The Beatles’ White Album, officially titled The Beatles, arrived in 1968 as a stark contrast to the psychedelic explosion of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. While Sgt. Pepper was Paul McCartney’s conceptual brainchild, the White Album marked a powerful resurgence for John Lennon, a creative rebirth within a project that, according to Ringo Starr, brought the band back to their core essence. This double album, released on November 22, 1968, showcased a band intentionally stripping away artifice, and within its diverse soundscape, Lennon’s contributions stand out as particularly raw, innovative, and deeply personal.
Starr himself noted the shift, stating, “Sgt. Pepper did its thing; it was the album of the decade – of the century, maybe. It was very innovative, great songs – glad I was on it – but [on] the White Album, we ended up being more of a band again and that’s what I always love. I love being in a band.” This return to a more band-centric approach provided the perfect canvas for Lennon to reassert his artistic identity, moving away from the fantastical realms of Sgt. Pepper and towards a more grounded, rock-focused sound.
Lennon himself explicitly acknowledged this departure: “I wasn’t interested in following up Sgt. Pepper, and I don’t know whether the others were or not – but I know what I was going for was to forget about Sgt. Pepper. You know, ‘That was Sgt. Pepper and that’s alright, fine, it’s over’ and just get back to basic music.” This desire to “get back to basic music” fueled Lennon’s creativity during the White Album sessions, resulting in a collection of songs that are both musically diverse and intensely personal.
This article delves into five key “deep cuts” from the White Album that exemplify John Lennon’s powerful presence and innovative songwriting during this period. These tracks – ‘Glass Onion,’ ‘Yer Blues,’ ‘Sexy Sadie,’ ‘Everybody’s Got Something to Hide Except for Me and My Monkey,’ and ‘Cry Baby Cry’ – offer a window into Lennon’s multifaceted genius, showcasing his wit, vulnerability, and raw rock and roll spirit.
‘GLASS ONION’
“Glass Onion” stands as a quintessential example of John Lennon’s playful yet intellectually stimulating songwriting. Born from Lennon’s characteristic blend of humor and cynicism, the song serves as a witty commentary on the intense scrutiny and over-analysis that The Beatles’ lyrics often faced. The genesis of this meta-narrative can be traced back to Lennon’s amusement and slight annoyance at discovering that Beatles lyrics were being analyzed in classrooms.
Inspired by a fan letter mentioning this academic dissection, Lennon, already known for songs like “I Am the Walrus” with its deliberately nonsensical imagery, decided to double down on lyrical obfuscation. As Pete Shotton, Lennon’s childhood friend, recounted, Lennon’s reaction to the fan letter led to the creation of “I Am the Walrus” with its famously absurd lines like “Yellow matter custard, dripping from a dead dog’s eye.” “Glass Onion” operates in a similar vein, intentionally layering references and riddles to playfully mislead and challenge listeners seeking deeper meaning where perhaps none was intended.
The song’s composition began during the Beatles’ transcendental meditation retreat in India. Upon their return to England, Lennon further developed the song, creating a demo at his Kenwood home. Paul McCartney fondly recalled collaborating with Lennon on “Glass Onion” at his Cavendish Avenue residence in Barry Miles’ Many Years From Now. The arrangement was later finalized with George Martin, The Beatles’ trusted producer.
McCartney highlighted the deliberate planting of lyrical red herrings, particularly the line, “I’ve got news for you all, the walrus was Paul.” This line, McCartney explained, was a direct response to fans’ tendency to read into every detail of Beatles songs and imagery. It was a playful jab at the burgeoning mythology surrounding the band, a self-aware acknowledgement of the “little legends” that had grown around their work. In reality, as McCartney clarified, the line was a deliberate misdirection; he was not, in fact, the walrus in Magical Mystery Tour, despite fan theories.
However, Lennon, in one of his final interviews, offered a more nuanced, even melancholic interpretation of the “walrus was Paul” line. He dismissed “Glass Onion” as a “throwaway song,” akin to “Walrus” and much of his other work, but then revealed a deeper emotional layer. He suggested the line was a “perverse way of saying to Paul, you know, ‘Here, have this crumb, this illusion, this stroke – because I’m leaving.’” This interpretation hints at the growing distance between Lennon and McCartney, and Lennon’s burgeoning relationship with Yoko Ono, adding a layer of personal complexity beneath the song’s surface playfulness.
