An all-time great album. Everyone knows it. Those few detractors would have you believe this is not one of the best in class, solely for attention. There are parts of Abbey Road which could be chopped and changed. Her Majesty could be lopped off the end of the album, though to say it sinks the album is egregious commentary. Abbey Road remains The Beatles’ greatest achievement. It is a sincere triumph. But beyond that, it has a tragic undercurrent too, reflected rather subtly in the songs which prove divisive even now. Paul McCartney seemingly hoped this album would bring The Beatles closer, that it would give the band a chance to rekindle their love for performing with one another. It did the opposite, though you would not think so without the context of endless documentaries and interviews. Abbey Road is as tight as an album can possibly be, but loose enough to fit the personalities of four very different songwriters.
What may be ironic in Come Together as an opener is lost to the brilliant sway of the Lennon-led track. McCartney wished for the band to do as the title instructed, and when those instrumental breaks come to life, there is nothing but unity being carried out. Where it begins to fracture is in hearing what each member is now writing about. Lennon focuses on the political calling his solo works would soon depend on, McCartney chases the pop construct which cemented him as a famous face through the 1970s and 1980s. George Harrison breaks with the best of the songs here, with Something as important a standout as While My Guitar Gently Weeps was for the White Album. Ringo Starr, too, finds a few spots of brilliance with Octopus’s Garden, a likeable and fun track which loses its message the more it is performed by The All-Starr Band. Still, the jumping jacks of an eighty-four-year-old performer do not steal away the magic still present on Abbey Road.
A hits-laden A-side featuring all-time great efforts from McCartney like Maxwell’s Silver Hammer, and the boo-wop inspired Oh, Darling!, brings about that fractured White Album feeling, but hear The Beatles contemplate how well they would do as solo artists. They are no longer tethered to one another. Starr complained of feeling like a session musician on the previous record, and as much happens here for his Lennon and McCartney song appearances. He is not as replaceable as he made out to be, but the likes of I Want You (She’s So Heavy) and Here Comes the Sun are never going to get the best out of him. He becomes a crucial part, as do Lennon and Harrison, for the B-side medley. Golden Slumbers, Carry That Weight and The End remains one of the best three-track stretches from The Beatles’ discography. Those little nuances in the playing style, the warmth of the string sections contrasting the rather cold relationship between the Fab Four around this time, is marvellous.
It is impossible to understate the impact and consequences of Abbey Road. Where the B-side may suggest McCartney is the leader of the group, it is the strength in those brief spotlight moments for the other three which defines Abbey Road. A near-perfect medley is built well, and preceded by some of The Beatles’ best-ever songs. It is what the White Album could have been if it were stripped down to its essentials. Part of the charm of their 1968 effort is that lopsided feeling, though Abbey Road provides a neat contrast to those frenetic days, the fallouts of the band before this. This is The Beatles at their absolute best – and it is not just because of the moodiness in the background, but because even at a time of tension, the group could come together as well as they do here, instrumentally or otherwise.
