The John Lennon canon is now at the tipping point: with the release of the new 38-song Working Class Hero (Capitol) collection, there are now more posthumous album releases by the ex-Beatle than there are actual solo albums he recorded while still alive. So do we need another repackaged collection of the same old Lennon music that’s been repackaged nearly a dozen times before?

The answer, simply, is no. Lennon’s estate and Capitol Records may need the virtually overhead-free income, but what does this new two-disc set do for us fans? Not much. If you’re a big Lennon fan, you already own all of this – probably in recent vintage where the masters have been tidied up. If you’re a casual Lennon fan, any of the three earlier “best ofs” (one’s even called The VERY Best Of) cover most of the same ground. Of course, if you don’t own any John Lennon solo material and are looking for somewhere to start, this is a pretty good bet. While we can argue whether this lives up to its subtitle – The Definitive Lennon – as a fan I can attest to the fact that it’s got all the hits, a nice selection of second-tier classics, and a few pleasant surprises.

If you listen to two-and-a-half hours of Lennon’s music uninterrupted, you’re struck by an undeniable fact: this is a very simplistic songwriter. A great many of his most emotionally powerful songs (“Imagine,” “Woman,” “Mind Games”) are nearly nursery rhymes musically, and even some of his looser, more straight-up rock cuts (“Instant Karma,” “Power To The People,” “Cold Turkey”) succeed more on the basis of his passionate delivery and a smattering of mild discordance than anything you could call musically masterful. But that simplicity is also precisely why so many people find meaning in Lennon’s music: for all his genuine wit and egotistical bluster, Lennon wrote very heartfelt, sometimes naïvely innocent songs that spoke directly to the heart of the human condition. If it seems childish to “Imagine” or want to “Give Peace A Chance,” or if it’s hokey for a dad to revel in the joy of his “Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy),” or if we’re all saps for wanting to find “Real Love,” then shit: shame on us for forgetting our better natures.

Two nice treats included on this collection come from the 1984 album Milk And Honey, which Lennon was recording when he was murdered in 1980. “Grow Old With Me,” based on a Robert Browning poem, is a disarmingly genuine and vulnerable supplication, and “Borrowed Time” finds Lennon musing on the “dramas” of youth. It’s a buoyant affair, set to something of a Calypso groove, and it shines a light on the whimsical and silly side of Lennon that is too often overlooked.

– Michael C. Harris

Reprinted from December 2005.

The irony of naming four beers to represent The Beatles during Chicago Craft Beer Week, is that they’re all much more enjoyable as solo acts than they are when you mix them together.

A mixture of sly and sincere, bold and murky, Goose Island’s Pere Jacques sinks the notion that all Goose’s Belgian ales (Matilda, Sofie) deal in fruity bouquets and instant gratification. When you decant it, the first thing to notice is its dark color and quickly evaporating head. Sweeter yet less acidic than its cousins, the malty flavor is just strong enough to lessen the blow of its 8-percent punch. If it were a Beatle, it’d be John.

Perky, but — at 5.2 percent — no lightweight, New Belgium’s Somersault Ale aims to please those put off by Flat Tire’s near constant heaviness. More a snack than a meal, its rudimentary pale-ale base gets a lift from a multitude of citrus florets. Fine for a night out, but Somersault’s best as a complement to grilled red meat, yet maybe too peppery to handle a basket of fries. If it were a Beatle, it’d be Paul.

This next one was difficult. It needed to be a comparatively younger beer style, yet deeply imbued in classic models, while chronically underutilized. Who knows if any of those things encapsulate black India ales (a.k.a. black IPAs), though it’s what we’ll shoehorn Stone Brewing’s Sublimely Self-Righteous Ale into. The reason they’re called black Indias is because people can’t wrap their heads around a simultaneous pale and black beer, and the color is almost like an amber coffee. It’s not all stout, however — though chocolate has a definite presence — and the resolute hops give it a unique twist. Anyway, by use of the word “India,” you’ve surely figured this beer is George.

With the rash of flavored beers — shandys, pumpkin, berry — the infusion of beets would surely be the nadir of brewers’ decadence. Surprisingly, Magic Hat’s Wacko summer seasonal tastes a lot like beer. It doesn’t look it: the deep red recalls either black-cherry soda or pomegranate juice. Other than the hue, the beet’s main contribution is its sugar, which doesn’t offset the hops and malts anymore than whatever’s going on in Magic Hat’s banner beer, #9. Offbeat yet solid, if this beer were a Beatle, it’d be Ringo.

