One of the saddest things about losing John Lennon is that his return to recording was starting to produce some really interesting music, first with 1980’s Double Fantasy, and then this, the posthumously released follow-up, Milk And Honey, from 1984.
Lennon’s post-Beatles albums from the ‘70s sometimes make for a hard listen. Awash with the reverb of Phil Spector, they’re often angry, yet balanced with some overly sentimental singles. Finding a musical companion in Yoko Ono seems to have rejuvenated his output, waking him up from an arguably misdirected post-Beatles decade. Ono might not be a writing partner like McCartney was, but the relationship seems to have energised his writing and awakened his competitive spirit.
It’s difficult to imagine what his next studio record would have sounded like. This release was cobbled together from sessions following Double Fantasy, so it makes for a great companion piece to that record. Who knows – a year or two later, Lennon might have tired from the post-punk leanings of that record, and gone in a different direction. His decision to record a version of I’m Losing You backed by Cheap Trick (available on the John Lennon Anthology box-set) perhaps indicates that the 1980s would have been a rockier, band-oriented decade.
I always knew Phil Spector killed that woman – he murdered Let It Be.
Do you ever wish that a record didn’t exist? If the Beatles had ended on a high – with the second side of Abbey Road, their run of albums would have been perfect. Instead we get this half-arsed bookend of a record, essentially a collection of out-takes from a project the band had enough sense to knock on the head.
That’s not to say that there aren’t great moments on here. In fact it’s nearly all great – I could just do without the junk mental state of Lennon’s songwriting (Dig It, Dig A Pony), McCartney’s gushing over-sentimentality (The Long And Winding Road, Let It Be), lazy ideas (Maggie Mae, The One After 909) and just the general way it’s (poorly) presented. George Martin’s absence in the producer’s chair is severely noted.
I don’t envy Spector’s task – putting together an LP’s worth of good material out of a seemingly endless bunch of recording sessions where the band were clearly running out of direction would have been a horrible task. Taken on their own, some of the songs are as strong as anything else in their canon – their just diluted by poor production, and cursed by a back-to-basics approach that the band was following (effectively appeasing McCartney who was trying to play leader again – a musician who had seldom flashes of brilliance after 1969, and has probably done more harm than good in that time).
Maybe the problem of Let It Be is that it’s effectively presented as a studio album – and to the average listener that’s all it is – but in fact it’s something different: half a live album (the Twickenham studios material, and Get Back from the Saville Row rooftop) and half a studio album (the Apple studios material). At least it’s daring to be different. Maybe I should stop being so hard on it.
I’ve written about George’s mammoth first solo album, Ringo’s crooning debut, and John’s first album proper, so this entry completes the set. Why have I left Paul’s until last? Well, on paper it might sound like a more compelling prospect than an album of covers by a drummer with a woeful singing voice, but Ringo’s offering is far more enjoyable. Arguably McCartney may be the most musically talented Beatles – depending on how you define talent – but his first outing on his own is just half-hearted at best.
Aside from Maybe I’m Amazed (a big song, and a true classic that he still performs in concert to this day), McCartney is filled with low-fi home recordings, all self-played, with the occasional “harmony” from wife Linda. It relies too much on its charm, and it’s hard to find an album charming when the inner-gatefold is a collage of photographs of said Beatle acting like a prat.
McCartney’s next album, Ram, is probably my favourite solo album by a Beatle and so it’s hard to understand why he got it so right on that one, and so wrong on this one. If you look at the timeline of events, McCartney was released just after he heard Phil Spector’s treatment of the Let It Be sessions and within a year he would file suit for the dissolution of the band, so let’s just say he had a few things on his mind other than the quality control of his work.