Roll Over, Beatles Fans – But Not For This

The truth is, I got used to those versions, which lack the audio tampering that was also committed on the poor U.S. editions. In addition to cannibalizing the U.K. albums — and therefore, the band’s artistic statements — to create 12-track releases (instead of 14) and to package the singles as album tracks, Capitol also added reverb. This juggling went on until Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, which is why this set contains only what came out until that point, plus the CD debut of Hey Jude. Like the U.K. reissues and two Capitol box sets of early releases, mono and stereo mixes are included. The box also contains the first-time CD releases of the U.S. Revolver and A Hard Day’s Night versions and the U.S.-only Yesterday and Today (including both the banned “butcher” cover, an indictment of Capitol’s cannibalism, and the lame replacement; no wonder they were frowning on that one), plus a “musical biography” titled The Beatles Story.

Useful mainly for containing songs that never made it onto albums in the U.K., it’s a completists’ thing. Who would rather listen to an 11-song Revolver when the 14-song version is what the band wanted us to hear, after all? And you will need a scorecard to figure out what originally was supposed to go where. But it makes me happy to have U.K. and U.S. versions at last, so I know I have everything.

Because at this point, I’d rather listen to the albums than endure anything like the TV tribute the other night. I must preface this by saying I write for grammy.com, and value the opportunity to do so. I respect the Recording Academy and all it does to support music and those who make it. But I believe Beatles fans — and the Beatles themselves, including the forever-mourned John and George — would have been better served by a documentary tribute than a hyped up “reunion” show that contained a confounding number of head-scratching moments.

I mean, L.L. Cool J? Couldn’t we at least have had an emcee old enough to remember sitting in front of the TV on Feb. 9, 1964? The Tom Hanks-co-produced CNN documentary, “The Sixties: The British Invasion,” suffered from that same issue: too many talking-head “experts” whose credibility was automatically compromised, if ever so slightly, because they talked knowingly about a time they couldn’t have recalled. It would be different if there weren’t still so many of us around who could speak with more authority because we do remember.

There were some fine moments in the Grammy tribute. Dave Grohl reprised portions of his 2013 South By Southwest keynote speech, admitting, “I can honestly say that if it weren’t for the Beatles, I would not be a musician,” before rocking out with Jeff Lynne on “Hey Bulldog.” The shots of his Beatles-digging young daughter on his lap, and Ringo Starr’s shoutout to her, were delightful. (If any moment of that show encapsulated the endurance of their remarkable catalog, that was it.) And Eric Idle doing his Rutles bit was pure joy for this All You Need is Cash fan.

Stevie Wonder brought some funk, and Gary Clark Jr.’s soulful “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” a duet with fellow guitar wizard Joe Walsh, was killer, though Walsh’s nasal vocals aren’t right for that song. Alicia Keys’ and John Legend’s piano/vocal duet on “Let It Be” was chill-inducing. And unlike most viewers, I kind of liked Keith Urban and John Mayer’s on “Don’t Let Me Down.”

But Katy Perry doing “Yesterday?” Brad Paisley and Pharrell Williams on “Here Comes the Sun?” All of that was far more about label pull and ratings than seriously paying homage. On top of that, the dreadful, hugely distracting faux-hippie scenery projections were such nauseating overkill (anachronism-filled as they were), I contemplated filing an obscenity complaint with the FCC.

But the real obscenity was watching Paul and Ringo having to act like they were enjoying even the weaker moments. Too many times, the cameras’ pans across an audience acting with far more enthusiasm than the webisphere could muster made the whole thing feel creepily coached.

And truth be told, seeing Paul and Ringo together doing the lowest-common-denominator Beatles songs felt depressing, not uplifting. I’ve seen Paul give extraordinary performances of the Beatles’ finest material (as well as the dreck) in concert, which he’s still doing. And I’ve seen Ringo and his All-Starr Band more than once (including their first time on tour), and it always felt like a Vegas-y oldies revue, with high schlock value. It still does. Ringo still sings (and dances) like Ringo. He’s much better — even as a singer — when he gets behind the drums. (And watching Yoko dancing to “Boys” was priceless — especially when she tried to rope in Olivia.)

But most of the songs they performed, separately and together, were the least of the Beatles catalog. “Yellow Submarine?” “Birthday?” “A Little Help From My Friends?” It’s the most worn out of their work, and far from the best. At least Paul proved his continuing prowess with strong renditions of “Get Back” and “I Saw Her Standing There.” But he’s done these sets everywhere from Letterman to Buckingham Palace recently enough. Dave Letterman, in fact, at least gave this show some context; he would have been a great host (and probably turned it down).

As much as I love the Beatles and their legacy, and as much as I enjoyed seeing Paul and Ringo interacting, their shared performance was, for me, anticlimactic. I far more enjoyed the moments when Letterman walked them through the Ed Sullivan Theater and asked them about their experiences there.

In a recent interview with Benmont Tench, the discussion got around to the subject of this anniversary event and the Grammy-show performance by former Highwaymen Willie Nelson and Kris Kristofferson with Merle Haggard and Blake Shelton.

“It’s good to get them together, just emotionally, it’s good,” he noted. “In that case, the music becomes secondary. Because it’s an emotional reunion, is what it is.”

Yes, true.

Whether that takes a sad song and makes it better, I don’t know. I don’t know.

I do know the Beatles gave me my musical DNA. It’s an invaluable part of my soul, and I want to keep it that way. So no more overdubbing to suddenly discovered half-finished tracks. No more remastering of the now perfectly remastered legacy. And please, Ringo, no more “Yellow Submarine.”

Now, if Paul had gotten onstage with you and sung “Boys,” or the two of you had seriously rocked out to “Eight Days A Week” or “She Loves You,” I might be sitting here whining that I should have been there and can’t believe I missed it. But while I know some people will tune in to the show all over again when it airs tonight, and buy the inevitable DVD, I’ll stick to the discs — and the memories.