Why The Beatles?

by Allen J. Wiener

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Could any other group draw a crowd as big as the one that congregated around "The Beatles Anthology"? Probably not, or at least not for six to 10 hours of visuals and sound, particularly since the Beatles created it out of little more than a bunch of old recordings and film clips - unused "rough drafts", if you will. But then, the Beatles were never like anyone else. From the very beginning they looked, sounded, sang and acted differently from all who had gone before. Only Elvis had so personally revolutionized pop music.

There can be no doubt that the Beatles are exactly what Billboard's Joel Whitburn has called them -- "The world's #1 rock group" -- and his facts and figures demonstrate their Olympian status: more U.S. number one singles, albums, and gold singles than any act in history; second only to Elvis Presley on Billboard's list of top 100 singles artists since 1955; second in total top 10 hits; top album artists of the rock era; and by far the biggest sellers in the 1960s, all within a recording career of less than eight years. In that brief time, the Beatles released some 213 songs, about 26 per year, something that would overwhelm contemporary artists. And most of those songs have stood the test of time quite well.

Just before "Anthology" was televised, Forbes predicted that the Beatles would earn more than $100 million in 1995, and money is certainly one potent measure of the group's sustained drawing power and sales potential. After ABC-TV had paid $20 million for "Anthology" broadcast rights, the network sold 80 percent of the series' commercial slots in less than three weeks at premium prices, with thirty-second spots commanding fees over $300,000. At the time, Apple expected to realize $75 million from "Anthology" television broadcasts alone. Even recycling the original Beatles albums in their present compact disc editions earns the group an estimated $12 million annually.

No one, not even George Martin, who helped create their music, can articulate what is so special about the Beatles. Nor is it easy to explain why their mystique continues to grow, recruiting new fans with each generation. Perhaps the timeless fascination with the Beatles and their music defies explanation, but a few factors do shed some light on the group's lasting appeal.

·  The Beatles redefined the parameters of rock and roll music and demonstrated that its possibilities were limitless. Once albums like "Rubber Soul," "Revolver," and "Sgt. Pepper" conquered the charts it was clear that rock and roll could be just about anything that anyone wanted it to be. The Beatles may have been partially shaped by Elvis Presley, Little Richard and Chuck Berry, but they did not confine themselves to that early form of teen rock and roll for very long. As those pioneers had captured the frivolous teenage spirit of the fifties, the Beatles bent and shaped their music to match the mood of '60s youth, which had moved from the malt shop and teen hop to the more dangerous battlefields of sit-ins and political demonstrations.

·  The Beatles revolutionized studio recording methods, proving that there was no sound, mood or effect that could not be achieved if all possibilities were explored. Today, many of those innovations are taken for granted, but the Beatles had to imagine or invent them on the fly. "We didn't have any magic or electronic boxes to plug into," their engineer Geoff Emerick points out. "We had to make it all mechanically ourselves. Most of the gadgets you can buy today are just based on the things we used to do mechanically. The artificial double tracking and the flanging and all that sort of stuff." The Beatles added their own experimental innovations, including endless tape loops that combined multiple layers of sound, backward effects, and the introduction of instruments like the sitar, the mellotron and the synthesizer. They did not hesitate to bring any instrument or musician into their sessions, whether it was a lone horn player, a string quartet, or a full symphony orchestra. After the Beatles, the only limitations were those of imagination, creativity and effort. The Beatles even managed to break the long-standing three-minute time limit rule that had applied to virtually all previous hit singles by clocking in with the 7:11 "Hey Jude." And, along the way, they invented the modern outdoor stadium concert.

·  The Beatles seldom, if ever, repeated themselves. Unlike many rock and roll singers who preceded them, they did not attempt to continually recycle the sound or "formula" of their first hit over and over, a mindless strategy that was followed by far too many artists and producers in the '50s and early '60s, and which spawned a legion of one-hit wonders. Each new Beatles record, particularly after their first two albums, showed significant creative growth.

