Who 3: Sell Out

1967 meant psychedelia for most bands, and the Who were no exception. But instead of embarrassing themselves with a dated artifact, they put out a few classic singles, gigged incessantly and capped the year off with their first great album. The Who Sell Out uses the concept of radio, complete with jingles lifted from pirate radio stations as well as new ones recorded by the band. Even though the gimmick oddly runs out halfway through side two, the album garners repeat listening. (And the cover is a scream.)

A fanfare announces the days of the week, then it’s off to “Armenia City In The Sky”. This sounds so much like a Who song it’s hard to believe it’s not, as it plods away fantastically. “Heinz Baked Beans” is close enough to “Cobwebs And Strange” from the last album, but is a lot funnier and more fun to whistle. “Mary Anne With The Shaky Hands” is something of a novelty song they recorded at least three times. A plug for Premier Drums turns into “Odorono”, a commercial too long to be used for a real ad. A “smooth sailing” jingle takes us into the story of “Tattoo”, with harmonies so pristine they’d keep doing them onstage. Radio London reminds you to go to the church of your choice, then Pete (who takes half the vocals on the album) sings “Our Love Was”, titled “Our Love Was, Is” for some reason on the American release. A bunch of jingles, both canned and recorded, go right into the classic “I Can See For Miles”, which fits perfectly on a collection of radio songs. A fantastic ending to side one.

A jaunty plug for Charles Atlas is followed by Pete’s complaint, “I Can’t Reach You”. “Medac” (titled “Spotted Henry” in the States) is another long original commercial, followed by the nearly Pink Floydian freakout of “Relax”. From here, the rest of the original album is jingle-free: John’s “Silas Stingy” is a feeble attempt to be as scary as his other songs; “Sunrise” is Pete singing with his acoustic guitar; and “Rael” ends the album with a mini-opera of sorts that’s just too buried to figure out, but does have a guitar refrain in the middle that would pop up again (and again).

When the big reissue program began in the ‘90s, the upgraded Sell Out boldly attempted to take the radio idea even further, and would almost succeed if the compilers hadn’t included four “unreleased” songs and two jingles that had already appeared on the box set a year earlier, as well as one track (“Glow Girl”) that is somewhat related thematically, but would reappear as an album track of sorts. By compromising value with these repeats, it also left no room for a handful of other tracks that would have been welcome. Luckily, those repeats are worth having—particularly the full band take on Pete’s “Melancholia” (which he swore the band hadn’t heard when the demo first appeared on 1983’s Scoop), Roger’s “Early Morning Cold Taxi” and even Keith’s “Girl’s Eyes”—and the “new” jingles do add an element of fun to the balance of the new tracks.

The album was an excellent candidate for a Deluxe Edition, since there was room for those still-missing tracks (as well as the singles and B-sides from that year), but the mono version sports a markedly different mix. When it finally appeared, both the stereo and mono versions were included, along with a good mix of extras from the 1995 remaster and other songs that should have been included the first time. Highlights include a demo of “Relax” that sounds more like Mose Allison than Pink Floyd, a studio take of “Summertime Blues” and the long-bootlegged instrumental “Sodding About”. Of course, there were still some jingles and whatnot that were left off. (Who freaks tend to nitpick, with some justification; after all, they wouldn’t care so much if these albums weren’t so damn good.)

As if someone was paying attention, the eventual Super Deluxe Edition, which was only three years late for its golden anniversary, managed to encompass not only most of the music the band recorded in 1967 leading up to the completion of Sell Out, but also gathered up everything completed in 1968 before the Tommy concept took hold. Along with the now-standard mono and stereo versions with timely singles and whatnot, one disc was devoted to expanded outtakes with extra takes and studio chat from the album sessions, while another presented 14 songs from 1968 as the proverbial “road to Tommy”, including more session peeks (with Nicky Hopkins mixed nice and prominent) and the elusive long version of “Magic Bus”, finally. A disc of Pete’s demos, only two of which had been released before, provided even more insight into his creation process. They also saw fit to cram in two 45s in replica sleeves and the usual ephemera (Radio London bumper sticker? A replica of Keith’s Speakeasy membership card? Gee, thanks) but at least the book delivered.

