The Singles Jukebox

The gang’s all back together! And it feels so… uh, well…

[Video]
[3.53]Tara Hillegeist: As a way to squeeze blood and money from a legacy that doesn’t need the teary-eyed hagiography half as much as it needs a rest, this is nothing short of ghoulish. As a chance for the surviving members of history’s most-mythologized pop band to have one last chance to reckon with their memories of absent friends, and the sometimes-miraculous sometimes-acrimonious friendship that was responsible for a magical time in their lives not even death will see them outpace, however… would that we all could be so fondly remembered, despite giving it our worst. How do I score something at once this obscenely unnecessary and heart-wrenchingly earnest to two decimal places? Should I hope anyone is going to do the same, fifty years from now, for One Direction?
[5]

Taylor Alatorre: “The Last Beatles Song” carries about the same ring as “The McRib Farewell Tour,” especially after McCartney’s hasty clarification that the use of AI software for routine audio clean-up did not imply any procedurally generated singing. Still, I can’t fault Peter Jackson for his basic recognition that, 54 years after “The End,” Beatlemania has not yet bitten the dust. Given its origins, it was always going to be a challenge for “Now and Then” to avoid sounding like a song from nowhere, and it even takes a little while to avoid sounding like a tribute to Badfinger. But the decision to lean on the string section in the latter half, and the unabashed grandiosity of those sun-drenched vocal harmonies, help the song transcend its homework-like inception, turning its strange out-of-body nature into a selling point — perhaps the selling point. Better to frankly acknowledge the role of earnest multigenerational fandom in the track’s existence than to try and meticulously recreate the precise Revolver studio set-up.
[7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: One of those songs that makes you want to quote Baudrillard and Adorno and Steyerl and meditate on the nature of aesthetic production under contemporary techno-capital. But frankly, I’m lazy and this song is a complete non-entity if you try and extricate it from the circumstances of its creation. Let me know when they find another lost demo and we get The_final_Beatles_song_[FINAL]_[REALLY FINAL].mp3
[4]

Edward Okulicz: Not much of a song, but has the benefit of quite a lovely, wistful arrangement. But that’s it — it’s just not much of a song. I hope people aren’t going to blame Giles Martin for it being rubbish the same way they blamed Jeff Lynne for “Free as a Bird” being terrible, because he’s done a good job with not a lot of material to work with. I hope this makes the estates of John Lennon and George Harrison very happy.
[3]

David Moore: I know it’s cringe to be so into the Beatles, to think about them all the time and know all their songs well enough that with some accuracy I’d be able to predict the next song in an alphabetical countdown, to read enormous biographies of them, to have strong opinions about the Glyn Johns mix of Let It Be. And I know this song is barely even a song — that they scraped some fledgling John Lennon melody out of the bottom of a fish tank and let the wannabe Martin (the young one) and wannabe McCartney (the old one) and the one and only Ringo (immortal, eternal, peace and love) gussy it up with a half-convincing pile of pastiche instead of just letting the thing be (see what I did there; did I mention I have strong opinions about the Glyn Johns mix?). I know that there’s something a little rank about it, like an air freshener in a morgue, even before Peter Jackson reminded everyone that his first film was called Bad Taste. And I know it doesn’t speak very highly of me to admit that even given all that, and potentially worse things to boot, there’s probably no way this could have gotten below a [5] from me no matter what final form it took. But it’s the truth.
[6]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: This sad, misshapen ballad points to the Beatles’ greatest fault: their lyrics could rarely keep apace with their musical curiosity. That’s especially clear on the group’s simpler, late-career songs, like this pathetic AI-assisted final single. Its aimless meandering finds an emotional core in the harmonized “you” that ends the first verse, but everything else fails to live up to that evocation, devolving into hackneyed sentiment. Released alongside “Love Me Do” to mark this as their final bow, “Now and Then” is a reminder that even when the Beatles started out, the simple lyrics held purpose: “Love Me Do” had relatively dry production compared to their contemporaries’ work, and its raw sentiment was palpable, splitting the difference between schoolyard chant and workman-like charm. Comparatively, this track doesn’t own up to its straight-ahead lyricism and uses a grandiose arrangement to convince you of its depth. Consider how Lennon admitted that “Something” was the best song on Abbey Road — neither he nor McCartney could match the poetic grace that Harrison attained. We can now conclude that this was true until the very end.
[2]

