the unwelcome holiday tradition...

November.

The beginning of 'the holiday season'.

A time of traditions.

Warmly welcomed.

With one notable exception.

60 years.  

And while the mind, and heart, call out for some kind of observance.

There really is nothing new to say.   

November.

A time of traditions.

Warmly welcomed.

With one notable exception.

60 years.

 

https://scottedwardphelps.blogspot.com/2009/11/heartbeatsdrumbeatspast-and-future.html

https://scottedwardphelps.blogspot.com/2010/09/septembernovemberand-december.html

https://scottedwardphelps.blogspot.com/2015/11/for-one-brief-shining-momentevery.html

https://sepdaily.blogspot.com/2018/11/whats-past-is-prologue.html

Stuck On You...With, Or Without, The Bacon....

 

 

    There's something a little more than ironic, not to mention ever so slightly disrespectful, about Elvis Presley's somewhat legendary affection for peanut butter and banana and, sometimes, bacon sandwiches still popping up every now and then in conversations about him.   

    More mash on that momentito.

   Hannah Bonner is a poetry editor, author and literary critic whose work has appeared, among other here and theres, in the Cleveland Review of Books and Los Angeles Review of Books 

    Interestingly, she lives in Iowa. Which I mention only by way of observing that time and technology have made it unnecessary to reside in Rome in order to do what Romans do.

    And, truth be told, I mention THAT only by way of indulging my enjoyment of showing off how alliterative I can be if that's my mood of the moment.

    You might call that self-indulgent. I would counter with "witty and urbane".

    Let's meet in the middle and call it whimsical.

    And, admittedly, off point.

    Meanwhile, let's rejoin Hannah Bonner, already in progress.

    Iowa's respected reviewer of others' visions and verses has published, online, an analysis of Sofia Coppola's 2023 film of Priscilla Presley's 1985 memoir entitled, with nary a word wasted, "Elvis and Me"

    Coppola carries on the tradition of word economy, the film entitled...

    "Priscilla".

    Credit where due, neither Ms. Beaulieu Presley nor Ms. Coppola can be accused of verbosity with titles that irrefutably cut to the chase. At the same time, it occurs that Francis Ford's once maligned actress turned respected film maker daughter took either a risk, of sorts, or a leap of faith, so to speak, in naming the film as she did, given that while 'Priscilla' is oh so most familiar and heart embedded in the lifetime members of the Elvis Aaron Association of Adoration, it's not exactly a household name, let alone a "brand" that can count on big sales from the git go. In the tradition of, say, "Cher"....or "Ringo"...or...for the youngers in our studio audience..."Adele".

    Or for the even youngers in our studio audience....

    "Taylor".

    Bonner's review/critique/analysis is admittedly articulate. At the same time, what she articulates is less an overview of the content of the film than a review of the methodology Coppola employs to present it.

    An excerpt:

    Coppola’s acute focus on clothes, makeup, hair, and period specific props distills both the potency of Elvis and Priscilla’s passion, as well as Elvis’s predisposition to violent outbursts and popping Dexedrine. After exiting the theater, I don’t meditate on Elvis’s drug addiction or the sexual politics of women in the 1960s, but I do long for a pink sweater set, a Polaroid camera, or a red Corvair. William Carlos Williams wrote, “no idea but in things.” Beautiful things are Coppola’s métier. The audience is ultimately left with a very pretty film that is as diaphanous and insubstantial as a chiffon scarf. 

    Coppola’s oeuvre post-Lost in Translation (2003) recurrently poses the same problem for spectators: how to contend with these films that are exquisite to look at but decidedly devoid of emotional substance, political intervention, or formal innovation?

       Put less verbosely, Bonner offers that what Coppola is offering is a relatively empty box covered in an eye catching wrapping.

    In fairness, the term "empty box" is arguably an exaggeration. A life as 'star studded' and 'ill-fated' as the life of 'the King' can hardly be correctly labeled as empty.

    And Bonner's take on the movie makes a significant number of points.

    From this seat in the balcony, though, an essential, if not key, point is either overlooked...or dismissed entirely.

    That point being that the box is far from empty. But what's in the box? Well, no one wants to blaspheme a legend, let alone an icon. But if the hard truth must be spoken, then let it be spoken here.

    It comes in the form of two words.

    Old.

    News.

