The Beatles - "Now and Then," my dad, and me

As you may have heard by now, there’s a “new” Beatles track out in the wild. It is supposed to be the final Beatles song, the last of three John Lennon demo songs originally given by Yoko Ono to Paul McCartney to finish up as Beatles songs for the Beatles Anthology documentary. 

I’ve listened to it several times now. I’ve watched the making-of mini-documentary and the official music video. And though I have opinions on all of that, the reason I’m writing any of this is because it all made me think of my dad. 

You may not know this about me, but I’m a huge Beatles dork. My dad loved the Beatles, and is absolutely the reason I fell in love with their music. When Beatles Anthology first aired on ABC back in ‘95 it was appointment viewing (remember that?). I remember being very excited to watch it; I was a burgeoning fan at the time and couldn’t wait to devour all of this new information. I remember we watched all three episodes as a family. Watching television with your family. What a concept!

Furthermore, there was a CD soundtrack tie-in (because of course there was) for each episode, filled with never-before-heard outtakes… and not one but two new Beatles songs. I was hyped. 

This is where my dad comes into the story. My dad was always a fan, but I don’t think he was ever a fanatic. He certainly had his likes and dislikes, whether Beatles or otherwise, but I don’t think he really listened to music with a critical ear. So I truly don’t know whether or not he ever really wanted to listen to demos and outtakes. But I know that he went out of his way so that I could listen to them. He worked second shift at the time, so when those Anthology discs went on sale at midnight, he was there. For me. 

He liked the new tracks “Free As A Bird” and “Real Love” just fine, as did I. But I got way more out of the rest of those albums. At some point our tastes in Beatles music diverged; I gravitated towards later-period songs while he still preferred the early stuff. (We did both agree that Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band was the greatest album of all time, for what it’s worth.) We may not have agreed on much – even within our fandom of the band – but we always had The Beatles.

I thought about all of this as I was listening to “Now and Then,” all of the memories flooding back. 

“Now and Then” isn’t in the upper echelon of Beatles songs, but it also isn’t “Revolution #9” or “Mr. Moonlight.” It manages to hit all of the wistful and melancholy notes that a final track of one of the most beloved bands of all time ought to. Is it a thing that really needs to exist? Not really. But I’m kind of glad it does. I may not put it on any Beatles playlists. But if I get the 1967-1970 compilation to complete my collection, I’m not going to turn the song off.

In the making-of doc, Sean Ono Lennon says his dad would have loved what the surviving Beatles did with the song. (Paul, Ringo, and George’s son Dhani echo this sentiment) I think John would have been absolutely tickled by what is possible in 2023 with regards to sound and how it can be manipulated.  (This is the man who wanted to sound like 1000 chanting Tibetan monks on “Tomorrow Never Knows,” after all) I also think he would have dismissed the song as rubbish, probably exclaiming there was a reason the song languished on a cassette for 40-plus years. 

It is somewhere between all of this that I find myself and my dad. Either “Now and Then” is the perfect capstone for the best, most creative pop band to ever walk the earth, or it’s a gussied-up Lennon demo that should have been left on the tape. Perhaps its appeal lies in the unknown. Sean can’t ask his dad about the song. I can’t ask my dad what he thinks about it, even if I already know the answer. (“Yeah, it’s pretty good.”) 

In a way, this kind of makes it the perfect final Beatles track and a fitting metaphor for the relationship I had with my dad.. It just kind of is what it is; it’s there whether you want it to be or not. I listened to the other “new” (at the time) Beatles tracks “Free as a Bird” and “Real Love” while writing this, and they also reminded me of my dad. They’re not the best or the worst, but I remember them all fondly. These days, that's all I can ask for. 

Listen to the new track
Watch the mini-doc

Watch the official music video, which is a bit much and not good

Bummery Essay/Concert Review: Tool - 11/1/23 at Fiserv Forum

Call this the “You’re Getting Old” show. 

In Season 15, Episode 7 of South Park, Stan turns 10, and suddenly views the world through cynical eyes. Everything that used to give him joy – television shows, new music, etc. – is now just “shit.” At the end of the episode, Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide” plays over a montage of Stan’s parents growing apart and eventually getting divorced.

My experience with concerts over the past 5 years or so has been somewhere between those two extremes. Once upon a time I used to get really excited to see bands that I loved or to see one I had just discovered. Now everything is just sort of blah. This isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy those shows, because I did. But the anticipation is all but gone. The soaring highs of screaming along in unison with 2 or 20 thousand fellow believers is gone, replaced with a middling contentment. Tool’s sold-out show at Fiserv Forum on Wednesday night was no different.

Before the show, my best friend and concert-going buddy of the past 25+ years confided in me that he had an anxiety attack on his way to my house. This is just what happens now. Instead of getting fucked up on cheap beer and Jagermeister and letting the night take us where it will, we now tamp down our alcohol consumption and watch our heart rates.

