Rubber soul

Rubber soul

As the Beatles grew rapidly, after A hard day’s night came Rubber soul (1965).

Here’s the 2009 remastered version as a playlist:

Again I’ll cite the analyses of Wilfred Mellers and Alan W. Pollack (and as ever, do bear in mind these reflections on the merits of analysis). Mellers wonders if the prevalence of “anti” songs on the disc may be an inverted positive—a move towards self-reliance. Below I’ll focus on the ballads:

  • Norwegian Wood, unusually using triple metre, was George’s first venture on sitar. Mellers:

The girl in her elegantly-wooded apartment is strong on social, weak on sexual, intercourse; her polished archness is satirised in an arching waltz tune wearily fey, yet mildly surprising because in the mixolydian mode. Here the flat seventh gives to the comedy an undercurrent of wistfulness, and this embraces both John’s frustration and the girl’s pretentiousness—which is pointed by George’s playing the sitar, not in emulation of Indian styles, but as an exotic guitar. The middle section brings us to the crux of the situation (which is, for John, a night spent in the bath) with a stern intrusion of the tonic minor triad and a tune descending, with drooping appoggiatura, to the subdominant with flattened seventh. After this middle the lyricism of the waltz da capo suggests not so much plaintiveness as a comic dismay. The effect of the flattened seventh, followed by a rise through a fifth and a fall through a sixth, pendulum-like, even seems a trifle sinister in context; as perhaps it is, if “I lit a fire, isn’t it good, Norwegian wood” implies a slight case of arson.

For Pollack’s comments see here.

  • Nowhere Man (Mellers: a satire on “the socialite or all-too-civil servant who’s afraid of emotional commitment”), with its unprecedented a cappella opening, and a little guitar riff trailing each verse. Pollack:

Superficially, the melodic material of the song is straight away in the major mode. However, one’s interest in the tune is piqued on a more subtle level by a combination of the large number of appoggiaturas, the pseudo-pentatonic nature of the bridge, and the prominent role given to the flat sixth degree (C♮) in the backing vocals.

  • Michelle, [Mellers:] “harmonically sophisticated […], with tender chromatic sequences and tritonal inclusions”, and the pure pentatonic love call of the refrain. “The subtlety of the song lies in the contrast between chromatic sophistication and pentatonic innocence”, a duality already hinted at in the false relations of the F major and D♭ triads of the first two bars, giving “a tentative, exploratory quality to the tenderness, hinting that the barrier isn’t just one of language, but is inherent in the separateness of each individual, however loving”.

Pollack makes detailed comparisons with Yesterday. More whimsically, he muses

How can anyone be as desperately in love with someone with whom they cannot hold a decent conversation, no less an email correspondence?

Discuss

  • Girl, largely acoustic, is another instance of [Mellers:] “the interdependence of ‘reality’ and wit”, its tune “in an aeolian-sounding C minor, […] with an almost-comic pentatonic refrain sighfully and unexpectedly drooping to E♭ major. The middle section “veers abruptly to the minor of the supertonic of E♭ (or the subdominant of C minor), the fetching tune abandoned in favour of regularly repeated quavers on the syllable tit-tit (which sometimes sounds like tut-tut!).”

As the lyricism is banished, so the girl is deflated: from being a girl in a storybook she’s become a flesh-and-blood, immensely desirable young woman. […] The melismata are “cool”, the sighs verge on the ludicrous; yet this paradoxically intensifies the loving pathos of the lyrical tune when it’s sung da capo, since life is a tangled mesh of hopes and disappointments. […] The hurt inherent in living, as well as loving, is accepted without pretention, yet without rancour.

Pollack’s comments are here.

  • In my lifePollack notes the balance between intimacy and unease; and George Martin’s pseudo-baroque keyboard solo contrasts with the mood of the rest of the song.

And then came Revolver

4 thoughts on “Rubber soul

  1. Pingback: A hard day’s night | Stephen Jones: a blog

  2. Pingback: Sgt Pepper | Stephen Jones: a blog

  3. Pingback: Revolver | Stephen Jones: a blog

  4. Pingback: A Beatles roundup | Stephen Jones: a blog

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