01	Taxman			George Harrison had only recently started to establish himself as a formidable songwriter before Revolver. On Revolver, he came more to the fore, not only writing three songs but also getting honored with the album-opener, the chunky rocker "Taxman." It is one of the interesting contradictions of George Harrison's persona that, although he on one hand devoted much of his life and studies to Indian religion and transcending the material world, he has also proven to be quite concerned, and even obsessed, with his finances. So it was at the very point his excursions into Indian music and spirituality were finding their way into his music and public image (as explicitly heard on another Revolver track, "Love You To") that he delivered this ill-tempered blast against the "Taxman" that was taking much of his upper-income-bracket earnings. Like "Paperback Writer" of the same era, "Taxman" is built around forcefully chorded mod rock guitar, played in a choppy rhythm that jabs the listener into taking notice. Harrison's social critique and wit was, in general, blunter and less subtle than Lennon- McCartney's, and "Taxman" is one of his blunter diatribes, grousing about having to turn over most of his income to the British government. Indeed Harrison seems nearly paranoid about the British taxman's reach, claiming that feet would be taxed for walking and the sun's rays taxed for their heat. The sourness is lightened by the ingenious vocal harmonies, particularly in the call-and-response bridge, and the final verse, in which the high-pitched harmonies rejoin Harrison's lead lines with additional comments. The final line before the fade -- in which Harrison detours into an especially devious melody while aping the taxman's stance that the populace is working for no one but him - is especially effective. Odder are the opening few seconds, consisting of Harrison slowly counting the song in while distorted tapes spool in the background and someone coughs - one of the most idiosyncratic Beatles openings ever, perhaps felt necessary to lighten up the atmosphere a bit. Harrison got a lot of help from his bandmates on "Taxman," not just in the harmonies, but also in the biting lead guitar breaks, which were played not by him but by Paul McCartney (whose lead style was unexpectedly raw and bluesy, as he had previously proven on another track where he played similar lead riffs, "Ticket to Ride"). Shortly before his death, John Lennon revealed, with less tact than he could have, that he had helped Harrison with some of the lyrics when George got stuck. "Taxman" was covered by the noted garage psychedelic group the Music Machine in a version which stuck pretty close to the original arrangement, and was also recorded by blues-rock star Stevie Ray Vaughan.			02:38
	02	Eleanor Rigby			"Eleanor Rigby" was the most serious-minded song that the Beatles ever released when it first appeared in mid-1966, as part of a double-A-side with "Yellow Submarine." The Beatles had only just begun to write and sing songs that were not about love, with "Nowhere Man" and "Paperback Writer." "Eleanor Rigby" was different yet from those two predecessors -- it was not only not about love, but was written entirely in the third person. What's more, it was a first in that the Beatles themselves did not play any instruments on the recording, which was played by a double string quartet of session musicians. Writing-wise, it was principally the work of Paul McCartney, who gave the piece one of his most outstanding sad melodies. In the main the lyrics were the sketch of lonely spinster Eleanor Rigby, although another lonely elderly figure, Father McKenzie, also has a prominent role. In a broader sense, the Beatles could be commenting here on the alienation of people in the modern world as a whole, with a pessimism that is rare in a Beatles track (and rarer still in a McCartney-dominated one). What are these characters doing their small tasks for, and what is the point: those are the questions asked by the song, albeit in an understated tone. Pessimism about the worth of organized religion is implied in the desolate portrait of Father McKenzie and the finality of the phrase "no one was saved." Far more controversial a critique of organized religion, when you think about it, than John Lennon's famous statement of the period that the Beatles were more popular than Jesus (which landed him in a great deal of trouble). It was most unusual, then and now, in such a youth-oriented medium as rock for a group to be singing about the neglected concerns and fates of the elderly, and was thus just one example of why the Beatles' appeal reached so far beyond the traditional rock audience. The desolation of Rigby and McKenzie's lives was brilliantly amplified by the arrangement, for which producer George Martin must take much credit. Its strident strings produce emphatic, dramatic beats in the manner of a Bernard Herrmann soundtrack ( Martin has admitted to being influenced by Herrmann's score for the Francois Truffaut film Fahrenheit 451 when devising "Eleanor Rigby"'s score), while the tempo variations subtly complement the lyric. Listen to how the strings increase in speed at the point where Father McKenzie is seen working, for instance. Other than Paul McCartney's lead vocal, the Beatles barely appear on the track at all, but they do add fine full harmonies to the chorus. As a double A-side, "Eleanor Rigby"/ "Yellow Submarine" made number one in the U.K., but in the U.S. (where the sides were charted separately), it only made number 11 to "Yellow Submarine"'s number two. It made for quite a daring pairing, actually: one side was the Beatles' most somber song to date, the other their wackiest. "Eleanor Rigby" is not an easy song to cover, due to its ambitious melody, varied rhythms, and the indelible imprint of Martin's arrangement, but somehow that has not kept a lot of people from trying, including soul singers Aretha Franklin and Ray Charles; Booker T. & the MG's (who did an instrumental soul version); jazz artists such as Joshua Redman; Dr. West's Medicine Show & Junk Band (with Norman "Spirit in the Sky" Greenbaum), who did an instrumental jug band rendition with kazoo; folk-rock singer Richie Havens, who put it on his Mixed Bag album; and the Vanilla Fudge, who did a typically agonizing drawn-out heavy rock treatment in the late '60s.			02:06
