Andrew Eaton: The prompt

Published on Friday 11 September 2009 18:30

THE album, we keep being told, is a dying art form. In the age of Spotify and iTunes, who wants to listen to 40 minutes of music by the same artist, in a running order chosen by that artist? Who has the time? Songs – pop soundbites – are what matter in the rapid-fire 21st century, which is why the most talked about pop songs of the past decade, from Franz Ferdinand's Take Me Out to Girls Aloud's Biology, are the ones that seem to cram an album's worth of ideas into four minutes.

It's a mark of how enduring the Beatles are, then, that the spruced up re-release of all their albums feels like a fresh, exciting event rather than a sleepy nostalgia trip. Listening with more modern ears, what's striking is how much the later albums, in particular, sound like iTunes playlists. Going from Paul's Here There And Everywhere, to Ringo's Yellow Submarine, to John's She Said She Said (as you do on Revolver), is like listening to three different bands.

This, for me, was the strength of the Beatles albums, and makes them more convincing as coherent artistic statements. Sgt Pepper may have popularised the "concept album", but the bloated concept albums that followed in its wake (I'm talking about you, Quadrophenia and The Wall) missed its point. You don't need a self-conscious, overarching Big Idea for your album to be a work of art (as the Beatles seemed to decide themselves, jettisoning the Sgt Pepper concept mid-recording). What's wonderful about Beatles albums is the way that, playfully and without any great fuss, they surprise you at every turn. Old-fashioned one minute, wildly experimental the next, then just plain daft, like any thoughtfully assembled playlist they take you – cliche alert – on an emotional journey. This, obviously, was down to the different personalities in the group. A Beatles album wouldn't be the same without a George or Ringo number to change the mood.

And, for me, you don't experience that journey in the same way if you don't stay the course. The White Album, for example, is many fans' favourite, not because it has the best songs but because it best showcases the dizzy diversity of what the band could do. Who would listen to Revolution No. 9 on its own? In between Cry Baby Cry and Good Night, though, it makes sense.

By that logic, of course, you might as well just compile your own Beatles playlist. Make your own journeys, veer off the tourist trail. Fair enough. I'll probably join you at some point. But I kind of like the maps the band already made. v