The recording sessions for “Glass Onion,” meticulously documented in Mark Lewisohn’s Complete Beatles Recording Sessions, began on September 11, 1968, at Abbey Road Studios. With George Martin on vacation, engineer Chris Thomas stepped in as producer. The band labored through 34 takes of the basic rhythm track, featuring Ringo Starr on drums and tambourine, George Harrison on guitar, Lennon on lead vocals and guitar, and McCartney on bass. Take 33 was ultimately deemed the best foundation. The following day saw the addition of another drum track and a piano part by McCartney.
On September 16th, a comedic element emerged: flute notes echoing “Fool on the Hill.” While Lewisohn suggests McCartney played the flute, it was double-tracked and added as overdubs. However, Lennon wasn’t finished experimenting. By September 26th, he envisioned a four-track tape of sound effects, incorporating a ringing telephone, an organ note, breaking glass, and even a sample of a BBC soccer commentator shouting “It’s a goal!”
Upon his return, George Martin, after hearing this sonic collage, diplomatically suggested strings instead. These strings were recorded as an overdub on October 10th. Lennon eventually abandoned the sound effects, though his initial vision, complete with the quirky noises, can be heard on Anthology 3.
A fascinating anecdote from engineer Ken Scott, recounted in his book From Abbey Road to Ziggy Stardust, reveals how a technical mishap became a defining characteristic of “Glass Onion.” Scott described recording multiple snare drum hits for the song’s opening, aiming for a powerful “blap, blap” effect. After overdubbing numerous snares and mixing them down, Scott inadvertently erased a portion of these snare hits during a punch-in for a recorder overdub, leaving only a single snare hit at the very end of the opening sequence.
Expecting to be reprimanded, Scott played the accidental solo snare back for Lennon. To Scott’s surprise, Lennon embraced the mistake, declaring, “No one would ever think of having the smallest part of the song come immediately after the biggest. I like it. We’ll keep it.” This accidental innovation, born from a technical error, became a signature element of “Glass Onion,” showcasing the Beatles’ openness to experimentation and embracing unexpected outcomes.
Further enhancing Ringo Starr’s drum sound, tea towels were placed on the drums to create a heavier, “thud” effect. Another unconventional technique involved placing a pack of Geoff Emerick’s favorite Everest cigarettes on the drum head, further dampening the sound and contributing to the track’s unique sonic texture.
Lyrically, “Glass Onion” is a labyrinth of Beatles references and cryptic pronouncements. Lennon explicitly mentions “Strawberry Fields,” hints at “I Am the Walrus,” quotes “Lady Madonna,” and alludes to Liverpool (“Standing on the cast-iron shore”). These references are not merely nostalgic nods; they are integral to the song’s thematic exploration of perception and reality.
Musicologist Alan Pollack highlights the illusory nature of the song’s apparent key changes, explaining how the “chromatically rising middle voice” creates a sense of expectation without actual harmonic progression. This musical sleight of hand mirrors the lyrical misdirection, reinforcing the song’s theme of playful deception.
Lennon’s scream provides a release of tension, leading back to the title phrase, “Glass Onion,” an invitation to look deeper, to see beyond the surface. Through this “glass onion” lens, Lennon points out the “fool on the hill,” reaffirming his presence in this alternate, surreal world. He then delves further into absurdity with lines like “Fixing a hole in the ocean / Trying to make a dove-tail joint,” pushing the boundaries of nonsensical imagery.
The song concludes with a striking outro: the music drops away, leaving only the strings to play an “eerie but melancholy tune,” intensifying the sense of disjointedness and alternate reality. “Glass Onion,” in its entirety, is a testament to Lennon’s satirical wit and his willingness to challenge both his audience and himself. He uses the song as a trickster’s game, turning the lens of interpretation back on the listener, leaving them to unravel its layers of meaning – or meaninglessness.
‘YER BLUES’
“Yer Blues,” alongside “Julia” and “I’m So Tired,” serves as a potent foreshadowing of John Lennon’s future solo work, particularly his raw and confessional Plastic Ono Band album. The track’s stark honesty, direct lyrics, and emotionally exposed vocals became hallmarks of Lennon’s post-Beatles output. It represents a deliberate departure from the studio sophistication of tracks like “Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite” and “Strawberry Fields Forever,” signaling Lennon’s move towards a more stripped-down, primal sound, rooted in his rock ‘n’ roll and blues influences.
While “Yer Blues” showcases some of Lennon’s most visceral vocals, it raises a fundamental question: is the track a genuine expression of despair, a sincere “cry for help,” or a parodic take on blues clichés, a tongue-in-cheek commentary on the genre itself? The answer, perhaps, lies in the ambiguity itself, in the blurring of sincerity and satire that Lennon often employed.