– Steve Forstneger

For each (business) day of Chicago Craft Beer Week (May 19-27), we’re pairing an artist with a brewer. Click for Day One, Day Two, Day Three, Four, Five, and Six.

While the blues figures greatly into Cheat You Fair: The Story Of Maxwell Street, its own greatness wasn’t enough to save the fabled Chicago marketplace. Last year’s Phil Ranstrom-created/Joe Mantegna-narrated documentary just came to DVD, meticulously chronicling the West Side bazaar’s post-fire buildup to transformation into Jewish enclave to post-war blues Eden, while framing it within city history. Maxwell Street’s demise at the hands of gentrification and UIC expansion – the latter of which gets battered with indignities, one activist calling its tactics more sinister than the mafia’s – is portrayed with the air of a Greek tragedy and the solemnity of a state funeral. The lack of Mayor Daley or University supporters makes the piece feel heavily one-sided, but it was probably difficult to find someone now that everyone knows what was lost.

How About Them, Apple?

“It’s the holidays, Mason! What are we selling the kids this year?” “Uh, remastered 1962-1966 and 1967-1970?” “Not good enough! Dhani wants to tour!” “How about we put the catalog up on iTunes?” “What the hell is iTunes? We need something for the base!” Yes, it seems the bigger news is that Apple Corps. has finally let Apple Computer sell Beatles songs despite long-running legal disputes. Obscured in all this was the Corp’s simultaneous reissue of 15 “classic” Apple Records albums. The label was the Fabs’ utopian imprint designed to boost music by both friends and fetishes, gleaning from those you might know (Badfinger, Billy Preston), oddities (John Tavener, Radha Krsna Temple), and the James Taylor debut that sent him spiraling into drugs. The $250 set (or single-disc best-of) will probably intrigue few but core fans, though it’s a remarkable window into a house that functioned artistically with no regard to what happened outside it.

Dirty War

Election season is over and all the winners can begin spending 90-percent of their time fundraising. While Messers Quinn, Brady, Kirk, and Giannoulias toasted bygones over beers, some of the nastier national races have lingering issues. Down in Kentucky, the battle for Campbell County Attorney culminated in one candidate’s flier denouncing his opponent for defending various criminals in court. The attack – from someone supposedly familiar with copyright law – didn’t use pictures of actual felons but lifted press shots of musicians from local metal outfit Disturbed as well as Avenged Sevenfold and Stone Sour to depict perverts and rapists. Each band quickly sent cease-and-desist orders, expressing outrage for such crude appropriations. The offending candidate, Democrat James Daley, lost the election and is currently in a finger-pointing dispute with the billet’s creator.

Alligator: Later

“We’re 29!” they’d write back when asked. “I’ll twixt you later!” So, yeah, we knew Alligator Records wasn’t on the cusp of 30 for the past 10 years, but, in the words of The Hold Steady, were shaky but still liked to shake it. Then it came out: 2011 = 40. True, 40 years of blues is only 40-percent of the genre’s century and, some might argue, not the good 40 percent. Alligator begs to differ. Beginning February, it revels in its cougar status and drops not only an obligatory Alligator Records 40th Anniversary Collection, but a quartet of vinyl reissues including JJ Grey & Mofro, Buddy Guy & Junior Wells, Albert Collins with Robert Cray and Johnny Copeland, and Hound Dog Taylor & The Houserockers, the final of which was the label’s first release. Before any of that happens, Alligator will snap to attention with two new options, Roomful Of Blues‘ Hook, Line & Sinker and Shemekia Copeland’s Deluxe Edition, a best-of compendium.

– Steve Forstneger

Does the world really need another cover or an entire album of tunes made famous by the Fab Four? Soulive thinks so. Despite iTunes finally making The Beatles’ catalog available to consumers after years of legal trouble, the trio hopes fans will bypass the classic versions and turn a kind eye to its interpretations on Rubber Soulive (Royal Family).

Comprising 11 tracks spanning The Beatles’ illustrious career, the album often fits the bill of a karaoke backing track. This isn’t to say Eric Krasno and the Evans brothers aren’t capable of inspired moments, most notably on the guitar-busting “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” and the smooth sailing of “Come Together,” but the songs suffer from their own storied position in rock’s pantheon. Even as instrumental tracks, anyone with access to a radio knows the lyrics to “Drive My Car” and “In My Life” and Soulive’s efforts to divert a listener’s attention away from mindlessly singing along are paltry at best.