	03	I'm Only Sleeping			"I'm Only Sleeping," one of the better songs on Revolver, showed John Lennon's growing facility for crafting tunes that exuded a druggy yet attractive sense of lethargy ( "Rain," "Strawberry Fields Forever," and to a lesser degree "She Said She Said" are other examples from this period). While much of the song is in minor keys and a sluggish dirge-like mid-tempo, like most of the Beatles' songs that were set in those musical modes, the melody is quite pleasing and memorable and not so gloomy as to be off-putting. Although much of the arrangement is couched in folk-rockish guitars, this is not folk-rock. In fact, it edges toward psychedelia with its snaky, hypnotic backwards guitar solos, heard both in the background at points, and in the forefront during the brief instrumental break, as well as during the fade (which is nothing but backwards instrumental guitar). On the surface this might sound like the rumination of a lazy sod too lackadaisical to get out of bed. Various accounts of John Lennon circa early 1966 confirm that this picture did actually bear some relation to real life. It should be borne in mind that just having toured the world exhaustively for three years while doing two films and writing and recording when time allowed, it might be understandable that he might not feel too energetic when he had a break that allowed him to stay at home. On another level, it could be inferred that the dream world of sleep was preferable to the hassles of straight, everyday life. Or, perhaps, that being alone with one's thoughts - or, maybe, drug-induced images - was preferable to the mundane reality that comprises a good deal of external experience. The arrangement, like many 1966 Beatles tracks, was highlighted by ingenious harmonies in which the vocalists sing counterpoint melodies and words to the verse, as well as a few sudden stops in which the dead, musty air was slowly stirred up again by an ascending bass figure. Indeed, the lugubrious bass notes that follow some of the repetitions of the title phrase do much to mimic the sensation of falling asleep, the slow bass phrase that restarts the song echoes the feeling of waking or being roused from slumber. The most noteworthy cover of "I'm Only Sleeping" was by Rosanne Cash in the mid-'90s; it, like much of the material she did during this time, was a suitable vehicle for the avowed non- country direction she wanted to pursue in her music at that point in her career.			02:59
	04	Love You To			Although George Harrison had played the sitar on "Norwegian Wood" to wide notice, "Love You To" was really the first Beatles song (and Harrison composition) to fully reflect his immersion in Indian music. While the sitar had been used as something of an exotic adornment on "Norwegian Wood," on "Love You To" it was a big part of the song. The arrangement also used an outside musician, Anil Bhagwat, on tabla. Opinions remain divided about the merits of this first all-out excursion by the Beatles into raga-rock, some seeing it as an exciting venture into a new frontier, others complaining that the song was turgid musically and moralistic lyrically. Nicholas Schaffner, for instance, described it as "sprawling and listless in just about every way" in The Beatles Forever, and Harrison's lead vocal does drone on in a rather lugubrious way. The sitar solo (by George) is a little disheveled, and the track kind of putters along aimlessly on the instrumental fadeout, though it's kind of neat how it accelerates somewhat in rhythm at that point. Undoubtedly, however, the song was another indication of the group's rapidly broadening barriers on the Revolver album. The opening section, in fact, bears far more relation to traditional Indian music than rock, suddenly exploding into full-out raga-rock at a flashpoint that's probably the track's high point. In a less Indian manner, another innovative feature of the instrumental backing was how some metallic tones swelled like onrushing trucks in the chorus, like an ominous foretelling of judgement at hand. The lyrics, too, were among the first of Harrison's to traipse beyond man-woman romantic relations, though they're a rather muddled mix of free love advocacy, meditations on the transience of life on Earth, and chip-on-the-shoulder wariness of people out to exploit him. Still, it was unusual in the extreme to sing lines such as "make love all day long" and "there's people standing round who screw you in the ground" in a pop music song. Harrison sometimes had some trouble assigning titles to his own songs, and "Love You To" is a good example: the title phrase doesn't appear anywhere in the lyric, and in isolation it's pretty meaningless (if it was an attempt at a pun on the phrase "love you too," it wasn't a terribly memorable one). Because of its highly idiosyncratic nature, "Love You To" hasn't been covered often, though a few people have tried, the most notable of those being Bongwater.			02:59