    And before the passionately loyal villagers of the sacred Graceland adorn themselves with their cherished gold "TCB" medallions, lift their eternally flaming torches and hit the streets in search of he who betrays the King (or, surely more practically, hits the Google in search of this writer's IP address to have it seized), grant me a few moments of "hear me out." 

    It's certain that that there is little, if any thing, in the way of Elvis facts, stats and/or minutiae that those most passionate of loyal villagers don't already know. And, understandably, hold near and dear to their hearts.

    And given the tonnage of articles, books (both scholarly and "tell-all"), documentaries and motion pictures (both scholarly and "wow, is that really Forrest Gump playing the Colonel?") that have been published, produced and presented since the mid 1950's (not to mention the tidal wave since his death in 1977...and, what seems to many, the tsunami that has come washing ashore in the last three to five years), it's not outlandish or even gently unreasonable to offer that even the most everyday, average fan of the timeless tunesmith from Tupelo very possibly knows more about him than they ever imagined they might need, or even want, to know.

    All of that taken into consideration, indulge me a fair to middlin' metaphor.

    If, for whatever reason, you were faced with having to gift that special someone in your life, come Christmas morning, with the same gift you gave them last year...and the year before that...and the year before that....you would, of course, be faced with only one way to make that gift "special".

    Wrap it differently.

    For those who need a metaphor "Cliff Notes"....

    Everything there is to know about Elvis, Priscilla, Lisa Marie, Col. Tom, Gladys, Vernon, Jesse Garon and/or the cast of thousands residing in the hard drive folder labled "Presley" is that gift that keeps on giving...and continues to be given.

    That folder...is, at any given time, the latest article, book, documentary and/or motion picture.

    And the wrapping?

    That's the 'take', 'angle', 'style', even 'spin'.

    Scholarly or 'wow'.

    And, at this writing, Priscilla Presley's 1988 memoir gifted to the motion picture audience by Sofia Coppola's 2023 film interpretation.

    Reviewed/critiqued/analyzed by Hannah Bonner.

    Who, tactfully, gently, even lovingly, points out a perspective that, in another context, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young sang in their 1970 album title track, "Deja Vu".

    "we have all been here before / we have all been here before"

    Which leaves us with a noticeable stack of  'maybe's.

    Maybe it's worth seriously considering that there is nothing seriously lacking in "Priscilla".

    Maybe it's just that there's nothing new, let alone revelatory, in the story...or the telling of it.

    Maybe it's possible, even likely, that faced with trying to tell a story that has been told and re-told and re-told and....you get the idea....that Sofia Coppola, if only sub-consciously, went to her "go-to" style of presentation resulting, inevitably, in a film "exquisite"...but..."decidedly devoid of emotional substance, political intervention, or formal innovation"   

  Maybe it's time to think about the fact that Elvis died in 1977 and that was, at this writing, forty six years ago and, doing the math, that means that he has been gone four years longer than the entire time he lived on this Earth.

    Maybe it's time to realize that it's entirely possible that the lack of bing, bang, boom, pizzazz or any other zip and zing adjective that comes to mind is simply, respectfully...even poignantly....a symptom of "Elvis fatigue".

    It's not that we don't love a delicious treat.

    It's just that we've had one served to us every couple of days.

    For as long as we can remember.     

    A very special treat, as a matter of fact.

    A peanut butter and banana and, sometimes, bacon sandwich.

    Known in books and recipe collections the world over as....

    The Elvis.

    

    

    

     

     

Is This "Great Country" Or What? (Not As Rhetorical As You Think)

 

 

    Pre-CMA Awards thoughts (and prayers?) on the CMA Awards...

    First, the disclaimer.

    Over the course of twenty odd (both meanings are applicable) years of writing and producing songs in Nashville:

