I was almost ten years old when the Beatles burst upon America in 1964 and I fully participated in Beatlemania. My first LP was their first LP — “Love Me Do.” I collected Beatles trading cards, attended Beatles movies, contemplated whether Paul was really dead, analyzed the lyrics of “Strawberry Fields” in seventh grade English, and sighed when John claimed they were popular than Jesus. I was 16 years old in April 1970 when my tenth grade Social Studies teacher announced to the class that the group had broken up, something she’d learned from the radio that morning in those pre-Internet days. I was in the 11th grade when my first girlfriend gave me George Harrison’s transcendent album “All Things Must Pass” as a Christmas gift and I was a high school senior when Paul McCartney was releasing his best work at a solo artist. So the Beatles dominated my transition from childhood to adolescence, from innocence to adult desire. They had multi-year impact on my development that corresponds to the influence of the Harry Potter novels on my son.
One month after the Beatles broke up, Apple Records released their last album, “Let It Be,” which I promptly acquired and learned to love by playing it dozens — maybe hundreds — of times on the record player in my bedroom.
Also released in conjunction with that final album was a documentary film about the studio sessions that produced the record. Somehow that documentary never made its way to my local cineplex so I didn’t get to see it for another 15 years, when, thanks to the invention of the VCR and the video store, I was able to watch a rental copy in the bedroom of my Washington D.C. apartment.
I wished I hadn’t. It was both bad and a bummer. It had no narrator and seemed to be a hodgepodge of clips of the four Beatles squabbling while they tried to lay down tracks for the songs. The film’s only redeeming factor was the final third of the movie, when the Beatles delivered a seemingly spontaneous live concert on the roof of the recording studio. About five years ago, I managed to watch the movie again when it was temporarily available on a streaming service. I wanted to see if it was as bad and depressing as I remembered. It was.
For fifty years I had assumed the accepted story of the Beatles break-up, which is that it was brought about in large part by the contentious making of the “Let it Be” album. Didn’t we see it right there on the screen of the “Let It Be” movie? But then, I learned that Peter Jackson — of “Lord of the Ring” fame — had gained access to more than 60 hours of raw footage from those recording sessions and was cutting an entirely new version of the movie. Apparently the surviving Beatles had never been happy with the original “Let it Be” documentary and wanted Jackson to take a fresh look.
That documentary, now titled “Get Back,” landed like a bombshell two weeks ago on Thanksgiving. It was not a feature film for the theater but an eight-hour three-part TV series. I was so desperate to watch it that I did something I swore I’d never do — I subscribed to Disney Plus.
Never has $8.00 been better spent. There is a case to be made that “Get Back” is the best music documentary ever made, especially if you believe that a documentary is supposed to “document” a moment of time. “Get Back” doesn’t settle any arguments but it does serve as a time machine back to January 1969, when the Sixties were in full flower, while also providing an intimate look at how rock music is made.
And it’s amazing. Having never written a song, I always assumed that songwriting was something like what Rogers and Hammerstein are said to have done: Richard Rodgers would write some lyrics in his New York City Penthouse and mail them to Oscar Hammerstein at his Bucks County farm — or visa versa — and they’d have a song. It turns out that songwriting is much messier than that. When the Beatles showed up to start recording on January 2, 1969 they have no finished songs, just fragments and ideas, and thanks to “Get Back,” we can see them laboriously turning those fragments into beautiful finished products. There’s a saying that genius is ten percent inspiration and 90 percent perspiration and I never quite believed it until now. But there they are, grinding out each song, playing it over and over and experimenting with different chords, riffs and phrases until then refined it to a gem. And when they played those songs live on the top of the roof, the quality of the performance isn’t the least bit ragged even though the songs hadn’t existed a few weeks earlier.
Still, don’t get me started on the lyrics. I used to think that if I didn’t understand the meaning of a rock song it was my fault because I wasn’t deep enough. Now I see that there sometimes is no meaning. The song “Get Back” started out as a protest anthem against anti-immigration politicians and ended up having something to do with a guy looking to buy weed? Most of the lyrics are sheer nonsense — a word salad that happens to rhyme. It’s perhaps an irony and a coincidence that Stephen Sondheim, Broadway’s greatest lyricist died the day after the first episode of the “Get Back” documentary. It’s a blessing that he didn’t have to have it rubbed into his face that a song with the line “Jojo was a man who thought he was a loner, But he knew it couldn’t last,” would become a number one hit.
But with both Sondheim and McCartney there is a case to be made for genius driving the hard work. In the most jaw-dropping sequence of the movie, while the Beatles are waiting for John to show his face, Paul grabs his bass and starts strumming, furiously trying to come up with a new song. Almost miraculously, the God of Creativity sends down a tune that eventually turns into “Get Back.” Then Ringo begins to work out the beats and George picks up his guitar and starts adding his magic. When John finally arrives, he goes right to his chair and the next thing you know the Beatles are playing a very rough version of their next hit
To anyone who has ever tried to do anything creative, the lessons are clear. Take your idea and work it and work it until you get what you want. Collaborate and take the best ideas that your colleagues suggest. And be sure to take breaks to clear your head. A very striking feature of the documentary is how much time the Beatles spend fooling around, playing Chuck Berry songs, doing Elvis impersonations, goofing about their own hallowed classics, cracking jokes, telling stories, and generally creating brain space where creativity can occur. It seems like a waste of time but taking a break can actually improve productivity.
