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By Gordon Thompson

On 9 October, many in the world will remember John Winston Ono Lennon, born on this date in 1940. He, of course, would have been amused, although part of him (the part that self-identified as “genius”) would have anticipated the attention. However, he might also have questioned why the Beatles and their music, and this Beatle in particular, would remain so current in our cultural thinking. When Lennon described the Beatles as just a band that made it very, very big, why did we doubt him?

Today, the music of the Beatles remains popular, perhaps because it helped define a musical genre that continues to flourish, leading some to speculate that these songs and recordings express inherent transcendental qualities. Nevertheless, no graphed demonstration of harmonic relationships and melodic development and no semiotic divination of their lyrics can explain what these individuals and their music have meant to Western civilization. Those born in the aftermath of the Second World War harbor the most obvious explanations. A plurality of the children who came of age during the sixties continues to hold the Beatles as an ideal expression of that decade’s emphasis on self-determination and optimism.

The composer of “A Hard Day’s Night,” “If I Fell,” “Help!,” “Nowhere Man,” “In My Life,” “Strawberry Fields Forever,” “I Am the Walrus,” “Across the Universe,” “Imagine,” and other classics of the modern Western canon left an indelible mark on our notions of music and expression. Where Paul McCartney searched for polite answers to reassure adults, Lennon often seemed to taunt reporters, to the delight of adolescents and the adolescent at heart. When Lennon got into trouble (as he did when American Christians took umbrage at his comparison of fan reaction to the Beatles and to Jesus), we apprehended our own image in the mirror of his discomfort. Moreover, when he shed the conventions of adolescence for the complicated independence of adulthood, we followed his example, albeit usually with less flair and more humility.

In many ways, John Lennon represented a twentieth-century Everyman: someone in whom we could see ourselves re-imagined in extraordinary circumstances with a quicker wit and more charisma. His assassination thirty years ago in December 1980 consequently left an indelible mark on us, standing as one of those moments stained in memory and time. That he had recently emerged from a well-earned domestic sabbatical with renewed possibilities, which both he and his fans recognized, made his death all the more tragic.

Just as the Fab Four had helped to define adolescent identities, perhaps these same baby boomers recognized in Lennon’s death the fragility of our own existence writ large on the wall. And, as the writing hand moved on, we contemplated one last indisputable truth that this most poetic Beatle had bequeathed: the passion play of his life, career, and death had provided us with a sand mandala of our own impermanent individual selves.

Pop culture by definition presents a fleeting expression of our consciousness, which we perpetually construct and reconstruct; but we sometimes forget that the currents of culture have lasting effects on the swimmers. Lennon, Harrison, McCartney, and Starr may have only been musicians that made it very, very big; but, in their roles as ritual players on the altar of the sixties, they played out an extraordinary version of everyday universal lives.

Gordon Thompson is Professor of Music at Skidmore College. His book, Please Please Me: Sixties Br

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As announced earlier, WB will be releasing Harry Potter: Wizarding World DVD game on December 1st, just a few days before the release of Half-Blood Prince and the special Ultimate Collector's editions DVDs. As such Amazon.com has a brand new trailer for the DVD game which you can see right here in our Video galleries. Last month we told of the details for the game which covers elements from Har... Read the rest of this post

Gordon Thompson is Professor of Music at Skidmore College. His book, Please Please Me: Sixties British Pop, Inside Out, offers an insider’s view of the British pop-music recording industry. Yesterday he puzzled us all with this month’s masterful riddle, below he explains the answer. Were you able to solve it?

Riddle me now, riddle me then,
Can you tell me what again?
Brothers rage against the right,
But this song came before the night.
Not quite crooked, and not perverse;
Replace with “girl,” improve the verse.
Proto-punk, a random slice,
A wild guitar, a roll of the dice.

Forty-five years ago, the summer of 1964 saw the peak of Beatlemania with the release of the film A Hard Day’s Night and its title song. (See last month’s riddle.) Every record producer (called “artist-and-repertoire managers” in the sixties) and would be manager in the United Kingdom scoured the numerous clubs and dance halls looking for the next big act. The previous year had seen bands like Gerry and the Pacemakers and the Searchers rise to prominence along with singers like Billy J Kramer and Dusty Springfield. More acts arrived from the counties almost every week and that summer the Animals from Newcastle (even further north than Liverpool) had a hit with their version of “House of the Rising Sun.”

