The Beatles
Sgt. Pepper

“Revolver” the greatest. “Sgt. Pepper” the most beautiful.

Even before being a masterpiece, “Sgt. Pepper” is a group in a state of grace, where everyone – especially Lennon – forgets themselves for the sake of something greater. For some obscure reason, in that spring of '67, his aggressive spirit calmed down in a way it hadn't for years. From that moment on, he offered his genius to help realize Paul’s ideas. An extraordinary act of humility, without which “Sgt. Pepper” wouldn’t be the serene and joyful document it is, and which, from this point of view, places it clearly above “Revolver.”
Because, if technically speaking, “Revolver” is the highest point of the Beatles’ career, “Sgt. Pepper” surpasses it for the enthusiastic spirit with which it was composed and recorded. An enthusiasm immortalized together with the countless layers of extraordinary and very original sounds that left the listeners of the time enchanted. It’s said that Jimi Hendrix listened to it for twelve hours straight.

And to think it wasn’t even supposed to be made. Just after the last concert at Candlestick Park in San Francisco (August 29, 1966), George Harrison gave an interview that left little to the imagination: “Enough, I am no longer a Beatle!” “Revolver” had just been released, and while the world was discovering the Beatles as artists and no longer as a fleeting cultural phenomenon, one of them was about to cut ties with everything. Even the Italian (television) newspapers dedicated some coverage to the interview.

The four understood that after three crazy years between recording studios and concerts, it was time for a pause for reflection. So, while McCartney was busy with a soundtrack, Lennon went to Spain to act in Dick Lester's film “How I Won the War.” There, he took his guitar and began to put his (very confused) thoughts on paper. By now, he was a habitual LSD user and familiar with acid-induced visions. Hence, his usual mischievous ambiguity combined the colorful circles he saw in his trips with the strawberries of “Strawberry Fields,” the place he went as a child to sell lemonade with his little friends. A return to childhood and flights with acid. Two ways to describe a single yearning: escaping reality with its responsibilities. John wrote his (terrifying) stream of consciousness and alienation accompanied only by an acoustic guitar. Back in London, he sang the song in that minimal form to an enchanted George Martin. The five set to work and began to put sound to it. Lennon, a few months earlier, had composed a hypnotic masterpiece like “Rain,” and he applied the idea again to “Strawberry Fields” with an extremely slower tempo. McCartney suggested adding a mellotron. Then the drums were added (perhaps too invasive). In the second part, George Martin had them record the floating and gloomy cellos that turned the piece into the greatest psychedelic-orchestral masterpiece in Beatles history: sublime sound craftsmanship that left and still leaves one breathless.

Paul didn’t stand idle. He wanted to do something on par with “Strawberry Fields.” And “to challenge John,” he decided to do something similar, another (this time optimistic) nod to childhood. He worked intensively throughout December 1966. He started with his usual repeated piano chords (with the usual ingenious variations), then added a “treated” drum effect that made history, along with a magnificent cornet solo, inspired by a Bach concert, for which he called a professional musician. “Penny Lane” was born, completed on December 27, 1966. Much more conventional than “Strawberry Fields,” but still another splendid song.

Two masterpieces ready for the new record in just a month. Not bad. But for the sacred “business,” the two songs were released as a single in February 1967, losing any chance of being part of the Beatles’ most famous and delightful record: “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.”

This strange title is a sarcastic nod from the Beatles to the improbable and lengthy names of East Coast U.S. bands. At the beginning of 1967, McCartney had publicly declared the end of Beatles concerts – even TV7 in Italy picked up the interview. So why not put a concert on a record? A concert by a group of merrymakers with a funny name. A magnificent idea, though unfortunately the applause we hear at the start of the first track and the second, we’ll only find in the penultimate one (the reprise), throwing away a truly delightful concept. “Sgt. Pepper” would have been the first (and only) live album of original tracks in history.

Recording began on the title track on February 1, and it took ten takes before the final version. Considered a delightful introduction to the band, it's actually a little gem thanks to McCartney’s excellent vocal performance, the trombones (first beat), and the magnificent (ironic) guitar work (second beat).

Two little guitar notes introduce Billy Shears (the name of Ringo’s alter ego). The other names have not reached us: what a basic mistake. The song starts with the usual repeated piano chords supporting the vocals. At 0:40, Ringo (who in “Sgt. Pepper” leaves us a magnificent contribution) has his little drum solo, almost indicating that Billy is him. Then the drug reference (“I get high”), and then Lennon’s famous question-answer:

- What do you think when you turn off the light?
- I don't know, but I know it’s mine.

While Paul and John composed this piece (March 29, 1967), Paul showed John the text of “A Fool on the Hill.” Lennon thought it was excellent. Unfortunately, he didn’t tell Paul to work on it and put it on the record. What would “Sgt. Pepper” be like with “Strawberry Fields,” “Penny Lane,” and “The Fool on the Hill” inside?

