I was not of the teen or young adult generation who grew up with the Beatles, but I was solidly attached in adolescence to my evolving musical taste. In the spring of 1963, I officially became a Beatles fan, with the release of the single, I Saw Her Standing There, from the Beatles debut album, Please, Please Me.
I know this will sound nutty, and overstated, but the world changed for me that day. If you were my age, certainly a teenager, or a bit older, and you were a Beatles fan, you will know what I mean. If you were not a Beatles fan, I’m not sure I could actually trust you, but that’s a topic for another day.
In the meantime, from that day on, until the day they stopped recording together in 1970, The Beatles were an emblem of my youth, and a prism through which I viewed much of the world around me. To say that about anything, or anybody, let alone, a musical group, sounds so outlandish. Almost cult-like. But in truth, that’s what they were to millions and millions of fans. Four dudes who riveted most of the planet for the seven or so years after their mother ship arrived.
As the many years have passed, I have forgotten a lot from those days, but every time I spend a few minutes reflecting back, especially on The Beatles, I get a feeling that is too special to even put into words. You really had to be there. You had to live through the phenomenon to have even a clue of what is was, and what it meant.
Ron Howard’s documentary, Eight Days a Week is a must see for any Beatles fan, who wants to feel that time again. There is some excellent rare footage that most people haven’t seen, including live performances that just made me smile the whole way through. If you’re of The Beatles vintage, go and watch this film. Available for rental and purchase on Amazon, Hulu, PBS, and elsewhere. So, so good.
The full concert from Gainesville. One of his best shows. Watch it in HD on a big screen with some good speakers. Available free on YouTube. Worth any Tom Petty fan’s time.
The Nutty Professor and The Bellboy had me in stitches, and can still do it to me today. I continued to laugh at Jerry through most of the 1960s. In the late 60s and 70s, as he moved away from filmmaking into his iconic role of telethon toastmaster, he became a sober, more serious popular figure that I never quite accepted. But that change was what made him a true individual who followed what he wanted for his life, and for his career. Can’t blame anyone for that. After all, he already perfected his comedian, and that’s worth remembering in itself.
If you were just half a Grateful Dead fan, you will breeze through all six episodes. Every interview has intelligent and thoughtful accountings of the odyssey of the Grateful Dead. The depth was unexpected. Tons of great unearthed footage and culture as backdrop from a musical era that already sticks to many of us forever.
I wasn’t a Deadhead, by any stretch, but I appreciated the band for what they were trying to do. Mostly it was Jerry Garcia’s guitar, and Robert Hunter’s thinking man’s lyrics that made me a fan. I had their first 8 or 9 albums and then I fell off in ’74. Unlike the true acolyte, I didn’t hang on every note and word, following them from show to show, convinced of a deeper meaning of it all. Still, I had plenty of Dead favorites that I enjoyed just for the music’s sake. I suppose Jerry would be just fine with that.
