Drew Litowitz | consequenceofsound.net

The Bea­t­les” aka “The White Album” (2009 Stereo Remaster)

It’s so easy to like The Bea­t­les. It would be near heresy, as a fan of mod­ern rock music (or any music for that mat­ter), to not have some sort of affin­ity for their tunes. Even if you’ve never heard a piece of music before, you like a Bea­t­les song. Whether we’d like to admit it or not, the hun­dreds of tunes those four lads from Liv­er­pool metic­u­lously crafted in their short but ever-so-sweet career laid the ground­work for nearly every pop and/or rock song that would fol­low for decades to come. Some would say you can trace any pop song you like back to a Bea­t­les song of a sim­i­lar nature, chord pro­gres­sion, or struc­ture. I’d like to step in and refute this, but in all hon­esty, it’s pretty fright­en­ing how true this state­ment holds, even 40 years after the fact. No album in the cat­a­log, how­ever, brings this state­ment closer to the sur­face than the glo­ri­ously scat­tered, tremen­dously stacked, Bea­t­les mag­num opus, The Bea­t­les (The White Album).

The thing has every kind of Bea­t­les song we’d ever want on it. It’s a career-spanning effort of gigan­tic pro­por­tions. At just over an hour and a half, bring­ing in two full LPs of stun­ning pop, it’s got more than enough to go ’round. While some may beg to dif­fer, for the most part these are the songs that inspired some of the bet­ter pop tunes from the years to come. Want some proof? For one, it’s not dif­fi­cult to spot the chord pro­gres­sion or piano of “Sexy Sadie” in Radiohead’s “Karma Police”. It may be a bit harder to see the par­al­lels in struc­ture and style between “Para­noid Android” and “Hap­pi­ness is a Warm Gun”, arguably the great­est pop song of all time, but they’re most cer­tainly there. Thom Yorke is open about it. But, let’s not just get on Radiohead’s case about nab­bing some major blue­prints from the Fab Four. It’s quite easy to make the assess­ment that with­out the same afore­men­tioned song and for that mat­ter “The Con­tin­u­ing Story of Bun­ga­low Bill”, multi-movement pop tracks such as Queen’s “Bohemian Rhap­sody” may never have come into fruition. Not only that, but the var­ied nature of the album paved the way for bands to step out­side of their del­e­gated genre and explore the fringes of what the word genre even means. Some 50 years later, Pave­ment took a stab at it with Wowee Zowee; Bjork did her fair share on Post, etc. I could name more such exam­ples, but we’ll have to stop there before things get too out of hand. Now, back to the album in question.

It’s a pretty safe bet that no band has ever mas­tered the art of the multi-genre album bet­ter than the Bea­t­les. They did it with piz­zaz, and in a way that doesn’t even cross your mind as you lis­ten. It’s so seam­less, we some­times for­get that the songs found on The Bea­t­les could have been writ­ten by 20 dif­fer­ent bands. But then again, the only band who could pull it off so well is the Beats. With the solemn folk of “Black­bird” along­side the near-metal rau­cous of “Hel­ter Skel­ter”, there’s no deny­ing the diver­sity of influ­ence that The Bea­t­les has accu­mu­lated since its 1968 release. And, though it may be some­what unbe­liev­able to life­long Bea­t­les min­ions, with the 2009 stereo remas­ters of the leg­endary album, it just got a lit­tle eas­ier to love the Bea­t­les. If, for one rea­son or another, these songs didn’t find a place in your heart over the 40 years since their release, now’s the time to open up the real estate market.

From “Back in the USSR” to “Julia”, the minor touch-ups found on disc one alone would be enough to get folks in a frenzy. The bomb drop­ping hiss that opens “U.S.S.R” trav­els right to left across your ear phones, mak­ing the laugh­able satir­i­cal nature of the song all the more clear. As the song pro­gresses, each dis­tinct noise –each ooh, each ahh– can be heard vividly… and I don’t even really like “Back in the U.S.S.R”. But, as I men­tioned before, it just got eas­ier to like.

It would be some­what point­less to go through every track on the album, pick­ing out every refur­bished sound, so I won’t do that. I will say that the album sounds a bit fresher with the minute touch-ups in tow. It’s not a sea change from the remas­ters of the ’80s, but the lit­tle alter­ations make enough of a dif­fer­ence to notice. The remas­ter­ing allows you to more eas­ily selec­tively fol­low along with each layer if you so wish. Where it may have once been harder to notice the lit­tle tweaks sprin­kled on each track, they shine through quite well now. Things flow bet­ter, sound clearer, and it makes for an even greater lis­ten. These clean-ups don’t trans­form the album in a way that makes it com­pletely dif­fer­ent from the orig­i­nal remas­ters, but they do give us enough just cause to revisit the album as if it were new again, and with open ears. Because there’s appar­ently some­thing new to notice, we open our minds and begin to hear more and more of the beauty that existed all along. Whether it’s the thump­ing bass of “Rocky Rac­coon”, the multi-layered gui­tar noodling of “While My Gui­tar Gen­tly Weeps”, or the smooth lush­ness of “I’m So Tired”, every­thing about this album makes one thing per­fectly clear: It’s an absolute masterpiece.

The Bea­t­les (The White Album) is the best Bea­t­les album, though it sits amongst a cat­a­log filled with bests. There’s a Bea­t­les song for every­body on The Bea­t­les, and even the less-than tracks seem to fit in nicely (”Birth­day” any­one?). Four decades later, The Bea­t­les still remain the four great­est fig­ures in pop/rock his­tory, thanks in large part to their vanilla-washed, self-titled mag­num opus.



Review: by Drew Litowitz | consequenceofsound.net
23 Sep­tem­ber 2009