The Enduring Brilliance of The Beatles and Bob Dylan
By Jon Friedman
The sign of true greatness is longevity, the ability for an artist to remain relevant through generations. It is a highwire act, to defy the natural force of gravity and show the world that you can withstand trends and the aging process of your audience.
In popular music — and perhaps in modern culture as a whole — nobody has done this quite as brilliantly as The Beatles and Bob Dylan. The proof is the re-release of The Beatles’ 1966 masterpiece, Revolver, and a new by Dylan called The Philosophy of Modern Song.
Why am I grouping together these ageless wonders? To me, The Beatles and Dylan represent the best of the 1960s, the decade when both emerged, and the decades after. Many terrific songwriters, singers, performers and musicians have come along in the past 50 years, of course. But nobody has grabbed their crown.
Revolver
Revolver came along in August 1966, the third release in a year of rock and roll sophistication, following hot on the heels of The Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds and Dylan’s double album, Blonde on Blonde. Brian Wilson devotees will argue forcefully that Pet Sounds is simply the greatest album of all time. Dylan’s legion of fans will enthusiastically point to his growth on Blonde on Blonde.
But Beatle people will have the last word with Revolver. It represented a giant leap from the similarly magnificent Rubber Soul and pointed to an unimaginable future, marking the emergence of Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, in June 1967.
Revolver is a gas. It contains unknown bits that will warm the hearts of collectors and thrill people who love to unearth obscure gems. We have John singing Yellow Submarine, but with none of Ringo’s effervescence. George plays Love You To on his acoustic guitar, giving us a glimpse of what the clever song sounded like before George added Indian instruments to it.
It’s cool to listen in on The Beatles’ studio chatter during the making of Revolver, too. I live for this sort of thing! Hats off to producer Giles Martin for another breakthrough!
Revolver showed Paul McCartney, then, at his creative peak. The album contained songs that showed that Macca had caught up to John Lennon, who had previously written the very best Beatles songs. McCartney acted deferentially to Lennon, like the imagined big brother that John was to the younger (by a year and a half) Paul. Before, it was as if Paul refused to entertain the notion of challenging John for sophisticated songwriting. In Rubber Soul, John presented In My Life, Nowhere Man, Norwegian Wood and The Word; Paul answered with Michelle, Drive My Car, and a few others. Game set match, to Lennon.
But on Revolver, Paul delivered the goods: Eleanor Rigby, For No One, Here There and Everywhere and a few others. Lennon was no slouch, but his contributions to Revolver, save for Tomorrow Never Knows, were electric guitar bursts — terrific numbers but pretty much true to the Beatles’ established guitar-centric sound.
With Revolver, McCartney no longer merely complemented Lennon or provided a useful in-band counterpoint, serving up sweetness to Lennon’s acidic sentiments of lost love and betrayal.
Now, Paul was Lennon’s equal in penning jaundiced love songs and with Eleanor Rigby, he was setting a tone within the Beatles. Lennon suddenly had to prove himself, once again, to contend with the ascendant McCartney, not to mention the emerging George Harrison, whose songs Taxman and Love You To supplied lyrical and musical wallops. And Your Bird Can Sing and Doctor Robert, both by John, sounded more like filler than inspired messages.
The Beatles were more formidable than ever. Revolver underscored the growth and ambition of George and Paul to rival John within the band.
The Beatles were better off for it. This showed clearly on Sgt Pepper, the White Album and Abbey Road, all of which arrived after 1966. But revolver set the tone. It was at once the signpost and the template of The Beatles’ greatness.
Bob Dylan, author
Naturally, Dylan included a song by is friend and acolyte Elvis Costello in his new book on songwriting. Costello, after all, reminded listeners very much of Dylan in Costello’s brilliant 1977–79 phase.
But why, oh why, did Dylan elect to highlight Costello’s song Pump It Up, of all nominees? Pump It Up is a raw, catchy, hard-driving tune, a triumph more of the Attractions, Costello’s then back-up band, than of lyrics and melody. In truth, Costello has written thirty or forty more distinguished songs, though Pump It Up comes closest of anyone’s work to re-capturing the runaway fun of Subterranean Homesick Blues, Dylan’s first “electric” studio release.
Maybe Dylan felt nostalgic — probably not, as he once told journalist Robert Hilburn in 1991 that nostalgia was “death.” Or maybe Dylan felt a fondness for Costello’s blatant copying of style. Or maybe!! …
We will never know. That is one reason why Dylan endures. He remains just out of our reach. He invites us to think, reflect and debate what’s on his mind. But he’ll never tell, and we’ll never really know for sure.
The entries are classic Dylan: witty, perplexing and memorable. And Dylan is still capable of arousing a reaction from his audience. Chris Frantz, the distinguished drummer of Talking Heads and a noted memoirist in his own right, turned to Facebook to express his displeasure with Dylan’s Pump It Up entry.
Not to take anything away from Costello and the Attractions or Dylan himself, Frantz communicated his unhappiness that Dylan had gushed so about Costello (without mentioning Talking Heads).
I’m curious why Dylan omitted a song by Lennon/McCartney, Jagger/Richards, Ray Davies, Paul Simon or many other respected contemporaries (not to mention, of course, David Byrne). Dylan works in mysterious ways.
The book is a fun read. It reminds me of Dylan’s breezy, earnest tone during his Theme Time Radio Hour episodes.
There is no more interesting source than Dylan when it comes to songwriting. This book will stand the test of time. I wouldn’t be surprised if Dylan soon presents us with a second volume. And I’m sure he will then perplex people all over again.