In a 1980 Playboy interview, Lennon revealed the song’s origins in India, stating, “‘Yer Blues’ was written in India, too. Up there, trying to reach God and feeling suicidal.” This stark confession provides a crucial context for understanding the song’s raw emotional intensity. Lennon’s initial demo, recorded during the Esher sessions, further underscores this vulnerability. Closer to Delta blues in its acoustic arrangement, the demo features Lennon’s double-tracked vocals and lyrics very similar to the final version, with minor variations. In the demo, he sings, “My mother was of the earth, my father was of the sky, but I am of the universe and that’s the reason why,” a more cosmic reflection compared to the final version’s starkly existential “…and you know what it’s worth.”
The reference to Bob Dylan’s “Mr. Jones” (from “Ballad of a Thin Man”) also undergoes a significant shift. In the demo, Lennon sings, “I feel so insecure, just like Dylan’s Mr. Jones.” The studio version transforms “insecure” into “suicidal,” amplifying the track’s ominous and deeply troubled atmosphere. This lyrical change highlights Lennon’s increasing willingness to confront and express his darkest emotions in his songwriting.
While the demo version stands as a powerful acoustic blues piece, The Beatles opted for a full-band rendition, seeking a different kind of impact. To achieve this raw, claustrophobic sound, they famously recorded the basic track in Abbey Road Studio Two’s small, closet-sized annex. This unconventional recording location was reportedly inspired by a joking remark from engineer Ken Scott, who, frustrated with the band’s studio experimentation, quipped that they’d soon want to record in the next room. Lennon seized on this idea, and the band set up their equipment in the annex, creating an intensely intimate and confined recording space.
The close-miked sound in the annex contributes significantly to the song’s claustrophobic feel, mirroring the lyrical themes of anguish and confinement. On August 13, 1968, they recorded the initial take of “Yer Blues,” featuring Ringo Starr on drums, Paul McCartney on bass, George Harrison on lead guitar, and Lennon on rhythm and lead guitar. In total, they completed 14 takes, as documented in Mark Lewisohn’s Complete Beatles Recording Sessions. Intriguingly, between takes eight and nine, the three Beatles present (McCartney had briefly left the room) engaged in an instrumental jam, later excerpted and included on Various Adlibs, a compilation of White Album session outtakes.
Ultimately, they combined take 14 (for the solos) and take 6 (for the rest of the song). A series of reduction mixes followed, culminating in takes 15, 16, and 17, which further refined the track. George Martin and Ken Scott then spliced the beginning of take 17 onto the end of take 16. Listeners can discern this edit point around the 3:16 mark, where Lennon’s guide vocal briefly reappears. The 2018 White Album box set offers a fascinating alternative, presenting take 17 in its entirety, revealing a different instrumental mix with enhanced clarity, particularly in McCartney’s bass and Starr’s drum fills.
The following day, Lennon overdubbed his final lead vocal, and McCartney added backing vocals on “girl you know the reason why.” Dissatisfied with their initial guitar solos, Lennon and McCartney recorded two new solos, overdubbed around the 2:28 mark. Starr also double-tracked his drums during the guitar solo section. Notably, Lennon chose to retain his guide vocal towards the end of take 16 (starting around 3:18), leaving it in the final mix, adding to the song’s raw, unpolished quality.
On August 20th, with Harrison absent in Greece, Lennon and Starr finalized “Yer Blues,” recording a short edit piece – Starr’s count-in – which was added to the mono remix. Starr’s count-in launches the song, immediately followed by Lennon’s raw, almost screamed opening lines: “Yes I’m lonely / Wanna die.” His voice, strained and cracking with emotion, instantly draws the listener into his pain. Tim Riley, in his critical analysis Tell Me Why, notes the stark instrument placement, with Lennon’s lead guitar on the right and Starr’s drums on the left. He observes, “the beat is tired again, Lennon’s guitar line first spicing the sound with rhythmic jabs and then falling, hanging on to the beat for dear life.”
Riley further dissects the guitar solo section into two movements. The first solo, he describes as sounding “warped, as though we’re hearing it from underwater,” while the second, likely played by George Harrison, is “more melodic, even though its brittle tone is tense and pinched.” Starr’s drum fill signals the song’s final segment, bringing the intense instrumental passage to a close.
Walter Everett, in The Beatles as Musicians: Revolver through the Anthology, analyzes the rhythmic complexity of “Yer Blues,” noting its shifts from a “plodding tempo” to a “stop-time passage,” a “rock ‘n’ roll-inspired swing blues,” and “tongue-in-cheek improvisational solos.” Everett speculates that these tempo variations may have been influenced by Yoko Ono, who had reportedly criticized the predictable rhythms of “Hey Bulldog.”