The Who The Who Sell Out (1968)—4
1995 remaster: same as 1968, plus 10 extra tracks (and 9 unlisted jingles)
2009 Deluxe Edition: same as 1968, plus 27 extra tracks (and 5 unlisted jingles and 3 hidden tracks)
2021 Super Deluxe Edition: same as 2009, plus 61 extra tracks

Who 2: Happy Jack

The Who spent much of 1966 releasing the odd single, playing in public and honing their next album. Based around a “mini-opera” Pete had concocted, A Quick One was rejigged for American release as Happy Jack, which was a good idea since its title song had become something of a hit.

“Run Run Run” starts the proceedings off and works as a mid-‘60s pop tune, even if it doesn’t fit the band. It’s followed by their next big classic and their first really stupid song, John’s immortal “Boris The Spider”. Supposedly written by Keith, “I Need You” sounds like John helped out with most of it. It also sounds too much like the Monkees, and suffers from lousy production. “Whiskey Man” isn’t quite up to “Boris”, and is one of John’s lesser tracks. “Cobwebs And Strange” is also credited to Keith, featuring a lot of out-of-tune horns, and Pete straining as his chords go up the neck. The title track, added for good reason, is still another incredibly stupid song that somehow manages to cause a smile.

“Don’t Look Away” is a country-flavored number that doesn’t go anywhere; neither does “See My Way”, one of exactly two Daltrey songs in fifteen years. “So Sad About Us” was originally passed on to another band to do first, which is odd since the Who’s version is so good. It’s a quick setup for the magnum opus. “A Quick One While He’s Away” took up a good chunk of the album, as well as much of the attention at the time. This version suffers from bad recording techniques and Roger’s nasal voice. Luckily, this arrangement would improve in time.

As a pop artifact, Happy Jack was a pleasant trifle, but not quite a classic. The eventual reissue added tracks, but made some truly glaring omissions in the process. Case in point: the Ready Steady Who! EP is included here save a decent re-recording of “Circles”. The songs are in a novelty vein, like the theme from “Batman” and two surf songs sung by Keith. “Bucket T” is incredibly stupid, and the horn breaks are hysterical. “Barbara Ann” is a little better, but the appeal of “Disguises” escapes us. Meanwhile, many of John’s songs made for great B-sides even if they didn’t make deserve to be on albums. “I’ve Been Away” is a slight change of pace, and “In The City” sounds like it was written in about ten minutes. But “Doctor Doctor”, with its high-pitched vocal and driving bass line, was recorded well after the album’s release and doesn’t belong here. “Man With Money” was an Everly Brothers tune played a lot in this era, and would have worked pretty well on an album. The medley of “My Generation” and “Land Of Hope And Glory” might have worked on the EP, but is just a failed experiment that doesn’t translate to wax. The reissue closes with an early, more acoustic version of “Happy Jack” that sounds very close to Pete’s demo, which begs the question: where’s the single track that was the cornerstone of the US LP? And what about “Circles” and the long version of “I’m A Boy”, both originally intended for the album? Even more confusing, only one track was in stereo on the reissue, and some years later when the correct tape was finally used, none of these omissions were addressed. Despite its strides, this remains a sloppy catalog item.

The Who Happy Jack (1967)—3
1995 A Quick One remaster: same as 1967, plus 11 extra tracks (and minus 1 original track)

Who 1: My Generation

The Who’s recording career began tentatively, but took off with their first real single, “I Can’t Explain”. Of course, neither it, its B-side nor its immediate follow-ups were included on the eventual debut album, with the exception of the title track. Like most British Invasion albums, My Generation—already an odd mix of earlier R&B covers and a batch of newer power pop compositions—was tampered with before it got to the US, where Decca tried unsuccessfully to push the band as heartthrobs and titled their version the unwieldy The Who Sings My Generation. And like most of the band’s albums, it doesn’t sound like anything else that came after it.

