I'm Looking Through You

Richard Furnstein: Come in, old friend. Let's listen to the pure joy in the introduction of "I'm Looking Through You" together. Open a window. Hell, open every window. Change of plans: go outside and roll around in the flaking heather with Donald and Phillip Everly. What a goddamned pleasure. Let's get an early lunch. It's on me.

Robert Bunter: Oh yeah sure, that’ll be great, hoss. The Beatles are serving up a queasy menu of doubt, suspicion and insecurity. Yesterday’s simple infatuation and tender affection have curdled. The sour aftertaste is masked by a catchy melody and stabbing organ fills (!), but we’re dealing with a smorgasbord of uncertain adult emotions as the Paul-figure moves inexorably toward maturity. The seeds of the disillusionment and pain that would later flower on tracks like “You Never Give Me Your Money” and “The Long And Winding Road” are planted here, and you’re sitting there with a napkin tied around your neck, holding your fork and spoon upright next to your empty plate, smiling eagerly in anticipation of another helping. Get the hell out of here.

Richard Furnstein: Enjoy your steaming pile of heartbreak, pal. Paul was probably skipping a lot of meals when he wrote this song following the end of his relationship with the lovely Jane Asher. There was always sadness in Paul's early love songs. Songs like "Things We Said Today," "And I Love Her," and "I'll Follow The Sun" are undeniably beautiful and romantic, but seem like a songwriter attempting depth by hinting at potential loss and heartbreak. Perhaps Paul was just trying to replicate the light and shade of John's "love" songs, which were more about the euphoric balance of sexual release and emotional trust in a new relationship. The loss of Asher finally gave Paul a similar but distinct edge to his love songs. Paul wasn't merely venting on "I'm Looking Through You," "Drive My Car," and "You Won't See Me"; he was revealing the sadness and pain behind his dreamy doe eyes. It's a straight shot from here to the elegiac "Let It Be" or the funereal "Little Willow." Paul didn't need cloying strings ("Yesterday") or horrorshow expectorations (Lennon's "Mother") to convey loss to the listener. The power was in his brown eyes, his spidery fingers, and his steady stare into the quaking unknown.

We’re dealing with a smorgasbord of uncertain adult emotions as the Paul-figure moves inexorably toward maturity.

Robert Bunter: I think the key line is “You don’t look different/But you have changed.” Paul was not used to feeling a real sense of need in romantic relationships in 1966; his Liverpool youth and Hamburg adolescence were filled with casual conquests with Paul seated firmly in the driver’s seat. In Jane Asher he was confronted for perhaps the first time with a strong, independent woman with her own career, needs and wants. Paul senses that she has changed, but has she really? What’s different is the power dynamics between the two of them. He probably wrote this song after a trifling spat where he wanted to spend the night in but she wanted to go attend the opening of the new Joe Orton comedy at the Gloanshire Playhouse. Now, of course Paul could go out whenever he wanted and stay out till all hours with a series of faceless secret girlfriends, but if he felt like staying in, it was just expected that “his woman” would be right there with him to fix the tea and digestive biscuits. Well I’m sorry Paul, but that’s not how it works with mature modern relationships in the 20th century. Why don’t you just pick up your little guitar and write a song about it? Oh, you’re so disillusioned. Where did she go, Paul? WHERE DID SHE GO?

Richard Furnstein: There's a lot to unpack here. John's lyrics (even in the early years) tend to be the subject of scrutiny for his emotional state while Paul's lyrics are typically taken at face value despite his poetic interpretations of loss. Imagine if John had written "Yesterday," it would have been acclaimed as a heartbreaking tribute to Julia Lennon. Instead, the listener interprets "Yesterday" as a melodramatic exploration of puppy love. It's similarly easy to point at the Asher incident as an emotional awakening for Paul, as if he could only feel pain following a broken heart. Show the man some respect: Paul had experienced the death of his mother when he was 14 and had those wounds exposed again as he helped John through Julia's death a few years later. It gives a heavier spin on the loss suggested by the line "Love has a nasty habit of disappearing overnight." Paul (much like John) was developing his capabilities to express more complex emotions in the pop song format. Asher was simply the wrong woman at the right time, pushing Paul into a new emotional language. It was a new day and Paul no longer had an angel on his shoulder ("You were above me, but not today"). Things would certainly get better.

Robert Bunter: Well it makes sense that Paul would be taking some serious emotional strides at this point. All the Beatles were developing so rapidly in every sense: musical sophistication, political awareness, expanded consciousness, breaking social barriers, brown suede jackets. The magic spell they were under must have naturally applied to matters of the heart, as well. That’s always the point: all the Beatles always did whatever they did because it was the very best thing they could possibly have done right then at that moment. It just happened to be time for Paul to confront his complex attitude towards relationships with women, so he did it. With a minimum of fuss and a lovely tune.

