Thursday 29 October 2009
Saturday 24 October 2009
Shout! The True Story of the Beatles
It was with much excitement that I found Shout! in my favourite music shop, priced at just three pounds. I had it on Dad's authority, and from several magazines, that it is the definitive Beatles biography. I eagerly bought it, and a few days later began to read.
I have now finished it, surprised at how long it took to complete. The size of the book is misleading: while it could not be described as thin, it looks like a quick read until you open the pages and see the small and closely-spaced print. I read through it steadily, intrigued, as I always am, by the fascinating story of the world's greatest group.
The author, Philip Norman, writes in an engaging and readable style that is hardly academic but certainly creates the impression of a man who knows his stuff. Although I was slightly bemused by his rather foolish comparison of John Lennon's death with the events of 9/11 in the introduction, I felt that the book was going to be much more informative than the other Beatles biography that I have read, Hunter Davies' 1960s work The Beatles.
The Beatles is a rather innocent book, leaving out the nastier side of the story and glossing over controversial facts due to the wishes of the relatives of those involved. Because it was, and still is, the only authorised biography of the group, Davies has no choice but to present The Beatles favourably. However, The Beatles does have the advantage of being a genuine historical source. Having read the book, and thoroughly enjoyed it, I closed it having built up much respect for his author. In a 100-page 2009 introduction, Davies explains why he has chosen not to revise and improve the text: it is like a time capsule of history. For all its inaccuracies, it's great.
Anyway, back to Shout! Unlike Davies' biography, Norman tells the whole story without fear of controversy. Sex, drugs, scandal: none of it is censored, and he weaves in the historical context successfully. He introduces each character gradually and thus doesn't throw too much individual biographical information in your face.
I particularly liked Norman's writing on the Beatles' manager, Brian Epstein, who tragically died in 1967 of a drug overdose. He was a sad and confused figure whose homosexuality was obvious to all who knew him yet was something he tried so hard to stifle. Madly in love with John Lennon, his management of the Beatles was at once an exciting and heartbreaking time for Brian. Unlike Davies, who barely hints at Brian's sexuality to avoid upsetting his mother, Norman gives a sensitive and touching account of the sad life of Brian Epstein.
Unfortunately, as the book came to its end, I became more and more annoyed with Norman. Particularly in the final section of Shout!, he demonstrates a clear and somewhat outrageous pro-John Lennon bias, whilst criticising Paul McCartney in a way that can only be described as harsh. Although admitting to being a "John person" in the introduction (most Beatles fans class themselves as either a "John-person" or a "Paul-person"; I pride myself on being both!), there is no excuse for his unbalanced adoration and dislike of John and Paul respectively. John's flaws are excused, whilst Paul's are enhanced. Norman appreciates John's sense of humour and sharp tongue, whilst he is unimpressed with Paul's "nice-guy" image; presumably he thinks John to be more authentic. John is presented as the talented one, the funny one, and his frankly awful treatment of his pre-Yoko wife Cynthia is barely commented on. Paul is presented as a jealous, obsessive fake who can never live up to his Beatle partner.
This bias irritated me and changed my opinion of the whole work. Its subtitle, The True Story of the Beatles, came into question for me. I was also irritated with Shout!'s abrupt end, and its increasingly arrogant assumptions. "George wasn't great," Norman writes, and goes on to say that he was merely an average guy who got lucky. Norman also assumes that his book is the best, particularly criticising Many Years From Now, an interview-based authorised biography of Paul. Naturally, Norman wouldn't approve of any book which portrays Paul in a positive light. It sneers at how a whole chapter of the book is dedicated to Paul's taste in art. I have been dipping in and out of Many Years From Now since May, and I will testify to its quality as a book.