Lennon’s faint, submerged vocals can be heard after the guitar solos, as if he is drowning in his own despair. Words like “lonely” and “die” emerge from the mix, highlighting the raw emotion and underscoring the impact of Lennon’s decision to keep his guide vocal in the final version. “Feel so suicidal / Even hate my rock ’n’ roll!” he cries, the darkness seemingly overwhelming him.
Despite its evident sincerity, the question of parody persists. Was “Yer Blues” intended as a send-up of English blues bands, a genre that was gaining popularity in Britain at the time? Lennon himself offered ambiguous answers, fueling the debate. He likened the title to a “pun” on English soul music, similar to McCartney’s Rubber Soul title, in his 1971 Rolling Stone interview. However, he also seemed to downplay the parody notion, stating that “Yer Blues” and “I’m So Tired” were “pretty realistic; they were about me.” He ironically noted the contrast between writing songs of such pain while supposedly meditating in the presence of the Maharishi.
The title itself, using “yer” instead of “your,” certainly hints at wordplay and possibly parody. In the Rolling Stone interview, Lennon admitted that insecurity played a role in the title choice. He confessed to feeling self-conscious about performing blues, despite the Beatles’ art school exposure to artists like Sleepy John Estes. Paul McCartney reportedly suggested a more straightforward title, but Lennon opted for “Yer Blues,” embracing the wordplay.
Author Steve Turner argues that beneath the wordplay, the lyrics express genuine pain, reflecting Lennon’s personal turmoil: the breakdown of his marriage, career uncertainties, and growing tensions within the Beatles. Turner interprets “Yer Blues” as a cry for help, directed towards Yoko Ono. Bruce Spizer adds that Lennon viewed the song as “pretty realistic,” while consciously avoiding direct imitation of American blues artists.
“Yer Blues” held significant personal weight for Lennon, evidenced by its inclusion in two key live performances: The Rolling Stones Rock ’n’ Roll Circus in December 1968 and the Toronto Rock ’n Roll Revival Concert in September 1969. The Rock ’n’ Roll Circus performance, featuring Lennon with Yoko Ono, Eric Clapton, Keith Richards, and Mitch Mitchell as “The Dirty Mac,” circulated widely as bootlegs, showcasing a nine-minute extended version of the track. The Toronto performance, with Lennon, Ono, Clapton, Klaus Voormann, and Alan White under the “Plastic Ono Band” banner, was officially released as the Live Peace in Toronto 1969 album.
Ultimately, the raw emotionality and convincing delivery of lines like “yes I’m lonely / wanna die” suggest that “Yer Blues,” while perhaps containing elements of parody or wordplay, is fundamentally a sincere expression of Lennon’s inner turmoil. It bridges the gap between his Beatles work and his intensely personal solo material, foreshadowing the “primal scream” vocals and confessional nature of Plastic Ono Band. In a way, “Yer Blues” can be seen as a raw, amplified addendum to “Help!”, another cry for recognition and understanding, delivered with Lennon’s signature blend of sincerity and hard-rocking intensity.
‘SEXY SADIE’
“Sexy Sadie,” like many White Album tracks, originated during the Beatles’ time in India, specifically amidst the growing disillusionment with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Rumors of the Maharishi’s inappropriate behavior towards female devotees, reportedly disseminated by “Magic Alex” Mardas, began to circulate, deeply affecting John Lennon in particular. Feeling betrayed and disillusioned, Lennon spearheaded the Beatles’ decision to leave the ashram in Rishikesh.
Lennon recounted the confrontation with the Maharishi in a 1971 Rolling Stone interview: “So, we went to see Maharishi, the whole gang of us, the next day, charged down to his hut, his bungalow – his very rich-looking bungalow in the mountains – and as usual, when the dirty work came, I was the spokesman – whenever the dirty work came, I actually had to be leader … and I said ‘We’re leaving.’ ‘Why?’ he asked, and all that shit and I said, ‘Well, if you’re so cosmic, you’ll know why.’”
While Lennon and George Harrison awaited their departure from Rishikesh, Lennon began to channel his anger and disappointment into songwriting, starting to pen the lyrics for “Sexy Sadie.” He later recalled in Anthology, “That was written just as we were leaving, waiting for our bags to be packed in the taxi that never seemed to come.” Paul McCartney added, “John wrote ‘Sexy Sadie’ to get it off his chest,” emphasizing the song’s cathartic nature.
