And In The End, The Love You Take Is Equal To The Love You Make.

I've been listening to The Beatles a lot recently.

Anyone who knows me well may not think this is particularly surprising. I collect Beatles music, books, newspaper cuttings. I've read hundreds of books on them (yes, hundreds) and I'm even acknowledged in one for my comments and critiquing. But for the past few years I've listened to them in much the same way a casual fan would listen to their albums.

I used to listen more like a scholar, (OK, some would say obsessive freak), comparing this mix with that mix, this take with that take, even this pressing with that pressing. I'd listen to hours and hours of Get Back rehearsals, listen to them as they created and constructed their songs. As they chatted about the weather, the news, even what's for lunch. I loved nothing more than finding a fragment of conversation or (oh my goodness) a song I'd never heard before. But with the advent of the internet, I think it all became too easily available and I no longer had to hunt for things. Perhaps too I had access to too much and I became blase about what there was.

But a break is as good as a holiday, they say, and I'm back into it, deep into 1969 rehearsals and listening to perhaps the greatest band the world will ever know as they implode and self destruct.

It makes me sad.

I watched the rooftop session last night. The last live performance they ever gave. It was a cold January morning and they shuffled up onto the roof of the Apple building to run through some songs. And for a few precious moments, you can see them happy, lost in the songs, actually enjoying making music together. Which is unbelievable considering the misery the rest of those three weeks were for them.

And then with a couple of police officers telling them to pull the plug, the dream was over.

None of them could be bothered even touching those rehearsal tapes. They were given to Phil Spector who cobbled the Let It Be album together. Sure, they went back into the studio six months later and recorded Abbey Road, a swansong, but it was never going to be the same again.

Yoko wasn't at fault for the breakup. She was a symptom. As was Linda, Ringo's film-making and George's exploration of all things Indian and spiritual.

If only. If only John and Paul had agreed to sit down and work things out. If only the others had been keen to continue. If only The Beatles were still The Beatles.

Watching them on the rooftop, grinning, flubbing lines, living in the moment is exciting. But it's also sad.

Only a few months after Woodstock, the sixties were over, The Beatles on the rooftop and The Rolling Stones at Altamont had killed the dream.

Write. Read. Make art. Create music. Live the dream. Don't regret. The time is now.

It Was 40 Years Ago Yesterday...

To say The Beatles broke up because of Yoko Ono is a little simplistic.

From all I've seen and read egos seem to be to blame.  Paul became leader because Brian had gone, and the others resented that. John didn't want Paul to be leader - but couldn't work up the effort to actually do anything himself. George was tired of being treated like the kid brother. Ringo, of course, was Ringo.  If The Beatles had stayed together, he'd have still been there drumming.

And Yoko was there, gazing up at rebellious John.

But as a relative of mine recently said to me, they should have just worked through it and continued making music.  The sum was always greater than the parts. He then echoed Larry Norman, who sang:

The Beatles said, "All You Need is Love"
and then they broke up.

Who knows where their music would have headed if they'd stayed together.

We'd certainly have had the best songs from their respective solo albums (plus ones we don't know, as their lives would have led different paths and the experiences would have changed.) Of course, there's always the chance they would have been terrible. (Think later Rolling Stones).

As the character said at the end of Fanboys, as he's about to see The Phantom Menace after a 15 year wait, "What if it's crap?"

But at least John and Paul were always each other's filters.  And John would have told Paul that Bip Bop was just plain silly, while Paul would have toned down some of John's more scathing attacks. (As well as (hopefully)  preventing Yoko from appearing with her own songs. We're all Water????  Ugh!)

But what's done is done, and the past cannot be changed.

At least we still have Please Please Me to Let It Be, and all the stuff making the rounds for collectors.

But somewhere, in another universe, Paul, John, George and Ringo are getting on stage to belt out some old and new tunes.

And I wish I was there.

A Whale Of Doubt.

I must not be reading the right magazines or web pages or whatever.  I had absolutely no idea that another Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy book was on its way.

Mind you, I was equally clueless about the publication of The Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant, until I saw a copy on a friend's shelf. And it was only by accident I discovered the existence of the new Red Dwarf a few days after it aired in the UK. (And don't we wish they'd held out for a bigger budget, a better story and more rewrites!)

So this afternoon, when my wife and I wandered down to the NOVA in Lygon Street to see Moon, and An Education, I was rather surprised to see a new HHGG book on the shelf in the bookstore next door. Written by Eoin Colfer, it's authorised by Adams's widow. Adams apparently said he planned to write a sixth book in the series, as he felt the last one ended on too much of a downer - but I was under the impression that his unpublished intentions for book six had already been released as Salmon of Doubt. While part of me is thrilled at the prospect of more Hitchhiker's to read, another part of me is quite distrustful of stories carried on by other writers. I did, however, enjoy Starship Titanic, written by Monty Python's Terry Jones (apparently in the nude), but Douglas Adams was around for that one and had some input into the book. There's a very fine line between fan fiction and posthumous authorisations. I'm rather glad they don't do this with music. Can you imagine a new Beatles' album - for example, Sgt. Pepper. 2: More help from my friends - written and recorded by four other guys and authorised by Yoko Ono?

I met Douglas Adams once.  He was in town to promote his enviro-book, Last Chance to See, and was sitting at a table in the middle of a bookstore. Having been totally under-promoted, it was reminiscent of the album signing scene in Spinal Tap. When I arrived, the only other people present were two teenage boys. Neither would have been out of place as extras on Big Bang Theory. They just stood to one side and grinned a lot, basking in his presence, not even brave enough to speak to him. Douglas sat and smoked, happily chatting to me for quite a while - about Melbourne, about writing, about music, about stuff, and very kindly signed some books for me. Sadly, not one other person approached the table or even seemed to wonder who he was or why he was sitting there. A few months later I met Patrick Tilley in the same place, under similar circumstances. Again the only promotion was an A4 piece of paper taped to the interior wall of the store.

Predictably, that bookstore didn't last long.  I guess no one knew it was there.

But HHGG is still alive, and I reserve judgement on whether that's a good thing or not. I will, of course, purchase a copy once it's in paperback. And then I'll decide whether I would like to see a seventh one or not.