A Hard Day's Night

About

Driving through Colorado during a road trip in early 1964, Bob Dylan heard a rundown of the country’s Top 10 single, more than half of which were by The Beatle. By then, the band had saturated America with the same bizarre speed they’d saturated England, first broadcast on American radio about a week before Christmas 1963 by a Washington, D.C.-area DJ whose friend—a flight attendant for BOAC—had brought a copy of “I Want to Hold Your Hand” over in their luggage, essentially unplugging the last finger holding back a transatlantic flood. Whether or not Dylan liked the band’s music was unclear. (We’re talking about Bob Dylan here.) What he did acknowledge was that their sound—the energy, the harmonic language, the combination of universally appealing but unprecedented—was somehow inevitable; that they pointed the direction of where music <i>had</i> to go. At the time, folk—Dylan’s province—was considered part of a vanguard; in jazz, composers like John Coltrane had already signaled a move toward abstraction; in visual art, pop had happily unseated the macho hugeness of abstract expressionism; independent filmmaking was developing a momentum. In other word, where other cultural avenues had taken new direction, pop music had mostly stayed the course. Released in summer 1964 (only a year and change after <i>Please Please Me</i>), <i>A Hard Day’s Night</i> was arguably the first glimpse of our modern idea of The Beatles: safe but a little strange; warm but with shades of bleakness; a band that experimented tirelessly without ever leaving the mainstream. Famously, it was the first time that Lennon and McCartney had written all of the album’s song, a gesture that set the precedent for the then-new idea that pop (and, by extension, the musicians who made it) wasn’t just a vehicle for a good show, but art that revealed some otherwise inexpressible part of the artist’s soul—something personal. The music was more evolved too. What had, on their first couple of album, been borrowed from R&B and soul covers became baked into their own compositions: the workaday relief of the title track, the blues morality of “Can’t Buy Me Love” (covered, almost immediately, by Ella Fitzgerald). Lennon’s “I’ll Be Back” was the moodiest song they’d ever recorded, McCartney’s “And I Love Her” the most nakedly open-hearted, capturing a shadow-and-light quality that was warm but stark—contrasts new not just for their songwriting, but for ’60s pop in general. .

via Apple Music

The Clerk says

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