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100 Greatest Beatles Songs

From ‘Helter Skelter’ to ‘Sgt. Pepper’s,’ ranking of John Lennon, Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr, George Harrison’s output

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By Elvis Costello

I first heard of the Beatles when I was nine years old. I spent most of my holidays on Merseyside then, and a local girl gave me a bad publicity shot of them with their names scrawled on the back.

This was 1962 or ’63, before they came to America. The photo was badly lit, and they didn’t quite have their look down; Ringo had his hair slightly swept back, as if he wasn’t quite sold on the Beatles haircut yet.

I didn’t care about that; they were the band for me. The funny thing is that parents and all their friends from Liverpool were also curious and proud about this local group. Prior to that, the people in show business from the north of England had all been comedians. The Beatles even recorded for Parlophone, which was a comedy label, as if they believed they might be a passing novelty act.

I was exactly the right age to be hit by them full-on. My experience — seizing on every picture, saving money for singles and EPs, catching them on a local news show — was repeated over and over again around the world. It wasn’t the first time anything like this had happened, but the Beatles achieved a level of fame and recognition known previously only to Charlie Chaplin, Brigitte Bardot and Elvis Presley, along with a little of the airless exclusivity of astronauts, former presidents and other heavyweight champions.

Every record was a shock. Compared to rabid R&B evangelists like the Rolling Stones, the Beatles arrived sounding like nothing else. They had already absorbed Buddy Holly, the Everly Brothers and Chuck Berry, but they were also writing their own songs. They made writing your own material expected, rather than exceptional.

And John Lennon and Paul McCartney were exceptional songwriters; McCartney was, and is, a truly virtuoso musician; George Harrison wasn’t the kind of guitar player who tore off wild, unpredictable solos, but you can sing the melodies of nearly all of his breaks. Most important, they always fit right into the arrangement. Ringo Starr played the drums with an incredibly unique feel that nobody can really copy, although many fine drummers have tried and failed. Most of all, John and Paul were fantastic singers.

Lennon, McCartney and Harrison had stunningly high standards as writers. Imagine releasing a song like “Ask Me Why” or “Things We Said Today” as a B side. They made such fantastic records as “Paperback Writer” b/w “Rain” or “Penny Lane” b/w “Strawberry Fields Forever” and only put them out as singles. These records were events, and not just advance notice of an album. Then they started to really grow up: simple love lyrics to adult stories like “Norwegian Wood,” which spoke of the sour side of love, and on to bigger ideas than you would expect to find in catchy pop lyrics.

They were the first group to mess with the aural perspective of their recordings and have it be more than just a gimmick. Engineers like Geoff Emerick invented techniques that we now take for granted, in response to the group’s imagination. Before the Beatles, you had guys in lab coats doing recording experiments, but you didn’t have rockers deliberately putting things out of balance, like a quiet vocal in front of a loud track on “Strawberry Fields Forever.” You can’t exaggerate the license that this gave to everyone from Motown to Jimi Hendrix.

My absolute favorite albums are Rubber Soul and Revolver. On both records you can hear references to other music — R&B, Dylan, psychedelia — but it’s not done in a way that is obvious or dates the records. When you picked up Revolver, you knew it was something different. Heck, they are wearing sunglasses indoors in the picture on the back of the cover and not even looking at the camera . . . and the music was so strange and yet so vivid. If I had to pick a favorite song from those albums, it would be “And Your Bird Can Sing” . . . no, “Girl” . . . no, “For No One” . . . and so on, and so on. . . .

Their breakup album, Let It Be, contains songs both gorgeous and jagged. I suppose ambition and human frailty creeps into every group, but they delivered some incredible performances. I remember going to Leicester Square and seeing the film of Let It Be in 1970. I left with a melancholy feeling.

Someone recently gave me an assembly of newsreel footage, which illustrates how swiftly the band was drained of the bright and joyful wit presented as a public face.

In one early sequence, McCartney tells reporters that they will soon appear on The Ed Sullivan Show and then points into the camera: “There he is, hi, Ed, and Mrs. Ed” — “and Mr. Ed,” chimes Ringo. It might have been practiced, but it plays entirely off-the-cuff.