• I saw my name listed as writer or co-writer on a half dozen songs that charted (never higher than fifty or so, but this is the inevitable result when the recording artists pretty much all come from the folder labeled "Hey, Yeah...Actually, Uh, No...."),  
• I was able to claim bragging rights for having co-written the number one country song in Canada, both for several weeks, and at the end of the year, for the whole year in the year 1991. This, of course, has nothing whatsoever to do with the CMA, but, hey, bragging rights, okay?
• There was the "honor of just being nominated" in 1995 for a "Best Bluegrass Album" Grammy, having co-written a song on the Grammy nominated bluegrass album, "Moonlighter" by the Grammy nominated bluegrass artist, Claire Lynch. (When an album is nominated, all the songs are considered part of the nomination and all the writers of all the songs are considered nominated...at least to the point that for the rest of their lives, the writers can all, if only technically, refer to themselves as "Grammy nominated")....and she/they/we didn't win that Grammy that year. It went to "Nashville Bluegrass Band" (and I've always suspected that the name had a lot to do with the choice Grammy voters made....and if the very talented lady who recorded our song had thought to bill herself as "Claire 'Bluegrass' Lynch", all of our lives would have turned out radically different, re' the Grammy nomination.
• And, over that same twenty years, I earned the right to share that I had written, or co-written, songs that were enthusiastically rejected by some of the then-greats of country music... Reba, Randy Travis, George Jones...and my all time proudest moment history of rejection wise...Kenny Rogers. (With a song that his producer played for him in studio, insisting that it was potentially as much a hit as "Coward of the County" or, praise its holy name, "The Gambler", said producer to be rebuffed repeatedly and politely, but firmly, by said Kenny Rogers....I'd share the whole story but this piece, evidence to the contrary, isn't about me...and the movie rights to the whole story are still pending, so.....)
  
• Oh...did I mention that I was Grammy nominated in 1995?

    All of this resume' rambling is by way of qualifying myself for the observations/opinions about to appear regarding this year's CMA's. Call it expert opinion, call it POV from an experienced professional, call it sour grapes from a once upon a time, destined to hit it big time songwriter who has yet, to this day, to figure out what the fark Kenny was thinking.

    And, by the way, the key word in the oft heard phrase "honor just to be nominated" is, despite what you might assume, NOT the word "nominated". 

    It's the word "just".

    Meanwhile...

    The previously teased pre-CMA Awards thoughts on tonight's/this year's CMA Awards.

    Two major categories catch the eye right off the bat.

Entertainer of The Year:

• Luke Combs
• Chris Stapleton
• Carrie Underwood
• Morgan Wallen
• Lainey Wilson

Female Vocalist of the Year:

• Kelsea Ballerini
• Miranda Lambert
• Ashley McBryde
• Carly Pearce
• Lainey Wilson

    Lot of young, diverse talent on display here. Couple of "hmms..."

    First, draw whatever conclusion you will, but only two out of the five nominees for Entertainer of the Year are women. By my Louisiana, 1960's 3rd Grade math skills, that's 40%.

    Hmm.

    If ever there was a moment that the phrase "good ol' boys" showed up in the medulla to no one's surprise, this would be just such a moment. 

    Of course, the next category gives the ladies their full props, five out of five (100%, memory and Cajun classroom skill set serve).

    Of course, the title of the category may have been an influencer among voters, but, that doesn't take a thing away from the estrogenic accomplishment.

    You go, girls.

    The other "hmmm" here?

    The word "token" is both rude and, arguably, inappropriate. But ya cain't help but notice (if only because I'm pointing it out) that in each category, there is one (and only one) nominee, due respect freely offered, whose nomination could be soundtracked with the wonderful, some time ago hit song by Roy Clark....

    "Yesterday, When I Was Young"

    But well earned congrats and "we're not worthy"s to both Carrie and Miranda.

    You go, too, girls.

    And there's no gender oriented "singling out" going on here. The same thing happens in the vocal duo of the year list.

Vocal Duo Of The Year:

• Brooks & Dunn
• Brothers Osborne  
• Dan + Shay
• Maddie & Tae
• The War And Treaty

    As a matter of fact, the combined ages and/or years of country music fame of the aforementioned here actually exceed the current age of Joe Biden.

    So what gets said next may be debatable, but it can't be considered implausible.

    Damn. They been around some kinda long time.

    In fact, memory serves, Kix and Ronnie's first album was released on CD, LP, cassette, 8 track and, pretty sure, one of those Edison cylinder dealios. (bonus tip: laugh all you want, but the sonic quality of those cylinders was easily the equal of those 8 tracks...without that annoying "da-dunk" sound the tape made when it "changed tracks")

    Here's one of my favorites when it comes to the "new" country music.

Song of the Year:

• “Fast Car”; Songwriter: Tracy Chapman
• “Heart Like A Truck”; Songwriters: Trannie Anderson, Dallas Wilson, Lainey Wilson
• “Next Thing You Know”  Songwriters: Jordan Davis, Greylan James, Chase McGill, Josh Osborne
• “Tennessee Orange”; Songwriters: David Fanning, Paul Jenkins, Megan Moroney, Ben Williams
• “Wait In The Truck”; Songwriters: Renee Blair, Michael Hardy, Hunter Phelps, Jordan Schmidt

    "Collaboration" in the art of songwriting is nothing new. In fact, the "solo" songwriter (not counting those songwriters who also sing their own songs, hence the term "singer/songwriter") is arguably the   exception as opposed to the rule, not only in country, but in pop, rock, pick a genre', any genre'.

