5. “Hey Jude”
It began with something very personal. John Lennon had separated from his wife Cynthia, with a divorce forthcoming. Paul McCartney felt bad for Cynthia, but also for her son Julian, who was still just a little boy. Paul had become good friends with the lad, so much so that Julian would later recall spending much more time with McCartney than with his Dad. So Paul decided to visit, and on the car ride over began to compose a simple song to try and cheer the child up.
From such a humble beginning “Hey Jude” was born, a song that is ubiquitous even today, some 40 years or so since its release in 1968. And yet it hasn’t lost any of its impact, any of its power to uplift, to encourage, to sustain, to console. It’s become nothing less than an anthem for anyone suffering from the immediate sting of loss, a song that pinpoints the part of us that hurts the most and begins the healing process almost immediately through the sheer force of its good-natured will.
Over the years, many people have tried to come up with other possible inspirations for the song other than Paul’s obvious explanation. Lennon heard it as a song about him and his newfound relationship with Yoko; others heard Macca’s song as a bit of advice to himself; and still others have come out of the woodwork claiming the song is about them. You know what? They’re all right. That’s the beauty of “Hey Jude.” It’s constructed in such a way that it belongs to everyone, a bastion of hope in the bleakest of hours.
Paul could have kept the song at the personal level and sprinkled in details that would have narrowed the song’s focus, and it likely would have worked, but not on the scale that it does. The Beatles usually swung for the cheap seats with their songs, going for the broadest possible audience a large percentage of the time, especially on their singles. They did this not by pandering, but by presenting their own takes on universal themes and doing so in novel ways, giving the listener a perspective they might not have heard before or even shedding a light on a perspective inside of the listener that they didn’t even know they had.
The sound of “Hey Jude” has been so widely cannibalized over the years by every rock ballad that you can wave a lighter at that it’s easy to forget that the song is as influential as it is moving. Paul’s plink-plunk piano style has, for better or worse, become the standard for every band or artist wanting to show their sensitive side. Most times these moves come off as cynical, but for The Beatles it was an organic progression and what suited the song best.
The gradual introduction of each instrument also is taken for granted today, but again, it was something new at the time. Most rock songs came on full bore from start to finish, but on “Hey Jude,” The Beatles found a way to let the song breathe and to allow each new sound to bring something novel to the table. Starting with just Paul’s piano and vocal, the song eventually encompassed a gigantic orchestra blaring out the refrain in the coda. Along the way, Ringo Starr’s gently intuitive drums are a real standout; his drumming has what sports fans call “touch,” that indefinable and unteachable ability to know precisely what was needed for each song in terms of loudness or beat. The backing vocals are particularly memorable as well, and leave it to Lennon to deflate the somber proceedings by dropping the F-bomb. (Listen real close for his voice in the last verse right as Paul sings “then you begin.”)
The song itself is deceptively simple once you take away all the ornate touches. The melody gets you right in the gut without being needlessly complex. The chords are pretty straightforward. And Paul sings right on the melody, letting his direct lyrics do the talking. There is some real cosmic beauty in those lyrics. “For well you know that it’s a fool/Who plays it cool/By making his world a little colder.” Those are lines that we all get immediately and yet they never occurred to us before.
Once again, this is a McCartney-type message, illustrating the difference between John and him. Whereas Lennon accepted loneliness and isolation as a part of the tapestry of life in songs like “Strawberry Fields Forever” and “Nowhere Man,” Paul strives against it and offers alternatives. Even Lennon could relate to Paul’s point of view. When Paul debated dropping the line “The movement you need is on your shoulder,” John wouldn’t allow it. John knew what Paul subconsciously was getting at: that even when all hope seems lost, there is always something to guide us. Whether it’s God, or a lost loved one, or even just our own inner strength, it’s there.
Lest you think I forgot, it’s time we got to the coda, that cathartic round of na-na-nas that takes the song into infinity. It’s the answer that Paul has been promising for the entire song, the movement that will set us free from sorrow. I mentioned this idea when discussing “Two Of Us,” but the wishful-thinking part of me hears that coda as The Beatles jamming endlessly on these three chords, even as the song fades out. When we need them the most, we can always reach for “Hey Jude,” and we’ll find The Beatles forever talking in our very own personal sad song, and making it better.