Nevertheless, everyone had to come to London, the cultural heart of the Isles. To make it, you had to be in the Big Smoke. Not surprisingly, London and vicinity produced its own stars first produced Cliff Bennett and the Rebel Rousers, the Dave Clark Five, and eventually the Rolling Stones, the Nashville Teens, and the Zombies. But perhaps the most English of all these groups, with the songwriter who would come to most confidently speak for the working class suburbs emerged onto the scene in the summer of Beatlemania.

Pye Records had already released disks by one local band, but without much success until 4 August 2009 when the Kinks released “You Really Got Me.”

“Brothers rage against the right,
but this song came before the night.”

The radioactive core of the Kinks, Ray Davies, had had a revelation about songwriting, a burst of insight that left football and art as hobbies. The band’s first release of one of his songs (“You Still Want Me”) had failed miserably, which is unsurprising given that Davies seems to have written it as a kind of imitation of the Beatles. “You Really Got Me” materialized in the front room of his parents’ house when he and his brother Dave began jamming on a two-chord riff, Ray pounding on their piano and Dave playing his guitar through an amp with a ruptured speaker. What began as a kind of shuffle soon clotted into a raw ostinato of such powerful simplicity that the brothers knew immediately they had something that could drive the dancers who came to their shows.

The Davies Brothers came from a working-class family in the North London suburb of Muswell Hill where Ray Davies had his artistic conversion. All he needed to do was find his muse. That muse turned out to be London and the suburban community in which he still lives. At one point in the mid sixties, frustrated by the greed and obfuscations of the music and publishing industries, Davies contemplated abandoning music, only to have his father fly into a rage over his perception that his son was letting the upper class (the “right”) destroy him too. Ray Davies channeled this contempt for class privilege into a celebration of British life, in both its tender moments and its vicious competitiveness.

His producer, Shel Talmy, helped Davies to select his best work and to capture the band’s sound and the American (Talmy came from Los Angeles) and he says he knew “You Really Got Me” would be a hit. With the success of “You Really Got Me,” he wanted another song that sustained that mood. Davies had written “Tired of Waiting,” but Talmy wanted to defer releasing it until that had capitalized on their first success. Thus, “You Really Got Me,” came before the follow-up release, “All Day and All of the Night.”

“Not quite crooked, and not perverse;
Replace with “girl,” improve the verse.”

The band’s name came in part from their appearance. They had played under names like “The Ray Davies Quartet” and “The Ravens,” but sometime in late 1963 they adopted the name “The Kinks,” probably as a description of the leather and high heels that some of the members wore. One of their managers, Larry Page, may have made the name change decision looking for a way to capture audience attention better.

In 1964, a promoter who had signed the Kinks for his shows sought to improve their stage presentations by asking entertainment veteran Hal Carter to coach them. The Kinks had been including an early version of the song in their stage repertoire, but Carter, perhaps confused by the band’s long hair, wondered whether Davies was singing to a male or female: “Jane, Carol, Sue, bint, tart—even jus plain ‘Girl.’ Whatever you do, you have to make it personal.” Davies recalls in his semi-fictional autobiography that “‘Girl instead of ‘Yeah’ mean a lot to me…’”

“Proto-punk, a random slice,
A wild guitar, a roll of the dice.”

Part of the distinctive guitar sound on “You Really Got Me” came because of brother Dave’s tiny Elpico amplifier acting as a preamp to his Vox AC 30 amplifier. Of course, he did not think of it as a “preamp”; he just tried to run a lead from the Elpico’s tiny speaker and plug it into his Vox. In combination with another amplifier, he nearly electrocuted himself; but after replacing the fuses in the family home and some rewiring of the wires connecting the amplifiers, he arrived at a nearly marvelous sound: “nearly marvelous” because he was still dissatisfied. He had no doubt heard of how American blues musicians played with ripped speakers and resolved to get the same sound by using a blade to put a “slice” into the Elpico’s cone. He could only guess at where to put the cut in the speaker paper, but the result—the consequence of a slice rather than a rip—gave his guitar a unique sound that Shel Talmy captured for posterity.

