Fleet Foxes: Helplessness Blues

A Look at Helplessness Blues: The Lyrics

Robin Pecknold, lead singer and songwriter of Fleet Foxes, toured with folk sing-songwriter Joanna Newsom after the release of his band's first album. He has indicated that because he was Newsom's opening act, he had to push himself further as a musician and songwriter. Newsom's music incorporates shades of the avant-garde, Appalachian, and psych-folk, and the influence this must have had on Pecknold is strongly felt on Helplessness Blues. While the first Fleet Foxes album was impressive for it's lush, layered vocals and harmonies that recalled the work of Brian Wilson, it's follow up is mind blowing in it's seamless inclusion of both traditional folk-rock and the experimental.


A Brief Comparison
Fleet Foxes' Helplessness Blues shows a progression and maturity in songwriting not heard since Joni Mitchell followed up Ladies of the Canyon with Blue. Fleet Foxes self-titled 2007 debut album, like Ladies of the Canyon, was full of melodic masterpieces and occasional lyrical depth ("He Doesn't Know Why" on Fleet Foxes, "For Free" on Canyon). These albums were answered with terrific strides in both musical dexterity and introspection. Mitchell allowed herself to be emotionally raw and truthful for Blue; the title track alone is a lesson in confessional lyric writing. It is tribute to a mood, reflecting on a time and place and sincere misgivings about its culture. Take a look at the title track from Helplessness Blues, which also succinctly finds a way to express the anxieties of an entire generation:

I was raised to believing
I was somehow unique
Like a snowflake distinct among snowflakes
Unique in each way you can see
And now after some thinking
I'd say I'd rather be
A functioning cog in some great machinery
Serving something beyond me
But I don't, I don't know what that will be
I'll get back to you someday soon you will see

And then:

If I had an orchard
I'd work till I'm sore

Someday I'll be
Like the man on the screen

Pecknold has captured the frustrations of someone in their 20's, who is not quite sure if they should be the special snowflake they've always been told they are, or if they should work for The Man, or if they should work on a commune somewhere Upstate, all the while wanting to be like the Very Happy People seen on TV.

Themes

This theme of age and contemplation leads off the album, with Montezuma. In this song, he mulls over the choices one makes as they age-- he is older than his parents when they had their first child ("Now what does that say about me?"), and "in dirth or in excess" he will "return to the dirt, I guess." Again and again lamenting half melancholic, half flippantly "oh man what I used to be, oh my oh me." This theme again pops up in Bedouin Dress with "believe me it's not easy when I look back/everything I took soon got returned." This song also nods to Pecknold's social anxiety in its chorus "one day hidin' is free/one day that's my thing." The existential questioning inherent in aging finds voice in Blue Spotted Tail, a series of questions where no real answer is presented or assumed to exist. In this song, there is no imagined purpose to life, or the earth or the stars. We are in a "floating vacuum" fated to die. It is unusually bleak for Fleet Foxes, but they wrap in the guise of a low-fi lullaby, something you might sing around a campfire. A campfire of doom.

In addition to age, there are a great number of references to a relationship on the rocks. Take Lorelai:

So, I guess I got old
I was like trash on the sidewalk

I was old news to you then

The lyrics there are Ben Folds-ian (that is, cheeky) more than a Fiona Apple-style ode to violence and anger, or the previously mentioned Joni Mitchell's tendency towards bleakness and depression. A Fleet Foxes channeling Fiona Apple moment does however occur in Someone You'd Admire:

One of them wants only to be someone you'd admire
One would as soon just throw you on the fire
After all is said and after all is done
God only know which one of them I'll become

However, the depression and anger isn't fully felt until later, on A Shrine/An Argument.

Fleet Foxes still uses some of the imagery it did on the first album, invoking folklore and woodsiness, but it marries well with the new found self-reflection. Nowhere is this done better than on the album's masterpiece A Shrine/An Argument.

