Adventures in Paying Homage

Nothing to get hung about. 

I went to New York City for the first time to see Warhorse at Lincoln Center with my Critical Writing class this past April. As the bus neared the Lincoln Tunnel, my professor told us about a few nearby spots where we could venture but not get lost, one of them being Strawberry Fields in Central Park.

Strawberry Fields. The State-side holy site for Beatles fans looking to pay homage to John Lennon. Nuts. It hadn't even crossed my mind to try and find it, and yet nothing seemed more important than locating that iconic tiled "Imagine" paved into the ground.

Admittedly, in the past 10 years I've spent a lot less time with the Beatles than I used to. The summer after sixth grade I listened to Abbey Road every single day, without fail. That was also the year I brought my Beatles 1 cd to the end-of-year dance– I was a "cool" kid for a day.

In the coming years I found other bands to listen to, but never had the heart to strip the Beatles of the title "All-Time Favorite Band." In some ways they're dusty relics of my childhood, like an old teddy bear or too-small bike. And maybe it was for that reason, that nostalgia, that I recruited a couple friends and we snaked our way to Central Park as soon as we got off the bus.

It was right behind the stone wall. I knew it. But in true tourist fashion, we had to bum directions off a street vendor. Yards away, we found a mob of people that didn't thin out for a second in the 40 minutes we stopped to eat lunch on the bench and listen to the old guys playing Beatles covers on their guitars.

That's a really obvious testament to the uniting power of music, so I'm reluctant to even say it, but it was stunning. From tween girls to European travelers, all gravitated to this one place.

I still don't think about the Beatles as much anymore, but I'm inclined to believe in some kind of cosmic balance or duty. Heading over to Strawberry Fields was a non-negotiable pilgrimage, and it mile-marked a great musical relationship. Ten-year-old me geeked out and twenty-two-year-old me totally understood.

The Beatles on the Cover Rolling Stone

Brace yourselves, folks. Rolling Stone has yet another untold angle on the Beatles breakup story. Honestly, will people ever stop rehashing this? Unlikely. This time around, some guy named Mikal Gilmore has the inside scoop.

TMI reserves the right to be highly skeptical. I don't know who he is, I don't know where they found him-- I'm just grateful that it's not another Jonas Brothers tribute.

This is the cover.

Dramatic, no?

Well, I guess the only thing to do is wait until the issue hits stands. Should be... interesting?

Across the Universe: A Beatles Musical...And it Actually Worked

I can't even really think of everything I want to say because I typically don't review movies-- there's so much to cover. Acting, singing, dancing, visual effects, story, and that's hardly the half of it. As far as the visuals themselves, I can only say that you'd have to watch the movie yourself because I couldn't possibly do them justice if I said they were mind-blowing.

I can say this though, the Beatles were probably the first band I was aware of, back when I was barely five and by ten I figured out they were my favorite band. When you listen to a band for that long, you easily take them for granted. It's nearly impossible to maintain the same level of interest or appreciation for why you thought they were so great in the first place. Watching Across the Universe reminded me. The arrangements are done so intelligently as not to merely copy the originals or totally reject them. They made these songs seem new again. "I Want You (She's so Heavy)" hasn't sounded this good in years and Abbey Road is just begging for another go on the stereo.

Then there are the songs I don't know so well, like "Helter Skelter" or "Happiness is a Warm Gun--" a couple of killer scenes, especially the former which was tragically and ironically juxtaposed with "Across the Universe" in the climax. There's still a lot to be heard.

Obviously, a significant reason for the appeal of not only the movie but the band itself, is the time period. 60's music had something ineffable-- don't get me wrong, I'd never want to be some kind of musical nihilist, convinced that music is dead and gone, stupid and weak. There's stuff out there that makes me want to take off running down the street because it's so good but there's a soul from that decade that we will not see again, except for maybe a fleeting artistic glimmer from a movie like this.

I'd defy anyone who would tell me that this could have been handled in a more apt fashion. Sure, the start was a tad rocky but the end result is a giant gorgeous painting that, in my opinion, is one of the few movies or soundtracks these days that would actually be worth owning.