Richard Furnstein: Rubber Soul was the start of a new era for The Beatles. They were now operating without contemporaries. There was no need to pad out their albums with rock chestnuts or modern girl group numbers: that musical language no longer contained the answers. They finally mastered the form and could now just smile and watch their pathetic peers scramble to keep up. You don't sound different/I've learned the game." Remember the scene from Don't Look Back where Bob Dylan eviscerates Donovan while running through a ragged "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue"? The Beatles were now doing this to mankind. "I'm Looking Through You" isn't about Paul getting over some some green-eyed cutie pie. Rather, it embraced the new supernatural powers of The Beatles race, scanning the fears and emotional confusion of the trembling human beings after each of their miraculous feats. Better drain out your boots when you hear "Wait," animals.

Robert Bunter: Oh crap!

Think For Yourself

Richard Furnstein: What to say about this one? George sneaks another minor key, grouchpuss, slightly aggressive song into The Beatles non-stop party. However, this time he dresses the song up in the finest dancing clothes. Paul applies a wobbly fuzz bass, which lacks any real sustain or depth. Ringo piles a bunch of fun percussion all over this track (one of my favorite features of the Rubber Soul album). John and Paul toss a pile of sweet harmonies over George's awkward delivery on his sneering verses ("you've got time to rectify all the things that you should"). But, gosh, listen to the rude drive of the chorus. George is pissed again: let's dance!

Robert Bunter: George's mind had been opened to new levels of reality by Ravi Shankar and marijuanabis. Looking down at the rest of humanity from the lofty perch of his elevated consciousness, he sees a bunch of ugly kids and square adults. "Think For Yourself" (like "Don't Bother Me" before it) is ostensibly about a romantic relationship, but really it's George addressing his audience. "Leave me alone, you stink," he seems to say. "I'm not interested in anything but God and my wife and my Carl Perkins records." Pretty soon he's even going to lose interest in the Beatles. Good for him. I hope he managed to achieve some kind of mental nirvana while he was stinking up the world's greatest records with garbage like "For You Blue" and "The Inner Light." Praise the Lord!

Richard Furnstein: The sixties were a free wheelin' time, but you still had to hide your disdain for human beings in a cloak of misogyny and sneering judgment. This was famously John's edgy mode ("Run For Your Life" he warned a lowly woman/all humans), but George would prove to be the king of misguided anger. "I've got a word or two to say about the things that you do" he sneers, sounding like a stepfather grabbing your ear before you head off to the snooker match with the boys. George was all too happy to climb to the top of the mountain as The Beatles matured. However, his goal wasn't cosmic enlightenment, he just wanted to get away from the fat, ugly people waddling around the gift shop at base camp.

Robert Bunter: The raw session tapes for this song have leaked, and they provide a fascinating glimpse behind the scenes. You can hear the boys (well, three of them - Ringo is inaudible since it was a vocal tracking session) descend into locker-room humor and wacky voices, pausing every so often to go to the bathroom. When they return, they're coughing and sniffling loudly and making oblique references to "lighting the torch." Personally, I would have loved the chance to goof about with these charming lads, but I can guarantee you I'd be utterly incapable of keeping up. They would have sneered at me and had Mal Evans escort me right the hell out of Abbey Road. Even in my fantasy world I know that the brotherly camraderie of these geniuses was a closed circle, with no room for a homely young fan. George would have looked over at me on my way out the door while he thickly sang, "Do what you want to do / and go where you're going to" and then John would have lit a fart. It's my fantasy but I'm keeping it honest. These are the facts.

George would mount this judgemental, hectoring steed many more times over his career, but never as charmingly as he does here.

Richard Furnstein: This is a great point. It is almost a gift to approach The Beatles as a legacy. I can't imagine comprehending and adjusting to these advanced human beings during the time of impact (much less joining them in mind altering trips to the bathroom). They always had a leg up on the rest of the human race. "You sing? Neat, we're better. Oh, cool hair. Maybe you should grow it out. See, our haircuts are great. You like these new boots? They are named after my band." It must have been absolutely humiliating for all involved. I can barely deal with the feelings of inadequacy now and I'm a grown man in a new century. At least we can look back on the impact of The Beatles and reason that they were the result of a different time (extreme acts from ancient black and white human beings like Hitler's pure evil and Einstein's baffling theories). We have the benefit of trying to live up to new and increasingly shoddy pop culture standards.


Robert Bunter: That's right. Kids of today probably have no difficulty imagining themselves fitting in comfortably at the Animal Collective studio tracking sessions or at Ron Jon's Surf Shop with Jack Johnson and Eddie Vedder. The bar has been lowered.

Anyway, "Think For Yourself" represents the dawning of a new growth for sullen George Harrison and his thick, phlegmy voice. The other Beatles, as usual, elevate the proceedings, but the real star here is the Dark Horse on his high horse. George would mount this judgemental, hectoring steed many more times over his career, but never as charmingly as he does here.

Original Beatles fan art by Nate Johnson (http://www.natejohnsondesign.com/)

In My Life

Richard Furnstein: "In My Life" is John's first journey through his past. While future songs like "Strawberry Fields Forever," "Mother," and "Julia" would filter nostalgia through his pain and longing, "In My Life" is all John's surface level memories. It's his painful childhood, sure, but it could just as easily take you to your happiest childhood memories. Black and white waterlogged photos of Fred Lennon, Julia Lennon, and Stuart Sutcliffe haunt this song, but you probably just see photos of your childhood dog and Ms. Boland, your beautiful and pert second grade teacher. The early draft featured more specific references to Liverpool landmarks, including Strawberry Field and Penny Lane, but the final version cuts out those sensitive bits to better convey the general life experience. This is your life, my life, our life. Let's weep for what we've lost and toast to the days ahead.  

