compressed.
And while a microphone will leave its valves in a basin full of water to make the sound of a dive more real... and the band begins to play... it's the fun of a brass quartet borrowed on a tape by Geoff Emerick. And if John and Paul will record their voices compressed through an empty can to shout "Cut the cable! Drop the cable!" and "Captain! Captain!", the former, completely drunk, will sign the rollicking deep voice that mimics the last verse.
The result is perfect and explains how it's possible to compose, while having fun, with unusual but effective means available, a carefree nursery rhyme capable of eliciting a smile from a child and providing an unmistakable tune to the entire world. Not to mention its emotionally disorienting inclusion in a psychedelic album such as "Revolver."
Tracklist Lyrics 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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Other reviews
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 DanteCruciani
"The Beatles are the greatest band of all time, it seems obvious to me."
"I could never explicitly say how much I loved the Beatles because it wouldn’t be appropriate for a serious music critic... In the Beatles, there was something mystical, AND I love them."
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!!