4. Golden Slumbers/Carry That Weight/The End
Before I begin, I fully realize that I’ve pretty much broken every rule that I’ve laid down for this list by including all three songs of the closing medley on Abbey Road in one entry. I know that I split up the previous medley on the album into individual songs. I apologize. My logic is that these songs are so seamlessly entwined, not only on record but in our hearts and minds, that I wouldn’t dare separate them. Simple as that.
I also would like to implore you not to try to take any personal relevance from these songs when you listen to them. I know I’ve stressed over and over again that The Beatles were great at taking their own personal experiences and turning them into songs that resonated with listeners and all that mumbo-jumbo, but kick that right to the curb here. Even if these songs do resonate with you, stop your resonating right now. The Beatles gave us enough that we should allow this goodbye to be solely about them, and nothing else.
Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, all I can say about this amazing medley is…wow! And this is coming from someone who hates medleys with a passion. When I see one on a music awards show I begin to babble incoherently and compose manifestos against the practice. You can check them out on my website, jbevs1001reasonswhymedleysshouldbedestro
This medley is proof that Paul McCartney had the foresight to be concerned about The Beatles legacy, even while the group members themselves were at a time of extreme dysfunction. There was little secret among the band that Abbey Road would be the last album they would record, so Paul rallied the troops for an appropriately majestic sendoff.
And how fitting to frame it as a lullaby. He was, after all, putting The Beatles to bed. Throughout the medley, Macca does an amazing job of saying so much with very little verbiage. When you get right down to it, this medley has very few lyrics to speak of. But every one of those sparse words counts, especially that killer opening line: “Once there was a way to get back homeward.” This is the chilling admission that fans around the world never wanted to hear, a line that speaks of chances lost and opportunities missed and the heartbreaking feeling that The Beatles could not go home again. Once, maybe, but not now, not anymore.
Once Ringo clears a path with his snares, Paul sings the refrain with tremendous power, putting all of his pent-up frustration and anger into those ancient lines. This is a lullaby that will actually wake you from any lingering dreams and leave you in the cold harsh light of the unforgiving truth. But, at the moment when there seems to be no consolation left to give, the booming refrain of “Carry That Weight” kicks in.
There has been much interpretation as to whom Paul intended this part. Speculation runs from a dig at Lennon to a self-administered pep talk by Paul to a more recent critical view that sees the song as a way of admitting that the solo careers that would await the band would never live up to The Beatles’ legacy. I think there is a bit of truth in all of those. I see it as Paul acknowledging that the four men would always have to carry the weight of being a Beatle, not just in terms of the shadows cast over their career but in terms of the way they were viewed in everyday life. In many ways, no matter what they would do henceforth, their individuality was sacrificed forever, and they would always have to live up to the Beatles standard, whether it be in the studio or just walking down the street.
But even with this burden being borne, the music and the melody is upbeat, as if that lofty brass was spurring the afflicted forward. A refrain of “You Never Give Me Your Money” is next, a clear-eyed reference to the petty problems that had beset the group. In the face of all this pressure, they were breaking down.
“The End” refuses to let things finish on any down note. It’s more like a completion of the concert that The Beatles had put on for the dozen or so years since John and Paul first got together. And what better time to let their hair down and go to town on their instruments. After Paul sets the stage with his feverish belting, Mr. Richard Starkey takes his first and only drum solo with the group, a moment of thrilling indulgence that he had earned through so many years of bowing before the songs. The three remaining members take turns blasting through the boogie-rock beat with scorching solos, taking it all back to The Cavern once again.
After John’s final fuzzy blast, the air clears with some tinkling piano, and Paul gives his final pronouncement, with John and George in bittersweet harmony one last time: “And in the end/the love you take/is equal to the love/you make.” Hollywood screenwriters would kill for a closing line so concise and profound. And it somehow encapsulates everything the boys had been telling us since the beginning. It’s not the end of the line, but the completion of a circle of, what else, love, eternal and unbreakable, like a beautiful song that never fades out. The Beatles let out one final harmonized sigh, as if their work is finally done.
The perfect symmetry of this medley would be messed up by the carcass of the Get Back project being dragged into the world as Let It Be after the demise of the group had already occurred. But enough time has passed that we can appreciate the “Golden Slumbers/Carry That Weight/The End” medley as the Grand Finale that it was intended to be and that the group deserved. In the end, only The Beatles could write the fitting ending to their world-changing story.
3. “She’s Leaving Home”
Two names for your next Beatles trivia quiz: Mike Leander and Sheila Bromberg. Any guesses? Leander was responsible for the beautiful string arrangement on “She’s Leaving Home,” filling in for George Martin who was busy at the time Paul McCartney wanted it to be done during the Sgt. Pepper’s sessions. And Bromberg plays the harp on the track, becoming the first female to appear on a Beatles’ recording.