Robert Bunter: Cheers, mate! I think you’ve got it right. John offers one of his typically navel-gazing self portraits, yet the presentation allows us all to make the emotional connection. If you list all of John’s many songwriting personas, then cross-reference which songs belong to which persona in a comprehensive pdf file with flow graphs and “pie” chart [attached], you’ll find “In My Life” emerged from the same gentle John mindspace as “Dear Prudence,” “All You Need Is Love,” the background vocal parts on “She’s Leaving Home” (the parents’ voices, a masterpiece of Lennon empathy) and “Because.” This was the most loveable of the many Johns we were blessed to know – a vulnerable yet wise and loving friend-figure. How great would it be to sit around and shoot the breeze with this wistful dreamer, perhaps over a pint of lager in some damp Liverpool dive? The only problem is, how long would it be until the terrifying monster of “Hey Bulldog” and “I Am The Walrus” [see attached chart] reared its bloodshot, leonine head? Not long, I’d wager.  

Richard Furnstein: Not long at all! I'd bet that John's eyes would cloud at the end of pint two (maybe pint three during the chunky Help! years), unleashing the vicious fang-toothed Lennon. A man who would cauterize his crippling fear of rejection and inadequacy with a dangerous blend of drugs, fractured gurus, and rage-filled wit. The pie chart should consider the true golden hour between the contemplative dreamer ("and I'm not the only one") and the self-hating psychopath ("no one I think is in my tree"), a man who was eager to connect his emotions and experiences with other humans. This Lennon Version was refreshingly non-self obsessed--in fact, his most effective use of this voice was decidedly global. "All You Need Is Love" was famously broadcast across the world via satellite. A song like "In My Life" is a much more personal version of a wide-reaching transmission. Sit down and cry, love. We'll get through this together.  

Robert Bunter: Well, whichever Lennon persona we’re dealing with here, he has created an almost painfully beautiful tune. The mood of rose-tinged nostalgia is perfectly evoked by the introductory guitar riff (reminiscent of a young child studiously practicing his music exercises), the chord progression (a blend of fake-classical formality with 1950’s pop conventions and just a few touches of the Beatles’ characteristic harmonic innovations - the flat vii chord on “with lovers and friends”), the arrangement (stop-start drum lurches from Ringo, nice cymbal chimes on the bridge and George Martin’s faux-harpsichord solo – actually, it was a sped-up piano) and the lovely vocal harmonies. John saves his best and most emotionally devastating moment for the very end. I’m talking, of course, about the falsetto “In myyyyyy life” that closes out this beautiful track. John knew that his falsetto was an absolute killer, every bit the equal of Paul’s main vocal trick (glorious throat-shredding rock belting). When John sings really high (“Happiness Is A Warm Gun,” “She’s Leaving Home”), grown men weep. And those men are me.  

I think you’re right about the angels

Richard Furnstein: Those men are we, old friend. The track is lovely. The introductory guitar riff is incredibly beautiful, largely because of the fumbling guitar student aspect. The slow plunking of the open E string at the end of the figure is such a naked and emotional sound. I can hear the entire moment in that one note: that slow and ringing E is pregnant with the paint on the studio wall, the snare ringing delicately, dragons of smoke curling from the ashtrays on top of Vox amplifiers. The rhythm of that repeated note always seems a touch off, or perhaps it is just too delicate and perfect. The first blossom of spring that could be crushed before it fully opens up to the sun. McCartney later claimed that he wrote the music for the track. While it doesn't sound quite like a John backing track (the closest song in the catalog may be "I'm Only Sleeping"), I can't say it really suits McCartney's style either. I'd say that God and all of his angels most likely wrote this track. Geniuses are allowed to have a few moments of divine inspiration, right?

Robert Bunter: I think you’re right about the angels. This is a song that really fits nicely into the warm vibe of Rubber Soul. Despite some jagged emotional shards poking out from “Norwegian Wood,” “Run For Your Life,” “Girl” and “I’m Looking Through You,” overall the album is suffused with a nice emotional warmth, a golden glow. The next record, which I like to call “Revolver,” presents a much sharper, acidic feeling. So, let’s summarize: a beautiful song, written by angels, which melds Lennon’s autobiographical impulses with a larger desire to find universal human connections, nicely recorded in a smoky studio with Vox amplifiers by a nice man who we’d like to share a beer with.  

Richard Furnstein: Thanks for tidying up the place, Robert. Let's publish this and wait for the money to come pouring in.