Shout! is clearly a well-researched and well-written biography, but, despite its great start and middle, its bias becomes its downfall towards the end. Philip Norman is too confident in his talent as a Beatles expert and biographer for my taste, and, while Shout! may be juicier and more accurate in actual events than the quaint 60s The Beatles, its disappointing bias and almost vitriolic attack on Paul makes The Beatles a much less infuriating read. This is not to say that I didn't enjoy Shout! and I would still reccomend it to any Beatles fan; after all, it is "the definitive."
xxx
I have now finished it, surprised at how long it took to complete. The size of the book is misleading: while it could not be described as thin, it looks like a quick read until you open the pages and see the small and closely-spaced print. I read through it steadily, intrigued, as I always am, by the fascinating story of the world's greatest group.
The author, Philip Norman, writes in an engaging and readable style that is hardly academic but certainly creates the impression of a man who knows his stuff. Although I was slightly bemused by his rather foolish comparison of John Lennon's death with the events of 9/11 in the introduction, I felt that the book was going to be much more informative than the other Beatles biography that I have read, Hunter Davies' 1960s work The Beatles.
The Beatles is a rather innocent book, leaving out the nastier side of the story and glossing over controversial facts due to the wishes of the relatives of those involved. Because it was, and still is, the only authorised biography of the group, Davies has no choice but to present The Beatles favourably. However, The Beatles does have the advantage of being a genuine historical source. Having read the book, and thoroughly enjoyed it, I closed it having built up much respect for his author. In a 100-page 2009 introduction, Davies explains why he has chosen not to revise and improve the text: it is like a time capsule of history. For all its inaccuracies, it's great.
Anyway, back to Shout! Unlike Davies' biography, Norman tells the whole story without fear of controversy. Sex, drugs, scandal: none of it is censored, and he weaves in the historical context successfully. He introduces each character gradually and thus doesn't throw too much individual biographical information in your face.
I particularly liked Norman's writing on the Beatles' manager, Brian Epstein, who tragically died in 1967 of a drug overdose. He was a sad and confused figure whose homosexuality was obvious to all who knew him yet was something he tried so hard to stifle. Madly in love with John Lennon, his management of the Beatles was at once an exciting and heartbreaking time for Brian. Unlike Davies, who barely hints at Brian's sexuality to avoid upsetting his mother, Norman gives a sensitive and touching account of the sad life of Brian Epstein.
Unfortunately, as the book came to its end, I became more and more annoyed with Norman. Particularly in the final section of Shout!, he demonstrates a clear and somewhat outrageous pro-John Lennon bias, whilst criticising Paul McCartney in a way that can only be described as harsh. Although admitting to being a "John person" in the introduction (most Beatles fans class themselves as either a "John-person" or a "Paul-person"; I pride myself on being both!), there is no excuse for his unbalanced adoration and dislike of John and Paul respectively. John's flaws are excused, whilst Paul's are enhanced. Norman appreciates John's sense of humour and sharp tongue, whilst he is unimpressed with Paul's "nice-guy" image; presumably he thinks John to be more authentic. John is presented as the talented one, the funny one, and his frankly awful treatment of his pre-Yoko wife Cynthia is barely commented on. Paul is presented as a jealous, obsessive fake who can never live up to his Beatle partner.
This bias irritated me and changed my opinion of the whole work. Its subtitle, The True Story of the Beatles, came into question for me. I was also irritated with Shout!'s abrupt end, and its increasingly arrogant assumptions. "George wasn't great," Norman writes, and goes on to say that he was merely an average guy who got lucky. Norman also assumes that his book is the best, particularly criticising Many Years From Now, an interview-based authorised biography of Paul. Naturally, Norman wouldn't approve of any book which portrays Paul in a positive light. It sneers at how a whole chapter of the book is dedicated to Paul's taste in art. I have been dipping in and out of Many Years From Now since May, and I will testify to its quality as a book.
