Happy (Belated) Fortieth, Oh Greatest Album Ever!

I was planning on doing this, like, a week ago, but fuck it, I’m busy.

It’s like John Lennon said: “Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans”.

An appropriate quote, given the following entry, I think.

June 1st was the fortieth anniversary of the greatest studio album ever made.

This album also happens to be my all-time favorite album so, in my own tiny little tribute, I’d like to re-post an entry I wrote about it about six months ago.

Enjoy:

I will never forget the first time I heard this album.

I was five years old, and I knew nothing about rock. Up to this point, my innocent little life had been filled with happy, upbeat children’s entertainment. Fred Penner was my favorite musician. Raffi was a close second. I tolerated Sharon, Louis, and Bram.

It was the afternoon, and I was home from my morning kindergarten class. My sister was in big kids’ school. It was just me and my Mom. I was laying on the floor of our living room, listening to records. My Mom, probably sick to death of “The Cat Came Back”, asked if she could play one of her albums, and I reluctantly agreed.

She put on Sgt. Peppers, and my life changed forever.

I remember listening, open-mouthed. I asked my Mom “What IS this?”, and she showed me the album cover. Up to that point, it was the longest I ever sat still.

I just listened. Both to the music, and my Mom’s stories about these four amazing guys from England. From that day on, Fred Penner and his friends simply ceased to exist to me. I would spend hours, sprawled out on the floor, listening to the Beatles, and staring at their album covers. My Mom made sure I was well-schooled in their music, and played all of their albums for me, but Sgt. Pepper’s was, far and away, my favorite. I played the Beatles for all my little friends, and they agreed. These guys are AMAZING!

A year or so later, I was in big kids’ school myself. It was a Monday morning, and, when I sat down for breakfast, my Mom served pancakes.

That was weird. Pancakes were my favorite breakfast, and they were usually reserved for Saturdays, only.

My Mom sat beside me and took my hand. I noticed she had been crying.

“John died today.” She told me.

We went to the stereo, and she put on Sgt. Pepper’s. We sat on the couch, and I opened the album cover. I stared at John. At the time, he was my favorite Beatle: not because of his talent. I was too young to understand his caliber as a songwriter. He was my favorite because he had glasses, and red mustache, like my Dad.

Mom told me about how somebody had shot him in New York.

At first I was angry, but Mom explained that the man who shot him was very sick. John was a peaceful person, she told me. He wouldn’t want me to be mad at the man who did this.

We sat and listened to Sgt. Peppers, and stared at John’s picture. When it was finished, Mom drove my sister and I to school. She told the teacher it was okay that I was late.

I could rattle on and on about the merits of this album.

I could yak about how this album was made at a difficult period of the Beatle’s existence, and how their departure from touring helped to meld them into the greatest studio band ever created.

I could point out how this album’s influence has spawned countless bands, inspired millions of musicians, and will go down in history as a definitive marker in musical history.

I could launch into my well-worn tirade that this isn’t “classic rock” it’s classical music.

I could write a monologue about the Hammond organ, the fuzz box, and the wah-wah peddle. I could point out that this album marks the first time a musician ever plugged their instrument into a DI box for a recording session (Paul McCartney).

I could even wax philosophic on George Harrison’s passion for the sitar, or the songs that didn’t make the album (Strawberry Fields Forever, Penny Lane, Only a Northern Song. Don’t worry they all got their play on “Magical Mystery Tour”. Carnival of Light never did, though…).

And don’t even get me started on Robert Fraser’s jaw-dropping cover photo.

The truth is, I tend not to think of these things when I listen to this album.

When I listen to this album, I think about being five years old, and the moment I realized just how big and beautiful the Universe really is.

Give it a spin.


Jim Out.