“Sgt. Pepper captured
a moment, but Revolver created the
context and motion that became that moment. Partly because it was swallowed by
the events of the summer of 1966, and partly because of the shadow cast by Sgt. Pepper, it would take years –
decades, even – before critics and fans would widely regard Revolver as the Beatles' finest album.
But the form-stretching possibilities it had unleashed would change popular
music by giving it new and more blatant thematic range, matched by innovative
and outrageous sounds. It introduced different angles in chords and melodies
and gave other bands the courage to look at the risky moment as both internal
and social unrest. The Beatles sneaked all of this into their music with flair
and confidence, with beauty and dissonance.”— Mikal Gilmore,
“The Beatles' Acid Test: LSD Opened the Door to Their Masterpiece 'Revolver'—But Also Opened Wounds That Never Healed,” Rolling Stone, Issue 1269 (Sept. 8,
2016)
This August marks the 50th anniversary of
perhaps the most unsettling month in The Beatles’ history as a group—begun with John Lennon’s controversial remark
that the band had become “more popular than Jesus now,” and ended, in
exhaustion, with the Candlestick Park appearance that served as the final stop
of their last tour. In between came their transitional LP, Revolver. I discussed this masterpiece in a prior post, but it's worth another look in light of what Gilmore brings to light on its history.
Rubber
Soul, as I discussed in this prior post, remains (for me, anyway) the most consistently
satisfying Beatles studio album. But in his essay in the most recent issue of Rolling Stone, Mikal Gilmore makes a
credible case for Revolver as the
group’s first to spring from a self-conscious search for personal meaning.
That search was spurred mainly by the LSD
taken—first unwittingly, then more enthusiastically—by John Lennon and George Harrison. While Rubber Soul was what
Paul McCartney later called the band’s “pot album,” Revolver originated with the more intense, dangerous LSD. “Tomorrow Never Knows,” sometimes called the
first example of “acid rock,” derived
from Lennon’s attempt to make sense of his LSD trip through reading Timothy
Leary’s The Psychedelic Experience.
I wish I could have heard more from Gilmore about
the evolution of the album’s other sterling songs (notably, "Eleanor Rigby," “Got To Get You
Into My Life,” “I’m Only Sleeping,” and “And Your Bird Can Sing”). But in view
of the group’s subsequent history, it’s understandable why he delves into the
LSD angle.
The drug opened up the band to new thinking and new
sounds—and irrevocably altered its internal dynamics. From then on, Lennon and Harrison shared a bond that would endure until Lennon’s murder in 1980.
Simultaneously, they treated McCartney as someone apart from their
philosophical and creative journey, a Johnny-come-lately to their altered
state.
Gilmore does point out a cost of the hallucinogen to
Lennon: it worsened his drug habit, even leading to a 1968 incident in which he
summoned astonished Apple employees to issue a press release announcing that he
was Jesus Christ returned to Earth.
Gilmore might also have discussed how Lennon’s
increased absences from the studio within a few years led to more tensions with
bandmates, as well as to Lennon’s push back when McCartney sought to fill the
inevitable leadership void. But altogether, he shines a strong light on a key album in rock 'n' roll history--one whose significance may only now be properly appreciated.
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