Silence, and then an ethereal organ loop of a few notes (“that even Beethoven would have liked” according to George Martin) transports us immediately to another world, into the world of Lewis Carroll. However, beyond the mirror, there’s no Alice, but Lucy. The useless controversies about the title, which would be an acronym for LSD, haven’t prevented the track from becoming one of Lennon’s most celebrated pieces. John’s son, Julian, showed his dad a drawing of Lucy – perhaps his little girlfriend – in a sky with little stars, those stars we also drew as children. It’s likely that Lennon, in those stars, “wanted” to see diamonds, to create the infamous and naughty acronym. If it’s very likely that John wanted to create the wordplay – no one was ever second to Lennon in wordplay – for sure the song wasn’t inspired by drugs, as he himself stated, very sincerely, in many interviews: “I swear to God, Jesus, Buddha, and Mohammed that “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” wasn’t written under acid.” “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” should be taken for what it is: a wonderful psychedelic song for children. The most beautiful children’s song ever. You enter the boat, too, and also begin to see “marmalade skies,” “cellophane flowers,” “rocking horse people eating marshmallow pies,” “towers taller than you are,” “newspaper taxis,” “plasticine porters” and “looking glass ties,” until you too, after many adventures, reach the girl with kaleidoscope eyes. A song that must have made the little Julian very happy. A song loved by both little ones and adults, and among these adults was Frank Zappa, who, instead of an organ, played it in a concert (even as a closing song) with an electric guitar, creating a dreamlike effect, possibly even more beautiful than the original. You can verify this on YouTube.

Back to this side of the mirror, you hear some repeated chords of something that seems like a clean guitar à la The Edge. Musicians of the time were impressed. To achieve that sound – today reproducible by computer but at the time an absolute novelty – the Beatles opened a grand piano, took an ice pick, struck the strings, and sampled the sound. It was this desire to experiment and leave something different for posterity that made Sergeant Pepper great. “Getting Better” sees the group’s alchemy at its peak. Imaginative bass (almost muted, foretelling the one in “Dear Prudence”), perfect guitar notes, and a magnificent Ringo (who, listening to the finished song, realized something was missing, and then added his fantastic charleston touches, the best at 0:42). The lyrics are, in our view, completely Lennon’s. At that time, John really felt better, and here he clearly says: “I used to be cruel to my woman. I beat her and kept her apart from the things that she loved. Man, I was mean. But I’ve found “the word” (the love) and I’m finally listening.” The reference to “The Word” (his song from “Rubber Soul”) is very clear.

The intro to the next track sounds like something from a “Pet Sounds” song, to which Paul McCartney (in the documentary “The Making of Sgt. Pepper” (1992), produced to commemorate the album’s 25th anniversary) would pay his sincere homage – without the exaggerations of mediocre critics who saw “Sgt Pepper” as a carbon copy of the Beach Boys’ work. The piano again joins an excellent Ringo on the charleston, and then the guitar work that seems so similar to the second part of “Taxman.” “Fixing a Hole” is an expression that appears (phonetically) in “A Day in the Life” (“Now they know how many holes it takes to fix the Albert Hall”) and McCartney (who loved Lennon’s titillating provocations) didn’t want to be outdone. The text seems to be a continuation of “Getting Better,” though calmer and more relaxed: “I’m fixing a hole (inside)... I don't care if I’m wrong or right. What matters is that I feel good. I see people fighting each other, and no one wins by quarreling. I’m painting my (inner) room in a colorful way… I see stupid people running past me (reference to the bustling people in “I'm Only Sleeping”). I’m doing things I’ve never done before, and I have no regrets doing them…”

“She’s Leaving Home” is one of the best songs ever written by the Beatles. The introductory harp is joined by the violin, which accompanies the dramatic parts of the lyrics narrating the story of a girl running away from home, devastating the parents who argue in the song: on one side the mother (played by McCartney), who gives in to despair; on the other, the father (played by Lennon with his magnificent back-vocals), who instead rebukes the daughter.

“Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite” is the album’s psychedelic track. The song’s verses are adorned with Ringo's still excellent work on the charleston. The song’s greatness is fully revealed in the psychedelic interlude. It seems that this extraordinary piece was born from a mix of randomly cut, remounted, and reversed tapes. The story seems implausible given the sonic coherence of the fragment. Either way, Lennon despised this song, musically worthy of “Revolver,” for the insignificant lyrics repeating words from a circus show poster from the last century. With less laziness, he would have written lyrics worthy of the music, and his judgment would have been different.

Indian music and folk music combine in the astonishing “Within You, Without You.” The percussion is on wood, enhancing its originality. The vibrated sound akin to a tambura pairs with the violin to underline the solemnity of the lyrics. Perhaps the first pop song talking about life beyond death: “We fill each other with dreaming, until that moment arrives, when it's too late to be turning around.” A text even praised by a Taoism professor at Cambridge University.

