I'm only listening to The Beatles tonight, dear reader(s). That's why I've called this post Beatles night. It's obvious, really.
Okay. Let's start off with Long, Long, Long from The White Album. A lovely song, but I think it loses its way towards the end.
Sexy Sadie. It's about the Maharishi. Lennon didn't rate the guy, by all accounts.
Blackbird. Lovely atmosphere!
I'll Follow the Sun from Beatles For Sale.
I Don't Want to Spoil the Party. A minor song, but I really like it.
Oh, that Backbeat film is twenty-five years old now. Amazing!
Don't Bother Me.
There's loads of mistakes in Beatles recordings, man. Like the dodgy piano chord in Let It Be, or the swearing before the end part of Hey Jude. I don't think they cared too much. Those Steely Dan guys would've had nervous breakdowns.
The Word.
I don't like mistakes, myself. However, I'm trying to be less neurotic about it.
...
Actually, it's not Beatles night any more. Guess what I'm putting on now.
That's right. Apollo.
The night time is the right time.
I could just float away, kook(s). Seriously. Off, out, whatever ... into the cosmos. The planets. The stars. No fucking Brexit. Nice one! Do you know what I mean?
Let's hope Elon gets to Mars before Jeff. We don't want warehouses all over the place, do we?
...
I played my Epiphone Les Paul earlier. The first time in ages. Well, the second time in ages. [Because I've been so into rehearsing on my Yamaha acoustic, you dig?] I can tell you that the spider exercise is piss-easy on an electric guitar.
You know, Marc Bolan took guitar lessons from Eric Clapton, when he was making the switch to electric.
...
Well, well ... I can't think of anything else to say, write. I suppose I'll, uh ... see you next week.
I doubt I'll go to the pub on Friday. I mean, not for a glass of Coke, man. I can't drink half a Stella these days without getting a migraine. I've said it before, but ... I reckon it's my consciousness. So sensitive now, and expanding beyond my physical brain. Ha!
Never mind.
Laters!
Okay. Let's start off with Long, Long, Long from The White Album. A lovely song, but I think it loses its way towards the end.
Sexy Sadie. It's about the Maharishi. Lennon didn't rate the guy, by all accounts.
Blackbird. Lovely atmosphere!
I'll Follow the Sun from Beatles For Sale.
I Don't Want to Spoil the Party. A minor song, but I really like it.
Oh, that Backbeat film is twenty-five years old now. Amazing!
Don't Bother Me.
There's loads of mistakes in Beatles recordings, man. Like the dodgy piano chord in Let It Be, or the swearing before the end part of Hey Jude. I don't think they cared too much. Those Steely Dan guys would've had nervous breakdowns.
The Word.
I don't like mistakes, myself. However, I'm trying to be less neurotic about it.
...
Actually, it's not Beatles night any more. Guess what I'm putting on now.
That's right. Apollo.
The night time is the right time.
I could just float away, kook(s). Seriously. Off, out, whatever ... into the cosmos. The planets. The stars. No fucking Brexit. Nice one! Do you know what I mean?
Let's hope Elon gets to Mars before Jeff. We don't want warehouses all over the place, do we?
...
I played my Epiphone Les Paul earlier. The first time in ages. Well, the second time in ages. [Because I've been so into rehearsing on my Yamaha acoustic, you dig?] I can tell you that the spider exercise is piss-easy on an electric guitar.
You know, Marc Bolan took guitar lessons from Eric Clapton, when he was making the switch to electric.
...
Well, well ... I can't think of anything else to say, write. I suppose I'll, uh ... see you next week.
I doubt I'll go to the pub on Friday. I mean, not for a glass of Coke, man. I can't drink half a Stella these days without getting a migraine. I've said it before, but ... I reckon it's my consciousness. So sensitive now, and expanding beyond my physical brain. Ha!
Never mind.
Laters!