Alfred Soto: George Harrison, as Jorge Luis Borges said about Oscar Wilde, was almost always right.
[3]

Aaron Bergstrom: I was in middle school in 1995 when The Beatles Anthology documentary premiered, and I hadn’t planned on caring about it. I was an all-consuming sports nerd and music just wasn’t something that registered with me. I knew the Beatles were a band. I probably could have given you “1960s” and “England,” but that’s about it. (Now, could I have recited the 1991 Minnesota Twins roster from memory? Absolutely.) Still, I lived in a small town before the internet and there wasn’t much else going on. Anthology became the type of manufactured cultural event that I couldn’t avoid. So while “Free As A Bird” wasn’t the first Beatles song I ever heard, it was the first time I had the conscious thought, “Oh, so this is what the Beatles sound like.” And… something happened. I can’t really explain it. Like a fish discovering water, it suddenly clicked that the Beatles were everywhere. They were “I Want To Hold Your Hand” but they were also “Yellow Submarine” but they were also “Let It Be.” I fell in love with the music, but it was more than that. I needed to understand why I loved it. It flipped a switch somewhere inside me that has stayed on ever since. I had to know everything. Who were they? Where did they come from? Why did they sound like this? Who else sounded like this? It’s a straight line from that moment to me writing these words today. And I know most hardcore Beatles fans don’t care for “Free As A Bird.” Or “Real Love.” I know that they’re fake, and weird, and a cheap ploy to sell studio outtakes that otherwise weren’t all that interesting, and I get it, but to me they’ll always sound like the moment right before the world cracked open. I don’t get to have that experience with “Now and Then.” You only get to be a blank slate once. “Now and Then” is fine. It drags a bit. It’s a rickety frame trying to support a lot of weight. It’s even faker and weirder than the first two “new” Beatles songs. It probably didn’t need to exist. Would it make my personal top hundred Beatles songs? I doubt it. But I’m glad it exists, if only on the off chance that it winds up as the bizarre first chapter in some other kid’s origin story.
[6]

Katherine St Asaph: Pretty!
[6]

Nortey Dowuona: Shit is trash. Earth Wind Fire better.
[0]

Ian Mathers: If you ever doubt my commitment to TSJ, remember that I could have gotten through the rest of the year without ever hearing this song had it not appeared in the blurber. And I definitely wouldn’t have seen its absolute godless abomination of a video. The song itself is mid, mostly just existentially inessential, but we need to take an absolutely harsh line against condoning shit like that video. To be very clear, I don’t mean the technology itself, which I imagine could be used in all sorts of worthwhile creative and/or horrifying ways. I mean the specific cultural, aesthetic, emotional context of this video. I could be the world’s biggest Beatles fan or hater (I’m neither!) and I would still feel the same way and give this the same mark.
[0]

Tim de Reuse: Given what the meaning of the term has warped into in the last year, the only reason to describe the use of source-separation methods as “Artificial Intelligence” to the general public is if you want people to think that a room full of sweaty engineers created a Lennon effigy out of linear algebra and poked it until it sang. The idea of finishing the work of somebody long-dead, making a collage of the debris that fell off of them when they were still breathing — well, that’s centuries old. Were they scared that the phrase “New Beatles Song” wouldn’t cut it? Need to zhuzh it up a little? The idea that the Beatles, of all groups, would need a little sprinkle of our flaccid un-future to remain relevant is deeply funny to me — doubly so, after noting how unremarkable the tune itself is, and how that pleasant unremarkability is exactly what people appear to be responding to. In the present moment we’d all kill for a pleasantly unremarkable week. Why on earth would you want to remind people that they’re living in 2023?
[6]

Will Adams: “Hello, my name is Princess Jane. I would like to show you some tricks. I hope you enjoy it.”
[0]

Michael Hong: Garbage in, garbage out.
[2]

Andrew Karpan: Among the great, indelible images of the early 21st century ought to be the sputtering, GIF-like loop of John Lennon joyfully playing with his tie, significance perhaps unknown until commissioned for use to illustrate a song he never knew he was writing and was only foggily aware of singing. Whether a revelation as advertised, or a creepy “echoey mausoleum” as warned is besides the point, since it isn’t quite a song so much as a curious facsimile of one. Feels perverse to listen to it with anything besides curious awe.
[3]