·  The Beatles "died young" by calling it quits while still at their peak. They didn't dwindle down to a second- or third-rate act. Despite 25 years of solo work, they are still frozen in that 1960s image, the top group in the world with lots of remaining potential, albeit unrealized - enough to fuel decades of "what ifs."

·  The Beatles' music has been made more special by the group's lasting breakup. When they closed shop at Abbey Road in 1970, it was really for good. There was no reunion album, no reunion concert, no one-off charity gig. When Lennon died in 1980, all chance of a real reunion died too. Fans may enjoy "Free As A Bird," but the Beatles can never really come together again. That leaves a finite body of work comprising 13 albums and 22 singles that represent all of the real music the Beatles ever produced together for public consumption. The "Anthology" packages of outtakes, demos, and home recordings lends insight into the creation of that music, but does not really enhance it. That finite status adds a special preciousness to the Beatles' music.

The closer one gets to the Beatles' sessions, the more elusive is an explanation for their longevity. Those who worked most intimately with them seem unable to resolve it. Allan Rouse, the EMI archivist who worked on both the "Live At The BBC" and "Anthology" projects with George Martin, is similarly stuck for an explanation. "I've heard that question asked of far better qualified people than me, and even George Martin has struggled to come up with an answer. The simple fact is that great music lasts forever."

The Beatles were extremely creative artists, and the combination of their four personalities gave rise to a rare studio environment that none of them could later duplicate individually, nor has any succeeding group recaptured it. More than anything else, it is the lasting quality of the Beatles' music that accounts for their continued magnetism. "It's the songwriting," Emerick agrees. "Like Cole Porter and Gershwin - it's just there forever. I don't think we'll be playing Oasis' stuff in 30 years, but we'll be playing Gershwin and Cole Porter and Lennon-McCartney."

And Emerick believes that there was an intangible magic to those sessions. "Whenever they are in a room together there's just an energy there, and I guess that's really the only word I can use to explain that." Emerick witnessed the same thing when Harrison, McCartney and Starr returned to the studio to work on "Free As A Bird." "We hadn't been in the same room together for 25 years, and it was just like it had been a week ago. We just carried on recording."

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Leonardo vs. Michelangelo

Leonardo da Vinci & Michelangelo Buonarroti

The Lost Battles: Leonardo, Michelangelo and the Artistic Duel That Defined the Renaissance

by Jonathan Jones

Review by Allen J. Wiener

Renaissance artists were often treated like rock stars and crowds of admirers would flock to see even a preliminary sketch, or cartoon, of their works in progress.  They often had egos to match their adulation and bitter competition between them, including the occasional personal insult, was not uncommon.  None of them were bigger or brighter stars than Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo Buonarroti, who actually engaged in a direct competition of the stars in Florence five hundred years ago. 

The Lost Battles is an entertaining account of this lesser-known episode intersecting the lives of the two greatest artistic giants of the Renaissance.  The occasion was a contest between the two to paint representations of two battles in Florence's history on the walls of the Great Council Hall.  The competition was arranged by Niccolò Machiavelli, chief advisor to the head of state, who sought to stimulate patriotism among Florentines.  Leonardo was to take on the Battle of Anghiari; Michelangelo the engagement at Cascina, glorifying these Florentine victories of 1440 and 1364 respectively. Neither painting would be completed.  

Peter Paul Rubens’ copy of The Battle of Anghiari

Michelangelo did not progress beyond what was apparently a magnificent cartoon of the proposed painting, which was viewed and admired almost as much as some of his greatest completed works. Leonardo's cartoon was similarly applauded and admired and he did at least make a start on the painting itself.  Thus, much of the author's evaluation of the works is based on contemporary descriptions, fragments of the works that survived, for example in Leonardo's many notebooks, and copies that were painted by others.  Through this method, the author is able to draw conclusions about the artists' motivations and intentions. 

