Our recent Curse of the Completists thread has me thinking about times when I’ve reached the end of the road with an artist. Like so many Beatles fans, I was pretty excited by the Anthology sets that were released in the mid-1990s. I was underwhelmed by Vol. 1, and then I was not-quite-satisfied with Vol. 2, culled from my favorite period of Beatles albums. I especially hated the two Lennon demos they completed with Jeff Lynne. The best thing I got out of buying those two collections was final confirmation that The Beatles had the exquisite taste not to bother recording many songs not worth their time. How many big, long-running bands can boast so few totally unrecorded, unreleased songs?
Anyhow, that was the end of the road for me and Beatles reissues. I didn’t feel like hearing scraps of the unlistenable jams from The White Album and the Abbey Road medley. I already had my German true stereo version of Magical Mystery Tour. There was nothing more left for me to explore in The Beatles’ catalog, and I’ve felt confident holding this point of view. I can’t imagine what Beatles recordings could be unearthed or repackaged to make me want to add onto my collection. I can’t even get excited to read any more books on them. How much more do I need to hear a pathetic, jealous rock journalist tear down John and Paul for their personal lives? Some day I’ll read that latest recording book on them, but even that will likely fail to make me love the band any more than I already have loved them since boyhood.
Have you ever reached the end of the road with collecting records by a beloved artist? Do you recall the exact moment when you knew it was over?