“Help!” loses its pleading urgency in Evans’ lackadaisical organ, but the stars align for a cascading rendering of “Revolution.” Krasno’s delicate touch on the guitar adds an extra layer of sweetness to the already moving “Something” without going overboard, and the echo of “all of the lonely people” reverberates throughout “Eleanor Rigby.”

With already a decade under its belt, Soulive delivers the goods in a live setting time and time again and history shows that even a tepid recording doesn’t hold a candle to the magic concocted when the trio takes the stage. (Friday@Double Door with Nigel Hall.)

– Janine Schaults

The Red Bull-sponsored “Head To Head Producer Beat Battle” hits town the night before, for the national finals of Red Bull Big Tune. Each constestant — whose survival depends on the audience — got to spend time with both Just Blaze and DJ Premier this week in small mentoring sessions. According to the competition, the victor receives the opportunity to record in the Red Bull Studio in Los Angeles with an A-list MC of their choice from five rhymers — past winners have chosen Common, The Game, Ludacris, Lupe Fiasco, and Talib Kweli; last year’s winner, C-Sick, got to hear Nas talk about how great he is. (Thursday@Metro.)

Local stalwarts Ezra Furman & The Harpoons hold court at a benefit for pediatric cancer. Furman has taken it easy in the past year (his site needs updating as it links to his old blog; here’s the new one); perhaps he doesn’t want to take thunder away from where he’s playing. Kingsbury Hall might appear strikingly familiar to those of you who’ve wandered out of Crobar buzzing on E at 4 a.m. That’s because Crobar closed and reopened as a live music venue this past summer. It’s still getting its feet wet and shooing away curious cowboys straying over from Joe’s. (Friday@Kingsbury Hall.)

– Steve Forstneger

We couldn’t find any local chapters at press time, a semi-disappointing discovery in a city that prides itself on its uprising and cliques. So, we cast our vote for someone to join the Music Monitor Network/Coalition Of Independent Music Stores’ “Metal Club,” a group of brick-and-mortar retailers pushing to build strong community with metal fans. (Metal Haven would have been perfect, R.I.P.) What are the membership benefits? Well, unlike the Metallica (pictured above) fanclub, which doles out such garbage as “Livin’ To Win” T-shirts, Grimey’s in Nashville hosted an intimate (150 capacity!) Metallica concert in 2008 and affiliated stores will be privy to Live At Grimey’s, releasing via Warner Bros. on the 26th. Other exclusives include a 10-inch Anthrax single, deluxe vinyl for Slayer and Queens Of The Stone Age, special editions of the new Monster Magnet, and a Job For A Cowboy collectors’ set. Visit mymetalclub.com for the nearest shop.

Play The Blues, Hick!

O.K., so Jon Spencer won’t be yelling the above at Judah Bauer this fall, but if Blues Explosion were playing the Chicago Bluegrass & Blues Festival (December 3rd through 5th) he might. The third edition of the annual roots gathering plots wider boundaries than those of us who cling to genre limitations would, posting headliners Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros (a Laurel Canyon mix from a former indie rocker) and Grace Potter & The Nocturnals (libidinous Sheryl Crow meets Allison Moorer), also dedicating space to David “Honeyboy” Edwards and The Skatalites. Unlike some other local gatherings, CBGB (it actually goes by CBB, but it’s truer to CBGB’s roots than the real CBGB is) emphasizes local talent, so you also get The Giving Tree Band, Van Ghost, Sexfist, Daphne Willis, The Right Now, The Shams Band, Jaik Willis, and many more. Visit cbbfestival.com for ticketing information.

The Daley News

We’ve lived through two Bush administrations and now the second of two Daley reigns is set to end, the latter of which inspired an outpouring of retrospectives from Chicago-based arts columnists last month. Given that he’s been in power since ‘89, Little Richie’s command was sure to have its enemies, though not much perspective has been given in light of his predecessors. Daley II’s legacy will always suffer in comparison to the late Harold Washington’s, who marshalled and booked the German-American parade in 1985 that culminated with a North Shore teenager commandeering a float and delivering a blistering lip-synch of “Twist & Shout.” Jane Byrne gave us the Taste Of Chicago, paving the way for countless past-their-prime acts to soundtrack a million rib-sampler sales, but she also came down hard on our burgeoning punk scene. Michael Blandic’s folly will forever remain the Canadian rapper Snow and, as for Daley’s da, his influence on the local folk scene remains unmatched. So long, sir. We’ll always have guacamole.