The show kicked off with “Fear Inoculum,” and for the moment all that other stuff faded away. “Jambi” was absolutely punishing, even more so than on record. “The Pot” was next, which is where Maynard James Keenan got in on my own personal theme for the night: his voice cracked during the first line of the song. He was getting older too. (Of course, he recovered to deliver a vocal performance with more clarity and force than the album version, so joke’s on me for even noticing that minor flub.)

All of the hallmarks of a Tool show were present, from the snarling noise of “Rosetta Stoned” to the hypnotic grooves of “Pneuma.” Trippy visuals played on the screen and a laser show shot out from the stage during the middle third of the set. The band played with both a stunning brutality and breathtaking precision, all while Maynard James Keenan stalked and swayed in the background.

This may be the first and only time Tool and “Weird Al” Yankovic are compared, and perhaps it’s a stretch, but I’m going to do it anyways. For both acts, the concept of a concert as a living, breathing thing designed to be experienced in the moment is exchanged for something with a more precise execution. It’s almost as if the soul of a live show is choreographed out of existence. “Weird Al” has already delivered on a more concert-like experience; I will continue to wonder what it would be like if Tool loosened up even just a little bit.

It was at this point that my friend tapped me on the shoulder and said he had to leave; the anxiety had been too much to overcome.*

Apropos, I guess, because Tool’s music – particularly on the latest album – has a creeping sense of dread and unease that you just can’t shake. So there I sat, both consumed by the crowd full of righteous headbangers and fist-pumpers and all alone with my thoughts.

Maybe in my younger days I would’ve doubled down on long swigs of whiskey-and-Cokes, attempting to parse Keenan’s dense lyrics; instead I just let the noise wash over me while wondering if my friend was going to be all right or if my son went to bed without much fussing for my wife.

The set was largely bereft of Tool’s biggest radio hits, which sounds like a dream come true until the deep cuts played weren’t my absolute favorite deep cuts. (That’s a me problem, not a Tool one) Whatever the case, they played “Forty Six & 2” last. It seemed like it got the biggest reaction of the night, and rightfully so. It managed to drag me out of the reality in my own head and into the show that was taking place in front of me. My hands suddenly wanted to play a bit of air guitar, my voice wanted to sing along. For six minutes, it was bliss.

Despite all the bummery nonsense written above, it was a good show. I’ve seen Tool four times now, and they have yet to disappoint. 

Whether it’s on record or live, Tool’s music is a grueling exercise in persistence. You gut it out and make it through to the other side. It is also a lot like life in that there’s no reward at the end; the act itself is its own reward (or not, if you choose to make it unrewarding). 

I chose not to take part in the chaos of an Uber line, so I walked alone in the cold to the bus stop. I had to wake up early to take my son to school; I was to receive an infusion of new medication later that day. It was like the lyrics of a song they didn’t play: “keep going, spiral out…”

*I made sure he got home safely. I confessed that I felt horrible for not leaving with him in solidarity; he said he would’ve felt horrible if I had left and missed the show. This is how grown men exchange feelings – well, that and depression memes. 

Concert Review: Death Cab for Cutie/The Postal Service, 9/23/23, The Salt Shed, Chicago

The records TRANSATLANTICISM by Death Cab for Cutie and GIVE UP by The Postal Service both turn 20 this year, so Ben Gibbard is taking both bands on the road to perform both albums front-to-back. This tour came to The Salt Shed in Chicago on Saturday night for a sold-out performance. 

To be honest, these are records that I like but don’t love. 

I was aware of Death Cab for Cutie in 2003 due to working at my college radio station, but at that point I was doing my own show and wasn’t terribly interested in the indie rock favored by the station. It wouldn’t be until after I graduated that I got into that sort of music. Death Cab was definitely one of those bands, but TRANSATLANTICISM wasn’t on my radar until well afterwards. Ditto for The Postal Service. It’s entirely possible that I didn’t check their sole album out until I heard one of their songs covered (!) in an M&Ms commercial (!!).

The crowd was about what you would expect – receding hairlines and love handles galore. Parents with their children (both young and teenaged). Gen Z was there too, because Spotify and such has made generational demarcations of music meaningless. There were some old dudes there too. I am not sure if they were super hip or thought they were going to a combination Magical Mystery Tour/U.S. Mail convention. Whatever the case, everyone was definitely there to see the show. Death Cab songs are notoriously quiet, but talking over the slow stuff was kept to a minimum.

The Death Cab portion of the show took place first. Now, I have no particular nostalgia for the album so I wasn’t tempted to text an ex-girlfriend. What was I supposed to do here, be wistful for all the sex I wasn’t having at the time? So, I didn’t have any intensely emotional responses to the songs. The irony of couples mostly, presumably in long-term relationships here to see a performance of 20-year-old songs about longing, lost love, and meaningless sex wasn’t lost on me. 