Original Beatles fan art by Scott McMicken (www.drdogmusic.com)

If I Needed Someone

Robert Bunter: A somewhat pedestrian Harrison effort is elevated to greatness by the vocal harmonies from ace vocalists John L. and Paul McC., as well as the groovy arrangement. Lucky for George, the chiming Byrds 12-string, funky tambourine and inventive, strutting basswork are there to transform his dopey lyrics, lumbering chord progression and thick, phlegmy voice into a gem that almost manages to hold its own against such immortal divine masterpieces as “Nowhere Man,” “You Won’t See Me” and the eternally charming Ringoshuffler “What Goes On.”

Richard Furnstein: I love this one. (Singing) "Oh who killed the miner? Say the grim bells of Blaina." Woops, wrong song, but you get the idea. George was in frantic "who am I?" mode at this point. He was way into Indian music after hearing some extras play a raga on the set of help. Then he got way into David Crosby and went out to San Francisco to hang out with the diseased masses. Hey man, pick a lane. You are making us all nervous.

To be fair, George wouldn't be fully comfortable in his skin until 1973's Living In The Material World LP, where he decided to just focus on his talent at writing miserable dirges with unnecessarily complicated chords.

Robert Bunter: Yeah. What I'd say to George is, "Hey, the Beatles set the trends, not follow them. We don't need any more Byrds songs. Why don't you stick with your strengths, which include clumsy lyrics and thick, phlegmy vocals?" But we should cut him some slack. As he pointed out, John and Paul had a head start. They'd already written all their dumb songs before the group got famous. George had to write his dumb songs and have them appear on immortal masterpieces like Rubber Soul. Oh, life!

"Hey, the Beatles set the trends, not follow them. We don't need any more Byrds songs."

Richard Furnstein: Let's stop right there, Robert. I can't let this go any further. I think it's important for you to remember that this song is in the top 75% of Rubber Soul, perhaps the greatest album by The Beatles. It's a chimer, sure, but don't let that diminish its beauty. George plucks out the melody in primo McGuinn fashion and carries the "aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah's" in the solo by himself. The Beatles had to write songs like this so that The Monkees had a better idea how to mature. Chime and whine, let's get it on.

Robert Bunter: Oh, wait, I made a mistake. I forgot about the part about how I love this crucial Rubber Soul gem. It's got that perfect mid-period Beatles sound that I enjoy listening to so much. You've got to look at everything in context. Good job, Dark Horse. It's nice to hear your music.

Richard Furnstein: If there was a Beatle that was better at writing the soundtrack to The Beatles Saturday morning cartoons than George Harrison, I haven't met him!

Robert Bunter: You've never met a Beatle, Richard. The closest you came was shaking hands with Joe English from Wings at Beatlefest 1994. 

Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)

Robert Bunter: Hoo boy. Rubber Soul just got really sophisticated. We're talking about mature attitudes, adult problems, exotic instruments, evocative scale patterns. We're talking about the changing dynamics of male-female relationships in the early blush of pre-feminist role confusion. Forget about "I'm Happy Just To Dance With You," teen-bopper - John is not going to be happy until the two of you have made adult love, and probably not even then. He's just going to ponder your frustrated encounter and write a beautiful song about it. Then he's going to burn down your stupid apartment. That's what "So / I lit a fire" is about. He later revealed that in an interview.

Richard Furnstein: That's right. The Boys are all grown up. They held your hand, but only when they were luring you away from the bar to have adult sexual encounters in your cheaply furnished apartment (that's what "Norwegian Wood" is, think Ikea and dimming halogen lamps). You're a liberated chick right (or "Bird," if you want us to walk you through this entire process)? Cool, then adult sex is just what the doctor ordered. Cuddling ain't on the menu, I'd rather sleep in your bathtub than curl up in your princess bed. No offense, I'm just a complicated rock star.

Robert Bunter: Complicated. That's exactly the feeling. "I've got a lot on me mind, dear. I've been experimenting with mind-expanding drugs, writing songs with Paul McCartney and buying a house. Did I mention I have a wife and child? There's a lot for me to deal with right now, and your coy flirtations and manipulative games are not helping." Much speculation has circulated that "Norwegian Wood" was written about John's affair with journalist Maureen Cleave - HERE she is flirting with Bob Dylan. That must have been some crazy evening. Soft light, a frisky Beaujolais paired with smoked kippers, French cigarettes from a brass pocket case, Donovan's latest on the hi-fi. Maureen whispers something, John mumbles and adjusts his sunglasses...

Richard Furnstein: I feel like I'm watching the intimate details of mating rituals on some late night PBS special on the honey badger. It's simultaneously tender, primal, practical, and savage. "Norwegian Wood" seems to discuss the foibles of the western male--all unfocused sexual energy and swagger--colliding with the promise of sexual independence and release promised to all young women in the rock and roll wars. Your downfall is either drink or women. You either sleep in the bath because you are too drunk to know any better or you fear intimacy that advances past the frilly things. It's a N.O.W. badge come to life, fitting awkwardly in the realities of late nights, surging hormones, fame lust, and sexual manipulation.

You're a liberated chick, right? Cool, then adult sex is just what the doctor ordered.

One thing I was never clear on: should this song make you feel sad for the characters? Is it just a numb slice-o-life commentary? Where do you stand, Bunter? Is it more "Good Morning" than "She's Leaving Home"?

