Growing up, I wanted to be a Beatle in the very literal sense -- in that I wanted to be a famous musician. Now, as an adult, the lack of a band, an album, and any association at all with the recording industry leads me to believe that I did not become a musician. But hardly the quitting type, I still to strive to be a Beatle, this time in the very figurative sense -- in that I want to enjoy all of the other substantial (and slightly insubstantial) non-music benefits that come along with the term. At face value, a "Beatle" refers to a Liverpudlian pop sensation; but I think it's safe to say that the word has long entered our cultural lexicon as a synonym for successful. I want this to apply to myself. And I imagine that most other people, if they have any kind of drive or ambition, aspire for the same thing. We want to be Beatles. It makes perfect sense. They are pinnacle achievement, personified. Think about it -- everything they had, we want. Observe:
They were rich, we want to be rich. After a messy, prenuptial-less divorce, Paul McCartney is still practically a billionaire. And even with EMI Records and their manager Brian Epstein taking a considerable chunk of their change back in their playing days -- and then of course, splitting the final paycheck four separate ways -- they all had already amassed a sizable fortune before any of them turned 25 years old. I want that kind of cheese. I want the kind of wealth that essentially trivializes life, that makes the entire world my personal plaything. It's not just being able to have anything, it's more being able to make anything happen. Reserving an entire day at Disney World for just me and my closest friends, forcing the Olive Garden to cook me chicken fried rice and Lo Mein, visiting a zoo and taking an endangered species (is Ling-Ling the panda bear still around?) home with me as a pet...these are the perks of being that kind of rich. I imagine it's the closest thing to being omnipotent, to being God Himself -- having the authority to will anything into existence. I bet Lennon had that kind of clout.
They got laid a lot, we want to get laid a lot. This one's self-explanatory. If the prospect of sex isn't your primary reason for living, breathing, and being, then you're probably doing something wrong.
They were famous, we want to be famous. They're universally-known. I'd wager that even those African tribes who communicate with that clicking language have some kind of translation for John, Paul, George, and Ringo. People know exactly who you are even though you've never met them before in your life -- that's the ultimate self-esteem booster, that's how you know you're a somebody. I can barely begin to fathom that kind of exhilarating notoriety. I want to be a bigshot.
They had artistic credibility, we want artistic credibility. The body of their work is listener-tested, critic-approved. Their merit as artists is tried and true. They were perceived to be the best at their craft. And I know that to at least some degree, we all -- even the most practical and utilitarian amongst us -- want to create. The urge to paint, to sing, to sketch, to perform, to write, to build is intrinsic in us, it's primal. Having simply lived and died is hardly enough; artistic acclaim can go a long way in validating your existence. That album you record, that movie you film, and that fresco you paint can be tangible evidence that you made some kind of difference.
They had long hair, we want long hair. This may or may not be gender-specific, but as a guy, I understand the very simple concept that longer is more hip and shorter is less hip. There will inevitably come a time -- it's not an exact science, it could come at four or six or eight weeks; it's subject to change -- when I look in the mirror and I'll notice that my front bangs are encroaching my line of vision, the tufts around my ears start doing that little flip thing that they do, and the back gets really shaggy and starts weighing heavy on my neck. My brain thinks it's time for a trim, but what does my brain know about cool? It'd probably give me a buzz cut every few days if it could. I regret nearly every haircut I get, ultimately pining for what used to be. Just stay the course, that's the way to go.
They were innovators, we want to be innovators. Whether it's visually (the aforementioned mop-top haircuts; matching suits), compositionally (sculpting Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band as an all-encompassing concept album and consequently lifting the entire bar of standard for albums as an art form), or technically (I believe the opening of "I Feel Fine" was the first instance of amplifier feedback appearing on a recording), the Beatles are credited -- sometimes mistakingly, most of the time deservedly -- for being the first to have ever done certain things. The first, as in unprecedented. Everyone wants to create something new, be the very first to introduce brand new ways of thinking or doing. This is definitely not exclusive to artsy, flighty Liberal Arts majors; surgeons want to invent new operating room procedures, lawyers want to spearhead new legal cases, chemist want to make molecular discoveries -- basically, anyone who puts any pride in their craft eventually wants to break ground.
Astronaut, Fireman, Batman -- these are all things a lot of us say we want to be when we grow up. But that's just borne from youth and naivety. I mean, fighting fires is a noble cause, but it doesn't seem like any kind of fun to me. When we grow a little older and get a better grasp of exactly what we want out of life, we realize that what we really want to be are Beatles...and everything that comes with it. At least that's the conclusion I came to. I think it describes every possible whim I could ever have, be it inspired by the financial, superficial, artistic, or philosophical. It just kind of says it all, succinctly and completely.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
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