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(Apple, 1975)This one was released in Europe to fluff the Shaved Fish comp (which, seeing as how it included the rote ’n’ roll “Move Over Ms. L.,” was more a 7”/non-alb round-up than a greatest hits) and it neatly pairs both sides of the marketer’s-dream John Lennon™ coin. Sweet backed with sour: utopian John gets repped by “Imagine,” and pissed John offers “Working Class Hero.” The latter is an embarrassing slice of acoustic, class-baiting poseurism lifted from Plastic Ono Band that, if nothing else, comes off as semi-convincing as long as one decides not to look into Lennon’s actual biographical whatsits. And as a bonus, unenthused credit is hereby granted to Apple for issuing the song on a single with the saucy, ain’t-I-blue lyrics intact.
(Apple, 1975)
So this is where it was all headed. After a few years of seeming indifference toward pushing his music forward, Lennon sought fetal-position safety in the late ’50s with Rock ’n’ Roll, an album of teenage-funtime covers. He at least does a fine job on these songs, though, with “Stand By Me” – featuring some of his best singing – a worthy choice as single. Also, the cast of thousands on these sessions gives the songs a full-bodied bad-assedness that largely distracts one from the fact that this record is a lazy vanity project originally inspired by a scummy publishing lawsuit. But so it goes. The B-side, “Move Over Ms. L.,” is a blaring Lennon original that fits in well with the rootsy rock he’d receded back into.
(Apple, 1974)
John Lennon’s white-boy party jam, but not necessarily in a good way. This cocaine sax-shit sounds a lot like something the Saturday Night Live house band would’ve cranked out during commercial breaks around the same time, and Elton John’s AM-pop presence looms disturbingly large over the chipmunk-voiced proceedings. I don’t begrudge Lennon his chart success – this was his LONE Billboard #1 before he died – but it’s hard to get excited about such gutless, sub-Wings horsepoo. “Whatever Gets You Thru the Night” makes the execrably new-agey “#9 Dream” (also a single off of Walls and Bridges) seem appealing by comparison, and that’s obviously no badge of pride. And “Beef Jerky”? Just a silly early-R ’n’ R throwback instrumental that’s cute only for including the “Let Me Roll it” lick during its breaks.
(Apple, 1973)Retreating from the real-world grit of his last few records, Lennon’s back in “all you need is love” mode on “Mind Games,” promoting positive thinking as a means to achieving peace. The lyrics, of course, go a little too heavy on the cosmic fiddle-faddle, trotting out “mind guerrillas,” “the karmic wheel,” and – worst of all – “some kind of druid dude lifting the veil.” Ugh. Still, the music, even with Phil Spector out of the picture, is pleasant and rich – slow, piano- and key-based balladry that sounds more sleekly “adult” than anything Lennon had done previously (“Out the Blue” from the LP is an even better example of this). Switching gears, B-side “Meat City” is a boogie-rocker that, unlike too many of the r’n’r-minded mid-’70s efforts that pad out John’s albums, manages to be fairly enjoyable and memorable thanks to a loose yet heavy funkiness. As a joke, the brief backwards segment at the end of the first verse (“fuck a pig”) is replaced on the single with “check the album.” Tee hee, etc.!
(Apple, 1972)Naughty, naughty! The feminist sentiment is noble, and the sax-dominated arrangement ultra-muscular (that chunka-chunk “We make her paint her face and dance” coda is especially terrific), but when your political/cultural/intellectual ally Angela Davis professes to being uncomfortable about your lyric, well… I guess that makes things complicated. Still, writing as a white male nearly 40 years on, I admire “Woman is the Nigger of the World” for being a ballsy, heart-in-its-right-place piece of commercial suicide that has musical appeal well beyond its chorus’s intended shock value. Hard to knock Lennon for following his political 45s pushing peace (“Give Peace a Chance,” “Happy Xmas”) and social justice (“Power to the People”) with one promoting women’s rights. Yoko rounds things out by adding the uplifting reggae-tinged girl-groupisms of “Sisters, O Sisters” on the B-side, and while I would have preferred her zany boogie-fest “We’re All Water” for single release, this one does fit nicely for obvious thematic reasons.Both tracks are on Sometime in New York City, and, to be honest, I’m not sure why the consensus on the album is that it’s some major discographical blemish. It’s dated, ragged, and ham-fisted, but with the newspaper-themed packaging, Lennon suggests that he’s knowingly creating ephemeral, of-its-moment rock, rather than the Grand Statements of some of his Imagine-era material. It’s a fun, loose LP that reeks of excitement and conviction (no matter how naïve), with little of the contrived rock-star posturing of later political-minded pop-celebs. Lennon is willing to look silly on this album – and he occasionally does – but he at least doesn’t try to cloak himself and his music in arrogant, singing-from-on-high grandiosity. The mistakes in judgment and songwriting that pockmark this era in Lennon’s career ultimately come off as charmingly well-meaning rather than self-aggrandizing or self-important. Worth shoving some of it into your ears.