I went down among the dust and pollen
To the old stone fountain morning after dawn
Underneath were all these pennies fallen from the hands of children
They were there and then were gone

And I wondered what became of them
What became of them

Sunlight over me no matter what I do
Apples in the summer are golden sweet
Everyday a passing complete

And then the shift, musically and lyrically:

In the morning waking up to terrible sunlight
All diffuse like skin abuse the sun is half its size
When you talk you hardly even look in my eyes
In the morning, in the morning

And if I just stay a while here staring at the sea
And the waves break ever closer, ever near to me
I will lay down in the sand and let the ocean leave
Carry me to Innisfree like pollen on the breeze

A quick Google indicates the reference to Innisfree is possibly a nod to the song Isle of Innisfree, about an exile thinking of his (fictional) Irish home. But what is truly notable here is the juxtaposition between "The Shrine" and "The Argument" portions of the song. "The Shrine" has the images of an old fountain, of children, sunlight, and fresh golden apples. Then "The Argument"-- suddenly the sunlight is awful, the green apples "belong only to [him]", the morning is cruel, and finally the only thing that can bring him relief is to drown in the ocean. In 8 minutes and 27 seconds, we are taken on a fantastic visual and emotional journey that accurately expresses the joy of loving and the pain of losing someone.

This combination of confessional songwriting with classical imagery is also done in Sim Sala Bim, which is also another relationship-ending song. Here he begins with:

He was so kind
Such a gentlemen tied to the ocean side
Lighting a match
On the suitcase latch in the fading of night

A shift:

Then the earth shook
That was all it took for the dream to break
All the loose ends
Would surround me again in the shape of your face

Then the confession:

What makes me love you despite the reservations?
What do I see in your eyes
Besides my reflection hanging high?

Ending with a Biblical reference:

Remember when you had me cut your hair?
Call me Delilah, then I wouldn't care

A one-two punch.

The Resolution

The album ends with a soaring, ethereal, rolling folk-rock dream. Grown Ocean is an appropriate ending to Helplessness Blues. It ends with hope, longing, and resolution. It brilliantly calls back, for the careful listener, many of the images sung about over the entire album. It's a "Can you find them all?" activity for the music listener. Mountains, starlight, fountains, children, ocean… and that's just the first verse. The "Why's?" of Blue Spotted Owl are pacified in the second verse. By the third, he knows the critical inner voice will eventually subside, and that he will awake into a more pleasant reality. That is the hope-- that the feeling of the dream, the lust of life, the zest, will transfer into real life. He seems to be running, from his dream into reality, ready with enthusiasm and, it would appear, rekindled love.

In that dream I'm as old as the mountains
Still is starlight reflected in fountains
Children frown on the edge of the ocean
Kept like jewelry kept with devotion

In that dream moving slow through the morning

You would come to me then without answers
Lick my wounds and remove my demands for now
Eucalyptus and orange trees are blooming
In that dream there's no darkness alluded

In that dream I could hardly contain it
All my life I will wait to attain it
There, there, there

I know someday the smoke will all burn off
All these voices I'll someday have turned off
I will see you someday when I've woken
I'll be so happy just to have spoken
I'll have so much to tell you about it

Wide-eyed walker, don't betray me
I will wake one day, don't delay me
Wide-eyed leaver, always going

Building A Character: The Phenomena of Sarah Palin

TLC, that wacky network full of television shows about unconventional families, has gotten a new mom addicted to celebrity (sorry, Kate). "Sarah Palin's Alaska" is a documentary series about the home state of the former Governor. But just in case you never let the dial leave Fox News, you will still have the opportunity to see your favorite wolf killer: she's on that network, too. But what if you don't have cable? Don't worry, she's on Entertainment Tonight, Inside Edition, and your evening news at least every week. Don't own a TV? She's in the papers and has a book out. If it seems Palin is everywhere, it's because she is. How Palin has kept her self relevant after losing her bid for Vice President is a lesson to all who long for celebrity status. Let us borrow the three steps from Stanislavski's theory of acting: An Actor Prepares, Building a Character, and Creating a Role.


An Actor Prepares

Sarah Palin was not prepared for the '08 campaign in any conventional way. Her speeches rambled. She botched interviews ("In what respect, Charlie?"). But the building blocks for a successful political career were there, even for someone with a questionable educational background and little grasp of world events. That is, she possessed the right amount of charisma to render her shortcomings irrelevant. With a wink and a well placed joke, Palin skyrocketed to stardom. She knew what to do. She knew she was something rarer than a pink unicorn: a reasonably attractive woman in Washington. The power was in her hands.