Just a year later, they are seen at a press conference in Los Angeles for their final tour. Suits and ties are a thing of the past. Staring down a series of dismal attempts at provocation from the press corps, they look exhausted and disenchanted.

When probed by one blowhard to respond to a Time magazine critique that “Day Tripper” was about a prostitute and “Norwegian Wood” about a lesbian, McCartney responds, “We were just trying to write songs about prostitutes and lesbians.” In the laughter that follows, he mutters, “Cut.” They were giving the impression that the game was up, but in truth, they were just getting started.

The word “Beatlesque” has been in the dictionary for quite a while now. You hear them in Harry Nilsson’s melodies; in Prince’s Around the World in a Day; in the hits of ELO and Crowded House and in Ron Sexsmith’s ballads. You can hear that Kurt Cobain listened to the Beatles and mixed their ideas with punk and metal. They can be heard in all sorts of one-off wonders from the Knickerbockers’ “Lies” and the Flamin’ Groovies’ “Shake Some Action.” The scope and license of the White Album has permitted everyone from OutKast to Radiohead to Green Day to Joanna Newsom to roll their picture out on a broader, bolder canvas.

Now, I’ll admit that I’ve stolen my share of Beatles licks, but around the turn of the Nineties, I got to co-write 12 songs with Paul McCartney and even dared to propose that he too reference some of the Beatles’ harmonic signatures — as, astonishingly, he had made up another musical vocabulary for Wings and during his solo career.

In 1999, a little time after Linda McCartney’s passing, Paul performed at the Concert for Linda, organized by Chrissie Hynde. During the rehearsal, I was singing harmony on a Ricky Nelson song with him, and Paul called out the next tune: “All My Loving.”

I said, “Do you want me to take the harmony line the second time round?” And he said, “Yeah, give it a try.” I’d only had 35 years to learn the part. There was inevitably a poignant feeling to this song, written long before he had even met Linda:

Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you
Tomorrow I’ll miss you
Remember I’ll always be true.

At the show, it was very different. The second Paul sang the opening lines, the crowd’s reaction was so intense that it all but drowned the song out. It was very thrilling, but also disconcerting.

Perhaps I understood in that moment one of the reasons why the Beatles had to stop performing. The songs weren’t theirs anymore. They belonged to everybody.

This is an updated version of an essay that appeared in RS 946. It was originally published September 2011.

the beatles 100 greatest songs


Writer: Harrison
Recorded: April 20-22, 1966
Released: August 8, 1966
Not released as a single

McCartney played the screeching-raga guitar solo, and Lennon contributed to the lyrics. But in its pithy cynicism, "Taxman" was strictly Harrison's, a contagious blast of angry guitar rock. His slap at Her Majesty's Government landed the prized position on Revolver: Side One, Track One.

"'Taxman' was when I first realized that even though we had started earning money, we were actually giving most of it away in taxes," Harrison later wrote. "The government's taking over 90 percent of all our money," Starr once complained. "We're left with one-ninth of a pound."

"Taxman" represents a crucial link between the guitar-driven clang of the Beatles' 1963-65 sound and the emerging splendor of the group's experiments in psychedelia. The song is skeleton funk — Harrison's choppy fuzz-toned guitar chords moving against an R&B dance beat, but the extra hours he and engineer Geoff Emerick spent on guitar tone on Revolver foreshadowed Harrison's intense plunge into Indian music and the sitar on later songs such as "Within You Without You" and "The Inner Light."

Appears On: Revolver

The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time: 'Revolver'
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the beatles 100 greatest songs

‘Two of Us’

Main Writer: McCartney
Recorded: January 31, 1969
Released: May 18, 1970
Not released as a single

This sweet, mostly acoustic number seems to be McCartney's tribute to his long-standing friendship with Lennon — especially when you look at the rehearsal clip of the song that appears in the Let It Be movie, showing Lennon and McCartney reprising their old habit of singing into the same microphone. In fact, it's about McCartney and Linda Eastman, who were married six weeks after the song was recorded. "We used to send a lot of postcards to each other," she said. The two of them liked to go for long drives together, with McCartney's sheepdog, Martha, in the back seat, heading off for nowhere in particular.