Next Issue: Fuji Vs. Mandarin

Years ago on Daytona Beach, buzzed on cheap brandy and having accidentally inhaled some Cuban cigar smoke, I challenged a friend – now a lawyer – by alleging Kiss’ influence on rock ‘n’ roll was comparable and perhaps more crucial than Bob Dylan’s. I didn’t even like Kiss all that much, however my opponent L-O-V-E-D him some Dylan and I drew thrills as a schadenfreude. I was also 17. This fall, Chicago’s pop-critic chieftans Jim DeRogatis and Greg Kot reprise those roles with a Beatles v. Stones faceoff in Sound Opinions On The Great Rock ‘N’ Roll Rivalry, a 194-page exercise in . . . well, you decide. Ultimately, the lesson is we have to keep publishers away from DeRo. He’s a fine scribe and impeccable rock historian, but following some great treatises on psyche rock he’s served up the juvenile Kill Your Idols provocation and now this. Don’t take Kot down with you.

– Steve Forstneger

It’s like picking a favorite child! One is for a good cause, the other’s just because.

It has been a bountiful 12 months for Beatles fans (and the Beatles’ estates) with the reissues and video games and Paul playing the new Mets stadium. And while you could celebrate whatever this weekend’s Fab anniversary is (the 45th anniversary of the Help! LP release) with a quiet, self-assured fistpump while listening to Terri Hemmert’s “Breakfast With The Beatles,” why not come out with your brothers and sisters in force? At the 34th Annual Beatle Fest (also celebrating the 50th year since the band chose their moniker), the guest of honor will be Gary Wright, friend to Ringo and George and he of “Dream Weaver,” debuting a performance of a song he wrote with Harrison in ‘71. The full schedule is available at www.thefest.com. (Friday through Sunday@Hyatt Regency O’Hare.)

And what are we doing promoting anything involving Kenny G? The saxophonist, no relationship to Warren G, has two songs resting in Billboard’s Top-10 Smooth Jazz songs, and is seemingly the antithesis of all the challenging music we throw in your lap. But it’s for children. Ones you don’t have to choose between. G shows up at the Caring For Kids concert that benefits SHC Chicago. A special dinner with him before the show can be had for some serious cash (tables top out at $50K). (Saturday@Rosemont Theater with Jeffrey Osborne and Stephanie Mills.)

– Steve Forstneger

This is a tough position in which to be. It’s natural for any Northerner to sit back and laugh at Southerners as they grapple with the definition of what is country music and what isn’t.

Once you get past your regional proclivities, however, you realize you’ve been there. Having spent a lifetime (or at least seven years) Talmudically classifying genres in iTunes (is it rock? pop? dance? electronic?), your sympathies swell while the vortex enveloping Taylor Swift’s victory as “Entertainer Of The Year” at this year’s Country Music Awards widens. “She doesn’t sing country!” was largely the response.

Is the criticism sexist? Some accuse Nashville of going after Disney ‘tweens to boost ad revenue and they mock the voters as wanting to cheer up poor, widdle Taylor after what Kanye West did. This is, however, the same awards program that gave pop-rocker Kenny Chesney four of the last five EOTY trophies and allowed Darius Rucker, Bon Jovi, Kid Rock, and a perpetually rehabbing Australian (pretty sure Hank ain’t done it that way) to infiltrate. At what point does country music become music marketed to country people? Guess what? It always has been. Go Taylor!

You Weren’t There (The Prequel)

As Chicago Soul author Robert Pruter pointed out years ago, non-blues black music in this city has been virtually ignored by historians despite a wealth of talent: Curtis Mayfield, The Dells, Jerry Butler, Donny Hathaway. As IE was singled out for indictment in Soul’s foreword, we’d like to thank Mr. Michael Abramson for getting Pruter off our backs, or at least distracting him. Abramson’s photographs comprise Light On The South Side (Numero Group), a black-and-white compendium that’s presented like a single night spent barhopping on the funk circuit in the late ’70s.

Once your imagination gets past pasting these outfits on today’s fashion-ignorant, giant white T-shirt-wearing hip-hop heads, Abramson’s pics take on a life of their own. This was a time when people knew how to dress like they were gonna be fuckin’ partying. You can’t tell if these folks are just beginning their nights, in mid-buzz, or if they’re always inside tiny Pepper’s Jukebox. The words provide some context and there’s even a two-CD soundtrack to satisfy your pelvic urges, but the darkroom where these shots were developed must have been the stonest groove ever.

