It goes without saying that Paul McCartney is a genius. The man has never been able to read music but has still written some of the greatest pop/rock songs ever. Recently he said that he is better known for his melodies than for his lyrics which is probably true, but just listen to some of the McCartney words and you will find that he just might be doing himself an injustice.
There are two post Beatles songs and lyrics that often go through my head like an earworm (where did that word come from? It seems to have suddenly appeared and is being used everywhere).
This is from The End of The End:
On the day that I die
I'd like jokes to be told
And stories of old
To be rolled out like carpets
That children have played on
And laid on while listening
To stories of old
On the day that I die
I'd like bells to be rung
And songs that were sung
To be hung out like blankets
That lovers have played on
And laid on while listening
To songs that were sung
and how about this lyric from a song called This One
Did I Ever Take You In My Arms,
Look You In The Eye, Tell You That I Do,
Did I Ever Open Up My Heart
And Let You Look Inside.
If I Never Did It, I Was Only Waiting
For A Better Moment That Didn't Come.
There Never Could Be A Better Moment
Than This One, This One.
The Swan Is Gliding Above The Ocean,
A God Is Riding Upon His Back,
How Calm The Water And Bright The Rainbow
Fade This One To Black.
Did I Ever Touch You On The Cheek
Say That You Were Mine, Thank You For The Smile,
Did I Ever Knock Upon Your Door
And Try To Get Inside?
These two lyrics are on the face of it so simple but so effective and I find those songs often going round my head.
Anyone who knows me will know of my love of and for the Beatles and particularly my fascination about the early lives of Paul, John, George and Ringo. They came from such different backgrounds but within the same place. McCartney came from a loving traditional family of hard workers and suffered the trauma of losing his beloved mother Mary:
When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be
McCartney speaks fondly of his father Jim and brother Mike (Mick McGear of the Scaffold).
John Lennon is another kettle of fish entirely. A renegade, a boy heading for trouble but handy with his fists and an ability to attract girls. I guess he was the typical Scouser of the late fifties/early sixties - a troubled boy. The ironic thing is that while Harrison, McCartney and Starr were basically from working class families, Lennon, who always tried to portray himself as a "working class hero" and indeed wrote a song with this title, was mainly brought up in a middle class family.
Lennon's mother Julia (again he wrote a song about her - see the lyrics below. Nobody has ever been quite sure of the relationship between Lennon and his mother) was what might be called flighty and flirty. A good time girl. But he was very close to her. Julia couldn't or wouldn't look after him as a proper parent and so he was farmed out to a house in the leafy suburbs called Mendips where he lived during his formative years with his Aunt Mimi and Uncle George.
So I sing a song of love, Julia
Julia, seashell eyes
Windy smile, calls me
So I sing a song of love, Julia
Her hair of floating sky is shimmering, glimmering
In the sun
Julia, Julia, morning moon, touch me
So I sing a song of love, Julia
George Smith was a big influence in John's life until he died of a heart attack and Mimi was left to raise John on her own. It's a fascinating story of love and devotion and Lennon idolised his aunt despite her strictness. Apparently when he was living in New York towards the end of his life he telephoned her every day and bought her a house in Dorset when Mendips became too much of a magnet for fans to visit. Lennon had something in common with McCartney. He too lost his mother. Julia was killed in a road accident when she was knocked over close to Mendips by an off duty police officer.
George Harrison was brought up in a terrace house in Arnold Grove. He had a loving and regular childhood. His dad was a bus driver and his mum was one of those friendly salt of the earth women who encouraged his guitar playing. When Harrison wanted to book into a hotel in later life he would use the name Arnold Grove.
Ringo Starr was brought up in a rough area of Liverpool in Madryn Street. He spent much of his childhood being sickly and spent some considerable time in hospital. At one point it was thought that he might not survive childhood. We all know he did and is still very much alive, now into his 80s.
The story of the Beatles and how Lennon and McCartney first met at a village hall fete is a fascinating one. Some people have said that without that fete the two would never have met, but I tend to feel that they would have come together anyway - living in the same city with the same interests and living close to each other - it was a short bike ride across a golf course between the two houses.
And as I always say it's no good using the words What If unless you are quoting from the wonderful song of that name by Alistair Griffin. What if McCartney and Lennon hadn't met at that school fete is irrelevant because they did. What if I hadn't gone on a holiday to Russia in 1972 and met my other threequarters is irrelevant because I did. Yes that's fate but you could attribute virtually anything in our world to fate.