Shout! is clearly a well-researched and well-written biography, but, despite its great start and middle, its bias becomes its downfall towards the end. Philip Norman is too confident in his talent as a Beatles expert and biographer for my taste, and, while Shout! may be juicier and more accurate in actual events than the quaint 60s The Beatles, its disappointing bias and almost vitriolic attack on Paul makes The Beatles a much less infuriating read. This is not to say that I didn't enjoy Shout! and I would still reccomend it to any Beatles fan; after all, it is "the definitive."
xxx
Tuesday 20 October 2009
Identity for Terra
Human beings are obsessed with knowing themselves. A huge amount of money has been made from self-help and amateur psychology books, and there are thousands of websites where the searcher can find out their "personality type," as if personalities can realistically be confined into a given number of categories.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, artistic members of society seem to be more interested in "who they are." Philosophers, writers, poets, painters, and rock stars have attempted to answer that inevitable question: "Who am I?" Maybe this is simply because artistic people (I say from experience!) are often more introspective and emotionally-minded than their more scientific counterparts. Science looks at what we are: the biological, chemical and physical reality of being human. Art looks at who we are: the personal, philosophical, emotional reality of being human.
No wonder so many artistic people go off the rails and die young. It's enough to make anyone depressed.
But, on the other hand, it doesn't have to be like that. Part of being human is having many faces, many identities, many personalities even. Part of being a happy person is learning to live with them. Security doesn't come from being one clearly-defined, cardboard cut-out that can say, "I am X." Security comes from an acknowledgement that humans are pretty complex, but accepting it.
In the past I have been extremely miserable, confused about my identity, tearful and angry. There are quiet aspects to my personality, loud aspects, masculine and feminine aspects... am I clever or stupid, am I artistic or not, am I a good person or a bad person, am I selfish or selfless? And I'm interested in so many things that appear to be conflicting. I became obsessed with analysing my own personality and the personalities of the people around me. Then I realised that all the aspects of my personality are not conflicting, they are just opposite sides of a multitude of coins. They all make me. Me is not one thing; Me is many things.
While identity is confusing and frightening, every human wonders who they are. The teenage years, especially, are a time of coming to grips with the person one is, the depths of one's personality and personalities, realising what one does and does not enjoy doing. I feel as though I have come through that teenage confusion, but many others have not. My only advice is: keep going. You'll get there!
xxx
Perhaps unsurprisingly, artistic members of society seem to be more interested in "who they are." Philosophers, writers, poets, painters, and rock stars have attempted to answer that inevitable question: "Who am I?" Maybe this is simply because artistic people (I say from experience!) are often more introspective and emotionally-minded than their more scientific counterparts. Science looks at what we are: the biological, chemical and physical reality of being human. Art looks at who we are: the personal, philosophical, emotional reality of being human.
No wonder so many artistic people go off the rails and die young. It's enough to make anyone depressed.
But, on the other hand, it doesn't have to be like that. Part of being human is having many faces, many identities, many personalities even. Part of being a happy person is learning to live with them. Security doesn't come from being one clearly-defined, cardboard cut-out that can say, "I am X." Security comes from an acknowledgement that humans are pretty complex, but accepting it.
In the past I have been extremely miserable, confused about my identity, tearful and angry. There are quiet aspects to my personality, loud aspects, masculine and feminine aspects... am I clever or stupid, am I artistic or not, am I a good person or a bad person, am I selfish or selfless? And I'm interested in so many things that appear to be conflicting. I became obsessed with analysing my own personality and the personalities of the people around me. Then I realised that all the aspects of my personality are not conflicting, they are just opposite sides of a multitude of coins. They all make me. Me is not one thing; Me is many things.
While identity is confusing and frightening, every human wonders who they are. The teenage years, especially, are a time of coming to grips with the person one is, the depths of one's personality and personalities, realising what one does and does not enjoy doing. I feel as though I have come through that teenage confusion, but many others have not. My only advice is: keep going. You'll get there!
xxx
Saturday 17 October 2009
The Beatles and Childhood
Good afternoon!
I've been wanting to write a Beatles-related post for a while, partly because I feel I ought to start studying them in a bit more depth, and partly because I haven't got much of a desire to write anything angsty at the moment. Most of my anger about our sick society has already put itself into words, either on this blog or in discussions with friends. So until I find myself raging again, the blog's tone will probably be a little less angry and a little more relaxed!