“Out In The Street” starts with a riff very similar to that of the earlier single “Anyway Anyhow Anywhere”. The rest of the song isn’t carried so much by the words as by the insistence of the playing. “I Don’t Mind” is one of several James Brown covers in this period; unfortunately no one told Roger Daltrey he didn’t sound like James Brown. “The Good’s Gone” is the first real Pete Townshend song here, using clever wordplay and undercut by a clean, snaky single-string riff. “La-La-La-Lies” is a nice Motown pastiche, but unfortunately Keith Moon plays this all on the tom-toms, resulting in a sound not unlike what basement musicians used to get from empty Quaker Oats containers. “Much Too Much” attempts to show off the harmonies the band could occasionally muster, but the title song follows to win the side.

“The Kids Are Alright” starts side two, though the US version was missing a chunk of the feedback solo in the middle. It’s still one of Pete’s best songs for its time and an excellent recording with good use of dynamics. “Please Please Please” is another James Brown song, though one can’t imagine the boys throwing a cape on Roger. “It’s Not True” is a novelty tune, extending the idea from “La-La-La-Lies” to something more humorous (“I’m not half-Chinese either and I didn’t kill my dad”). “A Legal Matter” sports a ringing guitar intro like an alarm, then goes into an almost country stomp with Pete singing effectively. “The Ox” is a breakneck duel between Nicky Hopkins on piano and Keith on the biscuit tins, with Pete and John Entwistle interrupting with all kinds of hideous noises, not common sounds for pop albums in 1966. “Circles” was added onto the US album (mistakenly titled “Instant Party”), and lucky for us Pete’s writing improved with every single. The performance here is also a leap forward.

My Generation was a tough, snotty album for its time, but legal issues kept it outside the 1990s reissue program for the better part of seven years, leaving it somewhat detached from the canon. When it finally appeared, it was in a “Deluxe Edition” that set out to include all of the disparate extra tracks from this period. “I Can’t Explain” is in stereo for the first time and it is tremendous. “Bald Headed Woman” was the obligatory B-side designed to make producer Shel Talmy even more dough; he’d already forced the Kinks to record it. (John said his favorite part was when Roger put the harmonica in his mouth the wrong way around.) “Anyway Anyhow Anywhere” is included in an alternate version with a hideous lead vocal that had snuck out on a French EP. The UK B-side was “Daddy Rolling Stone”—a good one—while the US got “Anytime You Want Me”, showing Roger’s improved comfort with slower, more tender sentiments. “Shout And Shimmy” was another B-side in the UK, done better by so many other people, most notably Otis Day and the Knights. “I’m A Man”, left off the US album, showcases Roger’s toughness and the guitar solo is close enough for jazz.

As we will see, while the compilers get high marks for effort, the current Who CD catalog is not without its faults. In this case, the My Generation Deluxe Edition totalled barely 90 minutes on two discs, so here was our suggestion for a single-disc version: the whole UK album as is, with some substitutes (full-length “I Don’t Mind” and “The Good’s Gone” as heard on the second disc, and the mono mixes of “My Generation” and “A Legal Matter” with all the overdubs). “Circles” should stay at the end, followed by the proper singles and B-sides, and any outtakes that will fit without being redundant.