(Apple, 1971)When John and Yoko recorded this festive – yet barbed – chestnut back in ’71, little did they know the avalanche of gifts that would tumble my way one warm California afternoon in early 2010. Yes, several days ago, I was on a quick trip out west for work, and here are just a few of the exciting junk-shelf freebies I picked up: CD holder from Citrix, playing cards from Yahoo, tote bag from LinkedIn, dominoes from Amazon, laundry bag from InterDigital, sunglasses from Cooliris. “Happy Xmas” indeed! Sure, the Lennons were using their song to challenge listeners to actively do something about ending war and promoting peace, but hey, I got myself a combination reading light/laser pointer from vmware, which is what the season’s all about!And the music? Spector drags out the Harlem Community Choir for this one, and the sleighbell-boasting production is delightfully rich and echo-y, just as a Christmas song oughta be. Plus: green vinyl! Of all the holiday ditties released by ex-Beatles, “Happy Xmas” is by far the most substantial in terms of musical and lyrical content, and it’s deservedly the most successful. Sure, I guess time could still vindicate Ringo’s I Wanna Be Santa Claus record, but, personally, I wouldn’t take a free copy even if Silicon Graphics stuck it on a USB thingy and gave it out for free at the Stanford Computer Forum.
(Apple 1971)
Well. I’ve been accidentally falling asleep on my couch every evening this week like a naughty, lazy fellow, thus the lack of John Lennon reviews. Luckily, the coming of the new year has directed pretty much all site traffic to the entry for “Ding Dong, Ding Dong,” so I suppose I can hide behind that fact and get away with some pitiful January sloth. And if it seems too obvious that I’m phoning it in on this one, please note that Lennon was doing the same when he churned out “Power to the People,” his second slogan-based political-pop single. Still, no matter how trite the lyrics, the huge, uptempo, sax-blare Wall-of-Spector backing sells the thing to an astonishing degree. Sonically and thematically, the song fits far better with the Sometime in New York City material of ’72 than with the more personal Imagine songs that were soon to follow, but it works as an over-earnest, one-off stopgap between albums and demonstrates, after Plastic Ono Band, that Lennon had in no way shunned the mass-appeal single-writing process.
(Apple, 1970)Ol’ John’s first LP-pimping single was a bafflingly non-commercial one – the stark, screaming, piano-smashing “Mother” – but, to be fair, what offa Plastic Ono Band WOULD have been commercial? “God,” maybe? Gussied up remixes of “Remember” or “Well Well Well”?? Dunno. At any rate, some concessions are made for radio here, as the opening bell tolls and most of the closing howls are edited out for the 45 mono-mix. Still a poor marketing choice, but a fine bit of post-’60s, post-pop-universalist self-indulgence nonetheless. A shortened version of Yoko’s terrifically nutzoid jam “Why” is on the B, and it suggests that a fully collaborative pop/rock effort between John and Yoko around this time might’ve yielded some truly hot poop. Shame that that wouldn’t happen until Sometime in New York City, when the supporting players were, to the resulting rec’s detriment, of a far lesser caliber.Oh, and the American picture sleeve for this one is rare as HJECK. Head straight for the mountains if you gots a copy.