Pictures Of Lilith

True story: As we all know, sometimes extra tickets for a sold-out show are released day of. I used to work a Ticketmaster counter at a Blockbuster, and shared this info with an attractive customer who was denied Lilith Fair tickets. Idling away a Saturday afternoon, I noticed the Post-It she left her number on, checked the system, and called her with the news. After she arrived and paid, she said, “Is there anything I can do for you?” And what does my single-ass reply? “Just doing my job, ma’am.” Girl frowns, leaves. Coworker punches me.

Well, get out your sun dress and throw it over a pair of jeans, because Lilith Fair is back for 2010. The organizers have added a twist via Ourstage.com, for a sexist talent search to uncover the next-best emerging femmes on the continent. Each tour stop will feature the winner of a “Local Lilith Talent Search,” which involves communities in the selection process. The rest of the info is at www.ourstage.com/go/lilith. You’re welcome. Just doing my job. Crimony.

They Don’t Sell ‘Em Like They Used To

Get this: You can’t just cover The Beatles and make a buck. Forget those American English guys who jump around and, “Oh, look at me! I’m a bloody walrus!” We’re talking about everyday con men who just want to pull one over on ya.

A Santa Cruz, California-based company called Bluebeat found itself under relentless, EMI/Apple Records pressure because all the little company wanted to do was issue its own versions of Beatles classics. Using his contrived “psycho-acoustic simulation,” owner Hank Risan rose up against the monolithic giants and claimed free-reign under copyright law. His ingenious, sonic enhancements more or less consisted of him starting a Fab album on one stereo and then hitting “record” on another: instant, re-recorded classic! And personal copyright!

Yes, Risan contends, this is legal! And he’s actually spending money to defend his honor. If he wins, it will turn copyright upside-down — good thing we’ve been issuing our own psycho-acoustic runs of IE since ‘87.

- Steve Forstneger

At the Entertainer, we do it for you. We suffered through some 14 albums of some obnoxious old band called The Beatles, who’ve plagued the universe with new versions of their old albums. The following are our results. Beware.

Please Please Me
There aren’t any statistics, but so much of the rock ‘n’ roll landscape is littered with classic debut albums people forget that Please Please Me is lacking. Granted, the long-form, artistic statement hadn’t been invented for pop music in ‘63, but the tagline on the cover (“Love Me Do and 12 other songs”) isn’t far off. Only a fool, however, would be able to ignore the legendary, kamikaze versions of “I Saw Her Standing There” and “Twist And Shout,” which aren’t in need of any digital remastering but benefit from it nonetheless. Elsewhere the harmonies feel both clearer and colder, and the jangling chords jangle more. As debuts go, however, there’s no reason to start here.

– Steve Forstneger

With The Beatles
Though the cover shot is iconic (en-sured so when they retook it years later), Please Please Me’s photos veer from touristy to lawyerly to, well, you explain the blown-up car. With The Beatles‘ art sees the label grasping the band’s iconography barely months later. The liner notes admit to trying to replicate the debut’s success, but the band make the curious move of staking out territory via covers and only once, with “Money,” cowing to formula. This set is still among the least necessary in their catalog, and the painstaking remastering does little to raise its profile. “Hold Me Tight” might actually suffer from it, and repeated listens remind you how a few, short steps in the other direction could’ve been disaster.

– S.F.

A Hard Day’s Night
It’s cool, especially if you grew up after John Lennon’s murder, to draw a line at Rubber Soul and dismiss the Beatlemania years. But you can’t ignore that chord. It announces this soundtrack album, it yells “Action!” at the Mirage in Las Vegas, and it goes by the unwieldy name of F add9. It’s symbolic of what The Beatles would become: something instantly recognizable but impervious to description. Slobbering hyperbole aside, if you had to start telling the band’s musical story somewhere, this might as well be it. The only album composed entirely of Lennon/McCartney credits, A Hard Day’s Night encapsulates early Beatles better than the 1962 – 1966 compilation. As such, the remastering passes by unnoticed, because the songs are that good, that uncompromised by how they were recorded. Urgency, tunefulness, hand-holding, slapping a hand away — the line between boy-band pap and self-assured artistry begins and ends here . . .

– S.F.

Beatles For Sale
. . . though some say that line gets bent on Beatles For Sale. Yammer all you want about “A Day In The Life,” this album’s first three tracks are when you first really grasp the Lennon/McCartney divide. The trio — all Lennon – didn’t fortell the whole band’s direction as much as his own, and “No Reply” and “I’m A Loser” bespeak a Blood On The Tracks hurt. Unfortunately, this steady beginning also makes For Sale something of a mess. “Eight Days A Week” is clearly the album’s focus, but, as the ensuing Help! would bear out, The Beatles were beyond it. The remastering is a lesson in elevating bits of percussion you never knew existed and you can envisage Lennon’s anger a bit more clearly, but, until Let It Be, it’s really the last time the band would let so many iffy tracks pass through the filter.