Building a Character

She launched her bid for stardom at the Republican National Convention, a physical stage and spotlight but also a metaphorical one. Sauntering onto the stage in a power suit that said "I mean business, but I'm also really cute," Palin began her assault on Obama and his voters, as well as Progressives, Liberals, logic, humanity, and probably puppies. The inevitable backlash from the aforementioned groups only fueled the fire, the fire that heated the combustion engine of the Palinmobile. And that was her genius in building a character: woman as victim. There's nothing Republicans love more than victimizing themselves, and this time they had a double-whammy. Palin could claim herself as the recipient of unfair treatment because of her gender and her political persuasions. Her followers would empathize, and grow angry in her defense. Another essential step, and perhaps the most useful, was making sure Joe Six-Pack (and Suzie Box-of-Wine?) could identify with her. She went about this by making herself out to be the average working mom, albeit one whose motto seemed to be "I'll shoot the dinner and cook it too!" Hence her nickname Caribou Barbie. She wasn't a career woman like, say, Hilary Clinton. She wasn't about power or anything remotely threatening. She just held certain beliefs (i.e. global warming doesn't exist) and thought there should be policies implementing these beliefs. And if America chose her to do it-- well, why not? Her everywoman appeal assured voters that she was no threat, and was in fact speaking for them. It excused her lack of preparation. And if little factoids were released-- for example, the thousands spent on her wardrobe-- they were quickly deflected by a brilliant publicity machine, only reconfirming her status as victim. Sarah Palin had built a character, someone specific enough to have opinions but vague enough that you could impress your own opinions on the Rorschach.

Creating a Role

The Conservative movement knew they needed a hero. McCain was lacking in almost every possible department, and since Bush was on his way out with lower approval ratings than Nixon, a savior was longed for. Along came Palin, perfect for the part. She had her character homework done, and now all she needed was the music and the mirror and a chance to dance for you. In the role of Concerned Mom, Sarah Palin. In the role of Victimized Conservative, Sarah Palin. But after the election loss (the Obama win was a mandate), she had to create for herself a new role, if it was not to be Vice President. She carved out a niche for herself in the 24-hour news cycle, refusing to go away like a case of H1N1. She "wrote" a book, providing her audience with what might be their first trip to a bookstore. Her latest role? Talking (Pretty Little) Head. It doesn't seem to matter what she says, what she disregards, or how she chooses to pursue her climb to high status-celeb. Sarah Palin's ultimate role is now this: superstar.

The Cultural Significance of Snick

Ask any 20-something. You meet someone at a party, the ultimate ice breaker, or inevitable topic of conversation will be early ‘90’s Nickelodeon programming. Specifically, Snick. Saturday nights, we all spent our childhoods enraptured in front of a screen that played two hour blocks of awesomeness. Certainly, Nick Toons also played a part in raising us, we all ate dinner in front of Doug and Rugrats. But Snick was cool, and everyone wanted their very own big orange couch.

It’s somewhat sad, on a level, that we relate to each other through television rather than some other culturally significant happening. Other generations don’t bond over H.R. Puffinstuf or Banana Splits the way we wax on about Clarissa, how she explained it all, how cool her room was, or how great it was when they played that sound effect when Sam put the ladder on her window. Other generations don’t smile softly to themselves when they think about sketch shows, but ours will when they reflect on All That. Remember the girl that played Ross Perot? Or the “li-bary, NO NOISE!” skit? Any young adult today can talk to any other young adult and ask, “Didn’t you always want to be a member of the Midnight Society?” and be sure of an enthusiastic response.