    And country music? Some pretty powerful partnerships.

    Bobby Braddock and Curly Putnam. Max D. Barnes and Troy Seals. Hank Cochran and Dean Dillon.

    And the songwriting royals if'n ever there was one/some.

    Felice and Boudleaux Bryant.

    Ooh-lah-lah/they wrote/"little Suzie"....

    But there's collaboration. And there's a zebra.

    Defined as "a horse put together by a committee".

    And in the Nashville writers community of the "new Country", the spirit of Harry Nilsson floats gently but surely above.

    One, most surely, is the loneliest number.

    Four.

    The current songwriter model.

    Hell, man. Four ain't a writer's room.

    It's a tailgate party.

    Yes, there are two exceptions in that list of nominees this year.

    Lainey Wilson's "Heart Like A Truck" required only three writers. One of them, of course, Lainey. And, full disclosure, Dallas Wilson is the son of a long time friend and colleague of mine, so there will understandably be no snark or cheap shots regarding this much deserved nomination.

    That said, my satirical sensors are at Def Con One at the wonderful political comedy of a song generated in the aorta of the heart of conservative America, in conservative America's favorite musical genre'...and co written by a talented young lady named Trannie.

    Not that there's anything wrong with that.

    I would also be remiss if I didn't take, at least, a passing swipe at the empirical evidence that motor vehicles continue to be "go-to" song fodder with a frequency not seen since Mel Tillis wrote what Bobby Bare sang about wantin' to go home in "Detroit City". 

    Two "Trucks" and a speedy sedan.

    Jesus, it clearly still takes a wheel.

    And, yes, there is one song in the list of nominees that was written by one and only one writer.

    "Fast Car" Written and recorded, decades ago, by Tracy Chapman.

    And ably, and wisely, recorded by Luke Combs. 

    20% of the 60% of testosterone equipped nominees for Entertainer of the Year.

    Oh...and props where 'propriate....Combs "wisely" recorded/sang/sings "Fast Car" the way Tracy recorded/sang/sings it.

    Proving that Hank, Jr. was right. But not only can a country boy survive, he can spot a "ain't broke, so don't fix it" a country mile away.

    Not to mention the totally unnecessary need to recruit three others to crank out two verses, a chorus and a bridge to a chorus fade out.

    All of the preceding has, of course, been offered in the spirit of good, fun, tongue in cheekiness. From a writer of some modest accomplishment who, truth be told, has absolutely no idea, whatsoever, who any of the nominees for New Artist or Musician of the Year are, freely, therefore, admitting his clear and obvious transition in to the "last box" demographic ( you know....."65 and older"....the. last. box.)

    And just so I can say I got the funny bone out of my throat.....

    ...I'm not sure I want to go on living in world where one of the nominees for the Country Music Association Male Vocalist of the Year is named "Jelly Roll". (I won't testify to it in court, but I'm pretty sure that Mr. Acuff, Mr. Rose, possibly even George and Tammy, are spinning around in their assorted places of peace resting).

    Tonight, at this writing, some nominees will become winners.

    And some nominees....

    Will totally get what I meant a few minutes ago when I highlighted the word "just".

    Oh...and Jelly Roll? I've heard your stuff. Like it a lot. Was just kidding.

    And you've a new fan.

    If only because you didn't share your enthusiasm for being celebrated/honored by posting a thank you vid while sitting on the toilet.

    In a world of country music that went from Hank and Patsy and Loretta and George and Tammy....to a Lil Nas X.

    In the plop of a dump.

   

  

    
    

and...in the end...

 

    The "last" Beatles song is now in the musical mainstream...a coda to their contributions to popular music history.

    And their "swan song". 

   Which would, obviously, be more poetically appropriate were we talking about, say, The Byrds as opposed to the Fab Four.

    But that's a rimshot for another rock and roll reminiscence.

    Let's talk "Now and Then".

    First, I don't want to spoil the party, but it's only fair to offer up a truth...from me to you.

    Opinions about songs...and the singers/songwriters that perform/create them...are second only to politics when it comes to subjectivity, bias, personal preference and passionate support or rejection.