– S.F.

Help!
There is no greater Beatles song than “Help!” The latest version increases the volume without distorting the song further, and that chugging rhythm guitar almost sets the song ablaze the more it smokes. The harmonies are just as they were on Please Please Me, but they’re begging for an out, wed to a minor key that encapsulates the delirium of Beatlemania better than “A Hard Day’s Night” could. The rest of the album — there’ more? – is exactly the sort of thing Rubber Soul supporters hate to have to explain. “You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away” grasps Donovan, and “Ticket To Ride” bows to the Maharishi. And then there’s “Yesterday,” which still confounds Macca bashers, even in light of the underrated Lennon prowler “You’re Going To Lose That Girl” and his perpetual affair with early rock, “Dizzy Miss Lizzy.”

– S.F.

Rubber Soul
Sgt. Pepper is the classic, Revolver the creative breakthrough, Abbey Road the triumphant coda, and Let It Be the sad end. So where does that leave the Rubber Soul? The Beatles’ sixth album is an often-overlooked gem, a magnetic, hypnotic hybrid of the band’s pop past and soon-to-emerge experimental and influential future. It is bulging with hits, including “In My Life,” “Michelle,” “Nowhere Man,” as well as “Drive My Car,” “Run For Your Life,” and “I’m Looking Through You.” But it still lacks immediate top-of-the-head status. With the new remastering, Rubber Soul rightfully blossoms sonically to become, perhaps, the best Beatles album you’ve never heard. As with all the new Beatle remasters, there is an exciting clarity, crispness, and heft to the sound, and with the defined stereo spilt of instruments and vocals on this album, even the casual listener will hear the difference. Most revealing here is how solid singers and masterful musicians The Beatles were. The band is always praised for the songwriting of Lennon and McCartney, but on Rubber Soul, the remastering reminds us of the artistry of George Harrison and the precision of Ringo Starr. For example, on the enigmatic “Norwegian Wood,” Harrison’s sitar now demands equal attention with Lennon’s previously dominating lyrical narrative. And you can’t help but notice Harrison’s quirky guitar pickings on “What Goes On.” Starr’s steady timekeeping and beat on “In My Life” now shares equal prominence with Lennon’s timeless vocal, and one of the best Beatles’ pure-pop moments, “You Won’t See Me,” gains new freshness as the sugary harmonies punch McCartney’s perfect lead vocal. The pre-hippie vibe of “The Word” is now a collaborative musical chant, and on the seductive “Girl,” Lennon’s husky, longing breaths spray spit on your face. Thanks to the overdue remastering, this album could be the most important discovery of The Beatles’ catalog.

– James Turano

Revolver
I guess if any artist deserves the fanfare and falderal of a complete remastering treatment, The Beatles — unquestionably the most important band in rock ‘n’ roll history — would be your band. Why’d they wait so long? Why do I now own crappy-sounding versions of many of these albums? And really, what’s to say about a remastered Beatles set from 43 years ago?

Revolver sure sounds good now. It sounds good in my car, on my computer, but it sounds really good on my home stereo. Great care was taken to clean the original analog tapes and dump it all down to ProTools to remaster each track, and you can hear it. A little extra guitar echo here and there on “Taxman,” more prominent swirly ringing on “Love To You,” and you can hear the space between the layers in Lennon’s “Tomorrow Never Knows.” Neat stuff. Try this: move the balance back and forth, right and left, on almost any song. Starr’s drums are always on the left and his cymbals are on the right. Isolating the sound like this will help you realize what a fucking monster of a bass player McCartney can be at times.

Curiously enough, Revolver is one of my least favorite Beatles albums, though it contains a couple favorites, especially “She Said She Said.” Now I have a better sounding version of it to shit-can down to an MP3 for my iPod . . .