I'm going to focus on the theme of childhood in the Beatles' work. Hopefully it won't be too waffly...
No matter what happens to us in life, we cannot escape our childhoods. We cannot escape the influence of our parents, our schools, our friends, our bullies, our favourite toys, the daily rituals, our worst punishments, our favourite memories. Our upbringing is beyond our control, and dependent on the lottery of birth.
For four young lads from Liverpool who took the world by storm, childhood was no less inescapable, and indeed there is a huge amateur and scholarly fascination with the Beatles' upbringings. Most biographies place a heavy emphasis on their childhoods, from which came a strange sequence of coincidences and lucky occurrences that turned a less-than-impressive skiffle band into the greatest supergroup of all time. A new development on the Beatles' youth never fails to make the News; most recently, of course, the ten-year-old Paul's prizewinning Coronation essay was discovered in Liverpool library. You can even visit the childhood homes of Paul McCartney and John Lennon, and stand amongst a small group of awed tourists as you survey the room in which the young Paul learned to play his guitar. Without their unextraordinary, Northern beginnings, the Beatles would never have existed.
Perhaps if Paul had not been brought up in a family in which his father, Jim, was a musician and his mother, Mary, encouraged a strong work-ethic for her sons, he would not have worked so hard at perfecting the guitar (despite at the detriment of his schoolwork!). If John's aunt and mother had not been such strong, witty individuals, John may not have the quick sense of humour that he brought to the band. If Ringo had not spent much of his childhood in hospital, the resulting better education may have sent him on a very different path. And if George had not been encouraged by his approving mother, he may not have worked so hard despite his unequal share of the lime-light.
Indeed, the Beatles themselves were fascinated by their own childhoods and the memories of the days before fame and fortune. John, in particular, referred to his past in several songs, most notably In My Life and Strawberry Fields Forever. Paul, of course, penned Penny Lane, a jolly tune about the Liverpool road and roundabout in which Paul spent many a childhood hour waiting for the bus.
The Beatles, four young men influenced heavily by their pasts, went on to influence the lives of literally millions of 1960s children, many of whom were caught in the all-consuming disease-like phenomenon of "Beatlemania." Many young people had rooms filled to the brim with Beatles merchandise, and the euphoria and sexual excitement caused by the Fab Four awakened many an innocent young girl. One of the legacies of the group is that even today's children are influenced by the Beatles, as they become more and more engrained in the cultural identity of Britain. Few children can escape the dreaded Yellow Submarine in primary school music classes. My Dad had me singing Can't Buy Me Love and She Loves You at the age of six, and I remember curling up on the sofa, ten years ago, watching black-and-white footage of the band performing. Looking back, I was particularly bewitched by John Lennon.
Recently, in the wave of Beatles nostalgia that came with the 40th anniversary of the release of Abbey Road and the band's subsequent demise, the Times 2 featured an article about today's young kids and the Beatles. The journalist played a handful of infants the original vinyl of several well-known Beatles songs and recorded their reactions. One child's merry comment closes the article: "The Beatles are great. The modern songs are a pile of dog c**p.”
(http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/music/beatles/article6825010.ece)
Childhood is at the centre of the Beatles, just as childhood is at the centre of life. The upbringings of the Fab Four have the power to fascinate and indeed it is well worth visiting Liverpool to experience a glimpse of their lives before they took the world by storm. Over forty years on, they have the power to transfix and transform the lives of today's children, if not in the same hysterical way as they influenced the crazed children of their heyday.
J
xxx
I've been wanting to write a Beatles-related post for a while, partly because I feel I ought to start studying them in a bit more depth, and partly because I haven't got much of a desire to write anything angsty at the moment. Most of my anger about our sick society has already put itself into words, either on this blog or in discussions with friends. So until I find myself raging again, the blog's tone will probably be a little less angry and a little more relaxed!
I'm going to focus on the theme of childhood in the Beatles' work. Hopefully it won't be too waffly...
