The splash created by Sgt. Pepper's was followed by a thud: 1967's Magical Mystery Tour was filled with top-drawer songs and has stood the test of time quite well, but it was judged a disappointment by critics of the day, and the television special made to accompany it flopped. Lennon, meanwhile, had begun to revolt against the esoteric turn the Beatles' music had taken, and he ached to get back to a more elemental approach. This led to tensions between him and McCartney, Martin's primary champion in the group, that eventually spelled the Beatles' end. In 1970, after the band split, Lennon sat for a series of interviews in which he bared his fangs at McCartney and, by association, Martin. "You see, for quite a few of our albums, like the Beatles' double album, George Martin didn't really produce it," he claimed. "I don't know whether this is scandalous, but he didn't." He added, "That's nothing personal against George Martin. He just doesn't...He's more Paul's style of music than mine."
With a Little Help From My Friends attempts to disprove these assertions, detailing Lennon's enthusiasm for the experimentation that lifted "Strawberry Fields," "A Day in the Life" and other tracks of the period far above the ordinary. Martin now chalks up the change in attitude that came later to poorer living through chemistry. "John's rebellion against ornate production was, I think, part of his general rebellion," he says. "At that time, his actions were influenced a great deal by drugs."
Whatever Lennon's reasoning, he didn't work with Martin again after the Beatles folded their tent, but McCartney did, on the soundtrack for the 1973 James Bond flick Live and Let Die and the solo albums Tug of War, Pipes of Peace and Give My Regards to Broad Street. A slew of others also lined up to collaborate with the master. Martin's post-Beatles credits include recordings by such shlockmeisters as America, the Little River Band, Peabo Bryson and Kenny Rogers, as well as worthier vinyl from Jeff Beck (Wired and Blow By Blow), the Mahavishnu Orchestra (Apocalypse) and Cheap Trick (All Shook Up). And in the late Nineties, he put his production stamp on the biggest-selling single ever: "Candle in the Wind," Elton John's tribute to the late Princess Diana.
But predictably, Martin got more ink for his association with Anthology, three assortments of Beatles odds and ends that included "Free as a Bird," a 1977 Lennon demo to which the surviving Beatles sang along à la 1991's "Unforgettable," in which Natalie Cole duetted with her father, Nat "King" Cole, 25 years after his death. Martin doesn't deserve the blame for flipping this "Bird"--ELO veteran Jeff Lynne produced it--but he was deeply involved in selecting the other Anthology curios. "My approach to the Anthology changed as I went along," he says. "I didn't realize that I had forgotten about so many little gems. It took two years to produce the Anthology albums, listening to every track of every take in existence. It was a traumatic experience equivalent to living one's life again, but I'm very glad I did it, and it finally closed the book for me on the Beatles saga."
Not quite. For his studio swan song, In My Life (subtitled With Heroes & Friends...), Martin chose to remake Beatles songs with a new cast of characters. And a bizarre lot it is: Bobby McFerrin and Robin Williams (yes, that Robin Williams) eviscerate "Come Together"; Goldie Hawn (yes, that Goldie Hawn) transforms "A Hard Day's Night" into a coy lounge tune; Jim Carrey (yes, that Jim Carrey) violates "I Am the Walrus"; and Sean Connery (yes, that Sean Connery) intones the lyrics of "In My Life" as if he's just been awakened in the middle of a nap. It's hard to know just what Martin was shooting for with the CD, but the result is an amusingly wrongheaded treasure trove of drecky awfulness. The folks at Rhino Records who put together Golden Throats, a multi-volume assembly of hilariously crummy songs by William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy, Telly Savalas and others who should have thought twice before stepping in front of a microphone, likely think it was the best disc of 1998.
Given this misstep, Martin is probably better off aiding boomers who are eager to relive Sgt. Pepper's. "It's not about nostalgia," he insists about his upcoming extravaganza, "although if you're talking about Pepper, you are going backwards. But I'm looking forward to my lectures. It's a good way of meeting people and getting feedback."
If he can hear it, that is. "My impairment is undoubtedly due to self-abuse--listening at far too high a level many years ago, when I didn't know better," he says. "And being 73 doesn't help, either! I'm sure that a lot of young people are going to be deaf in years to come." Until then, Martin hopes that he can "encourage young people to be adventurous in what they do in music" and to take better care of their listening organs than he did. Because to appreciate his work with the Beatles, all you need is ears.
The Making of Sgt. Pepper, with Sir George Martin. 8 p.m. Friday, March 5, Paramount Theatre, 1631 Glenarm Place, $24-$29, 303-534-8336.