Mark Lewisohn’s Complete Beatles Recording Sessions reveals the initial raw anger in Lennon’s lyrics. The original lines were far more explicit and accusatory, directly naming the Maharishi: “Maharishi, you little twat, who the fuck do you think you are? Who the fuck do you think you are? Oh, you cunt.” Lennon himself acknowledged the song’s calculated yet emotionally driven nature in one of his final interviews: “I was just using the situation to write a song, rather calculatingly but also to express what I felt. I was leaving the Maharishi with a bad taste. You know, it seems that my partings are always not as nice as I’d like them to be.”
McCartney, however, held a more nuanced perspective on Lennon’s anger. In Many Years From Now, he suggested that Lennon’s disillusionment might have been based on unrealistic expectations. “Perhaps [the other Beatles] had been looking for something more than a guy and found he wasn’t a god, whereas I’d been looking at a guy who was saying, ‘I’m only giving you a system of meditation,’” McCartney explained. He also revealed that Lennon initially titled the song “Maharishi,” using the name in the lyrics.
It was Harrison and McCartney who persuaded Lennon to soften the direct attack, suggesting he drop the Maharishi’s name. To maintain the song’s rhythm and meter, Lennon changed the title to “Sexy Sadie.” In retrospect, McCartney considered this a wise decision, especially given that the rumors originated from the unreliable Magic Alex. Altering the name offered a layer of protection and broadened the song’s thematic scope.
An intriguing artifact from the original lyrics survives: a piece of wood on which Lennon carved the “Maharishi” version, inscribed with “the private mind of John Lennon.” This piece, once owned by Ringo Starr’s first wife Maureen, later surfaced at auction, offering a tangible link to the song’s raw, initial form.
Beyond the Maharishi controversy, “Sexy Sadie” also draws inspiration from an unexpected source: Smokey Robinson. Lennon, a known admirer of Robinson and The Miracles, particularly their 1961 hit “I’ve Been Good to You,” directly borrowed from the song’s opening lines. Jonathan Cott, in his book Days That I’ll Remember, highlights the connection between “I’ve Been Good to You” – “Look what you’ve done; You’ve made a fool of everyone” – and the opening verses of “Sexy Sadie.” Lennon himself expressed his deep admiration for Robinson, telling Cott, “Smokey Robinson has the most perfect voice. A beautiful piece. … I go wild every time I hear it.”
After recording an early version during the Esher demos, Lennon brought “Sexy Sadie” to Abbey Road on July 19, 1968. The Beatles recorded 21 takes, with take six later appearing on Anthology 3. This version featured vocals by Lennon, McCartney, and Harrison, Harrison’s electric guitar, Starr’s drums, and Lennon’s Hammond organ. They returned to the track on July 24th, recording another 23 takes, still seeking the perfect rendition.
Dissatisfied, they made another attempt on August 13th, completing eight more takes. The final take, labeled 107 (including all previous attempts), was chosen as the best. Overdubs were added on August 21st, with Lennon re-recording his lead vocal, and McCartney, Starr, and Harrison contributing organ, bass, tambourine, and backing vocals.
The song’s distinctive sound is enhanced by the distorted, delayed piano, an effect reminiscent of Phil Spector’s production style, which Lennon would later embrace on Imagine. This piano effect creates an unsettling atmosphere, intensified by the swirling, almost underwater-sounding background vocals. Harrison’s guitar work adds a biting edge, underscoring the bitterness of Lennon’s lyrics. “Sexy Sadie you’ll get yours yet – however big you think you are,” Lennon snarls, his anger palpable. The lyrics vividly convey his sense of betrayal: “You gave her everything you owned just to sit at her table. Just a smile would lighten everything,” he laments.
Intriguingly, Lennon shifts the gender of the perceived charlatan in the song, referring to “Sexy Sadie” as “she,” suggesting a figure who uses sexuality to manipulate and seduce. “She came along to turn on everyone. Sexy Sadie, the greatest of them all,” he admits, acknowledging his own susceptibility to this figure’s allure.
While the Maharishi’s alleged transgression was the seduction of female followers, the song broadens the scope to encompass a more general critique of charismatic figures who exploit their followers’ trust and devotion. “Sexy Sadie” becomes a cautionary tale about the dangers of blindly following gurus and the potential for even spiritual leaders to abuse their power.
Was the Maharishi guilty of the accusations leveled against him? The truth remains shrouded in ambiguity. However, the controversy undeniably sparked one of John Lennon’s most compelling and emotionally charged compositions. “Sexy Sadie”‘s sonic landscape, with its reverberating piano and unsettling atmosphere, foreshadows Lennon’s later collaborations with Phil Spector. The song also anticipates Lennon’s continued exploration of eccentric characters and narratives in tracks like “Polythene Pam.”