But this century is all about more, not less, so the next time My Generation was updated, it was expanded to four hours on five discs: the mono UK sequence; a “new” stereo remix of the same sequence; bonus tracks in mono; bonus tracks in stereo; Pete’s demos. The first two discs could easily fit on one, and the stereo remix entailed contemporary overdubs “using the same guitars, amps and microphone”, cueing much slapping of foreheads, despite having snuck out on iTunes a few years earlier, along with some of the stereo bonus tracks. Everything sounds terrific, and mild variations abound between all the different versions, though somehow the a cappella mix of “Anytime You Want Me” fell out of favor. But the biggest surprises are on the demos disc, with six of them released for the first time (including “Sunrise”!) plus three never-before-heard songs. “The Girls I Could’ve Had” and “As Children We Grew” would have sounded strange on the first Who album, though “My Own Love” is more pop, and could have been sold to somebody else. The demos disc is only half an hour, yet still makes us wish Pete would make all of his demos available for scrutiny.

The Who The Who Sings My Generation (1966)—3½
2002 My Generation Deluxe Edition: same as 1966, plus 18 extra tracks
2016 My Generation Super Deluxe Edition: same as 2002, plus 49 extra tracks (and minus 1 track)

Neil Young 7: On The Beach

After mystifying audiences expecting “Heart Of Gold” with the ramshackle Time Fades Away tour and album, Neil took the splinters of Crazy Horse on the road with a few other stragglers and several cases of tequila for the Tonight’s The Night club tour, the album of which was shelved for another 18 months. However, a few of the sessions held to bolster that album were the springboard for what became On The Beach, which came out instead.

Side one crashes into place with “Walk On”, his middle finger to anyone who says he’s not giving the people what they want. That he does it in such a toe-tapping way is charming. “See The Sky About To Rain” had been sitting around for a few years. Performed often in his solo concerts, this pretty recording is the only one of his canon that features such a prominent electric piano. It’s a nice mood that leaves you unprepared for the next one. “Revolution Blues” is downright frightening. From the opening chords to the nightmarish image of 10 million dune buggies coming down the mountains, this is scary stuff. The loping rhythm section (from the Band) adds to the off-kilter sensation. Wow. “For The Turnstiles” offers another sardonic look at the nature of fame and the people who pay (and are paid) to see their heroes, dominated by a creaky banjo and dobro. “Vampire Blues” is the least of the album, another indictment of corporate greed, but with lines about oil consumption that ring true today. And it sputters on out.

Side two is an entity all its own. The title track is an odd blues, with slow guitar lines and jazzy chords underscoring his unhappiness. That’s sad enough, but the last two songs on the album are two of his best. Each sounds like it arrived in a single spew each, in exactly the order we hear them. There’s no real structure—they simply exist lucky to fit the music underneath. “Motion Pictures” features a guitar part not unlike a cat, dog and chicken clucking along, and seems to be a gentle tribute to his then-other half, except for the hint that it will all be over soon. “Ambulance Blues” is a more wistful, melancholy autobiography than “Don’t Be Denied”, which was so startling on Time Fades Away. It begins simply enough in the “old folkie days”, then before you know it he’s shaking his head sadly over the state of the world, with its men telling so many lies and time spent pissing in the wind. It’s such a simple arrangement, with a sweet mournful fiddle duetting with the harmonica.

His first album of new material that didn’t include a lyric sheet, On The Beach was another schizophrenic production, with extensive musician credits to help connect the dots. It must have been a startling listening experience for those who bought it upon original release. When it finally emerged on CD after a near thirty-year absence it got just as much “lost masterpiece” press as the differently received Greendale, which came out around the same time. It makes a much better bridge from Harvest to Tonight’s The Night, even though you still need Time Fades Away for the whole picture.

Neil Young On The Beach (1974)—4

Elvis Costello 13: Out Of Our Idiot

Having parted ways with Columbia in the US, Elvis took an extended break from recording. His only release in this period was a sequel of sorts to Taking Liberties—or more accurately, to Ten Bloody Marys & Ten How’s Your Fathers, as it was only released in the UK. Out Of Our Idiot collected several singles, strays, and sundry (with another four on the CD) from the eighties, and winkingly credited the collection to “Various Artists”, given the different band permutations and pseudonyms that had performed on the tracks. Collectors already had most of these songs, but to the new initiate, the album provided a well-needed Costello fix in the drought that followed the stellar one-two punch of 1986.