    Put much less ethereally and much more in your face.

    Opinions are like elbows and assholes.

    Everybody's got 'em.

    And somewhere along the way, some well meaning soul started spreading the idea that we are all "entitled" to our own.

    Opinions. The arm joints and rectal orifices come with the knee bones connected to the thigh bones.

    Standard equipment. And pretty much a requirement.

    Like that "Tru-Coat" under the chassis of that new car.

    You may not want it or think you need it.

    But even Jerry Lundegaard knows you just need to suck it up and..let it be.

    The problem with that well meant, inevitably metastasizing 'idea' was that too many of our fellow "we", as in "we, the people" immediately, and to this very day, misinterpret the applicable meaning of the word "entitled".

    It means you can durn sure have an opinion. In fact, you just go on ahead and have all the ding damn opinions you want.

    You're "entitled".

    As to whether or not your opinion(s) turn(s) out to be an insightful,savvy, visionary point of view...or simply a ridiculous declaration of dung....well, determining that is a long and winding road.

    Which brings us back (in the U.S.) to "Now and Then".

    The "last" Beatles song.

    If you're pressed for time and would appreciate a "could we skip the verbose yada yada yammer and just cut to the chase" sum up, well, here comes the sum. (And I promise there's an end in sight to these ba da bum bump 'Beatle puns'....)

    Some people think "Now and Then" is the lamest recording ever issued with the words "The Beatles" on prominent display.

    Some people think "Now and Then" is okay, could go either way.

    And some people....actually, a lot of people....think "Now and Then" is the most important musical composition on the timeline of musical compositions. 

    All of which makes any further discussion/debate/discourse on the matter pretty much a hello...goodbye.

    (Okay...that's it.)

    At this point, it's more than reasonable for you to wonder, aloud or where your mind is wandering, where it will go (it's really hard to stop once started), as to why I'm still writing here, given that I just explained the obvious uselessness of further discussion/debate and/or discourse on the matter.

    Truth told, there are myriad reasons I feel inspired to share the full two cents of my perspective re' "England's Phenomenal Pop Combo" (if that reference draws a blank for you, then you most surely reside in the first two categories of those offering their own two cents on "Now And Then"), but, total truth told, I'm simply in a mood to offer my own opinion.

    After all...I'm entitled.

    Any time at all. 

    (Okay, let's just resign ourselves to the fact that I'm gonna wear out way past my welcome with these feeble Fab fun puns)...

    Not that I need any validation for said opinion (those who know me well are doing hilarious spit takes as we speak), but on "release day" this past week, I actually found a kindred spirit, opine wise.

    Geoff Edgers is a journalist and National Arts Reporter for the Washington Post. He wrote and posted a "review/essay" early in the morning of release day, clearly hours before any of the rest of us had a chance to ingest and/or invest in the recording. Before I even heard the recording, I found myself nodding along with much of what Edgers offered. And once I heard the release, I knew the nods were properly placed.

    Here's some key excerpts from what he offered.

 

This isn’t just a Record Store Day novelty pressed for collectors; this is the final creative collaboration of the most important rock band that ever existed. So listening once more on my headphones, with my deadline approaching, I wish I could somehow approximate how I felt when I heard “In My Life,”  or “We Can Work It Out.”

Is that too much to ask? Of course it is. McCartney and Starr owe us nothing at this point. Yet to just accept it at face value, to put a Beatles stamp on it and not think about that 60-year legacy, feels almost disrespectful.

“Now and Then” is not terrible. It starts slow and picks up a little as the rhythm section kicks in. There is a minor-key melancholy in Lennon’s composition. But ultimately, it’s kind of mundane.

But “Now and Then” exists, and I’ve listened to it about enough, and because it is the Beatles, the bar is high, and expectations are higher. That “Now and Then” will now be included on the reissued “1967-1970,” otherwise known as “The Blue Album,” makes my point. A passable song is simply not good enough when you’re sharing vinyl with “Strawberry Fields Forever,” “A Day in the Life” or “Let It Be.”

Please listen to it. Form your own opinion. Then, when you’re done, put on “The Red Album” or “Blue” or any of the 13 studio records the Beatles made, and you’ll maybe get a tinge of what it feels like to be 7 years old with your dad’s turntable pumping the most glorious music into the living room, perfect songs that simply can’t be matched.

 

      There's not a lot I can add that wouldn't be beating a dead Beatle (not that that's going to end this piece any sooner), but, put simply....