In a postscript to the “Sexy Sadie” saga, George Harrison’s contrasting perspective on the Maharishi is evident in two songs he wrote in response. “Not Guilty,” originally intended for the White Album (with over 100 takes recorded, take 102 surfacing on Anthology 3), but ultimately released on George Harrison (1979), offers a defense: “Not guilty, for leading you astray on the road to Mandalay,” referencing the Beatles’ Indian sojourn.
On Dark Horse (1974), Harrison’s “Simply Shady” directly parodies “Sexy Sadie”: “You may think of Sexy Sadie, let her in through your front door – and your life won’t be so easy anymore,” a clear indication that Harrison remained unconvinced by Lennon’s interpretation of events and the Maharishi’s character.
‘EVERYBODY’S GOT SOMETHING TO HIDE EXCEPT FOR ME AND MY MONKEY’
The White Album‘s sprawling double-album format has long been debated. Could it have been a more potent work as a single disc? Was it truly as disjointed and fragmented as initial critics claimed? Paul McCartney’s emphatic defense in the Anthology documentary – “I mean, it’s great, it sold, it’s the bloody Beatles’ White Album! So shut up!” – encapsulates the enduring appeal and iconic status of this often-misunderstood masterpiece.
Initial critical reception was mixed, with Nik Cohn of the New York Times famously dismissing it as “[boring beyond belief],” and labeling half the songs as “profound mediocrities.” However, contemporary perspectives, particularly from publications like Rolling Stone, have reassessed the White Album‘s seemingly erratic nature, emphasizing context and thematic depth in appreciating its unique qualities. Regardless of varying opinions on its overall consistency, there is widespread agreement that The Beatles album contains moments of profound introspection, spiritual searching, and, at times, raw, unadulterated rock and roll energy.
“Everybody’s Got Something to Hide Except for Me and My Monkey” perfectly embodies this playful yet often abrasive energy. Its meaning remains intentionally ambiguous: does “monkey” refer to drug addiction, as some have speculated, or is it a term derived from the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi’s spiritual lexicon? Regardless of interpretation, the track explodes with Lennon’s screaming vocals, searing guitar work, and McCartney’s driving bass lines, showcasing the Beatles’ raw power and musical dynamism.
Principal songwriter John Lennon composed the track in 1968, and George Harrison suggested that the song’s title was partially inspired by the Maharishi’s frequent mantra, “Everybody’s got something to hide.” However, Harrison admitted he never understood the “except for me and my monkey” part. Lennon himself, in a 1980 interview, clarified that “monkey” was a term of endearment for Yoko Ono, and the song celebrated their burgeoning romance.
“Everybody seemed to be paranoid except for us two, who were in the glow of love. Everything is clear and open when you’re in love,” Lennon explained. “Everybody was sort of tense around us – you know, ‘What is SHE doing here at the session? Why is she with him?’ All this sort of madness is going on around us, because we just happened to want to be together all the time.” This interpretation positions the song as a defiant declaration of love and a rejection of external judgment.
Paul McCartney, however, offered a contrasting perspective in Barry Miles’ Many Years From Now. He suggested that “monkey” might allude to Lennon’s increasing drug use, specifically heroin, during the White Album period. “Now John started talking about fixes and monkeys and it was a harder terminology which the rest of us weren’t into. We were disappointed that he was getting into heroin because we didn’t really see how we could help him,” McCartney stated. “We just hoped it wouldn’t go too far. In actual fact, he did end up clean but this was the period when he was on it. It was a tough period for John, but often that adversity and that craziness can lead to good art, as I think it did in this case.” While Lennon consistently denied this drug-related interpretation, lyrics like “the deeper you go, the higher you fly” could certainly be read as metaphorical references to drug experiences.
Regardless of the intended meaning of “monkey,” the song’s origins trace back to the Beatles’ time in Rishikesh, India. During their transcendental meditation retreat, they composed a prolific amount of material, much of which found its way onto the White Album. Upon regrouping in London in May 1968, they brought notebooks filled with these new songs and began recording demos at Harrison’s Esher bungalow. The original demo of “Everybody’s Got Something to Hide,” still untitled at that stage, reveals a slower, acoustic-driven track, quite different from the final high-energy version. The early lyrics were also less defined, often filled with placeholder phrases and nonsense syllables, a common characteristic of Lennon’s songwriting process in early drafts.