The documentary is more than a rumination on creativity, though. At its heart, it’s a modest rewriting of late-stage Beatleography.
For one thing, the “Get Back” documentary demonstrates what’s going on during these sessions in a way that was completely muddled in the “Let It Be” version. Apparently the Beatles had a insane plan to write brand new songs that would be performed during their first live concert in three years. The idea itself is not crazy. The crazy part is that all this had to be accomplished in ten days because Ringo needed to leave to make a movie called “The Magic Christian”! The idea that this deadline was driven by Ringo’s commitment to a completely forgettable film is bad enough but what’s even loonier is that they haven’t even begun to nail down the details for their grandiose plans. You can’t plan a Christmas party in less than two weeks yet they think they will produce a concert for 20,000 rabid Beatles fans in that time. It’s a bit of a running joke that Michael Lindsay-Hogg, the film’s director, keeps pressing them to perform at an ancient Roman amphitheater in Libya, an outlandish proposal that finally collapses under the weight of its own absurdity.
Throughout “Get Back,” we are constantly aware of this looming deadline and the pressure that the Beatles are under to produce these songs in a compressed period. The story is told in strict chronological order with each day marked off on the calendar. Eventually, through their own indecision, their options narrow as each potential venue becomes unavailable. Yet Paul continues to press for something special, which is how they ended up doing a pop-up concert on the roof of their recording studio.
And Just Who Broke up the Beatles?
For decades now, the question that tortured Beatles fans is why they broke up. Fueled in part by the original “Let It Be” documentary, the generally accepted thesis has been that this recording session was a last straw, exacerbated by Paul’s resentment of Yoko Ono, a spectral, dour and unwelcome presence conjoined to John throughout this period.
In the revisionist history of “Get Back,” Yoko is indeed Siamese-twinning it with John throughout the recordings but the other Beatles do not find her an unsettling presence; she is not looming vulture-like as she is in “Let It Be.” It’s not really a downer to have her there as she just silently observes or occasionally chats with Paul’s future wife Linda McCartney. And even when she gets up and literally wails into a mic like a paid mourner at a Middle Eastern funeral, the non-John Beatles seem to enjoy it or at least find it amusing.
Yoko SEEMS like a problem because she’s an outward manifestation of a real problem — John’s boredom of being a Beatle. For at least a third of the movie he’s barely engaged and just this side of catatonic. There are reports that he was impaired by heroin or other dubious substances, but it would also be unsurprising if, after six years of unbelievable fame and creativity, he just wanted to take it easy and resented Paul’s bossy Type-A insistence that they buckle down and get to work again on a new album.
Anyone who didn’t know the Beatles and just watched the first episode of “Get Back” would think that this guy John Lennon was a freelance guitar player they’d brought it to help with the background music. Yet once he does rouse himself to pay attention to what’s going on, he’s fully engaged, contributing songs, helping with the work of others and generally resuming his role as the band’s boss. Ultimately he doesn’t seem like someone who wants to break up the band,
No, it’s not John and Yoko who are the biggest problems in “Get Out,” it’s George. He’s the one who most chafes under Paul’s initial bossiness. He’s the one who utters the dispiriting phrase “I want a divorce.” And he’s the one who complains that not enough of his songs are getting on the albums. He finally cracks at the end of the first episode, about a week into the recording session, when John and Paul finally reconnect and let it rip in a joyful guitar jam session. The look on George’s face when he sees the two other Beatles re-bonding makes it clear he knows he’s still outside the inner circle. John and Paul continue to treat him like the 14-year-old he was when he joined the band, not the mature song-writer that he’d become, so he walks out of the session, essentially going on strike because of his hurt feelings. And John’s reaction? If George doesn’t come back in two days they’ll replace him with Eric Clapton. That’s how important John thinks George is. I can’t blame George for wanting to get out.
And yet, for all the hurt feelings, side-eyes, grumbling, and complaining, these Beatles easily could have continued for years. Maybe not at the frantic pace that Paul has them on, producing two to three albums a year. Maybe they could have produced their solo albums and then gotten together every once in a while to record new material. The proof of this? That’s exactly what they did a few months later when they reassembled to produce their real last album — “Abbey Road.”
No, according to the “Get Back” version of events, it’s not Yoko and not even George who broke up the Beatles. The answer is only alluded to but it’s in plain sight — the introduction of their future business manager Alan Klein. Early in the film Paul is pretty explicit that they have been adrift since the death of their previous business manager, Brian Epstein (still weirdly referred to as “Mr. Epstein”). Later, when Paul is out of the studio, John confides to George that he just met Klein, then the Rolling Stones manager, who is brilliant and insightful. Surprisingly for someone who supposedly disdained materialism, John is attracted by Klein’s ability to get them more money. And in the end it is Klein who will become the snake in the garden who destroys the Beatles, driving Paul out of the group and eventually enmeshing the group in years of litigation for allegedly feathering his own nest at their expense. But that’s an entirely different movie. This one ends joyously, with the Beatles playing live on the top of that roof. The last song perform live together will be “Get Back.” But getting back is something they won’t be able to do.
