It's 1963, and young people want something new, fun and uplifting.
It's 1963, and the living conditions, in Britain, have never been so good.
It's 1963, and young women want to feel the freedom these new living conditions could bring.
It's 1963, and young men are so, so tired of being macho-soldiers: the war is over, they say, let us be romantic for a while, man! Let us be vulnerable, and even effeminate if we like!
It's 1963, and both rock n roll and pop are established genres... but who cares, really? I mean, that german guy, Adorno, said that popular music is the sound of capitalism! Do you want to disrespect the Germans? Sure, Adorno also said that about jazz when it became the music of a generation, but come on! He's a respected philosopher, and when has a philosopher even been wrong... twice? Rock n roll is limited by its repetitive structure and its easily digestible form, he says: it will never be expressive, it will never be art.
It's 1963, and Brian Epstein knows what he's doing! I mean, the guys he's managing? Oh, they got the looks and the charisma! Sure, they had to fire the drummer (he wasn't the Best, you could say), but the replacement is a Starr, so who cares?
It's 1963, and after producing a couple of singles for these guys, George Martin says: <<Okay, listen up boys! You got the singles, now prove that you also got the album, uh! We got less than twenty-four hours or the magic of live playing is lost, and we ain't losing that magic, got it?>>
It's 1963, and Ringo Starr is already the human response to the metronome, as he follows like a believer the voice that screams: <<Well she was - just - seventeen, if you know what I mean!>> Ringo Starr is too charismatic to not follow this charisma.
It's 1963, and you don't always have to talk. It was a different time! The quiet one in the group, George Harrison, is silently bopping as he does his job, playing that guitar on the covers as if they were his own songs (he even gets to sing on one) and who knows: one day he might even write some of his own!
It's 1963, and Paul Mc Cartney is at the bass; where are you going, Mc Cartney? Don't you know that nobody remembers the bass players? He plays and he sings, on Love Me Do and on Please Please Me and on Misery... but he's always with the other guy! I mean, you gotta start doing your own thing buddy, or you'll be Yesterday's news!
It's 1963, and John Lennon has a cold. He suffers. His voice is like one of those creaky bags of potato chips. So what does he do? Well, he suffers, so he Twist(s) and Shout(s). Christ, what a performance. This guy was the pepper, the spice in the sweetness, even then.
It's 1963, and Please Please Me is released.
It's 1963, and people will have lots and lots of fun (they don't know that this is all a sinister scheme by Lennon to subject millions to Revolution 9).
It's 2023, and I'm having lots and lots of fun revisiting it.
It's 1963
It's 1963, and young people want something new, fun and uplifting.
It's 1963, and the living conditions, in Britain, have never been so good.
It's 1963, and young women want to feel the freedom these new living conditions could bring.
It's 1963, and young men are so, so tired of being macho-soldiers: the war is over, they say, let us be romantic for a while, man! Let us be vulnerable, and even effeminate if we like!
It's 1963, and both rock n roll and pop are established genres... but who cares, really? I mean, that german guy, Adorno, said that popular music is the sound of capitalism! Do you want to disrespect the Germans? Sure, Adorno also said that about jazz when it became the music of a generation, but come on! He's a respected philosopher, and when has a philosopher even been wrong... twice? Rock n roll is limited by its repetitive structure and its easily digestible form, he says: it will never be expressive, it will never be art.
It's 1963, and Brian Epstein knows what he's doing! I mean, the guys he's managing? Oh, they got the looks and the charisma! Sure, they had to fire the drummer (he wasn't the Best, you could say), but the replacement is a Starr, so who cares?
It's 1963, and after producing a couple of singles for these guys, George Martin says: <<Okay, listen up boys! You got the singles, now prove that you also got the album, uh! We got less than twenty-four hours or the magic of live playing is lost, and we ain't losing that magic, got it?>>
It's 1963, and Ringo Starr is already the human response to the metronome, as he follows like a believer the voice that screams: <<Well she was - just - seventeen, if you know what I mean!>> Ringo Starr is too charismatic to not follow this charisma.
It's 1963, and you don't always have to talk. It was a different time! The quiet one in the group, George Harrison, is silently bopping as he does his job, playing that guitar on the covers as if they were his own songs (he even gets to sing on one) and who knows: one day he might even write some of his own!
It's 1963, and Paul Mc Cartney is at the bass; where are you going, Mc Cartney? Don't you know that nobody remembers the bass players? He plays and he sings, on Love Me Do and on Please Please Me and on Misery... but he's always with the other guy! I mean, you gotta start doing your own thing buddy, or you'll be Yesterday's news!
It's 1963, and John Lennon has a cold. He suffers. His voice is like one of those creaky bags of potato chips. So what does he do? Well, he suffers, so he Twist(s) and Shout(s). Christ, what a performance. This guy was the pepper, the spice in the sweetness, even then.
It's 1963, and Please Please Me is released.
It's 1963, and people will have lots and lots of fun (they don't know that this is all a sinister scheme by Lennon to subject millions to Revolution 9).
It's 2023, and I'm having lots and lots of fun revisiting it.