About time someone called out the Beatles for the bums that they were…
Sorry–not looking to dampen your affection, which I share. Some things stand up to scrutiny (Lennon and McCartney wrote some brilliant lyrics) and some don’t. I’m amused to look at songs I took for profound when they came out but now seem trite and formulaic to me.
Thanks for making that clear. I thought you were just bickering and trying to start an argument.
Me? Not at all. I do have extreme and minority views on some things, and I don’t mind expressing myself colorfully, but I recognize the validity of such points of view as “It’s only a northern song, dude” and “Well, I think it’s a catchy tune.”
Do you see the irony here?
Have you ever heard Lennon on the quality of some of their early songs, particularly the lyrics? I couldn’t hope to aspire to the level of his disdain.
See it? I could write you an entire article on the profundity, the sadness, the tragic absence of self-awareness in that irony.
Well, I guess that wraps it up for me.
Really? I thought we were having such fun…Perhaps I could start another thread on the literacy of some of the Doors’ greatest hits.
Actually, I am reminded of an actual article I did publish a few years ago bout the vapidity of lyrics from my adolescence, mostly Mike Nesmith’s and George Harrison’s, though I never got into Lennon and McCartney much.
I have. I attribute much of it, perhaps most of it, to Lennon’s contrariness and his desire to be dismissive of the Beatles’ catalog. Some of the tunes he classified as garbage are interesting to say the least.
And to be clear, I don’t disagree at all that much, perhaps most, of their early tunes had simple “Gosh, I love you” lyrics. Not exactly Cole Porter, to invoke the great man again, but not exactly worthy of disdain. They were of an era, and barely gave a hint of the massive innovation to come.
He was tough on himself, but fair. He’d learned a lot about writing lyrics, and was properly embarrassed by some of (not “all of”) his early attempts, though he certainly wasn’t giving back any of the money he’d earned from those songs, or the fame.
I’m reading McCartney’s “The Lyrics” at the moment–he’s far gentler and more generous to the silly love songs they wrote in hope of making the pop charts, sometimes embarrassing so, sometimes quite insightful and self-reflective.
I don’t think anyone need be embarrassed by the simplicity naturally inherent in early work. Unfortunately, Lennon stubbornly refused my counsel.
Also, he wasn’t just dismissive of lyrics. Some of the songs he classified as musically garbage are real head scratchers, at odds with the fans and critics alike. So, yeah, I’m still going with “a healthy dose of contrariness” as a big factor in his contempt.
I’ve spent most of my life hanging out with writers, lyricists, reporters, etc. and I don’t know a one who doesn’t wince at the crudity of some early work, even early work that gave them their big break.
Yep. They need to give themselves a break. An example that comes to mind is Paul Simon in his assessment of “Homeward Bound.” Paraphrasing from memory: It was a fine work for someone at that age and with that experience.
One interesting insight to me personally is a confirmation of a thought I had long ago about the early Beatles tune “I’ll Get You”–I joked among my friends that it was the first song about anal love. “I’ll get you, I’ll get you in the end,” which McCartney delicately confirms by ending his remarks with “there might be a little bit of schoolboy humour” in there.
Today is Paul’s 81st birthday, btw.
Yeah, I got a lot of their cheeky humor, and missed other cracks entirely. (Cracks, get it?)
My friends and I would argue endlessly about the harmony part in “Girl” that sounded like “tit, tit, tit, tit.” Turned out that was exactly what they were up to.
“A four of fish and finger pie” was another example of not letting their growing sophistication get in the way of a sophomoric reference. Again, cheeky lads. 
My dad (Lord rest his soul on Father’s Day) used to argue endlessly with me about the vapidity and crudeness of “Yeah, Yeah, Yeah” songs while extolling the sophistication and wit of Cole Porter and Rodgers/Hart and other composers of his generation. Belatedly, I must concede he wins that discussion, pretty handily.
Using Cole Porter as the yardstick for lyrical adequacy is not a fair fight.