It was clear from Day One that each of them had
A specific point of departure; the wounded craft,
Barely rising; a fattened bird, far from free.
Ironic seen now and indeed a quarter century after
When Lennon’s ghostly piano was re-fleshed with Lynne
And love by the Three. 1994’s Anthology, made 1969
Seem much sooner; then, in a little over ten years,
John’s murder, and then just over twenty for George,
Stabbed by the mad, before the cold knife of cancer
Prised song from sinew, to make the youngest of them
Saint and elder, as Paul and Richie sat with him at the anvil,
Their hands touching gently to shape a life of love
On death’s forge. Get Back is just a TV series of course,
A smooth assemblage of progress towards dissolution
And the semi-sacred paths they would take;
From near feral screams to the farm, to the worlds
Of film, and sedition. To their oncoming war and the anger
Wrenched from the stylus and after the mantra of
‘ and in the end the love you take/is equal to the love you make..’
The last lines on the last Beatles album. If you don’t count
The coda of Her Majesty; a throwaway joke in nearly eight hours
Of joking as four pop progressives parade a poor mourning,
Which is quickly matched as McCartney summons his mother
To essay in Let It Be. Michael Lindsay Hogg, Orson’s son
(there is no doubt in my mind as I watch him) in attempting
To film them is more Star than Director as the whine
In his voice dominates. At one point he declares he is a bigger
Fabs fan than Linda, just as his strenuous efforts to extricate
Some sort of plan escalates. This naturally comes to nought
As they move from Arabian amphitheatre to Apple.
The gig on the roof emblematic of their lack of direction
By then. The only way left is not up, or even down
For that matter; in pulling apart prize and promise,
And exceeding potential these mobile Mozarts have stalled
Boyish motion, to stare back starkly as men. And realise
What they want, which for the first time seems different.
John and Paul newly partnered are primed to both advance
And retreat. With George straining hard, his stockpile of songs
Used as ammo, as he passive-agressives McCartney and then
Nonchantly leaves, while they eat. The lads seem to exist
Just on toast, which Jesus born now would have eaten.
Apart from one chocolate muffin, and wine’s easy oil,
It’s just love. Or rather love torn, or all used up,
Rattled, shaken, boiled into cups of tea taken
And chaos caught by the china which contains
The first rumbling of storms from above. Lennon’s first
Meeting with Allen Klein features too, which signals
The fatal and last separation. And a touch unnaturally
We see Yoko sat at John’s side all the time. She kisses him
As he plays, sews and reads a newspaper, and yet
We detect no true tension between her and the Three.
No-one minds. Not that much is exchanged. But McCartney
Does not disparage. Instead he defends their position,
Joined at hip and heart and in bags. They all look worn-out,
As scruffiness supplants Sergeant Pepper. And looking at
Lennon is haunting, when one recalls the occasion
Paul will describe as a ‘drag’ eleven years on.
And there is a surfeit of a similar sort of shock as you
Watch them. As both we and the Beatles bare witness
To the death and decline of their dream. Not one perhaps
That John dreamt, save to resolve his past struggles
And which can be heard in God’s lyric, and in Imagine too:
Nothing’s theme. The start of each day is an end.
These men have worked their way through fame’s wisdom.
In short supply, it is a pose, without purpose, and now
At 26 to 28 its too clear. John’s eyes oracle, being both
Blank and insightful. He makes a masturbatory jest
About standards: ‘they died so we could wank!’ Wit from fear.
For even Beatles can quake, just as they once did in the quarry.
Hidden under rock, souls are rolling, and once you roll souls
The flesh pales. Emptying everything before the body careens
At the cliff-face. Not even the shards of song can now
Save them. Practised as they are, purpose fails. A dissolute
George Martin attends, looking somewhat muted, demoted.
Before Spector, Glyn Johns engineers and produces,
As Martin mopes, a spare part. His former authority
Spent, due to the new and sudden currency of his charges,
Who in five years surpassed him, and yet his love
For what’s lost shows his heart. It is as if he can smell
The end, too. The tears in his eyes tell that story.
But he is there still as parent, caretaker, while managing
A number of minor details. One can see how potential
Once peeled, will shed the skin set to wither,
As the juice is spilt, every Adam even matched by his Eve
Seeks Christ’s nail. Of course there are no martyrs here yet,
But McCartney carries the can they all drink from.
But as he glugs and drives for direction, each of them
Leave the car. George has bequeathed Pattie Boyd
And slept with Maureen, wife of Ringo. Who also seems
Distant, ransacked, withdrawn; a slowed Starr.
Each of them chase different roads as they leave
The 1960s behind them. Not just at the decade
But as (in a metaphoric sense) an idea. Which these four boys
Defined. And in their wake there was rupture; from the shock
Deaths of Joplin, Morrison, Hendrix, to something bright
Broken; a forced amputation of something fresh long held dear.
And yet they were just a band. They wrote songs.
Of which most are important. Some are not vital.
But some are hymns to new Gods. Anthems for all.
Religions in rhymes and chord changes. Genres invented.
Innocence trained to fetch and run, like a dog.
Watching these films, from gap to gig is instructive.
What are the standards with which we advance?
Did they know? And how do we get them back
With Richard and Paul in their eighties.
As Mick and Keith join them, with Pete and Ray
Set to go. Along with Robert, and Jim, Peter and Phil,
Brian, Roger, David and Ian, Bryan and John, every name.
Whomsoever is yours is also ours. Music moves us.
Not just with emotions, or muscle, but with meaning
Masked in time’s game. All Things Must Pass.
But what now surpasses? The Beatles were pulling apart,
But I held them. For eight hours at least,
No change came.
David Erdos April 21st 2023
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