    Yeah, yeah, yeah....what he said.

    And speaking of adding....what I would only add is this.

    In 1996, the late movie critic Roger Ebert wrote a witty intelligent essay on "A Hard Day's Night", the Fab's first film (1964) from the cultural tsunami that was "Beatlemania". Savvy throughout, Ebert parked it over the center field wall with his wrap up.

 

The innocence of the Beatles and "A Hard Day's Night" was of course not to last. Ahead was the crushing pressure of being the most popular musical group of all time, and the dalliance with the mystic east, and the breakup, and the druggy fallout from the '60s, and the death of John Lennon. The Beatles would go through a long summer, a disillusioned fall, a tragic winter. 

But, oh, what a lovely springtime.

 And it's all in a movie.

  

    You might find it odd that writing of the 'now' of "Now and Then" reminded me of an Ebert review of a long ago Beatle movie.

    Allow me.

    I claim 'editorializing rights' because I was there at the outset. That is to say that I was twelve years old the night they appeared on Sullivan, got my first guitar (Sears Silvertone, likely less than twenty bucks) that Christmas, began writing songs from the git go that sounded an awful lot like either She Loves You and/or I'll Follow The Sun, bought every album and single faithfully, pursued a songwriting/song playing (mostly writing) career that lasted from 64 to the mid 1990's (from whence I spent the next twenty in radio where a lot of Beatles crossed my boulevard)...in short, I was a Beatle kid, a Beatle teenager, a Beatle young adult...and a Beatle old guy....and that, if nothing else, gives me license to offer "expert witness" testimony as to who and what they were....what they became....

...and where it has, as of this week, come to a 'conclusion'.

    And rest assured....I won't simply rewrite/restate the POV offered up by Mr. Edgers a few paragraphs ago. I've already made the point that he and I are on the same AM/FM frequency.

    But my gut (heartfelt) feeling about "Now And Then" as grand finale?

    It conjures up the same feeling that kept me from going to open casket wakes/funerals for, so far, all of this life.

    Sensitive, emotionally attuned, artistically delicate flower that I am, I am easily impressed.

    Not like "you can easily impress me", necessarily. My laminated Cynic ID attests to that.

    More like I am easily impressed upon. Affected, touched, swayed, moved by much and many, much and many more than most anyone who knows me might ever suspect. (although I laugh/and I act like/a clown/inside this mask/I tear up every year when George Bailey gets rescued by the good folks in Bedford Falls)

    And when someone in my mind/heart/life shuffles off...I want to remember them alive, in whatever personality that was on display.

    The last thing I want to see is them lying in a box.

   At this writing, all of my faculties are still in relative working order.

   There will, more than likely, come a time before final room checkout, when that won't be the case.

   And I want to remember, through whatever haze settles in on my horizon, those four guys and that band for the cultural tsunami that was Beatlemania, the groundbreaking uniqueness of "We Can Work It Out", the 'wow' of "Paperback Writer", the madness that made sense of "I Am The Walrus", the staggering genius simplicity of "In My Life", the OMG of "Revolver", the splendid time guaranteed me by "Sgt. Pepper"....

...and not the "big" finish of a well intended but average piano "doodling" by a master craftsman who would have very likely have taken no offense had he heard what George Harrison called it thirty years ago when the remaining Fab Three took a shot at "re-imagining" (this time no pun intended) it....

"...rubbish..."

    George was a nice guy. Maybe he was just low on his fiber intake that day. Or maybe he was taking the liberty that he, and only three others in this life, could take.

    Being blunt honest with a Beatle....about a Beatle song.

    Cue Taylor.

    Beatlemaniacal fans are gonna love, love, love, love.

    Less frenzied fans are gonna give it a polite thumbs up, if only 'now and then' (hang in there, it's almost over)

    As for this Beatle kid?

    Thanks again, Roger.

    It absolutely was a lovely springtime.

    That came to a poignant and perfect conclusion in September of 1969.

    With this.....

    "And in the end/ the love you take / is equal to the love/ you make"

    Yeah, yeah.

    (Spared you the third yeah, you're welcome)

    It was primarily a Paul lyric.

    But even John knew a fellow master craftsman when he heard one. And worked with one. And became a brother to one.

    Why, it's even likely that John brings that one up, sitting around trading tales with Elvis and Jimi and Janis and Crosby and Mike and Davy and Peter....

....every now and then.