Robert Bunter: Wow, great question. You've cut right to the heart of the matter. I think we're dealing with John's marijuana-induced emotional detachment. He is not sure how to regard the woman, the situation or himself. So, he presents us with this gauzy, impressionistic series of vague images and leaves out the conclusions and emotions. There is a sort of sadness here, but it's evoked by the absence of emotion rather than its presence. None of McCartney's deftly-betugged heartstrings for this old boy (who I like to call Johnny "Moondog" Lennon). He's just going to serve you up a raw plate of painful reality and let you draw your own conclusions. The road to "A Day In The Life," the ultimate masterpiece of aching detachment, starts here.

Richard Furnstein: Let's put a bow on this one, because this is another gift to the faithful readers. I would like to recognize the use of sitar on the track (hard to believe that George was able to manage good taste in his early days on that yawning, cranky beast of an instrument). George picked up the sitar after seeing musicians cradling the stringed monsters on the set of Help! George must have incredible luck pulling new sensations from movie sets. His first wife and renowned Best Looking Beatles Wife Patti Boyd was a fringe benefit from the shooting of A Hard Day's Night. Any idea if he pulled anything interesting in the shooting of Let It Be?

Robert Bunter: An old brown shoe. Hahahahahahahahahaha!

Drive My Car

Robert Bunter: What an opener! As the curtain rises on Rubber Soul, we are whisked away to a world that none of us had ever seen before. Sassy guitar and assertive bass set the scene, right before thudding toms and funky tambourine make their entrance. Suddenly, we're hearing the comfortable voice of our old friend Paul McCartney, but what's he talking about? He's having some sort of cryptic dialogue with "a girl" who has ambitions of making it in show business and wants to offer our narrator a job as a chauffeur. As the dialogue continues, it becomes clear that she has no idea who she's talking to.

Where does that leave a line like "you can do something in between"? I'll tell you where, straight in the dirty gutter with the rest of the rock and roll filth.

Richard Furnstein: I'm not sure if I should be confused by this story (a story song about a chauffeur audition with an ironic twist?). I assume any rock songs about cars are actually about sticky bedroom matters full of childish puns. Where does that leave a line like "you can do something in between"? I'll tell you where, straight in the dirty gutter with the rest of the rock and roll filth.

Robert Bunter: Where the hell do you file this one? Arch social commentary? If so, the message is muddled and unclear. Women are selfish and dumb? Love is for sale? On the other hand, maybe it's just a funky answer to the sounds of Stax and Motown which were filling the Beatles' ears and the lyrics are beside the point. I'll tell you one thing: placed back-to-back with Norwegian Wood at the beginning of side one, the boys were definitely not going out of their way to paint a flattering picture of contemporary femininity. I guess it makes sense: the women in their lives at this point consisted primarily of screaming lunatics chasing them around, boring wives, the Queen of England, and sophisticated, coy mistresses like journalist Maureen Cleave. Then it's time for "You Won't See Me," "Girl," "I'm Looking Through You," and "Run For Your Life." Sorry, ladies: the Beatles hate you.

Richard Furnstein: They may hate women, but they clearly love children (both boy people and girl people), because this song is for the young at heart. There is an empty headed exuberance in the "BEEP BEEP BEEP YEAH" refrain for the undeveloped child brains. Children can relate to the "what do you want to be when you grow up" conceit of the song, and the options presented to the wee ones are typically limited ("I drive a car like Daddy!" or "I am a movie star!"). Hand it to Sir Paul to write a catchy, lunky tune that relates to both children, misogynists, perverts, and beat rock enthusiasts!

Michelle

Richard Furnstein: This song should be a complete disaster. Paul is wearing a striped shirt and thin mustache and is riding his bike down a dirt path. A day old baguette is in his basket. He pulls into the dirty town square and stops to admire the object of his affections, a sharp faced French girl named Michelle. He can barely speak French and she pretends that she's never heard of English (a lie), so Paul's gotta keep his game simple. He rhymes her name in mangled Frenglish; he gets a laugh. He babbles "I love you" over and over to her, when I'm sure they both know the phrase "je t'aime." Classic French girl pick-up blunder, but Paul makes it happen anyway because he has a child's face, is a millionaire, and plays bass guitar in the greatest band in the world.

Robert Bunter: Paulie is being very mannered and precious here. His cartoonish evocation of trite Francoid cliches stinks up the end of Rubber Soul's first side. Personally, I find it a great relief to turn the record over and enjoy the charming Ringoshuffler "What Goes On." Sonically, this song is the cousin of Lennon's "Girl," with its bogus European trappings. The boys were presumably cosmopolitan world-travelers at this point, but you wouldn't know it from Rubber Soul. Paul should have stuck with his main talent, which was writing world-class supreme excellent songs. This is an unfortunate example of his secondary talent, which was writing mid-grade throwaways which are barely elevated to the level of tolerability by virtue of their context.

Richard Furnstein: I love Paul's manly register in this song. In fact, the first Michelle of the song almost sounds like he turned this delicate love song over to that lumbering oaf Ringo Starr. I think Ringo could probably hang during the verses, but would lose it pretty quickly during the enthusiastic "I love you" breakdowns.