Hannah Jocelyn: Damn “Now and Then,” you’ve got the whole audiophile squad laughing. You have cutting edge AI technology, but not a dynamic EQ to take the resonances on John Lennon’s voice? You have the last song from a legendary classic rock group, then seemingly slam an OTT instance on the mix bus to make it “modern?” The mastering engineer Miles Showell even said that he worked with the less limited mix, calling back to the last big audiophile controversy. And yet, Ringo’s drums come in and I’m suddenly mini-Hannah, equally mesmerized by “Strawberry Fields Forever” and “Yellow Submarine” because I had no conception of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ yet. There IS a lot to love, if you’re able to pick it out without turning on Dolby Atmos; Lennon’s melody is unassumingly beautiful, and I even like Paul trying to be George with the slide guitar solo. The string arrangement is very Phil Spector-overworking-Let-It-Be, and Lennon would probably hate it, but I find it lovely. At any rate, it’s better than “Postcards from Paradise.”
[6]

Frank Falisi: Rough season to be a late–era McCartney truther. Why do you begin to think of your aesthetic project as dying in public? Politicians don’t have the gumption to consider their mortality, so we’re just left with the rot sloughing down the tubes of democracy, same as it ever was. What about pop stars? What about one of the pre-eminent experimental melodists in modern pop music? Living in the sundown shadow reach of every friend and lover and enemy, gone and departed before you. And to wake up, fingers cracked with England winter cold, capable of moving a bass string, just slower. To be on the worst end of the commodity inquest: they can keep bleeding your memory bank dry for dividends. A photo book, a lyric book, another lyric book, a legacy tour. Just one more memory in the bank. When does being garish back feel like all you can do? When does it not matter if you’re composing out of love, if you’re trying to write a new song, if you’re trying to square your slowing mornings and long long nights — every gesture gets legacy gnarl, an emotional formaldehyde that inverse’s pop’s gummy possibility. Lennon became a dorm-room poster ka-ching! before the dirt went cold. How else was it ever going to end? Why would an extractive system that can commodify even a novel melody, a heated-up lust change in how it treats its old stories? No Dylan Thomas rage, no Cohen hallelujah here, just the sneer of another old compatriot walking the long hallway blind to the end: “Because something is happening here but you don’t know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones?”
[0]

Jonathan Bradley: A ghost of John Lennon summoned via digital séance, it hovers insubstantially in gloopy piano ectoplasm, bereft of melody, direction, purpose.
[3]

Brad Shoup: As a band that famously lived and created in the moment, the Beatles rarely had the sense of an ending. They were as fond of bits as statements, so they chased their two most renowned album closers with, respectively, pureed studio nonsense and a joke ditty about QEII. Though I’d take “Her Majesty” over “Get Back” any day, Let It Be (released after but mostly recorded before Abbey Road) became the final word on studio Beatles. The Anthology project offered a couple dreamy, slight psych-pop tunes that — because they were based on compositions from a dead Beatle at his most placid — couldn’t be anything other than valedictory. In the years since we’ve had reductive Beatles and recombinant Beatles, and now, finally, maybe, retiring Beatles. “Now and Then” is as joyless as I’ve ever heard them. Not tired or dutiful, but lost: there’s no trace of the bantering lads re-introduced in the Peter Jackson documentary. At their best, the Fabs felt like they were playing for each other as much as the world. Down two Beatles now, and again working off a John composition, they can only sound like they’re playing to each other. The mix is as blue-gray as the cover art: little vocal homages to their past are buried in the churn. The string arrangement is ghastly. Paul’s slide-guitar tribute to George — in itself pretty funny, considering Paul’s famous scene commandeering George’s playing in the Let It Be film — ends up in “Scar Tissue” territory. But even though I don’t like this song, John’s melody has stuck with me for a month now. By all accounts, it sounds like it’s stuck with Paul (who knows from indelible melodies) for decades. There’s something in its hesitancy, its uncertainty, in the way that it carries all this naked need to the door without knowing what’s on the other side. My mom died — suddenly, unexpectedly — in January, so I’ve spent a lot of fucking time trying to get the sense of an ending. I’ve hung out with my father more this year than the last five put together, which means I’ve been talking about the Beatles more than usual. He doesn’t care for “Now and Then”: it’s too sodden for him, too maudlin. I think he would feel that way regardless. But I understand Paul and Ringo’s desire to summon their beloved John, to sing him back here and home again. And I understand why, when I play this, I mostly hear pain.
[5]