(Apple, 1970)Golly gee! Good for John Lennon, directly following up his best-ever ROCK single with his best-ever POP single in a nifty display of quick-pivot versatility (and speaking of versatility, Yoko contributes a medieval-sounding harpsichord-and-flute ditty on the B this time out!). With a big joyous chorus, bouncy piano, passionate vocal, silly drum fills, and echo up the wazoo, “Instant Karma” absolutely SOUNDS like a smash the first time you hear it, thanks to that unit-shifting combo of Lennon’s rhythmic, gut-punch popwrite and Phil Spector’s huge production. Aside from the fact that this was John’s biggest solo hit to date, Spector’s involvement on here is actually quite important in a larger historical sense. This was the first time he’d worked with any of the Beatles, and Lennon and Harrison (who plays guitar on “Instant Karma”) were pleased enough with the results that they both brought him onboard for their next solo albums – Plastic Ono Band and the VERY Spector-esque All Things Must Pass, respectively. But, perhaps more significantly, this session also led to our murderous producer friend being drafted to salvage the Let it Be tapes, a move that ultimately convinced Paul to publically put a bullet in the Beatles’ head – Spector-style, zing! – a few months later. Yes, there were obviously a number of other issues that led to the breakup (and Lennon had effectively quit by now anyway), but it’s amusing to realize that a song as simple and cosmically uplifting as “Instant Karma” played such a big role in what ended up being a decade-plus of sniping and acrimony between the ex-Beatles.
(Apple, 1969)I must say that it’s funny to hear the usual pants-wetting Beatlefan crybabies bleat about Yoko Ono using the Plastic Ono Band name on her latest album, considering that the conceptual non-group was always intended to be whomever John and(/or?) Yoko surrounded themselves with at any given session. Check “Cold Turkey,” which features an entirely different cast of characters than those on “Give Peace a Chance”: This time, it’s John, Eric Clapton, Klaus Voorman, and Ringo Starr, and they’re offering up a far different sound than the jangly street-chant of the previous single, here laying down a hard claustro-rockin’ tale of heroin withdrawal and general misery over some tense, jagged skree. I don’t believe that Lennon ever nastied it up guitar-wise as effectively as he does on this disc, and in terms of overall hot-rock performance, probably only “I Found Out” (which also features Voorman on mean-burblin’ bass) comes at all close to such intensity in the Lennon songbook. Further marrying an ever inward-looking tendency with a raw, Beatle-baggage-free take on the pop/rock setup, “Cold Turkey” – lyrically, musically, vocally – certainly paves the way for the similarly uncomfortable John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band LP of 1970. Just as satisfying, B-side “Don’t Worry Kyoko (Mummy’s Only Looking For Her Hand in the Snow)” features the same group jamming in a driving, almost-unhinged blues-rock style as Ono provides the shrieking, ululating vocals for which she’s long been (unfairly) mocked. Ground zero for the Yoko musical template, this song, as with John’s, clearly points towards work undertaken in 1970 – her own P.O.B. album, though, jumps further into crazed, jazz-informed, free-rock mindblow that thumps far harder and far freakier than any solo Beatle effort out there. Shit’s NUTS. Seriously: if you don’t own it, reconsider soon.
(Apple, 1969)For the first solo single from a Beatle, John Lennon, Yoko Ono, two acoustic guitars (the second played by Tommy Smothers!), and a roomful of friends/celebs/sycophants make a raucous campfire noise in support of worldwide goodvibes. No deep thoughts to be found therein (the stream-of-consciousness verses are largely incidental), but it’s raw and immediate, just as it needed to be. Which is why I’ve spent the last bunch o’ years considering “Give Peace A Chance” alongside McCartney’s similarly-hokey post-9/11 single “Freedom,” because – no matter what you think of the icky political whatsis surrounding the latter – both guys were shooting for the same thing: Whip up a simple, memorable, of-its-time, stomp-clamp anthem for People Who Want One. Sure, the market success of Paul’s sleeker effort certainly didn’t match that of John’s, but from a purely song-based perspective I think both achieved what they set out to do (though the fact that the masses didn’t embrace “Freedom” as they did “Peace” ultimately marks it a failure). For-what-it’s-worth sidenote: McCartney has since renounced his composition and has taken to covering Lennon’s on his 2009 tour.Meanwhile, Yoko, backed by John on “Sun King”-esque acoustic, provides the lo-fi B-side, a breathy, gentle lullaby/ballad that sounds like a “White Album” demo and gives no hint of the abrasiveness of much of her later work. A track of both significant quality and interest.
