With the Beatles (1963)
Parlophone/Capitol
Produced by GEORGE MARTIN

Just because the most sublime moment on WITH THE BEATLES comes within thirty seconds of its beginnning doesn't mean it's not the most glorious, life-affirming half-hour of music in existence. It just means that it makes no secret of its infinite power.

John Lennon's first words in "I Won't Be Long": "Every night when everybody has fun / Here am I, sitting all on my own." Fuck sex and drugs... that is rock & roll. That is the spirit and the truth. Every second of the rest of the album is an illustration of Lennon's manifesto.

Behind that massive voice, the Beatles make good on their PLEASE PLEASE ME promises by playing with even more graceful abandon. Their proficiency has increased but it has not softened their impact. The songs on their second album gain a stark eloquence, a musical dialogue of their own, and most importantly, they're loud. And if you're not playing them with the volume pumped to the maximum, you are not hearing them as they must be heard.

The covers, save a charming "Till There Was You," are faster and more bracing than those on the first album, and all except "Roll Over Beethoven" (which is killer anyway) turn fine originals into startling, savory rushes of stabbing guitar, unstoppable beat, and indescribable frenzy. The banalities of "Devil in Her Heart" are obliterated by the Beatles' hasty passion; "Please Mister Postman," with Lennon at the helm, withstands a complete turnaround from standard girl-group fun to a tearing-your-hair-out plead to a lost companion. John's performance is exhilirating.

While there's little that's theatrical about WITH THE BEATLES, the band's entity and their individual personas create an effect of apocalypse. On "Money," Lennon nearly betters his own gut-wrenching "Twist and Shout" with layers of bravado and anguish behind sneering, impenetrable irony; the moment culminates in the spontaneous electricity of what may be the most important line he would ever sing... "I WANT TO BE FREE."

Musically, the revision of Smokey Robinson's "You've Really Got a Hold on Me," hardly a song it would seem remotely possible to improve, is even more extreme, and they do improve it, stripping it of everything but minimalist instrumentation, Ringo (who careens miles ahead of all others, as usual), and the gasping desperation of the voices. Add "Don't want to kiss you / But I need to" to the grand listing of iconic sophomore-LP moments.

And then there are the originals. How much can you say? Even the throwaways are virtually flawless. Ringo fucks up "I Wanna Be Your Man" with manic Cavern Club-sized gusto. The Motown knockoff "Hold Me Tight" is driven into oblivion by a perfect rhythm guitar line. It stretches upward forever. George's debut as composer, "Don't Bother Me," is haunting grade-A Brit invasion arrogance. And try to escape the grip of John's bruising "Little Child," as hook-filled as any Beatles single.

Four songs here stand with the best they ever wrote. "It Won't Be Long," of course, brims with the same undiluted energy as their best covers, and features Lennon's trademark sympathy for the outcast; it's clear their appeal was beyond the Top of the Pops circuit even then. Paul's rollicking country-western "All My Loving" is sheer perfection, and better yet, it's a ballad that moves along with the same restless, driving speed as the rockers. Even it is arguably upstaged by John's beautiful, tender "All I've Got to Do," still one of his best love songs. It really does seem as though they could do no wrong.

But they never again recorded anything like "Not a Second Time," and no one has. Turning around the ecstacy of Side One with last-minute menace, Lennon sounds ruthless, battle-lines drawn, as the tension escalates around him. At first he wails alone with George Martin's piano, before Ringo's relentless mechanic drumming pushes it all ahead. His fill after the first verse and the piano solo that follows need no words to humanize the suggestion of the moment. There is no protection or forgiveness within this track... a four-wall trap of agony and fury, John's wails filling every inch. Aeolian cadences be damned, this truly is a thing of fragile, explosive beauty.

There probably are better albums out there, but I doubt any that speak with such vitality, directly into the heart of anyone who hears them. Hearing WITH THE BEATLES is akin to hearing life itself immortalized, the boundless talent and intelligence of four men guiding it along through a universe of energy and light. You feel at home while this is on, whether you are or not.