Living through the Age of the Beatles almost means taking them for granted. But I always remember the thrill when a new Beatles single came out and the expectation felt for the next one. It was an event. Radio Stations (and I believe in those days it was mainly the Pirates that I listened to) would big up the new Beatles single "At 3 pm this afternoon we will be playing the new Beatles single Lady Madonna." The anticipation was incredible.
I mention Lady Madonna because that's the one I remember being launched on Radio Caroline. My initial thought was "I'm not sure I like that." It has of course become just another Beatles classic although it isn't one of my favourites.
* * *
So what of Brian Wilson. To me Wilson was/is the Californian McCartney. It's hard to believe at times that the Beatles Sergeant Pepper album and the Beach Boys' Pet Sounds came out within a year of each other.
Pet Sounds was released on May 16th, 1966, and Sgt Pepper just over a year later. It is quite likely that some of the content of Sgt Pepper (often cited as the greatest pop/rock album of all time) was heavily influenced by Pet Sounds (often cited as the greatest pop/rock album of all time).
Brian Wilson is another genius, a hugely flawed one but a songwriter who could weave beauty into a song. Wilson's songs are sunny, California surf songs. They sparkle with sunshine. They make you feel good. If you don't know what I mean just listen to Pet Sounds and tracks like God Only Knows (possibly the most romantic song ever written) and Wouldn't it Be Nice.
Pet Sounds evokes a world that maybe doesn't exist. A world of perfection in the mind. A world where your troubles and worries dissolve at the sight of the Pacific Ocean. Surfing songs for non surfers.
So it's probably best that you don't delve too deeply into the Beach Boys' history. The Wilson brothers (Brian, Dennis and Carl) were troubled men, bullied by a demanding father. I believe they were non surfers and so it's remarkable that they came out with such sun drenched music.
it is also remarkable that Brian Wilson is still alive and still touring, although by all accounts he isn't very animated. For years, Wilson didn't tour. Beset my mental problems, probably brought on by taking too many drugs, he became a recluse. I seem to remember one story where he sat for hours on end in a swimming pool that had been drained of water, refusing to come out.
Whatever the characters of the two men (and McCartney seems to be a regular happy and friendly guy) there is no doubt that they have brought sunshine and love musically into our world and we world would have been much poorer without them. Let's leave this one with more lyrics. A song partly written by McCartney which appears on The White Album. It's simply called Birthday.
You say it's your birthday
It's my birthday too, yeah
They say it's your birthday
We're gonna have a good time
I'm glad it's your birthday
Happy birthday to you
Yes we're going to a party party
Yes we're going to a party party
Yes we're going to a party party
Happy birthday to two musical greats.
* * *
You will notice that this has been a very long blog. Well blame the heat. With temperatures soaring into the 30s I had to spend most of yesterday under cover and that meant plenty of blog time. Hot temperatures make life tough for me. I only have to walk down the road to become a dripping mess, so prefer to stay in and try to stay cool. It all reminds me of another line from another favourite song "Summer the First Time" by Bobby Goldsboro.
It was a hot afternoon
The last day of June
And the sun was a demon
The clouds were afraid
One-ten in the shade
And the pavement was steaming
This is a song I play and sing on the last day of June every year. Ok tell me I'm slightly unhinged!
* * *
You probably haven't heard of Brinsworth House. It's a Royal Variety charity retirement home near Twickenham. It has 40 bedrooms and has been home in the past to some of the country's greatest entertainers.
Just look at this list: Hylda Baker, Pearl Carr, Charlie Drake, Alan Freeman, John Hewer (I will explain tomorrow), Thora Hird, Teddy Johnson, Kathy Kirby, Mick McManus, Ronnie Ronalde, Ben Warriss, Sir Norman Wisdom. I was led into looking this up by a photograph on Facebook of Richard O'Sullivan and Mike Yarwood who live there at the moment.
It's really weird that just a few weeks ago I was thinking about Mike Yarwood and wondering whether he is still alive. He certainly is but is now in his eighties. I wonder if he's still doing Harold Wilson impressions.
Well in the spirit of the kind of thing I am writing about today, tomorrow I will give my memories of some of the people mentioned above. Another kind of trip down memory lane for those of us of a certain age.