(Apple, 1975)For over a decade, I had walked these dusky streets happily a-whistling my way towards the grave, all the while under the impression that the only thing I cared for on Extra Texture was goof-off closing track “His Name is Legs (Ladies and Gentlemen).” So imagine the total jaw-drop pants-wet eye-poppery this week when I, older and mellower, played the album and found myself LOVING ALMOST ALL OF IT. Stuff’s solid! Occasionally SUPER-DUPER, even! And “You,” the single, is absolutely ducky in its explosive wall-of-sound gallop, with lush sonics perhaps present because the backing track was salvaged from a scotched 1971 Ronnie Spector session. But no matter, it’s an excellent Harrison song regardless of its origins, and that heavenly, organ-heavy middle section is about as great a moment as he ever managed on disc – overall, it’s a brighter, poppier tweaking of the All Things Must Pass template, and that’s a template-tweak to make any non-nut sit up and mull applause. The barrelhouse-meets-soul ballad B-side, “World of Stone,” features piano that’s alternately tinkled and pounded, and that, along with burbling organ and brief snatches of an anthemic chorus vocal, results in a vaguely McCartney-esque track that underlines how much more musical effort Harrison is expending this time around. Again: Good stuff. Both songs appear on the LP in identical form, and the near-uniformly strong material around them (“The Answer’s at the End,” “This Guitar,” “Can’t Stop Thinking About You”) makes Extra Texture, despite the puzzlingly lukewarm critical consensus, a George-train well worth riding.Also, that rotted apple core that takes the place of the famously appetizing Granny Smith logo on the vinyl’s label is a pretty nifty joke on Harrison’s part, what with Apple degenerating into decades of lawsuit-hell at the time and all. Wotta cut-up, that guy!
(Apple, 1975)
As you’d better damn well remember, I mentioned in my previous review that Harrison’s label flip-flopped the release of the two American Dark Horse singles for the overseas markets, and also crossed up their B-sides. So now we have before us, straight outta Ol’ Blighty, the titular track backed by sax-shellacked alb loser “Hari’s On Tour (Express),” conveniently issued as a 7” well after the LP had semi-stiffed. The picture sleeve is nearly identical to the one that came out in the States, and the labels are custom-printed with images of George’s eyes on one side, and future wife Olivia’s on the other… a harmless little poke at John and Yoko?
(Apple, 1974)In Europe, Apple released “Ding Dong, Ding Dong” as the first single from Dark Horse rather than, as was the case in America, the title track. This calculated switcheroo sadly resulted in no big excitement on the charts, and no big excitement in terms of the actual records pressed – just that the B-sides were swapped and “Ding Dong” thus got saddled here with the worthless “I Don’t Care Anymore.” So who cares, right? RIGHT! Unless, of course, you happen to have a bizarre compulsion that drives you to spend large chunks of your paycheck on unique international ex-Beatle picture sleeves… LIKE I DO! As such, this Belgian edition is a bit of a doozy, its festive, psychedelic-hangover layout a colorful improvement over its staid American counterpart. Yes ma’am, it’s always a groovy New Year when this one’s a-spinnin’!
(Apple, 1974)“Ding Dong, Ding Dong,” George’s stab at a holiday single, is a winner, a sonically-exciting track that runs laps around the rest of the limp Dark Horse LP. The saxes, clanging bells, and backing vocals bring a lushness that gives the song the feel of his earliest solo work, but the sing-songy lyrics add a breezy fun that that material tended to lack. Easily as strong as Lennon’s “Happy Xmas,” and far better than McCartney’s “Wonderful Christmastime,” this one has mysteriously slipped through the cracks when it comes to seasonal radio play; it’d be nice to see/hear it resurrected in coming years, as it deserves better than to be forgotten. The instrumental “Hari’s On Tour (Express),” on the other hand, might have made sense from a promotional standpoint when the single came out (as Harrison was, in fact, on tour at the time), but its boring, sleek sax ’n’ roll bullshit sounds uncomfortably like the sort of faceless blat the Saturday Night Live house band might churn out, and is hardly a credit to George’s solo career. Bury it deep.
(Apple, 1974)Yes, we’ve all heard the “Dark Hoarse” joke that’s been made for over 30 years about George’s shredded vocal chords during these sessions. Ho ho ho. The real problem with the Dark Horse album, though, is not Harrison’s voice, it’s the fact that he was writing lousy songs with dull arrangements and lazy lyrics. Aside from the two singles and maybe the sarcastic cover of “Bye Bye Love,” it represents an alarming drop-off from the first two LPs. I remain convinced that the guy’s songs work best when shaped and ultra-produced by big-shots, whether George Martin, Phil Spector, or Jeff Lynne; this self-produced mess sounds thin and unexciting, with generally poor quality control in the songwriting department. At least the title track, released as the album’s first single in America, is an effective, groovy blend of flutes (!!), electric piano, and acoustic guitar. A unique and catchy record that is startling for – but not derailed by – Harrison’s gravelly croak. The B-side, “I Don’t Care Anymore,” can reasonably be read as an accurate indication of where George’s head was at this point, as he phones in a sproingy acoustic throwaway (opening line: “OK, here we go, fellas, got a B-side to make!”) that pretty much insults the consumer rather than adding any value to the disc. Probably not too surprising that this B has never made it onto a CD.