Some random observations
— After comparing the “Get Back” and “Let It Be” documentaries, will we ever be able to believe anything in any documentary? Both filmmakers looked at the same 60 hours of footage, but came to different conclusions and told different stories. What the heck is truth anyway?
— I can’t help but think that Michael Lindsay-Hogg, the director of “Let It Be,” released such a dour version of the the recording sessions because he was pissed the Beatles hadn’t accepted any of his fantastical proposals for a live concert. In “Get Back,” Peter Jackson shows him as a bit of a twit that no one takes seriously. The Beatles complained for years that they didn’t like “Let It Be,” and fifty years later they finally get their revenge.
— Can we talk about how young these guys are? Ringo, John, Paul, and George are 29, 28, 26 and 25 respectively. They all look much older — that’s what being an international rock star will do to you — but they are all younger than my son is now.
— When I see John and Paul performing “Two of Us” I now realize that it’s arguably a song about the two of them, not some other random couple. Consider the lyrics. “You and I have memories longer than the road that stretches out ahead” and etc.
— I never liked John Lennon very much, and this documentary reinforced those feelings. He looks terrible, with lank greasy hair, a sallow complexion and an undernourished physique (it does seems that he at least washed and possibly blow-dried his hair for the roof-top performance, though). He is constantly mugging for the camera — i.e., making faces and “funny” voices. And his general disdain for Paul’s efforts to pull everything together and to make it work is obnoxious. Without Paul there probably wouldn’t have been any “Let It Be” or “Abbey Road” albums but John feels contemptuous of Paul’s sincerity and desire to get them done.
— Wow there’s a lot of smoking going on, by all four Beatles and several other hangers on. This really was the Sixties.
— Speaking of the Sixties, sometimes when I watch “Mad Men” and other shows set in that decade I think, did we really dress like that? Oh yes. George is a peacock in fluorescent greens, pinks, and stripes, John is sporting the slovenly look except for when he’s wearing a bushy fur coat, and Paul looks like a dude from an old Western.
— George definitely has a case to make that John and Paul weren’t taking him seriously. One of the songs that was deemed not good enough to be on the album was “All Things Must Pass.” This, on an LP that includes “Dig It.” George makes it clear that he’s thinking of recording a solo album so he can surface his songs, and when it does come out, with “All Things Must Pass” as the title cut, it turns out to be the best of all the post-Beatles single albums by far.
— There are two very sweet moments in the film. First when Linda Eastman brings in her six-year-old daughter Heather (later adopted by Paul) who charms the lads by banging Ringo’s drum, crawling in their laps and just generally being super-cute. The second sweet moment involves George Harrison quietly helping Ringo develop a early draft of “Octopus’s Garden,” which will eventually appear on “Abbey Road.”
— Speaking of Ringo, also called “Richie” by the other band members because his real name is Richard Starkey, he appears to be not doing much besides providing the rhythm the songwriters need for their material. But not doing anything is exactly what the Beatles needed out of their drummer, given how much drama the other three produced.
— The critics made a big deal about the contribution of the pianist Billy Preston and it’s true that he initially does give them a jolt of enthusiasm and energy when he shows up about a third of the way through the documentary and the Beatles shanghai him into playing on the album. But he’s only around for about half the sessions after this and his main contribution appears to be a big smile and a calming presence (which, come to think about it is pretty damn important, so maybe the critics are right).
— The one thing the two documentaries have in common is the emotional climax of the roof-top concert but because Peter Jackson has more time to tell the story, his version is more nuanced. The Michael Lindsay-Hogg documentary leaves the impression that the police shut down the playing, but “Get Back” shows that the Beatles actually ran out of material — they played “Get Back” three times, for example, and were cold too, given that it was late on a January day. If they’d wanted to play more songs, it’s not clear how the police would have shut them down — when they quit two bobbies and the world’s politest sergeant were just standing there trying to decide what to do. Paul had fantasized about playing a pop-up concert in Parliament and being dragged away by the police, but when the time came he looked over his should and saw the police, smiled and ended the show without any conflict. What a more civilized world it was back then.
And when those last chords of the short concert are done and the Beatles have played live together for the very last time, I felt a pang of what could have been. The Rolling Stones are geriatricly touring even now and although no one wants to see the Beatles doing that, there could have been the occasional reunion tour and who knows how many new songs.
And in a weird way, I felt sorry for the orphan songs that never did get played in public. Paul, of course, would go on to play “Get Back,” “Let It Be” and “The Long and Winding Road” thousands of times in concert, but did any Beatle ever again perform a song like “I Dig A Pony,” which is mostly considered a John composition?
Well, maybe no Beatle ever performed it again but it’s a testament to the enduring legacy of the band that an artist as cool as St. Vincent would resurrect it and add it to her repertoire. And damn if she doesn’t do a good job.
Really!!? 