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Found 10 results

  1. I just listened to The White Album and I've just started Quadrophenia. Both are pretty well loved around here, but which one is loved more?
  2. For all the random matchups this this spits out, it seems to be making some sense today. Two certified rock and roll legends from the original British Invasion, both getting a little proggy but nothing too overblown, and both at the peaks of their powers. Which do you choose?
  3. I'd like to specify that my copy of help is the less famous soundtrack American version, but you can take it to mean the more famous British version if you desire.
  4. Which epic ode with the gaudy long outro is your all time favorite? Sir Paul's uplifting anthem for Lennon's son, or (D)Eric's desperate plea for Harrison's wife?
  5. In honor of this... http://www.superdeluxeedition.com/news/the-beatles-1-expanded-with-restored-videos-and-remixed-audio/?mc_cid=21146e5796&mc_eid=1bbb94f3d9 Discuss the Beatles.
  6. That Pub in Lambeth I. In the Abbey I am John; I am Paul. I am George. Ringo is not in my tree. Look at me; I'm a Beatle. I'm George Martin; nothing to get hung about. The studio doors have just been opened, and they're open very wide. engineers all around me and Paul has been here all night again. Just one song I recognize, the one where John plays guitar lead. it was bloody easy though, dead simple and ripped off from Jerry Reed . Now my eyes are drawn toward the studio in the east. Fascinates and captivates; Did we go to India yet? The studio roof opens at sunrise we'll play up there till tonight, bursting forth with rocky tunes , the roof has fuckingg floodlights. Living one long studio session, and no touring makes John a dull boy. I've never seen diamonds in the sky glow or Lucy and strawberry fields are blue. I do not know if George will be up by dusk. I live from take to take. I don't live to keep Paul in weed I'm off to that pub in Lambeth. II. Dickheads and Ninnyhammers Rin-go! Work(it out), no! give, live! all you need is, Love! Stay or fight, Yoko's right? Listen to Linda! III. No One At the Bar Cringing back to consciousness, the dampness grips my skin. The room is pitching violently, and full of shrieking women. Beerspray blurs my vision. John spills it walking by so fast. Save me a drink of cider says Paul . I'm splashed, helpless, at the bar. Remembering when first I held a drink in my own hands, I took a sip so eagerly and sailed for distant lands. But now the drink's too heavy. And I just don't understand, why must Paul and George desert me? fucck I need to join a new band! Call out for one more beer and there's no one there to pour. Shout out for some service here but no one comes through the door Dry throat suffocation? or is the barmaids footstep near. Scream out bloody frustration but no one's there to hear. IV. Panatella The whiteness of the Beatles album cover is unfolding in my mind. I stare around the studio toilet in wonder. Have I left my beer behind? I catch the scent of cigars And turn my head, surprised. My gaze is caught and held and I am helpless, mesmerized. Panatella, cuban haze. Oh, let me touch that familiar packet. smoke falls around me and I cough as my lungs heave. Music is the meaning of my life? I prefer cigars to Paul's granny tunes. Penny Lane, Ob-la-Di and Maxwell's Silver Hammer don't let me hear them soon Beatles lost our unity, a curse for ev'ry year. John's lyrics promise me boredom through the years. And now I must be gone recording before the light of dawn. Panatella, tobacco pure. I can't resist your gentle lure. My lungs will lie beside you, and my tickly cough will never leave. V. Black Forest Gateau Another endless day. George's face is grey. Another studio war. John and Paul fight with eyes that shine. Fifty days with that shrill Yoko moaning. Long nights, I'm going out of my mind. Ringo has left the band ah well there's a cast of forty-three. drummers,to my mem'ry, who are ten times better than he. Give me back my drum kit. He said to Paul, c'mon give. It's just one song it doesn't matter. There's not much more to do on that one, anyway Paul said, Ringo doesn't want to live. Another f***ing studio dawn. eating gateau it's almost gone. Another doubtful year. Abbey Road is not so clear. Ringo's back no one notices at first, in the end we act cheerful, f***ing Yoko. VI. The Pub Look at the rest of them lying, through their teeth, Here Comes the Sun is George's. See the steps John couldn't make it up without help from the other two. Hear the arguments reverberating In my head I need this beer. Fucck, my head is pounding the album isn't even halfway finished. For now at least I'm back once more in this pub in Lambeth. I'm tired of all that singing, I'm tired of Yoko's breath. Many days end here, and the beer tastes the same. That bathroom Window song is just too much to handle, John thinks that Linda's to blame. The key, the end, the answer, strip them of their women. otherwise it's all confusion, well it is to my eyes. Though I've reached the end of this post; it's really not the end. Like old Geoff back in the studio, I'll be going there again. I'm not sure which Beatle I am. I am Paul?. I am George?. I am Yoko? John?. I'm George Martin. I'm a part of this band. forever, oh god am I the drummer from 1960? Pete Best. No. Still, I am.
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