The music runs the gamut from straight rock ‘n soul with the Attractions to the subdued country of the Confederates, with odd covers from the disparate pens of Burt Bacharach, Smokey Robinson, Richard Thompson, and Yoko Ono in between. Yet as wide-ranging as the music is, the sequencing makes it very cohesive.

The ride begins with “Seven Day Weekend”, a collaboration with Jimmy Cliff for the soundtrack of a film he was in, followed by the terrific B-sides “Turning The Town Red” and “Heathen Town”. “The People’s Limousine” was the wordy first collaboration with T Bone Burnett, credited to and released by The Coward Brothers, while “American Without Tears No. 2 (Twilight Version)” is a sequel to the earlier song, written on tour and supposedly inspired by the adventures of Oliver North, though the song predated the revelation of the Iran-Contra affair. These bookend two previously unreleased tracks with the Attractions: the soul-reggae cover of “So Young”, from just before Get Happy!!, and the chaotic but driving “Little Goody Two Shoes”. “Get Yourself Another Fool” is a soulful Sam Cooke cover, while “Walking On Thin Ice” was recorded specifically for a collection of other people performing Yoko Ono songs, and marks his first collaboration with Allen Toussaint. As different as that one is from the original, the Imposter recording of Richard Thompson’s “Withered And Died” is taken straight. The single version of “Blue Chair” was unique in that it took the track originally recorded for King Of America, and given a new vocal two years later.

“Baby It’s You” was recorded with Nick Lowe for a one-off single, likely learned from the Beatles version, and “From Head To Toe” was a fun Smokey Robinson cover for another Attractions single. They also appear on “Baby’s Got A Brand New Hairdo” but not “Shoes Without Heels”; both were from the King Of America sessions. “The Flirting Kind” and “Black Sails In The Sunset” were two more B-sides that shouldn’t have been so buried. The most curious track was certainly “A Town Called Big Nothing”, credited to the MacManus Gang and written for the soundtrack of the truly odd film Straight To Hell, a Quentin Tarantino prototype mostly notable for unleashing Courtney Love onto celluloid. “Big Sister” was something of an early ska version of the song destined to close Trust, whereas “Imperial Bedroom”, the first appearance of the Napoleon Dynamite nom de plume, provided an after-the-fact title track for that album. Its one-man-band quality leads well into “The Stamping Ground”, a similar production for some reason credited to The Emotional Toothpaste.

Outside of a few remixes—an ‘80s trend to which even Elvis Costello was not immune—Out Of Our Idiot nicely mopped up most of the important deep cuts from the period. All but two of the songs were eventually spread across various Rykodisc and/or Rhino expansions, and then disappeared again once Hip-O took over, save the occasional compilation. Of the missing, “A Town Called Big Nothing” was included in the Ryko rollout but not the Rhino, and “Little Goody Two Shoes” has never appeared anywhere else. Luckily, the album was eventually released as a digital download in 2008, bringing those rare tracks back within legal reach.

Various Artists Out Of Our Idiot (1987)—4
Current CD availability: none; download only

Paul McCartney 2: Ram

Paul spent most of 1970 feeling sorry for himself, suing the other three Beatles and recording with the New York Philharmonic. Despite the simple “Another Day”, released as an early standalone single, the resultant album seemed as if he was trying to assuage the fears of those who thought McCartney was too homey; now that he Got Back, it was huge production time, like side two of Abbey Road. For the most part, Ram is still an extension of the family values of McCartney, but with more filled-in sound. Also, being credited to Paul and Linda McCartney, you hear a lot more of her. (Get used to it.)