Robert Bunter: During a period of the Beatles career where they increasingly touted the virtues of communication and understanding, "Michelle" sticks out like a sore thumb. Michelle can't understand a word of what Paul is saying, except for his cod French fumblings. So they've never had a meaningful conversation. How does he know he loves her? Won't it be fun when they finally learn to communicate and realize they have nothing to say to each other! Love is not what happens when you see a pretty French girl. It's something much deeper than that. Do you know who I learned that from? I'll give you a hint: it was four men from Liverpool called The Beatles. C'mon, Paul. Get in the game here.

Richard Furnstein: The Beatles not only wrote love songs for English and American kids, they threw some love to the rest of Europe. Keep in mind, this is like three years after World War II (or something), so it was smart to record songs in German, make fun of Italian people, or try to impregnate beautiful French girls. George lays his sweet love all over the map with a roundwound guitar solo that gets low and stays there. An all time great song, especially if your girlfriend is named Michelle. Then you can sing it all the time and live out the promise of Paul's border crossing love.

In My Life

Richard Furnstein: I love the introduction to this one. A delicate, slightly overdriven electric guitar plays a mournful figure. The song's unique anti-rock tempo and structure are birthed from these six notes: the most beautiful and crucial six notes in their catalog. Lennon and McCartney's sad tale of nostalgia, faith, loss, and love lifts from the second repeated figure.

Robert Bunter: The boys were really maturing by the time they got to Rubber Soul. Their lyrics were exploring new areas at the same time they were opening up their musical palette with new instruments and recording techniques.

Looking at his past through a gauzy haze of cannabis fumes, Lennon manages to come up with a fond nostalgic reverie. The pages fly backwards off the calendar as we are treated to a gentle photo montage ... dear aunt Mimi looks over her shoulder and smiles at young John while setting out the English "crisps" for teatime ... schoolyard buddies Pete Shotton and Ivan Vaughn share a clandestine "ciggy" behind the Woolton churchyard ... John's first steady girlfriend Barbara Baker gazes shyly at the camera in her one-piece swimsuit ...  a doe-eyed young upstart named Paul knows all the lyrics to "Twenty Flight Rock" and joins the Quarrymen ... skipping stones on a lazy Liverpool riverbank in 1956 ...

It was only a few years later that John's visions of the past would take on a distinctly more nightmarish cast in "Strawberry Fields Forever" and, later, the Plastic Ono Band album. At this stage, the glasses are still rose-colored, although the song is imbued with melancholy undertones that indicate it wasn't all ciggies and "crisps" for this lad.

Richard Furnstein: Sure, but at this point there was no reason to expect the beauty of this song or his lyrical sweetness. It includes elements of "Yesterday" (sober perspective) and "This Boy" (rich harmonies), but there is a restraint in the performance that is way too sophisticated for rock musicians. Yet there's not much here beyond rock instruments (even George Martin's baroque interlude is tape manipulation of piano. The only ripple of muscle comes from Ringo's drumming. He's all restraint, pushing air through this travelogue and establishing the pace of John's rush of memories.

Robert Bunter: Sure, they're leaving rock and roll behind. Good riddance! We're climbing aboard the Beatle growth train, headed for more interesting and unique locales. "In My Life" serves as a fascinating contrast to many of Lennon's other songs of this period, with personae like the world-weary Casanova in "Norwegian Wood," the messianic evangelist in "The Word, the sneering acid-head in "Rain." Here, on the other hand, we meet a kind-hearted, approachable chap who is capable of a heartwarming lyric like "though I know I'll never lose affection for people and things that went before ... in my life, I love you more." Marijuana seemed to bring out a very lovely side of John (also evident on "Nowhere Man").


Richard Furnstein: Yeah, he probably was less of a womanizer or bully when he was all cheebed up. Get out the photo albums, John's baked and wants to ramble on about elementary school again!

Nowhere Man

Robert Bunter: I get chills just from reading the title of this song. Hands down, my favorite Lennon track. Entire career. Yup.

Richard Furnstein: I've known you for 36 years (I still have the receipt from our "getting to know you" lunch at Beatlefest 1975 in my hope chest), so I realize that you are given to moments of misguided hyperbole. However, you may be right or at least damn close to right this time (I'm shutting off the part of my where "Strawberry Fields Forever," "Instant Karma!," and "Mind Games" live). It's a dang perfect song with my favorite guitar Beatles guitar solo. The solo is a perfect combination of technical simplicity and heavens-splitting treble tone. It's the sound of George trying to coax the lazy daydreamers from their somnambulistic state.

Robert Bunter: Well, of course that's what you would say. But think about it: this is John doing what he does best, and he does it the best he's ever done it. On one level, he's singing about society: the staid, button-down nine-to-fivers who sleepwalk through another day of life without stopping to smell  the lovely odors ... so anxiously acquisitive of the pointless crumbs, they never lift their eyes to the loaf - the abundant loaf of life-bread which shines all around us in this benevolent, integrated universe. Then, of course, there's the next level: introspective, 1965-era fat Elvis-period Lennon is pondering his own lack of direction and personal self-realization. The world is at his command, yet he is empty inside. But, here's the twist: on the deepest level, he's really singing to ME! ROBERT JULIUS BUNTER!