And, yes, I did say harp. And I don’t mean a harmonica being called a harp. I mean a harp, as in upscale-brunch harp. St. Peter-at-the-gates-of-heaven harp. Yanni harp. So what, you may ask, is a song with a harp doing ranked so well on a list of songs by a rock band?
Well, if rock’n’roll is the music of youthful rebellion, than “She’s Leaving Home” fits that bill as well as any song in The Beatles’ canon. Only it’s not the cathartic, spit-at-your-elders rebellion of punk rock. Nor is it the nihilistic, the-world-is-a-dump rebellion of grunge.
What it is, Beatles fans, is a mature, realistic story that depicts the generation gap in stunning detail. It’s a song that understands that while the us-against-them view of the relationship between kids and parents may be appealing to teenagers, the truth is rarely that black and white. Paul McCartney and John Lennon dare to humanize the parents in “She’s Leaving Home,” taking a newspaper item about a young runaway girl and turning it into a moving treatise on the way that generational miscommunication can develop into something that’s equal parts tragic and liberating.
McCartney wrote the music and much of the lyrics here, but he also deserves credit for the subversive casting of John as the aggrieved parents. The lyrics are cinematic in scope. Notice that the girl who runs away never utters a word in the song, leaving a letter to do her talking; her parents have long since lost the ability to hear her cries for help. But she’s not angry when she leaves, nor is she initially happy. The one brief glimpse of her mindset is gleaned from her “clutching her handkerchief,” so that it’s nearby when the tears fall. She’s not just carrying it, but she’s holding on to it for dear life, perhaps as a sign of stress, perhaps to steel her resolve for what she’s about to do.
In verse two, the parents discover the letter, and the scene of the mother standing momentarily frozen is a real grabber. The mother referring to her husband as “Daddy” is the height of irony, since his parenting skills clearly left a bit to be desired. Further evidence of this comes from their first reaction, which is not concern for their daughter’s well-being, but rather rampant self-pity.
The neatest trick that Lennon and McCartney pull off here is the way they play with the sequence of events. The verses move forward in linear fashion, but the refrains have the parents stuck in that moment in which they find the letter. As the girl moves forward to her new life, making appointments and new friends just two days after her departure, the parents can only proceed internally, going through three stages of grief in the three choruses: shock, denial, and then acceptance. That acceptance, which seems to be prodded along by Paul gently singing the title refrain until it sinks in, comes finally when the parents understand their mistakes.
But the point to take away is that they were not intentionally harming this girl. In their minds, they thought they were doing the right thing by their daughter. To their credit, the song doesn’t show them frantically searching for her at the end. Instead, their last words are a heartbreaking farewell. Maybe they finally realized that the girl’s freedom would be more beneficial to her than all of their monetary gifts. It’s like the old maxim that says you should let your kids choose their own path, and eventually it will lead them home.
That may not be the anarchic message of your prototypical rock song, and certainly the method of conveying that message, via harps and strings with nary a drum, wasn’t run-of-the-mill either. The Beatles understood that there was more to rock that guitars and drums, just as they realized there was more to parents and children than just clichéd rancor. “She’s Leaving Home” is the realization of all of that foresight and insight. All rock music should be so accomplished.
2. “I Am The Walrus”
“It’s one of those that has enough little biddies going to keep you interested even a hundred years later.” – John Lennon, describing “I Am The Walrus” on The Beatles Anthology.
What can I possibly add to that to properly do justice to “I Am The Walrus”? That really says it all. You didn’t think I’d be fool enough to try to analyze this famously indecipherable song. Many have tried to parse those lyrics, and more power to ‘em. But as for me, I’ve always chosen to bask in the wonderful inscrutability of this colossal track from 1967, and leave the analysis alone.
After all, wasn’t the whole point of this song to confound easy interpretation? Lennon had heard about the fact that certain schools were studying Beatles’ lyrics as if they were poetry. John decided to pick up that gauntlet and construct a narrative that makes Ulysses look like a nursery rhyme. As if he was saying, let’s see what they can make of this.
Hence you get crazy word-association phrases like “pornographic priestess” and “elementary penguin,” and nonsensical non-sequiturs like “Man you shoulda seen ‘em kicking Edgar Allan Poe.” It doesn’t matter that you can’t actually “get a tan from standing in the English rain;” in this surreal context, it all somehow makes sense.