– Michael C. Harris

Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
Sgt. Pepper has taken a beating over the past several years. Despite being pretty much hailed as a ground-breaking concept album on its release in 1967, hindsight says it’s a dated collection of some of The Beatles’ most dynamic music (“A Day In The Life,” the title track, “Fixing A Hole”) yoked to their most self-indulgent and sub-standard (“Within You Without You,” “When I’m 64,” “Being For The Benefit Of Mr. Kite”) crap that rival the worst moments of Let It Be. Forty-two years later, it’s clear the Sarge is a victim of four decades of unrealistic expectations and critical blow-back. Yet it’s still a pretty good little record. Sonically, it’s impressive to hear the band’s first “mixed for stereo” album remastered for a new generation, especially when pulled into four measly tracks of 2-inch tape. McCartney’s bass is distinctly more pronounced and, yes, funky on “Lovely Rita” and “Fixing A Hole” and most of the record. Starr’s cymbals and snare drum snap like never heard before, and The Beatles’ impeccable harmonies are more in your face. After the “first” listen, Sgt. Pepper offers a ton of sonic “wow” moments. Enough to merit re-purchase? Go for it.

– John Vernon

Magical Mystery Tour
When pouring over The Beatles’ cannon, it’s more than apt to classify Magical Mystery Tour as the Rodney Dangerfield of their releases. Never mentioned in the same breath as the heavy-hitters — due to its affiliation with the ill-conceived film project and inclusion of previously released singles for the U.S. release — Tour nevertheless satisfies on every level. While it isn’t conceptual in the Sgt. Pepper vein or is as experimentally daring as “The White Album,” it stands as having arguably the best collection of pure songs of any effort. It also finds them at the apex of their psychedelic predilections with “Blue Jay Way” and “I Am The Walrus.” When all is said and done, how can any album that has “Walrus” on it not rock your world?

– Timothy Hiatt

The Beatles
There’s this funny bit in The Beatles’ Anthology DVD where McCartney is talking about the “White Album” and how some people have said in retrospect it was too disjointed, too long, too self-indulgent, etc. Sir Paul responds by looking into the camera with disgust, and saying: “Hey, it’s The Beatles’ ‘White Album” . . . Shut up!”

The layered guitars on this set’s tracks like “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” are rich and vibrant; the pounding drums of “Helter Skelter” sound like cannons, right up to the point where Starr shouts, “I got blisters on my fingas!”; and the lush vocals of “Happiness Is A Warm Gun” sound as though they are in your living room.

Musically, The Beatles was a shared solo album while still very much a band project. Starr made his songwriting debut (“Don’t Pass Me By”); McCartney gave us some of the band’s best rockers (“Back In The U.S.S.R.,” “Birthday”); Harrison came into his own as a brilliant songwriter (“While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” “Pig-gies,” “Savoy Truffle”); and Lennon simply offered some of the best songs he ever wrote “(Julia,” “Dear Prudence,” “Sexy Sadie,” “Cry Baby Cry”).

– Bruce Pilato

Yellow Submarine
So there’s Harrison’s “It’s All Too Much” freakout and “All Together Now,” a glorified drinking song. The only reason to buy the Yellow Submarine soundtrack is if it’s the only Beatles album you’ll own. Just so you can be that guy.

– Steve Forstneger

Abbey Road
Abbey Road is arguably The Beatles’ recording apogee — the band’s 12th and final release of an extraordinary six-plus-year run and, as with the first, last with all four members in the studio at the same time. So after 40 years’ familiarity via original vinyl and 22 years’ via CD remake, how does 2009’s much-ballyhooed, remastered icon stack up? Quite nicely. Indeed, it sounds like the ’90s recording it is; as if the four lovable mop tops of 1964 had just drunk from the fountain of youth and re-entered the studio yesterday. Vocal parts and individual playing (particularly McCartney’s and Starr’s) sparkle above an overall brighter, punchier-than-one-remembers group sound throughout. And while all the re-engineering of the original tapes didn’t end up in a fully remastered vinyl version leaves an “apples-to-apples” comparison between side twos (“Here Comes The Sun” through “Her Majesty”) still out of reach, there’s no denying the range and brilliance of Abbey Road’s final 16 minutes, regardless of format.

Let It Be
As swan songs go, Let It Be disappoints because its genesis had so many different incarnations. The remastering of the disc allows for a thorough, overdue re-examination. Immediately apparent is the clairvoyant musical relationship between McCartney’s nimble basslines and Starr’s metronomic backbeats that occasionally give way to drum fills that now pop like fireworks.

The vocal interplay (specifically on “Two Of Us” and “Dig A Pony”) that volleys from Lennon to McCartney is notable in that it could easily have taken place in the Cavern Club and not in the basement of the Apple compound. And when it does get sent for a cup of tea, it’s replaced by some of Harrison’s cleanest, yet surprisingly unhinged guitar pyrotechnics.