Even those of us not schooled in art history or technique will find the author's descriptions and comparisons of the two works interesting, especially the influence that Leonardo and Michelangelo had on each other, despite their bitter rivalry.  And bitter it was.  According to this account, the two could barely stand the sight of each other, but the author presents a good case for this reflecting the deep admiration, not to say envy or threat they felt from each other. It also was common practice at the time for artists of their stature and reputation to openly denigrate and even insult one another.  In a weird sort of way, it was an indication of respect.

Copy of the Battle of Cascina by Michelangelo's pupil Aristotele da Sangallo

The author offers additional insight into the roots of their differences through an analysis of what kind of people they were, beyond their artistic and, in the case of Leonardo, scientific achievements.  Michelangelo the devoted Florentine patriot and deeply religious individual, who gives allegiance to church and state; Leonardo the religious skeptic and scientist, who sees little reason for political loyalty to mercurial, temporal rulers who might solicit his work and advice, only to later abandon him.  In this telling, life for Leonardo was about exploring and experimenting and finding the truth.

Perhaps the most glaring difference between the two artists is their respective legacies.  One of them, the Last Supper, is a magnificent ruin, its colors faded long ago due to Leonardo's own miscalculation in the method he chose to use on the wall where the painting remains.  His Mona Lisa, which he kept with him until his death, remains a mesmerizing enigma and achievement enough for a lifetime for most artists, but few completed works by da Vinci survived, largely because he completed so few and often abandoned his projects.  Michelangelo, on the other hand, left a world of magnificent creations that include the Sistine Chapel ceiling, the breathtaking David, at least two pietas, his Moses in the tomb of Pope Julius II, among others.

The author makes insightful observations about the two men that explain why they left such different legacies.  This is most helpful in understanding Leonardo, who found it difficult to complete works and was often distracted by diverse pursuits, even engaging in an experiment in human flight while at work on the Battle.  Although few da Vinci works survive, his voluminous notebooks contain a wealth of insight into his mind and undying curiosity about nature and science, his designs for war machinery, sketches of contemplated art works, and inventions.  Politics of the time, which favored Michelangelo's work as more in tune with popular feelings, also played a role in the contemporary responses to the two painters' respective works.  Jones also finds Michelangelo’s work a breakthrough from the past, while he views Leonardo's technique as anachronistic and less patriotic than Michelangelo's, which he regards as important factors at the time. 

Readers may quibble with some of the author's speculations and conclusions regarding the feelings and motivations of the two artists, but his thorough research and expertise in art history lend weight to those ideas.  This is one of the most enjoyable and accessible books on these two giants and, although focused on a single event in their lives, uncovers much about them and their work beyond that encounter.

David Crockett Defends Native Americans

David Crockett’s opposition to President Andrew Jackson’s 1830 Indian Removal Bill was one of the highpoints in his long, often contentious political career.  As a Tennessean, Crockett did not make things easy for himself by repeatedly bucking Jackson, the state’s most celebrated hero and popular politician.  Yet Crockett managed to win three terms in Congress, while losing two close elections, before packing it in and telling his constituents that they might all go to Hell and he would go to Texas.  He made good on the promise and met his death at the Alamo on March 6, 1836, in Texas’s war for independence from Mexico. 

Crockett’s speech opposing Indian Removal was included in “Davy Crockett Goes to Congress”, the second episode in Walt Disney’s three-part TV mini series that aired on “Disneyland” in 1954-55.  Portrayed by Fess Parker, Crockett gives an angry, rousing speech aimed at shaming the Congress for even considering such an unjust measure.  Parker dramatically tears his copy of the bill in half before storming out of the House chamber to rousing applause.  

                                                 Fess Parker in "Davy Crockett Goes To Congress"

Of course, the speech was not quite so dramatic and was so short that it was not even included in the Register of Debates, the early 19^th century version of today’s far more authoritative Congressional Record.  This omission led Crockett scholars to conclude that he never really gave the speech and that he didn’t want his pro-removal constituency to learn that he had opposed Jackson’s bill.  But Crockett actually boasted about the speech, was very proud of his stand, and aware that, had he tried to conceal the speech, his numerous political opponents would have seen that it was widely published in his district anyway. 