Recording sessions for “Everybody’s Got Something to Hide” officially commenced on June 26, 1968, beginning with rehearsals. The next day, they recorded six takes. On the final take, they added overdubs: two lead guitars, bells, and a shaker. According to the Beatles Bible, a “reduction mix to free up spare tracks also resulted in the song being sped up from 3’07” to 2’29”; it would end up faster still following a later mix.” This reduction mix not only shortened the song but also increased the tempo and changed the key, contributing to its frenetic energy. Refinements continued on July 1st, with McCartney adding another bass guitar part and Lennon recording new lead vocals. By July 23rd, more backing vocals, the now-iconic “come on, come on” ending, handclaps, and another bass part were added.
Two further reduction mixes resulted in take 10. These reductions, as the Beatles Bible notes, created space for Lennon to re-record his vocals, replacing his July 1st vocal track. Two more reduction mixes (takes 11 and 12) followed, and Lennon laid down yet another vocal track, along with more shouting, handclaps, another McCartney bass part, and additional percussion from Ringo Starr, completing the session. “Everybody’s Got Something to Hide” was then mixed for mono, followed by the stereo mix on October 12th.
Beyond the technical details, “Everybody’s Got Something to Hide” is defined by its raw, visceral impact. From the opening удар of Starr’s drums, the song grabs the listener with its aggressive energy. After a brief, almost hesitant start, the band explodes into high gear, rapidly accelerating the tempo. “Come on, come on – come on is such a joy,” Lennon shouts, his voice raspy and urgent. “Take it easy!” he cries, before the rhythm shifts again. Following the chorus, Lennon’s guitar pierces through the sonic chaos, signaling another dynamic shift in the track. “The deeper you go, the higher you fly; the higher you fly, the deeper you go,” he intones, leaving the listener to decipher the cryptic meaning.
In the subsequent verse, Lennon further obscures literal meaning with playful wordplay: “Your inside is out, and your outside is in; your outside is in, and your inside is out.” These lines exemplify Lennon’s love for linguistic games, a recurring element in his songs and writings, from A Spaniard in the Works to “I Am the Walrus” and “Come Together.” However, beyond the lyrical puzzles, “Everybody’s Got Something to Hide” is fundamentally about raw, unadulterated rock and roll power.
While their previous albums showcased studio innovation and lyrical complexity, the White Album marked a conscious return to their rock and roll roots. “That was really all I wanted to do – make a very loud raunchy rock ‘n’ roll record with the Beatles, which it is,” Lennon once stated. With tracks like “Everybody’s Got Something to Hide” and “Helter Skelter” (inspired by The Who’s claim of recording the “loudest, dirtiest song ever”), The Beatles sought to reassert their position as one of music’s most vital and “dangerous” bands.
McCartney summarized the White Album‘s sonic ambition: “We just tried to get it loud, guitars, can we have them sound louder, the drums louder.” As “Everybody’s Got Something to Hide” fades out, the lead guitar screams, the bass and rhythm guitars pound relentlessly, and the joyful cries of the Beatles themselves linger: “come on, come on, come on!” The track embodies the raw energy of the early Beatles, the young, hungry band who honed their craft in the raucous clubs of Hamburg, delivering high-octane performances for demanding audiences. “Raunchy and loud?” Mission accomplished.
‘CRY BABY CRY’
John Lennon may have dismissed “Cry Baby Cry” as “a piece of rubbish,” but this track stands as one of his most subtly intriguing and underrated compositions. Written during his time in India, “Cry Baby Cry” functions as a twisted nursery rhyme, a motif Lennon would revisit years later on Double Fantasy‘s “Cleanup Time.” Included on the White Album, “Cry Baby Cry” continues to captivate with its unusual instrumentation, cryptic lyrics, and haunting atmosphere.
As widely documented, the Beatles’ sojourn in India proved to be a fertile creative period, yielding a wealth of new material. According to Hunter Davies’ Beatles biography, Lennon’s inspiration for “Cry Baby Cry” stemmed from a television commercial jingle: “I think I got them from an advert – ‘Cry baby cry, make your mother buy.’ I’ve been playing it over on the piano. I’ve let it go now. It’ll come back if I really want it,” he told Davies. Another likely source is the traditional nursery rhyme “Sing a Song of Sixpence,” which shares thematic and lyrical similarities with “Cry Baby Cry,” particularly the lines: “The king was in his counting house counting out his money; the queen was in the parlor eating bread and honey.”
After developing the song further in India, Lennon brought it to George Harrison’s Esher home in May 1968, where the Beatles recorded demos that would form the basis of much of the White Album. Returning to Abbey Road Studios on July 15, 1968, they began work on “Cry Baby Cry.” The Beatles Bible notes that they filled four 30-minute tapes with rehearsal takes during this session. Unfortunately, this early material was subsequently wiped during later recording sessions.
