Give me your music, your art, your huddled masses of words and rhythms yearning to breathe free.
All the Beatles smoked. But then, who didn’t have a ciggie ‘tween their fingers in those days? Keith Richards of The Stones was simply incapable of playing guitar without a cigarette dangling from his lips. But John Lennon obviously cursed his cigarette habit. In two of his Beatles’ songs he makes references to the evil cancer sticks.
“My brother’s back at home with his Beatles and his Stones; we never got it off on that revolution stuff.” So lamented Mott the Hoople in their 1972 “All The Young Dudes,” a David Bowie-penned anthem about aimless glam-rockers and their disdain for the values of the past. Oh, those boogaloo boys in their eyeliner, glitter and platform shoes! I’ve enjoyed glam-rock as much as many other genres, from punk to bluegrass. But no matter how many musical roads I’ve traveled, I always end up “back at home, with my Beatles and my Stones.” This summer, my two favorite bands celebrated 50th anniversaries.
“Hey Bullfrog.” That was the original working title of the piano-driven Beatles song that ended up being called “Hey Bulldog” when Paul, for some unknown reason, began barking during the recording. This video shows one of the last times the fab four came together in the studio and really rocked as a unit.
In February 1972, Paul McCartney released a single that finally put him in the same league of controversy that his former Beatles bandmate John Lennon had long inhabited. That was the month Paul released his single, “Give Ireland Back to the Irish.” It was his response to Bloody Sunday, a horrific event in which British soldiers shot and killed 26 unarmed civil-rights protesters and bystanders who were taking part in a Northern Ireland Civil Rights Association march on January 30, 1972. Most people aren’t aware that John had also recorded two songs in response to Britain’s brutal treatment of Ireland: “Sunday Bloody Sunday” and “The Luck of the Irish,” both featured on his June 1972 LP “Sometime in New York City.”
Every family has its folk tales — those sometimes sweet, often cringe-inducing stories we’re forced to endure at every holiday gathering. Like the time my grandfather decided to forgo dental expenses by removing his own teeth with the help of Canadian Club whiskey and a pair of pliers. Or that day back in 1960 when my prankster dad deposited a piece of fake rubber vomit on my aunt’s expensive new sofa. Ah, but not all of my family’s folk tales are gauche, mind you. In fact, at many gatherings the most anticipated and charming story of all involves the evening of February 9, 1964, when little Dana discovered the Beatles at age four. How my mom loves to spin the tale of the birth of her rockaholic daughter’s lifelong obsession!