5 Reasons to Love the Beatles

Some say they were simply in the right place at the right time.  I RESPECTFULLY disagree.

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I didn't grow up with the Beatles.  I mean, I'd heard of them, sure—you can't really live on this planet anymore without some exposure to them.  But I only had this vague idea of them as "that band from the sixties," famous for being weird and doing drugs.  I'd heard "Yellow Submarine," and knew they made a song called "I Am the Walrus," so the image stuck.

I even have these funny memories of looking up at their posters in a restaurant.  They were very confusing.  Were they really supposed to be the same four guys in each poster?  What was the significance of crossing a crosswalk?  Rubber Soul was simpler, but I couldn't understand why all but one of them were looking so forlorn into the distance while the last one looked directly at the camera.  I mean, was he supposed to be smarter than the rest for figuring out there was a camera?  Or was he just too cool to look away with everyone else?

Or maybe he's their king.
. . . Yeah, that seems like a reasonable assessment.

Then there were all these little hints:  Any time I actually listened to a song by the Beatles—first "Eleanor Rigby," then "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," "A Hard Day's Night," "Back in the USSR," etc.—I thought it was great.  But I didn't put any thought into it because I just assumed they were the "good" Beatles songs.  The highlights.

Then finally 2014 rolled around:  The 50th anniversary of the Beatles' arrival in America.  Rolling Stone magazine did a special nostalgia piece on the band, and it got my curiosity piqued.  So I finally looked them up on iTunes one night and started listening to samples from the box set.

. . . Now, here's the thing:  Normally when I say I like a band, what I really mean is that I like four or five of their songs.  I've never been one to follow bands or any musical group for that matter except maybe for classical stuff.  (I like opera.  Deal with it.)  And even then, listening to the other songs by a band, I'll say, "meh" and stick to the four I like.

So here I am, listening to the Beatles, and I reach four songs I'd like to buy.  It's actually kind of hard, since the other songs are not, in fact, "meh"—I'd even call them objectively good, but I don't want to spend all my money on—

And then I realize HOLY COW I'M ONLY ON THE FIRST ALBUM! HOW MANY CLASSICS DID THESE GUYS MAKE?!?!  (And I hadn't even made it to "I Am the Walrus.")

 By the second or third album I did something I'd never done before:  Google a band.  Normally I couldn't care less who's behind the music so long as the songs are good.  But I had to know who was serenading me.  These guys were amazing:  It was like they had completely captured the spirit of romance, but kept it genuine and masculine; what's more, they always sounded as though they could be speaking directly to the listener, not to an abstract woman.

So I looked them up.  Only to make another insane discovery.

"Holy cow, they're my age!!!"

I had assumed they were in their thirties, to write music the way they did.  Newp.  Early twenties.  Young and adorable.

. . . And thus, naturally, insane.

Ladies and Gentlemen:
The most successful songwriting duo of all time.

Long story short, I stayed up all night listening and met the dawn a diehard fan.  I love all their albums, I know way too much trivia about them than can possibly be good for me, and I cannot for the life of me decide which song, or even album, is my favorite.

Strangely enough, though, I don't blame other people for disliking them.  I mean, if someone comes up to me and says, "I totally don't get Sherlock" or "Yeah, the Lord of the Rings was okay," I can only stare and wonder how in the name of Jove's mighty grandchildren they could possibly come to such an offensive conclusion.  But when it comes to the Beatles, I believe there are three types of people in this world:  People who love them, people who don't love them, and people who can learn to love them.

I assume if anyone doesn't like the Beatles it's either because their music lacks the fullness of modern pop, or because it's simply hipster not to like them.  But it could also be because the Beatles simply don't speak everyone.  There's nothing right or wrong about that; it's just how it is.  And that's why I say there are some people who could learn to love the band, if given the time and space to do so on their own:  You simply cannot teach someone to like the Beatles.  If they don't get it, they don't get it.  Forcing the issue only makes things worse.  I probably wouldn't have liked them as much if I'd listened to them at a young age, but hey—life changes you.

Anyhow.  Now as I've been properly converted, here are my top five personal reasons for loving the Beatles.  Feel free to agree with me or dismiss me at your will—or, better yet, follow up on your own curiosity and look them up for yourself.

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5.  First of all, as I said, they were adorable.  I mean, just look at this nonsense.

Not to mention ridiculously photogenic.

Because they were—on a slightly less shallow note—

4.  Hilarious.

They were all funny, together or apart.  As a group they could make fun of one another; on their own they each showed a distinct style and sense of humor that soon earned each of them their own title:  Ringo, the "sweet one," George the "quiet/stern one," Paul the "cute one," John the "smart one."

Heck, I could do a whole section just on John.  If Paul McCartney invented the selfie (seen here) then John Lennon invented trolling.  Their royal debut, for example . . .

The man had no mercy, especially for his press.  Part of the fun of watching old films of the Beatles is seeing how the media had to adjust to him over time.  Paul, ever polite and approachable, could be interviewed by pretty young female reporters, but you couldn't send just anyone to talk to John.  Not unless you wanted your staff to look like morons.

