“Sgt. Pepper” was unquestionably the most innovative pop record of the last century. It was brash, irreverent, and optimistic; it combined new and old art forms in a way that had never been seen before. With the exception of the remarkable “A Day in the Life” and “When I’m Sixty-Four,” however, the individual songs have not worn that well. When was the last time you heard “Lovely Rita?” What about “Fixing a Hole?”
“Magical Mystery Tour” was the complete opposite. The individual songs are among the best that Lennon and McCartney ever wrote, but the album as a whole is gloomy, largely because of the preference for cellos over guitars. There are a few duds, too. The public never completely embraced it, in spite of its brilliance.
And then there is “White Album,” which once again took the band in a completely different direction. This time, the concept, for the most part, is parodies of a wide range of musical forms. The cellos are gone; guitars are back. And the record, unlike its predecessors, is mostly outward looking, sarcastic, and angry. That was undoubtedly due to two things. First, as we know, the band members weren’t getting along; second, it was 1968. There was a lot out there to piss you off.
To me, “White Album” is George Harrison’s finest moment, not as a writer–that was “Abbey Road,” to which he contributed two truly great songs–but as a performer. His guitar is the driving force behind the record. He deserves more credit for the album’s success than he generally receives.