Next is one of the Beatles’ most underrated songs: “When I’m 64.” Composed by Paul, perhaps even before knowing John (1957), it was used since the times of the Cavern. The track is a magnificent vaudeville, of extraordinary depth, in a dialogue between a man and his beloved, about their future together. The stunning clarinets join Paul's bass accompaniment, before the change supported by the piano and Lennon's magnificent and sober choirs (truly delightful).

“Lovely Rita” starts with a conventional guitar riff joined by an ecstatic “Ah..” from Lennon, representing the hidden theme the author wants to convey: “come to take a “tea” with me” – “Tea” in slang means “joint.” First the grass, then “Sitting on a sofa with a sister or two.” In this harmless filler, the Beatles manage to express everything on their minds in '67: sex and drugs. Memorable the piano solo and memorable the “scratched” sounds heard at 0:40 and 1:35, achieved by taking a comb and rubbing it somewhere. Beautiful, once again, Lennon’s choirs, who towards the end indulges in sexual moans culminating in a climax. Here's your innocent little song.

“Good Morning Good Morning” is another one of those songs qualified by Lennon as “rubbish.” While in other cases, John could be justified for the poor lyrics, here the lyrics are among his very best. A stark picture of his boring family life, told in the third person, and certainly not lacking in hermeticism: “Nothing to do to save his life. Nothing to say but how’s your baby. Nothing to do, it’s up to you.” John even revisits his old school and discovers nothing has changed. This is the desperate day of the world’s most famous rock star when he didn’t have to go to the studio to record. Musically, the song is a rhythmic masterpiece (with constant tempo changes). Calling a song like this “rubbish” means only two things: either drugs had stripped John of any sense of reality (MacDonald in “The Beatles” describes post-66 Lennon as “a mental wreck”), or the intolerant idealist only considered his masterpieces, qualifying everything else as crap. Great music can be written without understanding its value.

The animal sounds prepare for the tasty reprise, a brilliant idea by Neil Aspinall, initially met with some skepticism from Paul and John! Without this reprise, “Sgt. Pepper” wouldn’t be the same as the Sergeant Pepper's band bids farewell, preparing the audience for the grand finale.

The prolonged note from the reprise joins the splendid acoustic guitar strum that opens “the” masterpiece of the album. A sort of solemn reverence enters the listener. The piano further accentuates the solemnity. Lennon's voice in the first verse is still normal, almost moved by the death (real) of a dear friend just twenty years old (Tara Browne), “but even though the news was rather sad, I couldn’t help but laugh” – perfect preamble for the song’s theme: the grass. The second verse is melodically identical, with a reference to Lennon’s involvement in the film “How I Won the War,” but in fact nonsense, indicating that John is no longer with it; he’s high and wants the listener to get high too, and to this invitation to get high follows its musical representation: a deafening orchestral crescendo. Then again clarity in narrating a normal day (a McCartney fragment), before another “smoke session” bringing the author “into a dream.” Then an absurd news (the precise number of potholes found in the city of Blackburn) to mock (even more if you’re high) and especially making some mischievous and easy wordplay (“…. holes to fix the Albert Hall”). From the grass to the hole… And finally, again the author getting high (with a new orchestral crescendo). An absurdly coherent musical-textual masterpiece. A text-music combination that says a lot about Lennon and McCartney's intelligence in saying the unspeakable by hiding it behind silly phrases (as in “Lovely Rita”).

“Sgt. Pepper” and “Revolver” could have been the Beatles’ launching pad from pop-rock to “rock” (ugly term, now entered common usage, indicating technically refined popular music, not supporting beautiful melodies). However, “Sgt. Pepper” unfortunately represents the testament of the strength of a collaboration that left us with probably the greatest pop-rock (psychedelic) the history of music remembers. After “Sgt. Pepper,” the Beatles’ story would be a sad slow death.

A year later, with a heroin-addict Lennon lost behind Yoko Ono, an arrogant McCartney self-appointed as the group's leader, and an increasingly resentful Harrison due to the others' indifference towards him, the Beatles composed the White Album, where, after the giant steps of '66/'67, we sadly find the Beatles of the first six records again, with their usual immortal melodic masterpieces (“Blackbird,” “Julia,” “Dear Prudence,” “Hey Jude,” “Goodnight”), a work of art in song form (“While My Guitar Gently Weeps”), a major studio experiment (“Revolution 9”), all of it seasoned with bland and unmentionable mediocrity.

Some information here is taken from Luca Biagini’s website, www.Pepperland.it, which I invite you to consult for technical analyses of a much higher level.

Also interesting is the documentary “The Making of Sgt. Pepper” (1992), released to commemorate the album’s 25 years.