I don’t think it’s any coincidence that Lennon took inspiration for the title from Lewis Carroll’s “The Walrus And The Carpenter,” a poem in which the titular characters entice a bunch of oysters to go on a moonlight stroll and then feast on them. There’s not much of a moral to the story, nor does there always have to be. “I Am The Walrus” is a testament to that.
Contrasting all the verbal whimsy is a musical track that generates high drama from a strange commingling of instruments and an odd structure. The swirling strings play off Ringo’s insatiable beat, which breaks down now and again, both for John’s “I’m crying” interlude and a bizarre bridge that saunters slowly forward until rejoining the main rhythm.
Best of all is that coda, which, instead of doing the normal thing and slowly dying down, insists on soaring higher and higher amidst crazy chanted vocals and disembodied voices everywhere. It’s an absolutely exhilarating piece of work, both frenzied and light-hearted but still indescribably compelling.
Of course, here I am celebrating a song that poo-poohs the endless dissection of Beatles’ songs, when I’ve been doing exactly that in this list for the past few months. I think the point here is that these songs work both ways. As I’ve grown older, I’ve delved deeper into the meanings and looked at how certain musical ideas were used to express those meanings. But, like everyone else, there was once a first time for me hearing these songs, and my first experience with the majority of them came became before I was even in college, probably about half before I was even in my teens. The songs hit me on a basic, unthinking level that needed no further inspection to figure out why. That I’ve chosen, over the years and in this list, to really burrow into the songs does not in any way lessen the guttural impact they still have on me when they pop up on my stereo.
I think that “I Am The Walrus” is the perfect embodiment of that phenomenon more than any other Beatles song. I’m not sure that I’ll ever put my finger on why I love it so, or why it nearly made the very top of this personal list. All I’m sure about is that when it comes on, I don’t want it to end. When it does end, I want to hear it again immediately. If I tried to get any deeper than that, I might miss out on all the “little biddies” that make the song such a joy. No analysis necessary.
1. A Day In The Life
I received Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band from my parents as a 9th birthday present, in 1981. I had annoyed the whole family by constantly nagging them to put the Greatest Hits 1962-66 album that we owned on the turntable (which I wasn’t allowed to touch), and so they bought me Sgt. Pepper’s on that long-lost method of conveying music, the 8-track tape.
I didn’t care at the time about the annoying program switches on the machine, which sounded like a toaster burping, nor was I aware that the songs were way out of order from their intended sequence. All that mattered was that I could play The Beatles all by myself and get totally absorbed in this fascinating music while adding to the repertoire of Fab 4 songs that I knew word-for-word.
Even with the jumbled order, “A Day In The Life” was still at the end, where it was always supposed to be. I put my dad’s headphones on, which threatened to tip me over, and listened to it over and over, absorbing every nook and cranny of the recording until I could play it in my head from start to finish when I had to be away from the stereo.
“A Day In The Life,” to me, is the quintessence of what The Beatles are all about. On that song they took the seemingly mundane ordinariness of everyday life and showed it in a different light, and suddenly the view changed. Suddenly the drear of existence seemed flush with possibilities, even if those possibilities were only accessible via the corridors of one’s own mind. While the lyrics drolly looked at the limits of reality, the music dared to suggest those limits were illusory and easily shattered.
Let’s take it from the top, shall we? As the crowds cheer at the end of the “Sgt. Pepper’s” reprise, the gentle acoustic strumming of John Lennon is heard. And his very first line can’t hide his lack of enthusiasm for the story he’s about to tell: “I read the news today oh boy.” The world-weary sarcasm is impossible to miss, even with John’s voice at its most ethereal. He then proceeds to tell an odd tale about a man who’s “made the grade,” which would seem to be a positive thing, at least until it’s revealed that he’s apparently been killed in a car accident.
Or has he? The car-accident reading is backed by Lennon’s later interviews in which he claimed to be referencing the death of a young, moneyed friend of the Fab 4 a few months before “A Day In The Life” was recorded. But in the song, John sounds like somebody who keeps changing his story in an attempt to keep the listener’s interest. The line “Well I just had to laugh” doesn’t seem like the proper response to a tragedy, unless the harsh truth of the situation inspired some typical Lennon gallows humor. And as for “He blew his mind out in a car/He didn’t notice that the lights had changed,” that sounds like an impatient fellow honking his horn at the car in front of him, oblivious that the traffic light was now red. The whole verse plays out like a dream, and dreams will play a heavy role throughout the song.