No matter what happens to us in life, we cannot escape our childhoods. We cannot escape the influence of our parents, our schools, our friends, our bullies, our favourite toys, the daily rituals, our worst punishments, our favourite memories. Our upbringing is beyond our control, and dependent on the lottery of birth.
For four young lads from Liverpool who took the world by storm, childhood was no less inescapable, and indeed there is a huge amateur and scholarly fascination with the Beatles' upbringings. Most biographies place a heavy emphasis on their childhoods, from which came a strange sequence of coincidences and lucky occurrences that turned a less-than-impressive skiffle band into the greatest supergroup of all time. A new development on the Beatles' youth never fails to make the News; most recently, of course, the ten-year-old Paul's prizewinning Coronation essay was discovered in Liverpool library. You can even visit the childhood homes of Paul McCartney and John Lennon, and stand amongst a small group of awed tourists as you survey the room in which the young Paul learned to play his guitar. Without their unextraordinary, Northern beginnings, the Beatles would never have existed.
Perhaps if Paul had not been brought up in a family in which his father, Jim, was a musician and his mother, Mary, encouraged a strong work-ethic for her sons, he would not have worked so hard at perfecting the guitar (despite at the detriment of his schoolwork!). If John's aunt and mother had not been such strong, witty individuals, John may not have the quick sense of humour that he brought to the band. If Ringo had not spent much of his childhood in hospital, the resulting better education may have sent him on a very different path. And if George had not been encouraged by his approving mother, he may not have worked so hard despite his unequal share of the lime-light.
Indeed, the Beatles themselves were fascinated by their own childhoods and the memories of the days before fame and fortune. John, in particular, referred to his past in several songs, most notably In My Life and Strawberry Fields Forever. Paul, of course, penned Penny Lane, a jolly tune about the Liverpool road and roundabout in which Paul spent many a childhood hour waiting for the bus.
The Beatles, four young men influenced heavily by their pasts, went on to influence the lives of literally millions of 1960s children, many of whom were caught in the all-consuming disease-like phenomenon of "Beatlemania." Many young people had rooms filled to the brim with Beatles merchandise, and the euphoria and sexual excitement caused by the Fab Four awakened many an innocent young girl. One of the legacies of the group is that even today's children are influenced by the Beatles, as they become more and more engrained in the cultural identity of Britain. Few children can escape the dreaded Yellow Submarine in primary school music classes. My Dad had me singing Can't Buy Me Love and She Loves You at the age of six, and I remember curling up on the sofa, ten years ago, watching black-and-white footage of the band performing. Looking back, I was particularly bewitched by John Lennon.
Recently, in the wave of Beatles nostalgia that came with the 40th anniversary of the release of Abbey Road and the band's subsequent demise, the Times 2 featured an article about today's young kids and the Beatles. The journalist played a handful of infants the original vinyl of several well-known Beatles songs and recorded their reactions. One child's merry comment closes the article: "The Beatles are great. The modern songs are a pile of dog c**p.”
(http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/music/beatles/article6825010.ece)
Childhood is at the centre of the Beatles, just as childhood is at the centre of life. The upbringings of the Fab Four have the power to fascinate and indeed it is well worth visiting Liverpool to experience a glimpse of their lives before they took the world by storm. Over forty years on, they have the power to transfix and transform the lives of today's children, if not in the same hysterical way as they influenced the crazed children of their heyday.
J
xxx
Thursday 1 October 2009
Little Bits of Life
Bonjour,
I am possessed with the desire to write a blog entry, but what to focus on...? I therefore present to you a disconnected mess.
1) Political angst.
I'm beginning to wonder if maybe it's a good thing that I'll probably be two or three weeks too young to vote in the next general election. As my close friends place their ballot papers in boxes across the county, I will be watching BBC News in anticipation as political commentators express their predictions and thoughts on the election. I have absolutely no idea who I'd vote for if my mum had given birth to me a month earlier. Of course, there is a minuscule possibility that the election could be on or in the two days after my birthday, but it's not very likely.