But, also, you too. Without being judgmental (like a certain filthy Beatles guitarist and spiritual scold I could name), beautiful John gently points out that, Hey - don't we all have a little growing up to do? Maybe we all have room to improve. How does sweet John do this? I'll tell you how: by writing a gorgeous melody and having his three friends perform it flawlessly in a breathtaking display of human beauty.

Richard Furnstein: Yeah, that harmony is out-of-this-world. I think the studio recording of "Nowhere Man" was a bigger death knoll to their touring life than complicated studio creations like "Tomorrow Never Knows," deafening teenage nerds, or Imelda Marcos death threats. They could easily dodge many of those roadblocks, but the harmonies on "Nowhere Man" are the true point of no return. Sure, they played it live, and did a pretty damned good job, but it is clear that the beauty of their arrangements and approaches were being lost on the soggy brained masses.

Robert Bunter: And do you know how this song happened? Did you hear the story?

Richard Furnstein: Did I "hear" the story? Did John Lennon personally ring me up in 1973 to tell me the story of "Nowhere Man"? Did Derek Taylor send me a postcard with the story? Did Paul McCartney Skype me last week to discuss this song? You know none of those things happened. So, why don't you tell me this "story" that you half remembered from the same well thumbed source material that we both have.

Robert Bunter: Ahem. John had been sitting by his pool at Weybridge, trying for hours to write a song that would have personal and social significance and nothing was happening. He gave up and took a nap. "And I finally gave up and lay down. Then 'Nowhere Man' came, words and music, the whole damn thing as I lay down." (Lennon, 1980). I personally think, if there's a God, He's the one who really wrote Nowhere Man and gave it to John through divine inspiration. The credit should read 'Lennon-McCartney-God.'

Richard Furnstein: I do love that story, a classic from the final Playboy interviews. I expected more from you than a quick visit to http://www.wikipedia.com to confirm your facts, though. You are on notice, Bunter. Take your time, don't hurry, indeed.

You Won't See Me

Robert Bunter: Oh, yeah. Now we're talkin'!

Richard Furnstein: One of the best breakup songs in a long line of breakup songs from the early Beatles. We are used to hearing John lament the loss of love; tearing his larynx and stumbling for simple rhyme schemes to describe his pain. Paul comes into this breakup in full peacock mode, he's here to end this situation and move onto greener pastures. Shit's broken, plain and simple, and there are few remaining days in this relationship. Every line is a brutal indictment of their failing love ("time after time you refuse to even listen/I wouldn't mind if I knew what I was missing"!!!). Taken along with the Beatles quick ascent artistically and culturally, this song seems to be a kiss-off to a woman that can't take the next step with these British supermen. This isn't "You won't see me? Why won't you see me? I love you and need you." It is "You won't see me. You'll look for me but I'm on a different level now. Have fun at your boring parties with your oafish friends." No one I know is in my tree, darling. I'm off to outer space.

Robert Bunter: Yup. This is where the rocketship of the Beatles interstellar career achieves critical mass and escapes the Earth's gravitational pull, headed straight for the planet Excellence in the galaxy of Groove. Everyone is firing on all cylinders, and having a good time doing it. The fun is infectious - you just know that they were smiling when they recorded every note of this beautiful bastard. Let me say this to our readers: it's entirely possible that every time you've ever listened to this song, you've been so busy enjoying the great chord changes, the fun "ooo la-la" backup vocals and mature lyrics, you didn't pay attention to the bass. That bass line deserves a Grammy award. Makes James Jamerson sound like Keanu Reaves!

Richard Furnstein: Well, Paul's a monster on the bass on his tracks on Rubber Soul (I've already wet my pants over "The Word" in this forum). I want to focus on a lot of the amazing vocal tracks on this song. John's cool regret fuels the "no, I wouldn't, no I wouldn't" call and response in the chorus. George and John provide a fantastic bed of "oooh's" and la's" to sweeten Paul's acerbic lyrics. Try listening to Paul deliver the scorching "feels like years" at 2:41 without getting chills. Human beings did this, and that's why we rule over everything. The song is so incredibly strong that even the brutal version by The Godz has a primal power.

Robert Bunter: No doubt about that! Hey, try this experiment: listen to the song all the way through. Then put it on again. Now turn it up. Play it again, from the beginning to the end. Now repeat the process until you've torn out every hair on your head in a fit of sheer ecstatic frenzy. Eagle-eyed readers who look at my photo might see that I've been the guinea pig for this experiment already!

Girl

Richard Furnstein: "Is there anybody going to listen to my story..." is the perfect lead-off hitter on this song. Lennon is drunk and ready to tell you all about a rumpled beauty who shook his world. She was cool enough to hang, maybe a bit too cool (she put down John Freckin' Lennon in front of his pals!). This concept of feminine charm has haunted me my whole life. Doomed.