Still, no amount of studio wizardry can salvage some of the lesser material. “Dig It” and “Maggie Mae” still sound tossed off, and even though Phil Spector’s production is relegated to window dressing, it still pollutes the simple, melodic beauty of “The Long And Winding Road.” But if the Fabs’ storied career taught us anything, it’s that nothing — inflated egos, psychotic producers, or messy breakups — could suffocate their ability to construct a timeless melody.

– Curt Baran

Past Masters
The bad news, in case you haven’t heard, is that these two discs of odds ‘n’ sods come packaged so tightly in a replica foldout LP cover that it’s all but impossible not to scratch them every time you slide them in or out. (At least vinyl came protected in paper or plastic sleeves.) The good news is that you needn’t slide these discs in or out at all to hear their contents. Originally left off The Beatles’ U.K. albums and released only on 45s or EPs, most of these 33 songs have nevertheless long been available on one side of the Atlantic or another on compilations with more user-friendly — and disc-friendly — packaging (1962-1966, 1967-1970, Rarities, 20 Greatest Hits, 1). Meanwhile, though only audio nerds will likely detect the audio superiority of these latest remasterings, average fans of various nationalities will easily notice the pointlessly extreme separation of the “wider stereo” versions of “Komm, Gib Mir Deine Hand” (“I Want To Hold Your Hand” in German) and “Sie Liebt Dich” (“She Loves You,” ditto) and wonder why we couldn’t have gotten, oh, I dunno, a spruced-up The Beatles At The Hollywood Bowl or some other genuine obscurities instead.

– Arsenio Orteza

Right-wing bloggers are incensed. Leftist French laborers are kidnapping company executives. Stu, we need cleanup in aisle five! Can anybody hear me?! What in any god’s name is someone doing opening a nightclub in this climate?

Look: If we’re going to get any of President Barry’s stimulus moolah, we need to look despondent. Maybe sport gangrene or catch rabies. We can’t dial it up for late-night scenes. It has live music, you say? We’re listening. The LaSalle Power Co. bows May 1st in River North (the old Michael Jordan’s location) and redefines “nightclub” for downtown (no, it doesn’t suddenly mean “pear”). The 20,000-square-foot space spans three levels, including an intimate live stage, restaurant, and bar. With plans to showcase local and national talent, we may be forced to head back downtown for more than handouts.

I Am (Some Buddies)

A couple months ago we told you about the Chicago Noise Machine, a loose conglomeration of local bands including A Birdsong Valentine, Algren, Bullet Called Life, Echo Son, Heavy The Fall, Lucid Ground, Reverie, 72 Hours, and Simplistic Urge. Well, now these fellas done gone and made themselves a festival, one they’re calling the largest independent-artists party in the area. The single-day I AM Fest (Independent Arts & Music) goes down June 13th at Congress Theatre, and promises 25 bands (all local) and the same number of art/photography/film exhibits. CNM is hellbent on fostering a successful, thriving scene and this is just the next step in the revolution. For more information, visit www.iamfest.com.

R.I.P. Ripping?

By now you’ve heard: Capitol is finally unleashing remastered versions of all The Beatles‘ albums this fall to coincide with The Fabs’ own entry in the “Rock Band” video-game series. Most observers are calling this the music industry’s last big CD push, paying specific attention to the fact they aren’t rolling out refurbished albums one at a time, but dropping them all at once presumably so they can move on. Others have noticed a surge in reissues, with The Rolling Stones revisiting everything post-Exile On Main Street through 2005’s A Bigger Bang this June (a stitch that includes Sticky Fingers, Goats Head Soup, and Some Girls), and EMI purging the Radiohead vaults (see “Spins”). Sub Pop Records, that indie pillar, has upped its ante with bulky packages for Red Red Meat’s Bunny Gets Paid, a reunion-ready Vaselines, and a blowout of Sam Beam’s Iron & Wine archives. Us? We’re drafting our snotty “sounds better than MP3s” rant for when CDs hit a revival wave in 10 years.

Silky Smooth

Few people know this, but the pages that hold “File” every month are woven from the rarest Shanxi caterpillar silk. That in mind, when you come to the end of this month’s White Rabbits feature, we don’t want you tearing through this section to divine the origins of the Do-Division Festival. It more-or-less launches street-festival season in our minds, spanning Division Street from Ashland to Leavitt on May 30th and 31st, with two stages of indie-rock insobriety. We won’t mindlessly blow our way through silk to list all the bands, just that local DJ superstars Flosstradamus headline the first night with Handsome Furs, while the Rabbits provide direct support for Menomena to close.

– Steve Forstneger