“Too Many People” is a nasty tune that was taken to be a slap at John; whatever the truth is it’s still a toe-tapper. “3 Legs” is a dumb blues with lyrics that seem to mean more but probably don’t, then it’s over. (Somehow John thought this was about him too.) “Ram On” has one idea, and a good one, but since it doesn’t go anywhere it’s left behind. “Dear Boy” is not about John no matter what he thought; rather it’s a “so-there” to Linda’s first husband. “Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey” is stitched together from several fantastically melodic sections, none of which make any sense, but are all great. The orchestra is especially dreamy in the first part. After the truly exhilarating (acknowledgement to Nicholas Schaffner) “hands across the water” section it too heads off into the sunset amid the cacophony that starts “Smile Away”, another dumb yet great song. He’s definitely having fun, and we can hear it.

“Heart Of The Country” could fit easily onto the previous album, and is the first of several songs he would write over the years about sheep. “Monkberry Moon Delight” is utter nonsense, too loud and much too long. The ending is especially irritating. “Eat At Home” has a bit of a Buddy Holly snap to it, with effective rising and falling link sections. (This was actually selected as the single outside of America and Britain, and a good choice.) The orchestra returns for “Long Haired Lady”, which gets points even with Linda’s obnoxious vocals and those flatulent horns. “Ram On” comes back for another minute, then teases us with what would resurface two albums later as “Big Barn Bed”. “The Back Seat Of My Car” makes everyone happy with that one great song he puts on every album, with globs of strings and words that make sense for a change. It’s also one of the better Beach Boys homages out there. When he repeats that they believe they can’t be wrong you can almost believe him.

Flawed though it is, Ram still garners high marks, as it would be better than a lot of what would follow. It fits nicely with the first album too. There’s a little of everything, and there’s a real flow to the sequence. But Paul was still trying to find himself, and he wasn’t quite there yet.

Ram has gained respect over the years, usually among younger fans coming late to the story. Its emergence as part of the Paul McCartney Archive Collection, right around the 41st anniversary of its original release, was a Big Deal, available in a variety of increasingly collectible (read: expensive) LP and digital variations. Fans on a budget would have been pleased with the 2-CD version, which added the “Another Day”/“Oh Woman, Oh Why” single and the later “Little Woman Love” B-side, plus five long-booted session outtakes.

Those who sprung for the mega-box got that plus a massive book and two more CDs: one containing the promotional mono mix of the album, and another with the Thrillington album, an officially sanctioned Muzak version of the songs recorded in 1971 and shelved for six years. This curio came about simply because Paul was proud of the songs and hoped people would cover them. Rather than wait for that to happen, he commissioned Richard Hewson (who’d already worked on various Apple projects, as well as the Spector-sanctioned arrangements for Let It Be) to arrange instrumental versions. This he did, using such top session players as Herbie Flowers, Clem Cattini, and the guy who played the twangy James Bond theme—something of a British Wrecking Crew, if you will. The album is most interesting for its detail and attention to the original versions, but only if you already knew those back to front. The result was kitschy, and would be better appreciated in the ‘90s once the whole retro lounge genre had worn out its welcome.

Paul and Linda McCartney Ram (1971)—3½
2012 Archive Collection Special Edition: same as 1971, plus 8 extra tracks (Deluxe Edition adds another 23 tracks and DVD)
Percy “Thrills” Thrillington Thrillington (1977)—2½

John Lennon 2: Plastic Ono Band

In a period when each Beatle was making his own individual statement, there was still a sense of excited anticipation for John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band. Technically it was his fifth solo LP release, but it was his first real solo album—just him and his songs with no Yoko or avant-garde touches. He would tell it like he saw it; plus he’d spent most of the summer screaming therapeutically. It’s not an easy listen, but it’s worth it.

Complete with funeral bells at the start, “Mother” sets the tone for simplicity as John laments the lack of connection he’s felt with his parents, complete with a warning to the “children” who may be listening and following his lead. “Hold On John” is pretty, with the guitar matching the sweet melody. These days it’s no longer jarring to hear him sing his own name as well as Yoko’s. This temporary pick-me-up is pushed aside by the edgy “I Found Out”, its relentless beat bashing away the lies. The irritated “Working Class Hero” laments even more lies, specifically what he was told in school. (This title became a misleading nickname; he’s referring to himself as a hero of the working class, and not including himself in that class. His upbringing was easily the most financially privileged of the Beatles.) The weary “Isolation” sports perhaps the best bridge of John’s songwriting, with a vocal that shows off why they’ve called his the best voice in rock.