Dave Davies’ fingering technique—in contrast to his brother who had been getting second-hand classical guitar lessons—sought out the most simple of solutions and helped to popularize a style of playing that punk music later championed. Compared to other guitarists playing in London (such as Eric Clapton of the Yardbirds or session musician Big Jim Sullivan), Dave Davies’ approach was primitive. When the time came for his solo, he thrashed away of barely a half-dozen notes, but with all the aggression he could muster as his brother yelled encouragement at him. This recording represented their last best chance of holding on to a recording contract. Their first two releases had been flops. If this third release similarly failed, they might easily have been looking for another record contract, if not careers in commercial art. Instead, “You Really Got Me” rose steadily in first Britain’s charts and then, North America. Within weeks of its release, the recording sat at the top of most pop recording lists, forty-five years ago.

Gordon Thompson is Professor of Music at Skidmore College. His book, Please Please Me: Sixties British Pop, Inside Out, offers an insider’s view of the British pop-music recording industry. Below is a hint to a musical riddle. His introduction is below and be sure to check back tomorrow for the answer and to try his other riddles here. Feel free to guess the answer in the comments.

Sixties British pop created a wealth of musical material that we now describe as classics, not that classicists are likely to embrace them. Not just the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the Kinks, and the Who, but a wealth of musicians of that era competed to produced recordings that would catch the listening public’s attention, draw them to their concerts, and sell disks. This month’s riddle celebrates another anniversary from that milieu.

Riddle me now, riddle me then,
Can you tell me what again?

Brothers rage against the right,
But this song came before the night.

Not quite crooked, and not perverse;
Replace with “girl,” improve the verse.

Proto-punk, a random slice,
A wild guitar, a roll of the dice.

A recent happy discovery has been Flora Thompson’s Lark Rise to Candleford, which is made up of three books. The first describes Thompson's childhood in her small Oxfordshire hamlet of Lark Rise in the 1880s, whilst the second and third include elements of the wider world in the form of the village of Candleford Green and the town of Candleford. I’ve about half way through the third book but am enjoying the trilogy immensely.


The books are described as semi-autobiographical, with Flora’s experiences being communicated in the third person through the child Laura. I am not sure why she chose to do this as the books still felt like personal stories, and I think would have been as effective as a memoir.

Even though Laura obviously feels cramped in the hamlet and doesn't really fit in, Thompson still writes with a sense of nostalgia. The local dialect is carefully transcribed and colourful sayings pepper the pages. For example, “a temperamental person was said to be 'one o' them as is either up on the roof or down the well'.” Small details of everyday life are imparted, such as the bathing habits of the women in Lark Rise – one afternoon a week they strip to the waist and bathe down as far as possible, then stand in a basin and bathe up as far as possible. Some of the rural inhabitants reminded me of Pratchett's Ramtop mountain communities, such as the young Candleford Green dressmakers Prudence and Ruth who decide to call themselves the more modern names of Pearl and Ruby. "So, to their faces, they were 'Miss Pearl' and 'Miss Ruby', while behind their backs, as often as not, it would be 'that Ruby Pratt, as she calls herself,' or 'Pearl as ought to be Prudence'".

The late nineteenth century was a time of fast change for the area. Men started wearing suits rather than smock frocks. Women were starting to have smaller families. The first bicycles – dangerous things! – were appearing on the roads. Having recently watched North and South, which was written in 1855, this does feel like a world apart from the industrial north and indeed the industrial revolution as a whole. There is a guaranteed demand for labour on the nearby farm, people generally have plenty of food to eat – though struggle to afford clothes and shoes – and Thompson saw most classes as being content with their lot. The author is also painfully aware that over the horizon lies World War One, where many of the boys born in this period, including her younger brother, will lose their lives in a way that no one could have imagined during this hopeful time. In this way it feels as though the period was a golden era, though Thompson also depicts the drawbacks to the society, such as the poverty of elderly people before pensions.

Thompson also lived long enough to see how the Victorian era was popularly depicted, and takes the time to slightly snippily point out that although families were large, obviously all ten children did not live in a small cottage all at once and young ladies did sometimes walk around unaccompanied. She also paints a picture of everyday life where people did not pay much attention to the church or the monarchy (except for the Queen’s jubilee) and did not fuss much over social misdemeanours such as babies born out of wedlock.

