To begin: it goes without saying that the 78 mins 53 secs you will spend in the company of Love (and let’s face it – whether it’s at the supermarket, round at friends’, in a pub – you will find it palling up to you at some point this Christmas) will contain more instances of provocation, fun, inspiration, joy, psycho-drama and, okay then, genius than the combined efforts of the class of ‘06 put together. In the time it has taken poor Brandon Flowers, for example, to grow a moustache, John, Paul, Ringo and George were busy turning the world Technicolor, incubating branches of music that needed 30 years to hatch (‘Tomorrow Never Knows’), putting Jesus in his place and, of course, lighting bonfires under the arses of everyone from Bob Dylan to Spike Milligan. Their moustaches, somehow, took care of themselves.
The Beatles back catalogue is the greatest one around. In fact – it’s probably the greatest cultural artefact of the post-war period. The series of recordings that run from ‘Love Me Do’ to ‘The Long And Winding Road’ are our epoch’s Sistine Chapel, or Sphinx. Not to overstate the matter – but if our existence is ever threatened by an alien civilisation, a quick blast of the opening bars of ‘Ticket To Ride’ would surely convince even the most hostile force that humanity deserves a second chance.
Give a chimp access to the entire horde of Beatles’ master tapes (after sneakily removing ‘Old Brown Shoe’, ‘Maxwell’s Silver Hammer’ and ‘Piggies’) and chances are they could cobble together something, at the very least, more listenable than Kasabian’s latest album. It’s a gold-mine – with diamonds, opals and sapphires caking the walls to aid the acoustics.
To come up with a soundtrack for a Las Vegas show (and oh, how worryingly un-Fab a prospect is that), George Martin and his son Giles have been let loose on the Fabs’ archive. And their remit is a tasty one – namely: to weave together the constituent parts into a new and dazzling tapestry.
The EMI publicity machine would have us believe that Love is a triumphant, alchemic resurrection of The Beatles canon, drawing out sounds and rhythms that had previously lay buried and ignored. Not a bit of it. True, the mix is much more muscular than the one found on most of their available cds, and there are moments (most notably on the thrilling swirl-around of the ‘Drive My Car/The Word/What You’re Doing’ mix) when it’s difficult not to be left breathless by the sheer artistry on display. But there are also occasions when the Martin boys’ choices display all the subtlety of a Baz Luhrman perfume ad – most ickily when they take ‘Julia’ – Lennon’s masterful mood piece on grief and erotic longing – and stick a bloody Ambulance siren over the top.
There are few other bands whose legacy carries with it not just a licence, but an obligation to experiment and so it’s a pity to find that with Love, a gilt-edged opportunity has been passed up. Yes, the backwards re-casting of ‘Sun King’ as ‘Gnik Nus’ and the mash-up of ‘Within You, Without You’ and ‘Tomorrow Never Knows‘ are thrillingly in-keeping with the hungry, sonic inquisitiveness of The Beatles, but in general it’s a timid and overtly-deferential recording. Despite the hype, the various mixes and mashes are about as radical as the bedding used for end-of-season montages on Sky Sports.
Given their worth, the reluctance of the Apple clan to hand over the family silver to an outsider is perhaps understandable. However, McCartney’s choice of The Freelance Hellraiser as support act on his last world tour suggests the pater familias has a sneaking fondness for the mash-up ethic, and (spiritually rather than legally) maybe even an appreciation of Dangermouse’s Grey Album – the below-the-counter gem that spliced together The White Album with Jay Z’s The Black Album to often delirious (check out the cluster bomb of a tune ’99 Problems’) effect.
You can imagine the merry havoc that someone like Brian Burton would wreak if he was ever (legitimately) given a free run at The Beatles’ archive.
As it is, the tread-softly ethic and artistic timidity on display here is of a decidedly un-Beatles’ hue. And we’ve ended up with a merry-go-round, when, with just a bit more imagination, a helter skelter could have been built in its place.