(Apple, 1974)
There isn’t too much information out there about this particular edition, but it seems that in 1974 Apple decided to reissue “My Sweet Lord” in the UK (backed by its original British B-side, “What is Life”), adding an attractive picture sleeve that swipes the All Things Must Pass cover shot. Those clever limeys recognized that the hot-rocking “What is Life” is certainly a better candidate for radio play than lengthy American B-side “Isn’t it a Pity,” so the British release is, on paper at least, a stronger commercial proposition. The original issue was indeed a #1 in the UK, but it doesn’t look like Apple manged to get any chart action this time around. Oh well; 35 years later, the bigger concern for collector jerks everywhere is digging up a copy of that exciting – and tough to find – sleeve. I got mine… Tasty!
(Apple, 1973)I’m in a truly SWELL mood tonight, so I’m tempted to let this single off easy… but I just CAN’T, O reader, CAN’T, because that would be cheating YOU of the precious thing I deal in most: TRUTH!! Yep, I’m afraid that George’s lead single from Living in the Material World is a semi-bore that stands as an ominous neon finger-point towards the soft-rock mediocrity that is the bulk of his next decade’s work. But: Taken on its own terms, “Give Me Love (Give Me Peace on Earth)” is a fairly beautiful song with a top-notch melody and some fine piano and guitar interplay; however, it’s ultimately laid back in a way that’s far more “California” than “George Harrison,” which is a bit unsettling in an atmospheric sense… when and WHY did we trade Spectorian overkill for a sleepy hammock next to Don Henley? Yech! On the other side, “Miss O’Dell” is a lazy, rootin’-tootin’, laugh-filled toss-off that doesn’t need to be heard more than once or twice, yet it justifies its existence here by acting as an effective counterweight to the spiritual super-solemnity of the A.
(Apple 1971)George Harrison, sitting all a-bearded atop the commercial heap, was feeling his oats around this time, so he decided to flex his celebrity muscle for a good cause and rush out a benefit single in aid of the refugees from Bangla Desh. This was apparently quite a politically-minded period for ex-Beatles: within the next few months, John Lennon would release “Woman is the Nigger of the World,” Paul McCartney would release “Give Ireland Back to the Irish,” and Ringo Starr would release… well, he’d release “Back Off Boogaloo.” Which is a terrific song! Anyway. Phil Spector and an army of hotshots (Ringo Starr, Leon Russell, Billy Preston, Jim Keltner, others) once again apply the massive All Things Must Pass sound, which manifests itself here as a tasteful funkiness – much like a slower “Wah-Wah” – that rides some punchy dual-drumming while guitars, sax, and piano trade off brief solos. The live version from The Concert For Bangla Desh speeds things up considerably and makes for an interesting companion piece as it emphasizes “rock” over the intensity/urgency of the message-heavy studio recording. “Deep Blue” has the general feel of “For You Blue,” but with downer lyrics that are easily missed thanks to the song’s easy-going acoustic shuffle. As a non-album single, both tracks on “Bangla Desh” are semi-obscurities; the sadly neglected A-side has since only shown up on the Best of George Harrison compilation/travesty, while the B finally got released on CD as a bonus track on the recent reissue of Living in the Material World.
(Apple, 1971)Odd as it seems, Apple only pulled two American singles from the monster All Things Must Pass, with “What Is Life” dribbling out about three months after the album’s release. Once again we get LP tracks on both sides, so there probably wasn’t much incentive for shoppers to pick this one up, given that the album had already sold a zillion copies by this point. Regardless, it’s a great choice for a single, as the rip-rarin’ and horn-blarin’ pop-rock of the A-side (one of my favorite George Harrison songs, and a perfect example of just how DENSE the production was on these sessions) features what’s probably solo Harrison’s best guitar riff over pounding, ultra-reverbed drums. “Apple Scruffs” on the B – with just voice, guitar, harmonica, and some percussive tapping – sounds like something that would have fit well on Let It Be, or perhaps, minus the backing vocals, as an especially lighthearted throwaway on a late-’60s Dylan record.
(Apple, 1975)