The second verse takes place in an entirely different scene with no connection to the first, again a dreamlike non-sequitur. Here Lennon is watching a war movie that sounds suspiciously like How I Won The War, the film Lennon had just completed with Beatles’ movie director Richard Lester. The crowd of people suddenly has no interest and departs, which is perhaps John’s winking reference at the film’s critical or commercial shortcomings.
Up to now, the music has been gentle and controlled, distinguished by Lennon’s acoustic strumming, Paul McCartney’s bass, and Ringo Starr’s tom-tom-heavy drums. But when Lennon switches to falsetto for the line “I’d love to turn you on,” the music, as if on cue, breaks out of the stately restraint and begins to come alive. This is not your run-of-the-mill orchestral crescendo. It sounds like the instruments are racing each other in a feverish effort to get to the necessary chord first. This brilliant flourish, conceived by McCartney, is a marvel of shambolic grandeur that seems to mirror the entirety of the human race rushing to find a meaning to their existence. While we may have admired the pretty opening verses, for the first time in the song we are awake and alive.
Paul takes over in the next section, a bouncy piano-driven jaunt depicting a typically harried weekday morning. Macca was inspired by his school days, but the section works just as well as a reflection of the average working man or woman’s frantic race to start their day. Listen to the way Paul describes every little task as a grind or a mishap: “Fell out of bed.” “Dragged a comb across my head.” “Found my way downstairs.” “Looking up, I noticed I was late.” Nothing is easy on this morning, but the buoyant rhythm propels him, and us, along to get through it all.
Once arriving, Paul has a smoke (you can decide for yourself what kind) and we’re back in a dream, once again at the expense of the drudgery of routine. Lennon’s voice floats though the heavy horns as if being buffeted about by them. At times, he seems in danger of being out there too long, so distant does he seem. Only the orchestra can drag him back for the final verse.
Now Lennon is at the newspaper again, but this time the happy beat from Paul’s middle section is along for the ride. The absurdity of his final verse emphasizes his theme that the banality of the daily grind can drive you mad, as he relates a true story about an excess of potholes in the town of Blackburn. This last item in this litany of the strange but true, that they, whoever they are that cares for such a trivial item, can now ascertain the amount of potholes to fit into the Albert Hall, is so meaningless as to be farcical. He seems to be saying that, if that’s the best reality has to offer me, I’d rather let my mind wander into another reverie.
“A Day In The Life” is a groundbreaking piece of work that shattered any pre-existing boundaries for what rock music could be.
And so he does, with the crescendo rising again into the stratosphere, taking the listener along for the ride. Only this time the spell is broken by that unforgettable piano chord, thundering away all the useless detritus of this particular day, of this particular life, in awe-inspiring fashion. Finally, after striving against the surly bonds, The Beatles, through their prodigious talent and boundless imagination, achieve transcendence.
But, to me, the author of this humble list, “A Day In The Life” is the #1 Beatles song because it is the epitome of the notion that all their finest music espouses, the notion that music can uplift us from dark times like nothing else can. As a kid who lost his Dad just a year after I received that birthday gift from him, you can see why that notion would have extra-special appeal to me.
This list has been my way of saying thank you to The Beatles for giving me that uplift for all the years since, and for all the times they turned …me …on.
185. “Revolution 9”
184. “Honey Pie”
183. “I Want You (She’s So Heavy)”
182. “Yer Blues”
181. “Good Day Sunshine”
180. “Ask Me Why”
179. “Long, Long, Long”
178. “Little Child”
177. “Old Brown Shoe”
176. “You Know My Name (Look Up My Number)”
175. “I Wanna Be Your Man”
174. “Love You To”
173. “Why Don’t We Do It In The Road?”