The session that yielded the album version of "Two of Us" (as well as the basic tracks for "Let It Be" and "The Long and Winding Road") was held the day after the Beatles' rooftop concert and wrapped up the Get Back experiment — a messy month of filming and recording. The "bass" part of "Two of Us" is actually played by Harrison on the low strings of an electric guitar, and the whistling at the end is provided by Lennon.

Appears On: Let It Be

The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time: 'Let It Be'
The 100 Greatest Artists of All Time: The Beatles
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the beatles 100 greatest songs

‘It Won’t Be Long’

Writers: Lennon-McCartney
Recorded: July 30, 1963
Released: January 20, 1964
Not released as a single

"It Won't Be Long" is the kind of song Bob Dylan had in mind when he wrote that Beatles chords were "outrageous, just outrageous." It was around the time the track was released that high-minded critics also began to realize how unique the Beatles were. "The guy in the London Times wrote about the 'Aeolian cadences of our chords,'" Lennon said, "which started the intellectual bit about the Beatles."

In addition to its unusual chord changes, the song also had a muscular aggression, storming out of the gate with call-and-response shouts of "yeah!" McCartney, though, was most proud of the lyrics. "I was doing literature at school, so I was interested in plays on words and onomatopoeia," he said. "'It won't be long till I belong to you' was the high spot of that particular song."

Lennon's assessment of the song was typically harsh. "It was my attempt at writing another single," said Lennon, adding that "it never quite made it" — possibly because the "yeah-yeah" parts too closely recalled "She Loves You."

Appears On: With the Beatles

the beatles 100 greatest songs

‘Helter Skelter’

Main Writer: McCartney
Recorded: July 18, September 9
and 10, 1968
Released: November 25, 1968
Not released as a single

With the raucous "Helter Skelter," the Beatles set out to beat a heavy band at its own game. McCartney had taken issue with a review of the Who's 1967 single "I Can See for Miles" that referred to the song as "a marathon epic of swearing cymbals and cursing guitars." "It wasn't rough [or full of] screaming," he said of the song. "So I thought, 'We'll do one like that, then.'"

The Beatles recorded "Helter Skelter" on a night when, as engineer Brian Gibson recalled, "they were completely out of their heads." Lennon played out-of-tune bass and saxophone, and Starr was serious when he screamed, "I've got blisters on my fingers!"

Despite its association with Charles Manson — "Helter Skelter" was written in blood at the site of one of the Manson Family murders — the title has an innocent meaning: A "helter skelter" is a playground slide. "I was using the symbol as a ride from the top to the bottom — the rise and fall of the Roman Empire," McCartney said. "This was the demise, the going down."

Appears On: The Beatles

The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time: The Beatles' White Album
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Photos: Linda McCartney's Shots of Paul and Other Iconic Musicians

the beatles 100 greatest songs

‘If I Needed Someone’

Writer: Harrison
Recorded: October 16 and 18, 1965
Released: June 20, 1966
Not released as a single

This twangy jewel was the result of a remarkable exchange of influences between the Beatles and one of their favorite new bands, L.A.'s psychedelic folkies the Byrds. When guitarist Roger McGuinn saw Harrison playing a cherry-red Rickenbacker 360/12 guitar in A Hard Day's Night, he recalled, "I took my acoustic [12-string] and five-string banjo down to the music store and traded them in for an electric 12-string." Lennon and McCartney attended one of the Byrds' first British shows in early 1965, and that August, on a day off from their U.S. tour, McCartney and Harrison attended a Byrds recording session in L.A.

Two months later, Harrison paid McGuinn the ultimate compliment with "If I Needed Someone," a striking blend of cool dismissal and crystalline riffing adapted from McGuinn's lead lick in "The Bells of Rhymney," from the Byrds' debut album, Mr. Tambourine Man. "George was very open about it," says McGuinn, who was then going by his given name, Jim. "He sent [the record] to us in advance and said, 'This is for Jim' — because of that lick."

Appears On: Rubber Soul

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