But what is it about these seemingly silly shows that makes us filled with candy-coated nostalgia? Some would argue that television played a larger part in raising our generation than any before it, and that as such we developed the kind of relationship with it that one might have with a real person. It’s true that TV has only gained dominance in our households since its inception. It’s true it’s often used as a baby sitter. Perhaps, though, what made Nickelodeon so significant was that it was the first network for kids, just as everyone was beginning to get cable. Sure, other networks had shows for kids, but Nick was specifically, very cleverly targeted towards kids and promoted kid-power. They “slimed” adults with green goo, as if to show us they as a network were on our side. They set trends, everyone wanted some Gak. Nick became our friend, something comforting and reliable as our worlds became more complicated. They knew we would all be home Saturday night, waiting to see Alex Mack turn into a puddle. Oh, Alex. You had us from the moment you were hit by a truck.

Everyone thinks the generation they grew up in is more innocent than the one proceeding it, mostly because when they were children, everything was uncomplicated. The ‘50’s lived through the Bomb scare, the ‘60’s through incredible turbulence at every turn, the ‘70’s had crisis after crisis, and the ‘80’s had Reagan. No generation lived without a greater “problem.” What the greater problem was in the ‘90’s is up for debate, what isn’t is that the world grew darker and more complicated as the years wore on. We are referred to at different times as the Technology Generation or the 9/11 Generation. Those are things that define our era. And what do we have to hold on to that takes us back to a time when things were simple? When you could sing along to the sardonic tunes of Ren & Stimpy, when you could laugh at the dad in the motorized armchair on Roundhouse? We have Snick, a collective part of our childhoods that will forever bond us. We are the Nickelodeon Generation.

The Mythology of Woodstock

I was born 17 years after Woodstock, about 37 too late by my account. The funny thing about that concert, which celebrated its 40th anniversary this past August, is that it wasn’t the greatest concert of all time. From the footage on the documentary to the first hand reports by the bands, you can tell everyone was a little off that day, be it because of drugs or the lousy soundsystem or the general disorganization of the whole affair. But that’s not how people remember it. Woodstock is as much an enigma as it can be, despite being the most covered cultural event of the late ‘60’s. It’s mystery is as intriguing as the music. The mystery being, what made this concert such a force when similar things had been done before? Why do people remember those three days of peace and music as a significant happening, regardless of whether they were there or not?

The Monterey Pop Festival predated Woodstock by two years. Taking place in Northern California and organized by John Phillips (The Mama’s and the Papa’s), it was the first real rock festival America had ever seen. It was the American debut of Jimi Hendrix, who lit his guitar (literally) and the stage (metaphorically) on fire. Janis Joplin first got noticed there, too. The Who destroyed their equipment on the stage, shocking the gentle hippie crowd. Jefferson Airplane, The Byrds, Buffalo Springfield, Otis Redding, Laura Nyro, and a score of others played there, too. It was a gathering of beautiful people celebrating beautiful music, crowds of people wearing Davey Crockett hats and floral shirts entranced by the new sounds of the era. Yet, you don’t hear people bragging about how they were there, at least not to anyone that isn’t a music nerd, and you don’t see 40th anniversary Monterey Pop Festival merchandise peddled at Barnes and Noble. It had so many of the same components as Woodstock—the right music, the right attitude, ample drugs— but is largely ignored by the current media and public. It can be deduced, then, that there is something else that set Woodstock apart from other rock concerts, even ones of similar taste and design.

What made Woodstock unique was its spirit. It had an energy all its own, an energy so powerful people remember it years later, and those who weren’t there wish that they had been. Because Woodstock wasn’t just a concert, it was a larger metaphor for what was going on at the time. It was chaotic due to bad planning, it was messy due to rain, it was dangerous due to the fact that there were half a million people gathered in one space… but none of that mattered. You can blame it on the effect of LSD if you’re cynical, but what happened in those three days was a meeting of spirits who refused negativity and accepted positive vibes as the only alternative. Things could have gone horribly wrong, but they didn’t. How could it be that no crime of violence was reported in three days, with that many people gathered? How could it be that when it rained, people chose to enjoy the mud rather than complain? People ran out of food, they were hungry, thirsty, and badly needed showers. But the community spirit overrode all of that. The Hog’s Farm, a commune in New York State, took it upon themselves to feed their brethren, free of course. People shared their tents, their clothes, their water. It was a powerful rejection of the status-quo, of a selfish culture, of the cold fisted LBJ administration and consumerism of the 1950’s culture in which they were raised.
While today people use the word “hippie” as a catch-all for 1960’s counter-culture, it would be unwise to do so. Part of what made Woodstock significant was that so many differing branches of the counter-culture came together. The Yippies (who could forget Abbie Hoffman stealing the microphone from Pete Townsend?), the dead heads, the women’s rights and civil rights groups, artists, the large number of runaways, all came together and created something bigger than themselves. Generally when there is a mass rejection of something, it is done in a negative or violent way (see today’s Tea Partiers, whose methods have unfairly been compared to that of the ‘60’s counter-culture by The New York Times). But in this case, these very different people with very different goals all agreed on one thing: positivity. Love, even. Love is the answer, they seemed to say collectively, if “What is it all for?” is the question.