Robert Bunter: Lennon uses the exotic scale intervals of Eastern European peasant music on this melancholy lament, then increases the effect on the bridge with the double-time fake mandolin. You can just see a dusky-complected, moustachioed gypsy wearily slumped at one of those miniature tables with the umbrella in a smoky cafe, singing this song while his organ grinder monkey takes a much-deserved break and a quartet of old men beat clumsily at those huge, poorly made mariachi basses that look like guitars and taterbug mandolins nearby.

Richard Furnstein: John gets back at Little Miss Can't Be Wrong by making his buddies George and Paul tease her about her lady parts (the famous "tit-tit-tit-tit" bit), but it's still not enough to lift his melancholy. He resorts to taking a hit from a nearby spliff during the "girl" chorus. Poor dude.

Robert Bunter: Lyrically, it's a perfect chance for Lennon to mix his down-in-the-dumps, crying-in-your-beer persona with his gradually-emerging archly superior psychedelic identity. It's like the guy who sang "The Word" and "And Your Bird Can Sing" crossed with the guy Paul was singing about in "For No One."

Richard Furnstein: I thought they were the same guy!

Wait

Richard Furnstein: "Wait" features one of the finer blended John and Paul vocals. George has a blast with the volume knob, serving the song perfectly. The real star of the show is Ringo, who delivers one of the most insistent beats on Rubber Soul, some fun bell hits on the verse breakdowns, and a pile of excitable maracas and tambourines. It's not the finest drumming moments on a Beatles song, but "Wait" has some of the most important drums on one of their records. It's a limp fish without this beautiful nosed man.

Robert Bunter: I don't know what to say about this. Vintage perfect Lennon/McCartney from Rubber Soul. What do you want from me? I'm out of superlatives. They hadn't gone fully deep into the cosmic zones of Revolver yet, and could still offer unapologetic love lyrics like this one, adorning strong melodies and great performances. If the Beatles had stayed in this zone for the rest of their career, I wouldn't complain. Sure, we wouldn't get "Old Brown Shoe" (which is very, very nice), but think of
the benefits.

Richard Furnstein: Well, it's a tricky situation. The best case scenario is "Wait" and much of Rubber Soul. On the dark side, you get a bunch of songs like "Tell Me What You See." Sure, it's nice to build the catalog with songs like that, but nobody is getting a Hollywood loaf from TMWYS.

Run For Your Life

Richard Furnstein: It's easy to point fingers at this one; bespectacled peacenik Lennon is threatening violence if his lady cheats. Sure, it's a little creepy, and you can't even pass this one off as romantic devotion because he delivers the lyric with a pronounced sneer. I still think it's notable because it is an about face from his wounded weeper lyrical approach that dominates the first couple years of the Beatles' recorded output (see "I'll Cry Instead," "I Call Your Name," "Ask Me Why," and countless others). John needed to get this one out of his system to go into the acid-filtered light. No "Run For Your Life"? Fine, but you don't get "All You Need Is Love," jack. This is the first primal scream.

Robert Bunter: Lennon was rightfully ashamed of this slight, misogynistic Elvis ripoff. There are many people who have had difficult childhoods which left them with trust issues manifesting themselves in hostility towards women, but that doesn't mean we all run around threatening to cut their heads off.

Richard Furnstein: The stereo version deserves some attention here. The entire band is chugging along in the left channel, while the bass and John's lead primarily sit in the right channel. There's a great moment where you hear the band track in the vocal channel at the start of the song, presumably when John approached the microphone. Points should go to this song for George's solo and John's delivery on "toe the line" and the word "dead (at 1:22). Great outro, too.

Robert Bunter: Additional points deducted for the stupid tambourine part. The Beatles revolutionary use of the tambourine is a frequently overlooked aspect of their brilliant arrangements, but here it seems that Ringo couldn't be bothered to do more than the old shake-and=slap. Likewise, Paul offers nothing worth mentioning with his elementary one-five bass part. Unquestionably the low-point of the otherwise-competent "Rubber Soul" LP.

Richard Furnstein: Oh weird, your copy doesn't come with "What Goes On"? You should contact EMI ASAP to get that taken care of.

The Word

Robert Bunter: Man, we've really been talking about stinkers lately.

Richard Furnstein: I know, I feel bad. (Reaches into hat). Uh-oh, looks like our luck has changed. I just picked one of my favorites: "The Word." John finds out about love and can't way to lay it on his friends. Paul's like "been there already dude" (Jane Asher), but still contributes the greatest bass line possible.

Robert Bunter: This is one of the first times John explores the messianic impulses that will later cause him to spout embarrassing garbage like "If you want to be a hero then just follow me" and "Can you hear me?/niaaaaaaaaaar." I can in all honesty say that if I took acid and got turned on to the fact that love is the transcendent mystical universe force of all creation, I would respond by writing a bad 12-bar boogie with lyrics like "Everywhere I got I hear it said/In the good and the bad books that I have read."
Richard Furnstein: Liner notes claim that George or Paul or somebody played the screeching organ, which was probably fun for that person. Top ten Beatles track!*





*Don't hold me to that.