I’ve
been told my whole life (or at least since Rolling Stone started getting
obsessed with “best of” lists) that Sgt
Pepper is the be-all end-all BEST ROCK ALBUM EVER. Let’s get real, though. It’s been 50 years, we can go back and look
at things rationally.
Is it a
good album? Sure. Is it the best album ever? Probably not.
Sure it was original and influential, but here’s the thing – it isn’t
even the best psychedelic album
ever. Or even the best British psychedelic album ever. Or even the best British psychedelic album of 1967.
Here’s
the breakdown – a handful of stone-cold classics, a tedious George Harrison
piece and a bunch of retro, music hall/vaudevillian numbers that sounded quaint
the day they were released. Hell, I
could’ve played these tunes for my grandmother and she would’ve patted me on
the head “What a nice song!” I
understand that McCartney loved that music.
Fine. But, please, don’t try and
tell me that “When I’m 64” or “She’s Leaving Home” or “Fixing a Hole” (or even
Lennon’s “Mr Kite”) are psychedelic.
They’re not. Period. They’re pastiches of older genres given a
gloss of studio whimsy.
Look
what Pink Floyd was doing on Piper at
the Gates of Dawn at the same damn time.
Find me a tune off of Sgt Pepper
that can even approach “Astronomy Domine”, “Lucifer Sam”, “Pow R Toc H” or “Matilda
Mother” for sheer 1967 psychedelic energy.
The Beatles come off sounding stodgy.
But,
you know – poor Syd. Seriously. His solo stuff is good, but it makes me sad.
No comments:
Post a Comment