All in all, they’re a fascinating glimpse into English countryside life at a time of rapid social and economic change.

Actress Emma Thompson has given a new interview to MTV where she states she will NOT return in her role as Professor Trelawney for the remaining Harry Potter films. Instead she will be making a second Nanny McPhee film, noting "I’m making my own ‘Nanny McPhee’ next year. They mean much more to me.”
She continued:

“The Harry Potters are great big franchises that are something I’m not emotionally a... Read the rest of this post

Gordon Thompson is Professor of Music at Skidmore College. His book, Please Please Me: Sixties British Pop, Inside Out, offers an insider’s view of the British pop-music recording industry.  In the post below he looks at the end of 60’s Brit-Pop.

Tucked into a tight lane off busy Wardour Street in London’s Soho district, the Beatles gathered on 31 July 1968 to begin something they had done only a few times previously: record outside the safe confines of EMI’s Recording Studios in Abbey Road. They had grown increasingly dissatisfied with EMI’s reluctance to invest in competitive equipment, while bands like the Rolling Stones and the Who had been recording in American studios for years. These bands flocked to Los Angeles both because of the recording culture and because of technology that EMI had postponed installing: eight-track recording decks instead of the four-track decks common in British studios. When the Beatles arrived at Soho’s Trident Studios for “Hey Jude,” they intended to add vocals to their EMI four-track recording of the musical backing. However, when they heard playback on the eight-track Ampex decks through Trident’s sound system, they immediately relegated the first tape as rehearsal and began working anew.

Trident had its problems. Principally, the owners, the Sheffield Brothers, had simply plugged American machines that ran on an alternating current of sixty-cycles into the British fifty-cycle system, resulting in slower playback at a lower pitch. Any pitched overdubs that the Beatles would have tried over their original EMI recording would have been hopelessly out-of-tune. But over the next few days, the Beatles would re-record the backing track to “Hey Jude,” add vocals, and play with musical possibilities that eight tracks allowed. The new environment may have expanded their musical options, but it also amplified personality quirks and irritated old wounds. In particular, Paul McCartney antagonized his old friends through his preoccupation with perfection and his predilection for prodding his colleagues to improve their product. The first casualty was Ringo Starr who quit the band on 22 August, returning only in early September after tempers had cooled.

The London recording and music industries were beginning to evolve under the combined influences of their relatively sudden international success and the growth of independent studios like Trident. In September of 1968, as “Hey Jude” rose to the top of British and American record charts, the infrastructure that had grown to produce hundreds of British pop recordings underwent a sudden revolution. The session musicians, music directors, producers, songwriters, and engineers who had generated the diverse array of British pop, rock, and blues recordings under the cover of touring bands like Herman’s Hermits, the Dave Clark Five, Them, and the Yardbirds felt the system shudder.

“Hey Jude” describes the break-up of John Lennon’s marriage to Cynthia and its effects on their son Julian. Moreover, the inordinately long recording (over seven minutes) reflects McCartney’s interest in hymn-like musical structures (e.g., “Let It Be”) and serves as a requiem for the musical world that the Beatles had helped to define. Just as “Hey Jude” rose in international sales charts, a London trade paper, the New Musical Express, reported that two longstanding London session musicians had formed the “New Yardbirds.” Jimmy Page had established himself as a free-lance producer and John Paul Jones had demonstrated his skills as a music director. But, as technology and its availability transformed the industry, they saw their opportunity to leave the safety of session life. Thus, in the waning months of 1968, British recording engineers left for America, session musicians and music directors went on tours, and the old studios scrambled to stay competitive. The New Yardbirds, who soon renamed themselves Led Zeppelin, launched their mystical macho imperative into the seventies while the Beatles celebrated the end of sixties British pop by making a sad song sound better.

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Author Kevin J. Hayes has been very busy writing American Literature: A Very Short Introduction, but he needs your help. Find out what you can do below.

Last week I boasted to friends that I had written my first blog. Longtime bloggers may find my sense of accomplishment overblown, but last week’s blog did mark my entry to this innovative world of communication. Being new to the blogosphere, I was unsure what kind of responses I would receive. As things turned out, the comments were quite useful. They point to a major problem facing American Literature: A Very Short Introduction. This little book about a big topic requires me to make some tough choices. Who should I include? Who can I exclude? Where should I discuss each author?

