13 February 2008

The Beatles and Our Apple Scruffs

In the space of this world, music and language strive as the most Beautiful creations of humankind. Both owe responsibility to a lot of revolutionary changes and most importantly the creation of history.
This post, pretty much, aims narrowly at projecting myself as a subdued 'apple-scruff'. Probably, my life is not owed to The Beatles (my life is not owed to anything), but a large chunk of resonance in my head bellows The Beatles and their creations.
Not every single piece of creation by them stands in my eyes, and that would be too much of praise to anything I adore or exists. That would make them the absolute and sometimes even protect me from exploring a variety, which is not good. I have my specific favourites.

  • The Fool on the Hill

  • Norwegian Wood

  • Strawberry Fields Forever

  • I'm Only Sleeping

  • Yellow Submarine

  • Eleanor Rigby

  • Blackbird

  • I am the Walrus
Wait! It goes on and on and on. Thanks to Krishna, Arun, and Jacob! Now, I have a CD of all the Beatles albums. Wonderful. John Lennon (an artist of his own accord), Paul Mc Cartney (with that immortal reverberance in his name), George Harrison and Ringo Starr make and create music, almost out of thin air, filled with life.
The beauty about Beatles is that even the obscurity is ver identifiable for a keen listener. What they talk about is new, and yet not new. One could easily call them experimental musicians who struck a lot of luck at the bottom of the sea, floated, and flew high. The history of The Beatles, when read into, feeds more to their music. But, many listeners (like myself) believe in just taking in what we can with what we find. The musician is separated from the music and thereby made immortal. The strange immortality and cloud is where The Beatles, for me, are.
They invite a world into my space. "The fool on the fill sees the sun going down. And the eyes in his head see the world spinning round" fades into a longing and a difference when they sing, "And when I awoke, I was alone, this bird had flownSo I lit a fire, isn't it good, norwegian wood. " The words encompass a time being for me. Creation. Yet again, they aren't the absolute, but one among them - the perfect imperfectionists, a love for music listeners.
Really felt like writing about them, because I'm listening to them over and over again. I'll be back with more music from a variety of musicians who have created, still create, and leave behind resonance, bass, and treble for the ears and the minds.

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