California tried to replicate the event, unsuccessfully. On the advice of The Rolling Stones, the Hell’s Angels were used as security and a young man was killed. The concert, meant to be a West Coast equivalent, ended in violence and chaos, the name “Altamont” becoming a lyric in the requiem for the counter-culture movement.

No one knew then that Woodstock would turn out to be what we think of it as today. A free event (again with the sharing!) with the biggest stars of the day jamming in the rain on Yasgur’s farm in Bethel, New York seemed to be, at its core, simply a really cool concert. The mythology, it could be argued, was made by the media and not the enduring spirit of the times. Are we a more cynical nation than we were 40 years ago? Certainly. But what is worth noting is that people remember and celebrate Woodstock, while Altamont is barely mentioned. Love wins.

The Beatles vs. The Byrds (1965-67 Output)

The relationship between The Beatles and The Byrds has not been explored to the degree of perhaps The Beatles vs. The Rolling Stones, or The Beatles vs. The Beach Boys. Obviously, like all bands of the era, The Byrds were heavily influenced by The Beatles. In fact, they originally set out to emulate their sound from the get-go, even misspelling their band name in tribute. But it could be said also that The Beatles were influenced by The Byrds, as they grew and matured as a band. Comparing The Beatles’ albums Help!, Rubber Soul, and Revolver to The Byrds’ Mr. Tambourine Man, Fifth Dimension, and Younger Than Yesterday, the common thread and mutual admiration becomes evident. The bands have more in common than 12-string Rickenbacker’s and complex vocal harmonies.
Mr. Tambourine Man, released April 1965, was The Byrds first release, their goal as a band to combine socially conscious lyrics in the folk tradition with the melody and style of The Beatles. What they created, in the Bob Dylan-pinned title number, was an entire genre. “Mr. Tambourine Man” became the first folk-rock hit, exploding The Byrds on to the scene and creating a genre that would fuel dozens of bands, from Buffalo Springfield to The Yardbirds. The album’s “The Bells of Rhymney” would inspire George Harrison to write Rubber Soul’s “If I Needed Someone,” while ”I’d Knew I Want You” was particularly Beatlesque. The heavy “It’s No Use” would be a precursor for the psychedelic rock yet to come. Both bands used heavy tambourine and 2/4 time signatures , usually with hallow romantic lyrics as on Mr. Tambourine Man (“You Won’t Have to Cry,” “Here Without You,” “It’s No Use,” “We’ll Meet Again”) and Help! (“The Night Before,” ”I Need You,” “Another Girl,” “It’s Only Love,” “Tell Me What You See”).
It’s unknown whether cannabis or touring fatigue is to blame for the less sophisticated material on Help!, although it’s the album with perhaps the most obvious folk-rock influence. The title song includes that old Byrds staple the 12-string guitar, with the anxiety and tension of the lyrics evident in its B-minor key. Like “Mr. Tambourine Man,” this song was originally slower in tempo but was sped up with the thought that a faster song would be more marketable. Arguably the most folk-rock song written by The Beatles is Lennon’s “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away.” Allegedly Dylan-inspired, it’s strummed in major triads of the American folk tradition. The country-influenced “Another Girl” and ”I’ve Just Seen A Face” compare with the country influence of The Byrd’s “The Girl With No Name” and “Time Between” (found on Younger Than Yesterday, the latter particular reminiscent of McCartney), “Mr. Spaceman” (found on Fifth Dimension), and later the Lennon composition “Dr. Robert.” (Revolver). Help!’s “Ticket to Ride” used chiming electric guitars reminiscent of The Byrds, while employing controlled feedback (recently en vogue thanks to The Who), and most significantly the drone. The drone is the first instance of Indian-inspired music in the Beatles, although the instrumental soundtrack to the film of the same name used sitar and tambura. Harrison is almost solely responsible for bringing the sounds of India to The Beatles, although this is a Lennon-pegged track. The Byrds as well would use Indian instruments on their tracks, starting with the single “Eight Miles High,” continuing on the Fifth Dimension album, and heavily on Younger Than Yesterday.
