The Beatles, Let It Be

Stop it with the gauzy historical revisionism: Abbey Road was truly their last album, and this is just the flotsam that washed up after. Lennon was gone by then and the remnant, coasting on their own formidable narcissism (including George Martin), finished up a batch of half-hearted live noodles and jams and dumped it all on Phil Spector to deal with. So he got out the Wall of Sound, and for his controversial efforts polishing their turds into sequins, he was excoriated by three of the four (Lennon, ironically, the only one to get the joke) and half of all the record critics across the universe. For my money, it's still the same pretentious crap it was in the bootlegs, it just sounds better (which Let It Be... Naked, McCartney's ill-advised anti-production remix, likewise misunderstood). Now, being the Beatles, it's still a good album and stands the test of time, and I still love the schmaltz. But don't you dare think for a minute I'd tolerate this kind of laziness from anyone else. (Content: no concerns.)

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The Beatles, Revolver

Revolver comes in second on my best Beatles album list, second only to the exalted perfection that is Abbey Road (q.v.), more tight and focused than the White Album and less full of itself than Sgt. Pepper. Despite that, though, it is adventurous and varied, and while it is not as rarefied or polished as Abbey Road that in and of itself makes it rather more interesting. Besides old throwbackish favourites like "Taxman," "I Want To Tell You" and "Got To Get You Into My Life," it also includes the technologically dazzling (and stylistically sudden) "Tomorrow Never Knows" as well as "I'm Only Sleeping," mixing backwards tracks and Indian-inspired guitars into primal and otherworldly harmony; George Martin's indispensable light touch production shines through on the strings on "Eleanor Rigby" and the Byrds-esque "She Said She Said" but for me most poignantly on the tragic "For No One," reminding me of crushes dashed and bygone days, and if "Love You To" is a little heavy on the tabla and "And Your Bird Can Sing" a little light on sophistication, there's no sin in being merely just good. While some of these tracks (notoriously "Yellow Submarine") might get overplayed a bit on your local oldies station, consider it a compliment paid to a particularly innovative and transformational album from a band that's had quite a few of them. In these overproduced times a little imperfection goes a long way. (Content: mild adult themes on "Love You To.")

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The Beatles, Abbey Road

There is no more perfect Beatles album than this one. Think of every high point of their previous output, and you'll find it's all here in one place: a rich George Martin production, Lennon-McCartney whimsy ("Maxwell's Silver Hammer"), some of George Harrison's best songwriting ("Something," "Here Comes The Sun") with even a Ringo cameo ("Octopus's Garden"), and not least a range of musical style from hippie idealism ("Come Together") to proto-metal ("I Want You (She's So Heavy)") to even progressive rock (the "suite" of almost the entire second half), all the way through to the magnificent conclusion of (what else?) "The End." It cannot be improved upon. It cannot be eclipsed. In a like manner it's fitting that this was actually their last recorded work chronologically, even as the (comparatively) weaker Let It Be followed it, because every single one of their albums before was just a stop on the road to greatness leading up to this. If there is no other Beatles album in your cabinet, then let it be this one (ahem). (Content: no concerns.)

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