But that didn't diminish the other Beatles' appeal, either.  They were all natural and genuine, bouncing jokes off one another.  And that's part of what distinguished the group from the competition.  The pop world of the time wasn't used to witty, intelligent people making music—probably because it was so rare for performers to write their own songs.

Which brings me to my next point—

3.  They broke boundaries.

In a world where you could be named the King of Rock'n'Roll without penning one percent of your songs, they took it upon themselves to write their own music.  In a world that limited rock'n'roll to songs about romance, they produced "Nowhere Man," "Paperback Writer," and "Taxman."  And in a world where music was purely entertainment, they dared use it to talk about politics.

When the incessant screaming forced them to stop touring, the promotional videos they made to compensate became the first music videos.  Better still, the change inspired a crazy new idea to record sounds in-studio that couldn't be produced on stage.  Before there were computers to spiff everything up, the Beatles were already setting the stage for synth and dubstep and every other effect in the pop world.

"Learn the rules like a pro
so you can break them like an artist."—Pablo Picasso

And this is part of the reason I don't believe the Beatles were simply "in the right place at the right time."  Finding a good producer and a good manager was imperative to their success, of course; that's called getting a break.  There were probably dozens of other bands waiting in the wings who could have skyrocketed to fame in the Beatles' place had things happened differently.  The break itself only made them successful; it's what they did with it that made them icons.

They took every opportunity given them.  They explored every avenue, worked every idea to its fullest extent.  They didn't try to re-create past successes to foster their own popularity, they plowed ahead and tried new things.  The sky was the limit, and so they reached for the stars.  They were fearless.  They were . . .

2.  Passionate.

They were young, yes.  They were cute, yes.  They couldn't have been young and cute, though, to perform the way they did, without plenty of experience already behind them—thousands of hours, in fact.  Teenage John, Paul and George all spent a staggering amount of time playing in clubs—in Hamburg, sometimes even five shows a night, often while staying in a small, poorly heated room behind the stage.  Most kids—heck, most sane human beings—wouldn't have put up with it.  You have to be head-over-heels in love with your work to do that.  And it shows in their work.

There are no bad Beatles albums.  There are no bad Beatles songs.  I'm not saying that because every song is my favorite, but because I have to admit that the songs I like less are still good—are usually classics, in fact.  Even when touring cramped their schedule, they managed to devote themselves to each and every piece.  They were never so desperate to complete a record that they put in filler tracks—in fact, they wrote so many songs that they just gave away any they didn't like.  Not bad for a group of guys who didn't even have the patience to learn how to read music, let alone finish school.

They loved music.  That much can be said.  I wish I loved my craft half as much as they theirs.  But as inspiring as it is, there's still one last reason for loving the Beatles.  One that truly sets them apart from the competition. . .

1.  I have no idea.

Seriously.  I don't have a clue.  There is something there, something that makes the Beatles' sound so unique, I just don't know how to pinpoint it.

How can I describe it?  It's intangible, yet ever-present.  It radiates through all of their work, be it Lennon's, McCartney's, or Harrison's writing.  It's good feeling.  It's conviction.  It's sincerity.

. . . Or is it?  How do I know this isn't isolated to my own interpretations?  What if there are more bands like this, or there are different bands for different types of people?

Doubtless there are.  But I don't think it stops with being able to relate to the Beatles.  I relate to a lot of different types of music.  I relate to Sia Fuller's "Kill and Run."  I relate to head-banging hits by The Prodigy.  I relate to the Newsboys and "all God's people singing Glory, Glory."  I relate to Belle wanting "adventure in the great wide somewhere."  I relate to Marguerite crying "Anges purs, anges radieux."  (Yeah, you opera haters can sit at the back.)

But the Beatles are different.  Their songs don't invite audiences to commiserate over a situation.  It's more like they're trying to communicate something directly to you.  In the early days, while they were just writing romance, they knew how to sound as though they were speaking directly to any girl listening.  When they stopped touring, they produced "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart Club Band," which declared, "You're such a lovely audience, we'd like to take you home with us!" as though to say, "Yeah, we miss you, too."

So maybe that's it.  Maybe it's their ability to speak affection into people's lives.  To make people feel good even when times were bad.  Through John there is honesty, conviction, and a clear understanding of pain; through Paul there is lightness, optimism, and a sense of community.  Together they say, It's bad, but it'll be okay.  Hey Jude, don't make it bad, we can work it out; all you need is love.

I'm getting sappy now.  But it's so hard not to.  How cool is it to think that at least four people on this planet cared about communicating with the rest of the world?  Not just to express themselves, but to touch others?

Then again I could totally be kidding myself.  They were making so much money, what did they care how other people were affected?  Maybe they didn't.  Maybe they just said whatever was on their mind, put it to music, and counted the cash afterwards.  After all, it's silly to think that anyone could be that open and genuine simply to make the rest of the world a little happier.  Right?

. . . Right?

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So yeah, that's why I love the Beatles—it's the short list, anyway.  I have no idea why it took me so long.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'm in the mood for some Faust.