Fifth Dimension, released July 1966, has been called The Byrds’ most daring album, half-old school and half-new school Byrds, indicative of where the band had been and where it would be going. Throw backs like Seeger’s “Wild Mountain Thyme” felt to Crosby like a message that had already been sent. He was moving in a different direction, as evidenced by the inclusion of “What’s Happening?!?!”, “Hey Joe”, and the sonically adventurous “2-4-2 Fox Trot.” 5D saw The Byrds experimenting with sound, as in the aforementioned “2-4-2 Fox Trot,” which sought to combine pop sounds with mechanical sounds. They were also exploring where their lyrics could go beyond their traditional social commentary, exploring psychological states (“I See You”, “What’s Happening?!?!”, “Fifth Dimension”, “Eight Miles High”). They also experienced, like The Beatles, what it was like to be banned from the radio for arbitrary reasons. The title song as well as the single “Eight Miles High” were thought to the authorities to be about drugs, when actually the former was about physics and the latter about a plane ride. The banning of the single led to the album receiving poor sales, and might have spelled the end for The Byrds were it not for their fabulous follow-up, and arguably their best album, Younger Than Yesterday.
Rubber Soul, released December 1965, would find The Beatles in more cohesion than Help!, although it was filled with jokey songs (Drive My Car, Norwegian Wood, Nowhere Man) and freer bass by McCartney. Marketed as a straight-up folk-rock album in the U.S. (who borrowed two tracks from Help! to make this happen) but as a bluesy tribute in the U.K. (hence the title- they don’t have a plastic soul, but a rubber one), Rubber Soul saw The Beatles again testing their limits. All but done with lyrics longing for elusive women (with the exception of “Girl”), Lennon, McCartney, and Harrison wrote more personal words that seemed to reflect their particular life situations. “Nowhere Man” was another self-deprecating Lennon song,” I’m Looking Through You” a McCartney comment on his relationship with Jane Asher, and “Think For Yourself” a sarcastic Harrison number that showed his discontentment with people in general (although it could be argued this song was aimed at fans who believed everything The Beatles said). The latter song also used distortion to great effect, again capitalizing on the trend. “I’m Looking Through You” would provide ambiguous lyrics not indifferent from what The Byrds (David Crosby specifically) would use on songs like “What’s Happening?!?!” and “I See You.” The Byrds would also answer the blues-tinge of Rubber Soul with the jazz inspired tunes such as “Everybody’s Been Burned” (Younger Than Yesterday) and “Eight Miles High” (Fifth Dimension).
Younger Than Yesterday, released February 1967, had The Byrds without principal songwriter Gene Clark, who quit the band. This would be a personification of how the band would change and evolve. Tensions were high in this recording, as Crosby was growing unhappy and wanting to move in more experimental directions, while the rest of the band was happy with the status-quo of Dylan covers and folk-based rock. These tensions—between psychedelic rock and folk rock—is what would make the album so compelling. From the dream-like “Renaissance Fair,” which had interplay between guitars and loping bass, to the raga “Why,” to the strange “Mind Gardens,” Younger Than Yesterday is The Byrds most adventurous album. Specifically, it’s use of backward guitar and tapes (no doubt borrowed from Revolver) made the soundscape complex and enriching. Again exploring the extraterrestrial in “C.T.A.-102” (like in “Mr. Spaceman”), The Byrds used an electric oscillator to achieve that far off sound. McGuinn argued that Crosby’s ”Mind Gardens” had no rhythm, meter, or rhyme, but Crosby argued back that that was the point. Not unlike “Tomorrow Never Knows” (from Revolver), but far less successful, “Mind Gardens” is an exploration of sound and mood that is at times irritating but always interesting. The Byrds did manage to put another Dylan cover on their album, “My Back Pages,” lyrics from which the album takes its name. This annoyed Crosby, but it is still a classic and manages to make itself feel at home among the other, more textured songs. “Have You Seen Her Face” sounds like a British Invasion song from two years back, like something the Dave Clark 5 might put out, but it works for them. The Byrds still have their 12-string all over this album, but this time it’s followed up with a sitar or drone. The success in this aural exploration could be due to their new producer, Gary Usher, a former songwriting partner to fellow musical astronaut Brain Wilson. Usher’s ear for smooth sounds is all over this record. If Younger Than Yesterday proved the importance of a producer, Revolver did so ten-fold.