Either I haven’t paid close attention to a DCfC show in a while, or Ben Gibbard was trying to channel a youthful energy from 20 years ago, because he was bounding about the stage during the entire set. Album opener “The New Year” absolutely cooked. The other rocking – and I mean that term relatively to other Death Cab songs – did what they were supposed to do: “The Sound of Settling” got the crowd involved with its “buh-BAH!” call-and-response refrain; “We Looked Like Giants” – TRANSATLANTICISM’s best song – was superb, even if it lacked the extended, jammy outro present on some live versions of the song.

For all the things that make Ben Gibbard seem bookish and beta – the wan vocals, his collegiate phrasing (“The glove compartment is inaccurately named / And everybody knows it / So I'm proposing a swift, orderly change” from “Title and Registration,” and also the name of the album they were here to celebrate), the man can be devastatingly mean when he wants to be. When he sang (multiple times) “You were beautiful, but you don’t mean a thing to me” on “Tiny Vessels,” all I could think was “the chutzpah on this guy!” Quite frankly I’ve never had the opportunity to say that to a woman, which is just as well because I wouldn’t have the confidence to say it anyways.

The emotional centerpiece of the night was the title track. The refrain of “I need you so much closer” was sung by both singer and crowd, over and over again, building like waves threatening to overcome the breakwater. It felt almost as if it represented the conversion of one’s exciting and terrifying twenties to a (hopefully) more stable and mundane thirties (or, yes, fine, for those of us who are elder millennials, forties).

The band seemed to sprint through the album, not because the songs were faster but because there was hardly any space between the songs. No banter or breaks. After closing track “A Lack of Color,” Ben Gibbard said “thank you, we’ll reset and be back in 15 minutes with the Postal Service,” and that was it.

The TRANSATLANTICISM set got plenty of applause, and it was certainly deserved. But the introspective indie rock was no match for the Technicolor electronics and guitar pop of The Postal Service.

From the opener “The District Sleeps Tonight” on, it was a combination dance party and Dashboard Confessional show, with the crowd both hanging onto and singing along to every word. Every song was met with raucous applause. “Such Great Heights” was an all-time arena rocker for just one night. Every time Jenny Lewis did… pretty much anything, the crowd roared its approval. And it was warranted: her duet with Ben Gibbard on “Nothing Better” was awesome; it was also the only text-your-ex temptation of the night. (It’s a break-up song where both people agree to say goodbye in the end. I think that means I’ve grown as a person or something.) She also added a menacing guitar solo to the end of a song that wasn’t there on record, which brought some rawk to the proceedings. (Like I said I like this album, not love it. I do not have the names of the songs memorized and I sadly did not write it down.)

Just as Ben Gibbard said a mean thing in a song a few paragraphs ago, I had a mean thought as this set was going on, and that is that I think the girls he was singing about over the course of TRANSATLANTICISM in a negative light are the same girls that were eating this songs up with a fork and spoon, only they don’t have the self-awareness to know it’s them. It was sort of like that Chris Rock bit (link EXTREMELY NSFW) about meeting a girl at a club to Lil’ Jon’s eternal crunk hit “Get Low.” If that sounds a little resentful and misogynistic, well, to quote Tammy Wynette, “I’m just a man.” But I didn’t begrudge them a good time; the intoxicating blend of Jimmy Tamborello’s glitchy, off-kilter beats and Gibbard’s sturdy songwriting was a winning combination and probably ahead of its time for 2003. If GIVE UP came out today I think it would be a #1 smash hit. 

(To make up for the previous paragraph I will admit that I held my wife’s hand during “We Will Become Silhouettes”, because what is more romantic than a song about nuclear apocalypse?)

Album closer “Natural Anthem” was probably the most welcome surprise of the night. The beginning of the song was noisier and glitchier and more blissed out than the studio cut. It added some balance to the delectable pop of the past 40 minutes, while building and building to something terrifying and wonderful until it folded in on itself, a dying star imploding to an abrupt end. To say it was a metaphor for life is probably a stretch, but it felt like it meant something more than just being some noise.

Of course, that wasn’t the end. They came on for two more songs: an acoustic rendition of “Such Great Heights” (which proved what a great song it was, stripped down to just a guitar and the vocals of Ben Gibbard and Jenny Lewis) and a cover of Depeche Mode’s “Enjoy The Silence,” for which the dance party started anew.

The Millennial Nostalgia Tour may not have hit me the same way it did for some of those in attendance. I didn’t wallow in a breakup to TRANSATLANTICISM and GIVE UP didn’t soundtrack makeout sessions in my parents’ basement or in a darkened dorm room. (In fact, most of my experiences with that album are as naptime music for my now five-year-old son.) But it was still good music performed with an unmistakable joy that was infectious. The fact that the songs mostly sounded like their studio counterparts didn’t hurt either. I won’t lie, it was kind of a costly trip for one night in Chicago, but I don’t regret it one bit. It was an excellent show.

If anything, both during the concert and while writing this, I thought an awful lot about the people I’ve been and the person I’ve become. If there’s a higher compliment you can pay a moderately successful indie rock LP and a one-off collaboration that was intended as a labor of love, I’d sure like to hear it.