The following excerpt from David Crockett in Congress: The Rise and Fall of the Poor Man’s Friend, by James R. Boylston and myself, explains Crockett’s views on Indian Removal and his speech opposing it.

“Crockett’s support for the Indians and his vote against removal have often been seen as merely part of his consistently strong anti-Jackson stand and just one more swipe at Old Hickory, which lacked real commitment. This view of Crockett’s motives stems largely from the fact that the speech he gave in the House does not appear in the Register of Debates in Congress, suggesting to some that he tried to conceal his defense of Indians from voters. However, the speech was reported in the United States’ Telegraph and published elsewhere in full, including in the Jackson Gazette in Crockett’s home district, and it was mentioned or summarized in newspapers throughout the country. It also appeared in a compilation of speeches on Indian removal.

“Crockett read the reports about his speech in the press and took exception to the way it had been paraphrased in the Telegraph. He wrote to the newspaper to correct its errors, particularly the report that he had said ‘he was opposed in conscience to the measure; and such being the case, he cared not what his constituents thought of his conduct.’ Crockett denied having said anything of the kind and insisted ‘I never hurl defiance at those whose servant I am. I said that my conscience should be my guide. . . and that I believed if my constituents were here, they would justify my vote.’¹ The published speech actually paraphrased him as saying ‘He had his constituents to settle with, he was aware; and should like to please them as well as other gentlemen; but he had also a settlement to make at the bar of his God; and what his conscience dictated to be just and right he would do, be the consequences what they might. He believed that the people who had been kind enough to give him their suffrages supposed him to be an honest man, or they would not have chosen him. If so, they could not but expect that he should act in the way he thought honest and right.’²

“Crockett knew that he could not keep his vote or such a speech secret from his constituents, and he was keenly aware that his position on the issue was unpopular with many of them. Newspapers back home criticized his vote, and he defended it openly in his letters and circulars, which were widely read by his constituents. He also boasted proudly of his vote in his autobiography, published in 1834, and insisted that it was a matter of conscience and his obligation under the trust that voters had placed in him. ‘I had been elected by a majority of three thousand five hundred and eighty-five votes,’ he wrote, ‘and I believed they were honest men, and wouldn’t want me to vote for any unjust notion. . . . I voted against this Indian bill, and my conscience yet tells me that I gave a good honest vote, and one that I believe will not make me ashamed in the day of judgment.’³

“Apparently Crockett had even stronger words in support of the Indians that were cut from his original autobiography manuscript. According to John Gadsby Chapman, who painted Crockett’s portrait in mid- 1834, ‘There were, moreover, many portions of his manuscript, cancelled by the counsel of his advisers, that gave him special vexation—chiefly such relating to inhuman massacres of Indian women and children, which if he wrote of with half the intensified bitterness of reprobation that I have heard him express towards the perpetrators of such atrocious acts, and the officials by whom they were permitted, suppression of their narrative may have been better for the credit of the nation and humanity.’ 4

“Crockett continued to defend his vote even after he was defeated in his bid for reelection in 1831. Writing to a supporter in his district, he condemned Jackson on several counts and showed no regret for his vote in opposition to Indian removal, proclaiming that ‘I also condemned the Course parsued to the Southern Indians I love to sustain the honour of my Country and I will do it while I live in or out of Congress . . . .’^5”

¹ United States’ Telegraph, May 25, 1830.

² Jackson (Tennessee) Gazette, June 26, 1830.

³ David Crockett, A Narrative of the Life of David Crockett of the State of Tennessee, ed. and annotated by James A. Shackford and Stanley J. Folmsbee (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1973), 206.

⁴ Curtis Carroll Davis, “A Legend at Full-Length: Mr. Chapman Paints Colonel Crockett— and Tells About It,” Proceedings of the American Antiquarian Society 69 (1960), 169–70.

⁵ Crockett to James Davison, August 18, 1831, DRT Library at the Alamo.

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