It was a fateful meeting between The Byrds frontmen (Jim McGuinn and David Crosby) and John Lennon and George Harrison that would prompt not only the use of sitar on the Beatles classic Norwegian Wood, but would inspire the material for “She Said, She Said” (from Revolver). On August 24, 1965, the four met at a house The Beatles had rented in L.A. and took LSD together. While jamming on 12-string guitars, Crosby is said to have turned Lennon onto the music of Ravi Shankar, although Harrison was already somewhat familiar with the master sitar player’s work. At that time, Peter Fonda busted in and told of a near-death experience he encountered, saying he knew what it was like to be dead. Lennon took this line and the mood of the trip to write “She Said, She Said,” on the very trippy Revolver.
Revolver, released August 1966, marked a new era for The Beatles. Sick of touring, which they felt had adversely affected their musicianship, the four lads hunkered down and set out to go where no album had gone before. With ingenious recording engineer Geoff Emerick and master producer George Martin, The Beatles created one of the greatest albums of all time, no hyperbolizing there. Starting off with the bluesy “Taxman,” one of the Beatles few social comments to The Byrds’ many, and ending with the ego-death celebrating sonic explosion “Tomorrow Never Knows,” Revolver was a bold step forward. Like “I Come and Stand at Every Door” (Fifth Dimension), “Eleanor Rigby” was one of the few pop songs that touched on death, while “I’m Only Sleeping” reflected Lennon’s growing dependence on LSD. “I’m Only Sleeping” used backward guitars, and vocals that were then sped up and down, to create the dreamy sound. Harrison’s “Love You To” developed the skepticism of “Think For Yourself,” and again the sitar and tambura appear. The previously discussed “She Said, She Said” added tension that was broken up by the blissful “Good Day Sunshine,” which was then followed by “And You Bird Can Sing,” which used apeggiated guitars to punctuate its cynical lyrics. McCartney’s Motown-tinged “Got to Get You Into My Life,” an ode to that herb The Beatles loved so much, was followed by the karmatic Harrison number “I Want to Tell You.” But what would defy what audiences in 1966 knew as logic, and no doubt inspire The Byrds’ “Mind Gardens” would be the bands crowning achievement to date: “Tomorrow Never Knows.” Based on The Tibetan Book of the Dead, and the teachings of Timothy Leary, “Tomorrow..” uses devices that hadn’t even been invented yet. Tearing up Abbey Road studios and literally breaking into the circuitry of a Leslie speaker in order to achieve the sound Lennon strived for, the song soars to sonic heights not yet dreamed of. It does what the best music should—it creates a nearly tangible world through sound. The lyrics, while not dissimilar to those of Fifth Dimension, introduced mind expansion to a larger audience. Revolver as an album is one of the most influential albums ever made, and one of The Beatles most interesting, layered works.
From the country-tinged folk-rock hits of the early years, to the Indian influence and psychedelic rock of the later ones, The Byrds and The Beatles were two bands of differing popularity that nonetheless learned from one another and perhaps dared each other to take things one step further. While it’s The Beatles that will have the larger footnote in history, The Byrds deserve more recognition than they’ve received for their consistent output of excellent records that challenged the norm, if not to the extent of The Beatles. Both surely influence musicians today with their desire to innovate without losing melody.