Responding to my query about American travel writers, James suggested I include Hunter S. Thompson. Though a great Thompson fan, I am excluding him from the travels chapter. Instead, I’ll put him with novels. The sixties took the postmodern novel to a dead end, but it gave rise to an exciting literary movement: New Journalism. For a time, journalists exceeded novelists in terms of literary virtuosity. As a digression in my novels chapter, I will discuss the work of such writers as Truman Capote, Peter Maas, Tom Wolfe, and Hunter S. Thompson.

Ideally, I would like to discuss every author only once. But what should I do about authors who wrote in different genres? Pick their most important genre and ignore the others? Only major figures who excelled in multiple genres can justify separate discussions. Take Henry James for instance. Best known as a novelist, James was also a fine travel writer and memoirist. I can justify discussing James in two or three different places, but I do not have room to discuss every genre of every author.

So, here are my questions. Which American authors excelled in more than one literary genre? Where should I discuss them? Are they important enough to deserve discussion in more than one chapter? Boy, that’s a loaded question. Here’s a more fundamental one: what constitutes literary importance?

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OK, my break from blogging about books has resulted in me now wanting to write about lots of books but knowing I won’t have time! And everything has been mad enough this week that I think it’s safest to start with some quick thoughts on a very disparate bunch and write more entries (hopefully!) over the next few days.

First up is The Secret Policeman by Kate Thompson. This Irish children’s fantasy novel won the Guardian’s children book prize and the Whitbread Children's prize in 2005 (hey, better to read it a few years late than never). The secret policeman starts by describing a world that is running out of time. Children don’t have time to relax, adults don’t have time to get everything done, even the school bus is always late despite the best efforts of its driver. Soon it becomes apparent that there are faeries involved. I enjoyed the folklore feel of the novel but didn't really feel overly attached to the characters. One unusual touch, that I assume would be even cooler if I were a musician, is pieces of music at the front of each chapter. Overall, I enjoyed it but wouldn’t have been my first pick for the prizes.

And onto a different type of secret in Diana Peterfreund’s Secret Society Girl. This book tells the story of 20 year old Amy, who is unexpectedly tapped for an exclusive secret society of her Ivy League (fictionalised Yale) college and soon faces a range of challenges. The story is fun but not particularly suspenseful in itself - this would be a great holiday read particularly for people who enjoy reading about college experiences as Peterfreund added in lots of background detail. What probably made the book most enjoyable to me was the extreme sarcasm of the main character!

I undestand now why everyone is squeeing about Elizabeth Enright’s The Saturdays and its sequels being in print again. I can see why it became a classic childhood read for so many people. The situation in The Saturdays is something I would have loved as a child: four siblings decide to pool their pocket money so every fourth Saturday one of them will have enough money to go and do something they really want to do. They get to do it alone (this idea alone would have sucked me in, I loved my younger sisters, but a day out without them? So special!) and don’t even have to tell the others what they did. This book was reminiscent of Nesbit without the fantasy, maybe because of the close-knit yet realistic family and the generally old-fashioned feel.

Writing fiction is a tricky business. When you write a novel, you're writing a lie, but it has to seem real to be considered good.

And authors can lie about their identities, too. Writers have long used pseudonyms. This type of "lie" is a literary tradition for certain types of novels--novels that touch on real people, novels that address hot topics like sex and drugs, novels that are controversial in subject-matter.

So what happens when an author writes a novel that seems totally real, uses a pseudonym, and starts attracting a lot of attention? If she makes the mistake of pretending to be the pseudonymous person, she can get sued for fraud. WashingtonPostReportsOnJTLeroy

And made to pony up the expenses paid by the company that bought the movie rights to the book. KTVUreports

The pseudonym was supposed to be a young boy, sexually exploited, telling his fictionalized account, but turns out to be a woman, who was sexually exploited, telling her fictionalized account.

I'm all for the truth, but somehow, writing a NOVEL and using a pseudonym, doesn't seem sufficient to entitle a company to think that it's buying something that is true, and then sue and win on a fraud claim.

But there's a lesson for all writers here. That line between fiction and truth--it can be blurred, must be blurred, for the novel, but it better be bright and clean on the signed contract.