If you’re still wondering why he feels the way he does, “Remember” starts off side two to explain it all, complete with explosion. “Love” is another perfect extension of simplicity, and suggests for a brief moment that he may have figured it all out. (That’s Phil Spector on the piano, by the way.) After the musical illustration of Primal Therapy that is “Well Well Well”, “Look At Me”, written in 1968 in India, deflates this idea, suggesting instead that self-examination is never-ending. “God” starts off stately enough, then builds up to the (in)famous litany of all the illusions that let him down; if you look past the intentionally show-stopping declaration “I don’t believe in Beatles”, you’re left with “I just believe in me”, which is helpful advice. (If you want to include the additional “Yoko and me”, that’s your choice.) It straddles the line between a sermon and something we can all appreciate, but in the end it’s all about him, summed up by the simple fact that “My Mummy’s Dead”.

John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band is a true album by definition, for nothing else in his post-Beatle career would be as succinct, cohesive or clear-cut. By keeping it simple—accompanied only by Ringo and Klaus Voormann for the most part—he set the standard for honest songwriting, against which he would be judged long past his death. It’s still a shame everything he learned as preached on this album didn’t make him happy for the rest of his days. But having torn everything else down, he had nothing left to hide behind, leaving only his worst fears—that of exposure and rejection—strongly in evidence. This is still his most powerful statement, and quite a declaration of independence. It also says a lot that despite that “bathroom reverb”, Phil Spector let the songs speak for themselves too, and kept the production to the minimum.

The 2000 reissue CD sported questionable mixing variants, and while the inclusion of the early 1971 single “Power To The People” made sense, there was no reason to have the hideous “Do The Oz”, a later B-side. Luckily, these were ignored for 2021’s Ultimate Collection, likely intended for the album’s 50th anniversary and just as likely delayed by the COVID-19 pandemic. Following the template of the Imagine expansion, this massive set serves up new “ultimate” mixes of the album, as well as a disc of outtakes, raw studio mixes, elements mixes that hone in on different parts of the recording, demos (or at least the earliest versions of the songs), and a collection of between-the-takes jams, all on six CDs. Equal attention is paid throughout to “Give Peace A Chance”, “Cold Turkey”, and “Instant Karma!”, while surround and Atmos mixes of all of the above and more were included on two Blu-ray discs, along with the complete live session that spawned the Yoko Ono/Plastic Ono Band album. (It’s probably just as well that these didn’t take up an entire CD, but it must be said that no matter your opinion of Yoko’s contributions, Ringo and Klaus were a stellar rhythm section, and they excel when backing her up. Definitely worth exploring.)

Some of this material had been glimpsed via other archival projects, but while it’s not a strict chronological journey through the sessions, we get more context and insight. Despite the overall tone of the finished album, now we can hear the energy and, yes, joy that went into recording it, with enthusiastic performances and feedback from Klaus and Ringo. George Harrison’s contribution to “Instant Karma!” is brought to the fore, and they nicely include his surprise appearance on John’s birthday during one of the takes for “Remember”. John himself giggles through most of the jams and even some of the breakdowns, but for contrast, the isolated vocal track for “Mother” causes greater chills than ever before. The repetition may deter first-time listeners, but longtime fans will relish it. (Those not willing to go whole hog could limit themselves to a two-disc version consisting of the first two designated discs in the set: the ultimate mix and the outtakes. But if you’re in, you’re in.)

John Lennon John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band (1970)—4½
2000 remaster: same as 1970, plus 2 extra tracks
2021 Ultimate Collection: “same” as 1970, plus 92 extra tracks (and 2 Blu-ray discs)