It’s about time to put something to rest. A debate that always crops up around once a year. Everyone has an opinion. Some opinions are based on knowledge. Some are based on prejudice. Some are based on simply trying to be cool.
But I have the answer, and I want this put to bed for the last time:
Paul was the best Beatle.
I went through my obsessive Beatle phase when I was fourteen. Like, proper obsessed. And in this phase, which lasted approx 18 months, I cycled through every Beatle being my favourite…it’s okay. I’Ve been there. I lived through it and I’m out the other side. And with me I bring wisdom and clarity.
My reasons for each round of favouritism were pretty much the same as everyone else’s, regardless of what our age is. I may have been only 14, but I saw the exact same qualities in each member as the most hardened experts.
Let’s run though the reasons why everyone declares their Beatle the best:
Pros: The hit-making kudos of Paul without the saccharine and cheese. Funny. Clever. Had god accessories. Wrote Imagine. And most importantly…died young, in sudden and tragic fashion.
Cons: Wife beating, sexist, cruel, adulterating, pretentious, asshole. Mocked the disabled, and was an total dickbag to everyone he met. Shitty father. Controlling to Yoko. Creepy obsession with his mother.
So lets just put Imagine and his martyr-like demise aside, and just agree that John is out. To argue otherwise makes you a woman-hater.
Pros: Wrote Here Comes the Sun and Something.
Cons: Only wrote Here Comes the Sun and Something.
This is the hardest of all the arguments. Yes, I agree that George is the COOLEST Beatle, but you cannot give him the crown based on two songs. The most astounding, amazing, mind-blowing thing about the Beatles is how their entire career lasted a mere eight years, and they transformed and evolved in ways that takes other artists decades, if at all! You’ll be lucky to get one Radiohead or U2 album in 8 years. They went from teddy boy pop to LSD nightmares, to hippy zen and released an average of 1.7 albums a year in the process. Yeah there’s the trash songs, but for every Maxwell’s Silver Hammer there’s four Eleanor Rigby’s. On the basis of averages, quantity, and lasting legacy, George cannot win this argument.
Pros: Adorably cute in the runt of the litter in a pudgy and eager to please Labrador puppy kind of way. An alright actor.
Cons: There’s no blatant shit things about Ringo. It’s just that he’s…Ringo.
Only Hipsters and people who think they’re too cool and smart to be mainstream argue for Ringo. I mean, pretend that by picking Ringo, you must therefore burn every single other Beatles song from existence, that he did not write or sing on. What are you left with? Yup, enjoy that teeny tiny little album.
Which leaves us with…
Pros: Deceptively simple melodies that seems like it existed in your mind forever yet it wholly original? Sweet and beautiful piano? Catchy chorus? Warm and friendly tones? Wrote Yesterday in a dream? Here There and Everywhere? Paperback Writer? Cute? Talented, great, girlfriends? Wrote a song dedicated to his love for an Old English Sheepdog? Eternally in love with and devoted to his first wife? Loving father? Band on the Run? Yup well that will all be Paul.
Cons: He’s not COOL. Okay. I admit it. You don’t like him because he reminds you of your Dad or your Geography teacher. Ob la Di Ob la da should be obliterated…but why do you go on and on about this song, and neglect to mention any of Lennon’s just-as-numerous shit songs?
Finally, Paul didn’t get shot in 1980. If he did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation and he’d get the artistic credit and recognition that he deserves.
As harsh and horrible as it sounds, the biggest crime against Paul is that he’s still alive. And how awful is that? I always feel so sad about this fact, but I feel it’s the truth.
So please put aside your petty, school-kid like bias. Shrugging and saying that PAUL IS SHIT is no better or mature than declaring that POP MUSIC IS DUMB, TAYLOR SWIFT ISN’T A PROPER MUSICIAN or RADIOHEAD ARE THE BEST BAND EVER.
Snobbery works both ways, y’know?
I made you a playlist. The only rule is that you get up and dance for Nineteen-Hundred-and-Eighty-Five.