172. “Magical Mystery Tour”
171. “Wild Honey Pie”
170. “For You Blue”
169. “Don’t Pass Me By”
168. “Doctor Robert”
167. “And I Love Her”
166. “The Word”
165. “You Like Me Too Much”
164. “Maggie Mae”
163. “Tell Me What You See”
162. “Thank You Girl”
161. “I’ll Cry Instead”
160. “Everybody’s Got Something To Hide Except Me And My Monkey”
159. “One After 909”
158. “I Want To Tell You”
157. “Don’t Bother Me”
156. “Sun King”
155. “What Goes On”
153. “There’s A Place”
152. “Her Majesty”
151. “Do You Want To Know A Secret”
150. “Dig It”
149. “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer”
147. “Day Tripper”
146. “Blue Jay Way”
144. “Baby You’re A Rich Man”
143. “Cry Baby Cry”
142. “Only A Northern Song”
141. “Penny Lane”
140. “Every Little Thing”
139. “When I Get Home”
138. “Run For Your Life”
137. “I’m Happy Just To Dance With You”
135. “I Call Your Name”
134. “It’s Only Love”
133. “If I Needed Someone”
132. “Another Girl”
131. “Dig A Pony”
130. “Love Me Do”
129. “The Night Before”
128. “Mean Mr. Mustard”
127. “Get Back”
125. “The Inner Light”
124. “Baby’s In Black”
123. “Think For Yourself”
122. “I’ll Be Back”
121. “I Me Mine”
120. “All I’ve Got To Do”
119. “Polythene Pam”
118. “Hold Me Tight”
117. “Got To Get You Into My Life”
116. “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds”
115. “Can’t Buy Me Love”
114. “I Want To Hold Your Hand”
113. “Savoy Truffle”
112. “The Continuing Story Of Bungalow Bill”
111. “With A Little Help From My Friends”
110. “Good Night”
109. “All Together Now”
108. “Paperback Writer”
107. “I’ll Get You”
106. “I’ll Follow The Sun”
105. “From Me To You”
104. “Martha My Dear”
103. “Being For The Benefit Of Mr. Kite”
102. “Revolution 1”
101. “Ballad Of John And Yoko”
99. “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band”
98. “She Said She Said”
97. “Tell Me Why”
95. “Yellow Submarine”
94. “I Should Have Known Better”
93. “I’m A Loser”
92. “All My Loving”
91. “Any Time At All”
90. “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da”
89. “What You’re Doing”
88. “I Need You”
87. “You Can’t Do That”
86. “I Will”
85. “Eight Days A Week”
84. “Drive My Car”
83. “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (Reprise)”
81. “She’s A Woman”
80. “I’m Only Sleeping”
79. “You’re Going To Lose That Girl”
78. “Oh! Darling”
77. “She Came In Through The Bathroom Window”
76. “It’s All Too Much”
75. “P.S. I Love You”
74. “Don’t Let Me Down”
73. “Rocky Raccoon”
72. “Your Mother Should Know”
70. “I’ve Just Seen A Face”
69. “It Won’t Be Long”
68. “I’ve Got A Feeling”
67. “When I’m Sixty-Four”
66. “The Long And Winding Road”
65. “Fixing A Hole”
64. “I’m So Tired”
63. “Let It Be”
62. “Happiness Is A Warm Gun”
61. “Lovely Rita”
60. “I’m Down”
59. “Glass Onion”
58. “Hello Goodbye”
57. “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”
56. “Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)”
55. “Come Together”
53. “Helter Skelter”
52. “I Feel Fine”
50. “A Hard Day’s Night”
47. “Getting Better”
46. “Hey Bulldog”
45. “Good Morning Good Morning”
44. “Back In The U.S.S.R.”
43. “Mother Nature’s Son”
42. “You Never Give Me Your Money”
41. “Sexy Sadie”
40. “I’m Looking Through You”
39. “Things We Said Today”
38. “This Boy”
37. “Across The Universe”
36. “Octopus’s Garden”
35. “Not A Second Time”
34. “And Your Bird Can Sing”
33. “I Saw Her Standing There”
31. “The Fool On The Hill”
30. “Two Of Us”
29. “Here Comes The Sun”
28. “You Won’t See Me”
27. “Within You Without You”
26. “No Reply”
25. “Ticket To Ride”
24. “She Loves You”
22. “I Don’t Want To Spoil The Party”
21. “Yes It Is”
20. “Here, There, And Everywhere”
19. “You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away”
18. “Tomorrow Never Knows”
17. “Lady Madonna”
16. “Please Please Me”
15. “Nowhere Man”
14. “If I Fell”
13. “For No One”
12. “We Can Work It Out”
11. “Dear Prudence”
10. “Eleanor Rigby”
8. “Strawberry Fields Forever”
7. “In My Life”
6. “All You Need Is Love”
5. “Hey Jude”
4. “Golden Slumbers/Carry That Weight/The End”
3. “She’s Leaving Home”
2. “I Am The Walrus”
1. “A Day in the Life”
This is hella long. Here's the whole article:
P.S. Favorite Beatles albums, guys??