I want this song tattooed on my face.
Robert Bunter: This early soul cover (Arthur Alexander waxed the original for Pat Boone's DOT label in 1962) offers yet more evidence for the "John Lennon is the greatest male vocalist in the history of rock and roll" case that many of us have been trying to make for years to an increasingly annoyed and rapidly shrinking group of disinterested friends and business associates. I want you to pull this up on your iTunes or CD player right now and cue up the word "DOOOOOOOOOOO" at 1:27. Go ahead, I'll wait.
Richard Furnstein: (singing along) "Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh!"
Robert Bunter: How about that, eh? I haven't heard that much raw, unbridled animal passion since the last time I listened from outside the bedroom window ("No Reply"-style) as my wife made physical love to another man. To my wife, whose name is Anna, I say: go with him. Just leave me alone with
my Beatles bubblegum cards and my NM+ first-state sealed butcher cover which I purchased from Mark Lapidos at BeatleFest in 1974 for $301 and is now worth enough money to purchase the lawyer that you'll need after the judge hears the evidence which I recorded on my Brunell three-speed reel-to-reel.
I'm sorry, this has been a very personal post for me.
Richard Furnstein: I love the zombie backing vox on this one. George and Paul are drunk or sleepy (or BOTH!) and they clearly want to steer clear of John's romantic turmoil. The song doesn't fade because it shouldn't fade because the ending is damn perfect. I want this song tattooed on my face.