The following day, they recorded ten additional takes. Take 1 of these sessions later surfaced on Anthology 3, showing little variation from the final album version. However, take 10 was ultimately chosen as the best foundation, featuring Lennon on acoustic guitar, piano, and vocals, Paul McCartney on bass, and Ringo Starr on drums. (George Harrison was absent from these sessions.) The group created two mixes of take 10, experimenting with removing most of Lennon’s vocals in one mix. Take 12 was eventually selected as the basis for the final album version.
Around this time, Geoff Emerick, a long-time Abbey Road engineer, famously quit the White Album sessions in protest, replaced by Ken Scott on July 18th. Under Scott and George Martin’s guidance, Lennon recorded new lead vocals, and Martin added harmonium. McCartney contributed harmonies, Starr played tambourine, and Harrison rejoined the sessions, adding electric guitar and sound effects. Mixing took place later, on October 15th, with artificial double-tracking applied to enhance the acoustic guitar.
Intriguingly, the White Album includes a hidden coda to “Cry Baby Cry”: a song fragment informally titled “Can You Take Me Back.” This impromptu jam emerged from the September 16th recording sessions for “I Will.” Unsurprisingly, its instrumentation, featuring acoustic guitar and McCartney’s gentle vocals, echoes the ballad-like quality of “I Will.” Alan Pollack, in his “Notes On” series, raises the question of “Can You Take Me Back”‘s album context: “Are we to consider it as a trailer to ‘Cry Baby Cry’ or a curtain raiser to ‘Revolution 9’?”
Examining the lyrics of “Cry Baby Cry” offers some clues to its enigmatic nature. Lennon’s vocals are upfront and central throughout the relatively simple melody, with lyrics reminiscent of “Sing a Song of Sixpence”:
The king of Marigold was in the kitchen
Cooking breakfast for the queen.
The queen was in the parlor
Playing piano for the children of the king.
He continues to paint a quaint, almost saccharine picture of a royal family, emphasizing childlike themes:
The king was in the garden
Picking flowers for a friend who came to play.
The queen was in the playroom
Painting pictures for the children’s holiday.
Lennon’s breathy vocals narrate this seemingly idyllic scene, introducing two more characters: the Duke and Duchess of Kirkcaldy, who arrive late for tea with the picture-perfect royal family.
Interwoven throughout this seemingly serene narrative is the recurring chorus: “Cry baby cry – make your mother sigh; she’s old enough to know better.” While echoing the advertisement Lennon mentioned, this chorus injects a subtle sense of unease, a hint of darkness beneath the surface tranquility. The subsequent lines further amplify this unsettling atmosphere:
At 12 o’clock a meeting round the table
For a séance in the dark.
With voices out of nowhere
Put on especially by the children for a lark.
This supernatural element casts a shadow over the proceedings, although Lennon clarifies that the children might be playing a prank on the adults. The question of deception arises: who is fooling whom in this scenario? Lennon portrays both the Duke and Duchess and the King and Queen as somewhat childish and simplistic. Their children are not depicted playing or creating; instead, the parents engage in these activities. The children only become active when it comes to potentially tricking the adults.
“Cry Baby Cry” subverts the conventional nursery rhyme, suggesting a disruption in traditional parent-child roles and dynamics. George Martin’s harmonium adds to the song’s quaint, almost archaic quality, enhancing the sense of a fabricated, perhaps falsely peaceful domesticity. Ringo Starr’s surprisingly bombastic drums introduce an element of incongruity, hinting at the turbulence beneath the surface of these seemingly innocent images. Combined with Lennon’s haunting vocals and McCartney’s descending bass lines, Starr’s drums become a crucial element in the song’s unsettling and unconventional soundscape.
“Cry Baby Cry” may not be as celebrated as other White Album tracks, but it perfectly embodies a key Beatles characteristic: their ability to invert musical conventions, applying their unique interpretations to traditional forms through unconventional arrangements and often unsettling lyrical content. It stands as a testament to Lennon’s ability to craft complex emotional landscapes within seemingly simple song structures.
Kit O’Toole is author of ‘Songs We Were Singing: Guided Tours Through the Beatles’ Lesser Known Tracks,’ and a longtime contributing editor for ‘Beatlefan’ magazine. Click here for more Deep Beatles
Kit O’Toole
Kit O’Toole is a lifelong music enthusiast who maintains a stand-alone music blog called Listen to the Band. In addition, she is the internet columnist and a contributing editor for Beatlefan magazine. She also holds an Ed.D. in Instructional Technology. Contact Something Else! at [email protected].
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