There’s so much to love about Rubber Soul, beginning with the all-important album cover. That fish-eye lens photo of the band, in their best collective Look – complete with perfect ’60s rock hair and the brown suede jackets – is the visual representation of the feeling of running into a friend and smoking an unexpected joint on a September day. Come to think of it, the last time I drank alcohol was on a September day, when a friend, fish-eye lens in tow, shot a roll of film of our band in the woods, trying our like hell to cop a Rubber Soul vibe. You could say the hopelessness of reaching this goal drove me to sobriety.
But what a goal it was, and what an album Rubber Soul is – but it doesn’t get much more obvious than that last statement, does it? As I stated earlier today, I’m a bass man, and this might be rock’s first album to fully capture the potential of the bass. Right out of the gates there’s the archetypal “Drive My Car”, pulling from the bass-fetishist’s favorite version of “Respect” (ie, Otis Redding’s) and mapping out the general bassline that enabled The Jam’s Bruce Foxton to enjoy a brief career of vital mediocrity. Then John’s fine “Norwegian Wood” and Paul’s stunning piece of concise proto-power pop, “You Won’t See Me”. Two songs that make the entire output of The Byrds practically redundant follow, “Nowhere Man” and George Harrison’s “Think for Yourself”. So far, so great!
Then comes “The Word”. I have close friends who will go to the mattresses in defense of this song. “It’s not a great song,” they’ll acknowledge, “but it’s cool!” It’s cool, is it? Let’s first get one thing straight: John Lennon is dead, and if he were living his feelings would not be hurt if you faced up to the fact that the song is a lame, early attempt to express his transition to the Love Generation. Is Hair cool? Is that Cirque du Soleil Love atrocity cool, especially the part when the hippie kids are dancing around the psychedelic VW Bug?
The Beatles had the great taste and good fortune not to release too many songs showing the strain of a given “transitional period,” but this is one of them. It doesn’t meet the quality of a pre-pot Lennon composition, and it doesn’t meet the cool of a post-pot Lennon meditation. “The Word” might as well have been written by a weekend warrior accountant who smoked his first couple of joints on Friday night.
Furthermore, “The Word” has an arrangement way hokier than almost anything The Beatles would release before or after. Beatles fans love to beat the crap out of Paul’s granny numbers, like “Your Mother Should Know” and “Honey Pie”, admittedly for many good reasons, but at least those songs make innovative use of the band arrangements and the studio. “The Word” would be filler on a Hollies album. It’s the kind of Beatles song Eric Burdon probably thought was cool while dropping acid and hanging out with Jimi. It’s also the kind of “hippie” song that every 3rd-rate “sunshine pop” band would rip off as their one “heavy” song. Talk about “as good as that pussy shit gets.” Look at that video. What primal screams would it have inspired in poor John a few years later? John would not look so square in trying to celebrate his new level of hipness until his Somewhere in New York City album, or whatever that dose of too much reality is called.
Rubber Soul quickly gets back on track, and John contributes two of his finest, most soulful songs ever, “Girl” and “In My Life”. Oh brother, I could tear up just thinking of how great these songs are, surely two of the best songs on the album – and enough of you would agree two of the finest songs John ever wrote. How, you may ask, can I hold “The Word” against John and use it in my claim that Lennon prevents Rubber Soul from being my favorite Beatles album? Here’s how I do it, but naming two additional song titles… Continue reading »