I think, if I did have the privilege to be able to vote (and to be honest I'm slightly annoyed that, as an actively interested A-Level Politics student, I am not) I might end up spoiling my ballot paper or voting for a small party like the Greens out of protest. I feel that no party is representing the ethical Left.
We shall see, I suppose.
2) More identity musings
Identity is of enormous interest to me, partly because my own identity has been developing so much over the last few years and I've enjoyed self-analysing myself, and partly because the areas I'm most interested in (politics, feminism, music, sociology, religion, literature) have an over-arching theme of identity.
I spent many years agonising over my identities, because I was so confused and dismayed by how I seemed to be so many people at once. Today I am confused, but not so much dismayed. I quite happily place all my quirks under the label "eccentric" and forget about them. But my own identity, and the identity of others, continue to fascinate me.
I've been thinking recently about the difference between self-perception and the perception of others. John Lennon, perhaps one of our most misunderstood rock heroes, clearly felt that how other people, specifically fans, saw him was a load of rubbish! I love the wonderfully ironic Glass Onion, one of John's Beatles tracks off The White Album. John is clearly ridiculing the fans who try and read heavily into his lyrics and find non-existent meanings in them. In the song, he feeds the fans red-herrings, complete bollocks basically, as if to emphasise how no one can ever truly know him, or his songs.
The fact remains, however, that none of us can know what's going on in anyone else's head, and probably a lot of what is going on within our own.
3) Please buy Fairtrade.
Thank you!
This was truly awful, I know! Apologies!
J xxx
I am possessed with the desire to write a blog entry, but what to focus on...? I therefore present to you a disconnected mess.
1) Political angst.
I'm beginning to wonder if maybe it's a good thing that I'll probably be two or three weeks too young to vote in the next general election. As my close friends place their ballot papers in boxes across the county, I will be watching BBC News in anticipation as political commentators express their predictions and thoughts on the election. I have absolutely no idea who I'd vote for if my mum had given birth to me a month earlier. Of course, there is a minuscule possibility that the election could be on or in the two days after my birthday, but it's not very likely.
I think, if I did have the privilege to be able to vote (and to be honest I'm slightly annoyed that, as an actively interested A-Level Politics student, I am not) I might end up spoiling my ballot paper or voting for a small party like the Greens out of protest. I feel that no party is representing the ethical Left.
We shall see, I suppose.
2) More identity musings
Identity is of enormous interest to me, partly because my own identity has been developing so much over the last few years and I've enjoyed self-analysing myself, and partly because the areas I'm most interested in (politics, feminism, music, sociology, religion, literature) have an over-arching theme of identity.
I spent many years agonising over my identities, because I was so confused and dismayed by how I seemed to be so many people at once. Today I am confused, but not so much dismayed. I quite happily place all my quirks under the label "eccentric" and forget about them. But my own identity, and the identity of others, continue to fascinate me.
I've been thinking recently about the difference between self-perception and the perception of others. John Lennon, perhaps one of our most misunderstood rock heroes, clearly felt that how other people, specifically fans, saw him was a load of rubbish! I love the wonderfully ironic Glass Onion, one of John's Beatles tracks off The White Album. John is clearly ridiculing the fans who try and read heavily into his lyrics and find non-existent meanings in them. In the song, he feeds the fans red-herrings, complete bollocks basically, as if to emphasise how no one can ever truly know him, or his songs.
In searching for identity and authenticity, none of us can afford to forget the danger of reading into things too heavily. I am a huge culprit and I spend far too long analysing everything anyone says to me. I'm very self-critical, and probably, if I'm being honest, critical of others."I told you about the walrus and me, man
You know that we're as close as can be, man.
Well here's another clue for you all,
The walrus was Paul."
The fact remains, however, that none of us can know what's going on in anyone else's head, and probably a lot of what is going on within our own.
3) Please buy Fairtrade.
Thank you!
This was truly awful, I know! Apologies!
J xxx
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