A Matter of Attitude, or the Wisdom of the Rutles One thing that has always bothered me is the short shrift given to the content (not the form) of the first Rutles collection, and the near total lack of attention played to its decades-later followup, Archaeology. In the first case, analysis from the Beatle critical community seems to halt abruptly after identifying which particular song or songs is spoofed by a given Rutle cut. In the case of Archaeology, even less overall attention was paid to a resonant artistic meditation on age and music, no doubt due to the fact that the humor in this case was considerably more biting and sophisticated while less overt. The thesis here is that in some sense the Rutles, in both incarnations, can be of significant and important "attitudinal" value that is necessary to safely imbibe that provided by the Beatles, when, of course, combined with oral hygiene and regular professional care. To get to this point, I will first address what I call "the matter of attitude" as associated with music in general, and specifically with the Beatles. From there we will talk about the negative aspects of attitude that the Beatles have promulgated, however sincerely or unwittingly at the time, and the possible effects on fans. Thence we will voila our way to the Rutles as a sort of purgative, emetic, antidote, or medicine that helps the spoonful of sugar go down. Throughout, I will focus on specifics where possible, mostly well-documented sociological material associated with the Fabs, to keep the discussion concrete and maximize the reader's ability to verify the theses presented. Desperation, Satiation, Enervation Those familiar with the early story of the Beatles, as presented filmically in the Compleat Beatles and somewhat accurately in the semidocumentart film Backbeat, are well aware of some of the initial attitudes the group had before fame happened to them. The group, and especially leader Lennon, had a sense of desperation, a compulsion to "make it bigger than Elvis," for any number of plausible reasons. Economic gain, avoidance of standard employment patterns, sexual access, need to evade the pain of early parental deaths, plain old ego gratification, and creative desire for musical self-expression had to be among the components driving the group and its leader in those early days. Anecdotal evidence from almost every source is easily found to support this claim. What is most interesting to me and most pertinent to this article, however, is that these attitudes are very clearly expressed in, and easily internalized by anyone who listens to, the music itself. Besides the overt content on the records (the lyrics, the harmonies, incidental noises, and so forth) the component of "attitude," a sort of frozen emotional and intellectual posture if you will, is easily audible if you listen for it. I've written elsewhere how John's Romantic approach is discernible even in early material like There's A Place, and it's also easily observable that Paul's look-at-me entertainer persona was there from the very beginning as well. To me, every album, whether by a solo artist or a group, contains a sort of "emergent attitude" that the listener takes in, often unwittingly. Cases such as John's first solo album, Paul's Ram, and former Procol Harum organist Matthew Fisher's first solo work Journey's End, clearly have such an aspect, made accessible by the fact that the attitude component is so obvious and clearly stated. But I believe this factor has to be considered for every album, although often in more subtle ways. In addition to the Beatles' musical talents (wonderful voices, great songwriting, intuitive excellence at production as aided by George Martin), their personal charm (sense of humor, and the trousers!), and the obvious element of luck/timing, I contend herein that the attitude they had at the time, as embodied in their music, was another part of their initial appeal. Their success at getting this "pose" or "stance" across, and its wide-ranging appeal due to their four diverse yet unified personalities, led to the sociopsychological phenomenon so tellingly labeled "Beatlemania." George states in the Anthology video something to the effect that people "used us as an excuse to go daft." Of that there is no doubt. However, the Beatles actively encouraged and inculcated that excuse by exemplifying their own form of daftness. And once the beast was unleashed, it is no surprise that it went out of control. The emotional pitch of both the group and its millions of fans having been raised to an unsustainable level, negative fallout absolutely had to occur. Again, an elementary knowledge of the act easily calls to mind the record burnings in the South over the Jesus statement, the portrait of exhaustion on the cover of Beatles for Sale, and the manhandling by the Marcos dragoons in the Philippines. While the damage to the Beatles was easily visible and documentable, the damage done to the idolators- people like myself, who dressed like them, wore their hair like them, memorized everything about them- was more subtle, but at least as devastating. It is no good thing, he wrote, to attempt to become a pale imitation of someone else, however capable or famous in whatever realm. It's another short cut to a dead end, with the minimal loss being that of time, and the maximum being that of personal direction. Of special interest is that as of the Jesus comment, the Beatles began doing something that was eventually to ruin them completely: taking themselves too seriously. Certainly John's comments had merit, but he was clearly too optimistic about human nature in a sense, for he failed to realize that the emotional and ritual appeal of Christianity, established over the greater part of two millennia and institutionalized beyond imagination, would prove to be much more resilient than his arrogant, famous, twenty-something mind could understand. Worse, by violating one of the core attitudinal axioms of the group's fame (always play it for laughs, never take yourself too seriously), he set up himself and the group for a fall precisely parallel to their unprecedented rise. The Beatles' "middle period," post-mania, is characterized mostly by decreasing commercial sales of single records, and immense creativity in studio work and album crafting. Rubber Soul, Revolver, and Sergeant Pepper certainly show the group at its creative height by almost any standard, pushing the envelope farther than anyone hearing the original on the Decca Auditions could imagine, and filling that envelope with confetti, candy, meat, potatoes, metaphysical "strychnine," and perhaps even hidden, occult messages about death and enlightenment. What does seem clear is that by the end of Sergeant Pepper, the Beatles had exhausted their ability to innovate and progress as a group. The anecdote of the aimless jams the day Pepper was released, as given by Lewisohn in The Recording Sessions, in itself could be used to prove this point. One would be hard pressed to find any musical critic who thinks any subsequent album- despite the obvious merits of the White Album and Abbey Road- meets the standards of the three mentioned in the previous paragraph. And of course, at this point one would be derelict not to mention the drug influences, overt and covert, contained in those three albums and in statements and events from that era. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind, though the mileage of others may vary, that the three "peak" albums contain an attitude soaked in psychedelics and cannabis resin, an orgiastic vision of artistic achievement, and some hint of transcendence by those means, the phenomenon others have called the "Pepperland" era. I believe equally that there is no doubt that millions of people imitated this approach, consciously or subconsciously, overtly or covertly. And obviously, while there were good points to it all, overall, that imitation by fans was to their mass detriment. The mass media, and fans in general, loved Sergeant Pepper, and well they should have. Unfortunately, their response, and that of the Beatles as well, ended up exacerbating the "Jesus flaw-" they all took it far too seriously. It was a source of coded messages, a spiritual/musical bible of sorts, the encoded meaning of life by the four avatars of some new Aquarian age. All of which is balderdash, something that Keith Reid of Procol Harum might have had in mind when he used the phrase "technicolor blind alleys." Again, we have an "attitude problem;" again, negative effects on the group; and again, if only because of the numbers involved, a worse effect on the fan base and the populace at large. From here, as has been written more times and in more ways than could conceivable be necessary (a supportive data point in itself!), things get worse and worse. Failed TV specials, dalliances with gurus and cults, therapies, politics, vegetarianism, you name it- one effort after another to "deliver the goods" of truth to the fans through the media in the form of a simple anodyne is attempted, and fails. The effects on the band, of course, are well documented, and again all revolve around taking themselves too seriously and overreaching. The effects on the fans, again, are the worse if only because of sheer numbers- the Maharishi ends up atop a $3.5 billion dollar business, various other gurus and therapists are enriched, people do not find the answers for themselves because they are too busy copying and attempting to use the answers promulgated by the Beatles: and the very notion that one cannot approach these deeper matters by means of following and imitation becomes almost totally lost. Awareness, Emotion, Acceptance On one level, it would seem that at this point I have thoroughly tarred and feathered the greatest rock band in history; some observers would conclude that I am motivated by jealousy, or revenge, or a sense of superiority, or a need for attention, or that I simply do not like the group. I'll formally admit at this point that all such reasons may be true, except for the last. Be that as it may, nevertheless I am on record as an admirer and performer of the group's material, and I believe that the artistic merits of their work remain unquestioned. Many of the attitudinal components I have mentioned, especially relating to the early years, are ones I consider to be quite positive, and deserving of success. However rosy my opinion of those phenomena, unfortunately this article has to focus on the thorns, and more importantly, how to heal previous, even infected wounds therefrom, and of course the provision of methodologies to avoid further injury. Those who view this mission as unnecessary, or doubt my qualifications for attempting it, may be right and certainly are entitled to an opinion. However, this is a free information culture, and in that sense I am "well within my rights." I rest equally certain that however much mud I may appear to have slung, there are at least some jewels embedded in it. I further assert that the power to make these determinations freely and individually is at least one reason why each of us was issued a personal brain. So once one becomes aware of some of the ideas embodied in this piece, and has at least some acceptance of the notion that there was in a sense "attitudinal poison" contained among the obvious nutrients in Beatle music- and once one accepts, at least as a working hypothesis perhaps strengthened by experience, that repeated listenings in a state of emotional arousal often abetted by drugs or alcohol could cause a form of attitudinal contagion with detrimental effects on the listener- where do you go from there? First of all, I'd say it's time to realize that you've already gotten somewhere. Assuming merit in the information I've presented so far, the reader is now able to think and process information about the Beatles or any music in a different way, to add this attitudinal contagion perspective to their quiver of critical arrows. This view, for example, in some ways illuminates the dark incompletion of Brian Wilson's Smile album, and many others. Merely knowing these facts can act as a form of inoculation against further infection, and as at least a partial cure for an existing, and I choose this word totally, dis-ease. The more cognition, it says here, the less dissonance. The other half of the answer, at least as it appears from my current vantage point, is easily stated in one word: Neil. Innes, that is. The Rutles have the answer, because they absolutely embody the notion, one of immense value, that one can revere and even emulate the Beatles (or the Beach Boys or Procol Harum or anybody) WITHOUT TAKING YOURSELF OR THE GROUP TOO SERIOUSLY. The Rutle "attitude," as conveyed in the previous sentence in bold capital letters, is the other half of the cure for lingering Beatlemania, and a vaccine against similar disorders that result from "attitude abuse." It's the interplay, then, between the information I present here in a psychological and sociological context, and the humorous yet serious, admiring yet irreverent, attitude that the Rutles embody, that is the cure, that is where to go. It's the antidote that allows one to take in the Beatle experience whole, without negative side effects. The sound, if you will, of two hands clapping, the recipe for balance and emotional and psychological ballast. I've already gone on far too long, so it is time to close and start working on my own pathetic musical career, despite the obvious futility of such. Hopefully I will not take it too seriously. For those of you interested in pursuing this matter further, and realizing the benefits of working on this matter individually rather than through the rantings of obviously deviant and dysfunctional people like myself (assuming there are any), I'd suggest listening, or reading where available, the lyrics to every Rutles song. I'd suggest taking those lyrics seriously in some sense, as poetry with an extremely useful message. But don't follow me, "you're all individuals..." Revision 1 Copyright Greg Panfile 5-18-99, all rights reserved