From: dmac@julia.math.ucla.edu (saki)
Subject: Mystery tours
Organization: UCLA Mathematics Department
Date: Wed, 6 Jan 93 07:07:51 GMT

You have to know when it's right to be silent.

And you have to know, equally, when there's eloquence to be found 
in the absence of words, lyrics, melody. Though I have to admit that
heretofore the mellifluous tones of the Fabs' oeuvre have been a
particularly trustworthy source of revelation for me. Astonishing,
therefore, how loudly silence can speak.

A few days ago a fellow I know who's as besotted by the Fabs
as the rest of us received a generous gift---a videotape of the
recently released, little mentioned home movies shot in 1967
by that gentle soul (whose unfortunate death makes another
type of statement about gun control), Mal Evans. Mal was the
Boys' road manager for years, and a trusted friend for life.
Recently his family decided to auction selections from Mal's
film library, possibly because they needed sustenance more than
sentimentality. My friend screened it for me in its entirely---
and to my surprise, I *saw*, rather than heard, wondrous things 
within that brief hour.

On the surface these filmed vignettes are less than exemplary.
Imagine typical home movies from the sixties---if "typical" is 
permissible in this context---and you've got the picture, so
to speak...but only the picture. Mal shot these sequences in
8mm and there's no accompanying sound. The video distributors,
perhaps wisely, decided not to add any, suggesting in the packaging
that the viewer might like to experiment with appropriate 
accompaniment. But it's not strictly necessary.

Mal's trusty camera accompanies Paul on safari in Kenya in late
1966; to Denver and Los Angeles in 1967; and to the English
countryside later that year during the filming of "Magical
Mystery Tour" (for which I have a renewed sense of appreciation
now that I've seen the preeminently-obtuse "Wonderwall". :-)

On the one hand, I'm not even sure I could recommend these
movies of Mal's to even the most hard-core Beatlemaniac. Or
at least that's what I felt during real-time viewing. For if
you're looking for revelations about Paul's private life, or
a plethora of depictions involving previously-unseen Fabs'
filmic moments, you'll undoubtedly rue the day you spent
whatever enormous sum it takes to own this package. You'll see
what "regular folks" like to film on holiday: trees, mountains,
streams; a stray dog trotting through an anonymous village
square; giraffes and wildebeasts in Kenya; airports, city
streets, taxicabs, motels. And a few moments of Macca's
friends and coworkers cavorting on the Cornish plains of
Newquay, intent on making a film about a mysterious tour-
bus journey.

True, there's an occasional glimpse of the principal players.
In fact, Mal often films Paul filming the same scenery, with
(I suspect) a similar camera. And that gave me pause. It
struck me that, when you take these two men from the North
(one the megastar, one the roadie), and let them roam through
the "real" world, cut free from the fetters of fame, their
interests are much like anyone else. But you get the distinct
impression that what's exotic to them both is captured in these
pictures, whether it's a rare African mammal or busy business
loop in a typical American town. Maybe, in a way, these are
equivalent vistas.

The Beatle whom Mal captures on film is fascinated by 
simple sights as well as complex ones. They flew to Denver
to meet up with Paul's then-flame Jane Asher, demure and
just twenty-one. At night she played Juliet with the 
Bristol Old Vic on its American tour; by day she explored
a similar role, captured by Mal's camera as she and Paul
hike in the woods or lounge by a lake.

What a peculiar side-trip for Paul, the man whose vision
had led the Fabs to create the LP that would shake the
world not two months later. With most of that masterpiece
complete back in London, Paul apart from his musical cohorts
was already contemplating the next move, a magical tour not
unlike the one captured here, but suffused with an unfortunate
modicum of self-conscious vision. To his credit, before he
even knew what "Sgt. Pepper" would do in the world of music,
McCartney was already in search of the new direction. Perhaps,
like Mal, he was using his camera to capture some clue, to
remind himself what a simpler world offered.

Yet this simple life, this wilderness, these everyday features
of workaday cities were as remote to Paul as the past he and
his mates had left when they sought fame. There was a note of
sincerity in the young man's voice when the Beeb compere asked him
in 1963 whether there was anything he missed, being a now-famous
Fab. "A bus," replied Paul. He missed taking the bus. Already,
not a year into being famous, these boys had moved beyond the
turning point. Perhaps in their tenacity to attain the top of
the pops, they hadn't considered, or cared, what ordinary---but 
possibly precious---elements of life they would leave behind. 

That real turning point, one could argue, was right now, this
time, this month, this moment...but thirty years ago. One
marginal single release ("Love Me Do") now behind them; one
last dreary tour of Hamburg done; one miraculously promising
single recorded and awaiting release just days hence, on
January 11, 1963. And a year full of unknowns ahead of them.
Club dates, radio shows, even a television appearance or
two; maybe writing songs for somebody important, like Helen
Shapiro; maybe a few chart-toppers. What more could there
be?

Of course there was much more. 1963 began slowly, perfunctorily,
for the Beatles. By April of that year there was a ceaseless
acceleration, a growing force that was the musical equivalent
of a tsunami. Our poor lot here in the States saw none of it,
savored none of the sweet incremental force that changed the
fabric of modern music, that brought pop critics to their knees.
This was England's year, a resonant British revolution. When it
finally reached New York almost a year later, its impact was
virtually instantaneous. For us there was no subtlety. And
American culture placed little value in such things, anyway.

But thirty years in the past, there was a journey about to be
made. This was the real mystery trip. The four musicians who
made it, willingly, left behind their ordinary world for another
full of wondrous sounds and silences...and in doing so, changed
the musical universe for those of us who *still* find---in every 
lyric, in every pause, in every breath---an echo of that wonder.

--
"Here's the first big chart-busting bombshell of '63!!!! The Beatles
have made *THE* RECORD OF THE YEAR!"
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saki (dmac@math.ucla.edu)-----------
Newsgroups: rec.music.beatles