	05	Here, There And Everywhere			Although Paul McCartney was branching out in his 1966 song lyrics with "Paperback Writer" and "Eleanor Rigby," he was still capable of turning out fairly straightforward love ballads. "Here, There and Everywhere" was his outstanding contribution to that genre on Revolver, and like "Yesterday" and "And I Love Her," had the sound of an instant standard, although it hasn't become quite as well known as those two hits. It has been alleged that the song was inspired by the kinds of material Brian Wilson crafted for the Beach Boys on the classic Pet Sounds album. While that is not corroborated by McCartney's own recollections of its composition (in his autobiography Many Years From Now), there are similarities to the Beach Boys' approach in the clean cut yet complex vocal harmonies. Lyrically, however, it's a cut above the standard not only of much of Pet Sounds, but also of "And I Love Her." The delicacy of the execution is exquisite, the sensual imagery more explicit, the sense of desire and fulfillment tangible. The dramatic opening line - not repeated, in word and melody, anywhere else in the song à la earlier Beatles tunes like "Do You Want to Know a Secret?" and "If I Fell" - has an almost philosophical undertone of humility, acknowledging that the singer needs his woman not just to be happy, but also to be a better person. The sunny melody of the verses is counterbalanced nicely by the far more haunting minor modes of the bridge, though the lyrics never approach sadness or anxiety. This track features one of McCartney's highest and more restrained vocals; he eventually said, again in his autobiography, that he was actually trying to sing it in a Marianne Faithfull style (that's mid-'60s Marianne Faithfull, before her voice lowered an octave). It's interesting that the title is not sung until the very end of the song, although the words "here," "there," and "everywhere" figure prominently in the lyrics elsewhere. The most noted performer to cover "Here, There and Everywhere" was Emmylou Harris.			02:24
	06	Yellow Submarine			"Yellow Submarine" was the Beatles' first children's song, and one of the few they ever did, as it turned out. However, it was not solely meant for or appreciated by kids; it was a number two hit (number one in the U.K.), although its flip side, "Eleanor Rigby," was about as popular. The tune was a charming, predominantly acoustic singalong, constructed -- as were several Beatles songs from 1966 onward -- as a story of sorts. Submarines are in reality quite cramped and militaristic vehicles, but if you have to be on a submarine, the Beatles' "Yellow Submarine" certainly seems like the most fun one to board. Their "Yellow Submarine" is not a warship, but more like a joyful mobile home roaming the seas, steered and captained by the Beatles, joined by many of their friends. Written largely by Paul McCartney with some uncredited help from folk-rock star Donovan on a few lines, sung by Ringo Starr, and recorded with the help of many actual Beatles friends singing the chorus and adding sound effects, it was a true team effort. "Yellow Submarine," for all its popularity, is one of the Beatles' tracks that generates the most share of negative criticism, primarily from writers who found its gentle kid-friendly ambience too tame and corny, and not allied strongly enough with confrontational rock & roll ethos. The Beatles were not, however, trying to create a storming rocker with "Yellow Submarine," nor even to particularly express a deep and meaningful personal point of view. They were trying to make a fun song for kids and others to sing, and they succeeded mightily in doing so. In spite of Starr's typically doleful vocal, it's an exceptionally good-spirited track, one that makes the listener (most listeners, anyway) wish they could join the party onboard. The Beatles make this track a lot more interesting than it could have been in numerous ways. First, although it starts off like a sea shantie dirge, it quickly glides into a faster tempo, mimicking the increase of a submarine's speed as the journey gets underway. There are also the delightful sound effects of an actual onboard party, sounds of ship bells and waves, John Lennon's silly imitation of a boat commander, the brief instrumental burst of Salvation Army horns (right after the line "the band begins to play"), and the final rousing singalong choruses, in which the Beatles were joined by wives, friends, and producer George Martin. And was it just possible that some of the song's colorful images - the sea of green, and the yellow submarine itself - were psychedelically inspired? There are few more well-known Beatles songs than "Yellow Submarine," as it's the one Beatles composition most likely to be first learned by a young child. As if a chart-topping single wasn't enough to popularize it, it became more firmly embedded as a standard via the Yellow Submarine cartoon film, for which it served both as a theme song and as part of the movie's principal premise.			02:38
	07	She Said She Said			One of the key tracks on Revolver, “She Said, She Said” is John Lennon’s major contribution to the album (apart from the magnificent closer, ”Tomorrow Never Knows”). It’s a vital, scathing track, reputedly inspired from a conversation Lennon had with Peter Fonda. With it’s clearly Acid-inspired lyric, Lennon sneers “She said she said/I know what it’s like to be dead” with a contempt that is rare within his work with The Beatles. Harrison’s guitar is similarly jarring and brittle. The song is quite different to anything The Beatles recorded previously, yet there’s no denying its brilliance, and enormous importance in the development in Lennon’s song writing.			02:35
	08	Good Day Sunshine			"Good Day Sunshine," as its title portends, radiates optimism and good vibes, even by the high standards the Beatles themselves set in those categories throughout their career. How many days like that in "Good Day Sunshine" do most people experience in their everyday lives? Well, they're not everyday occurrences, if people are honest with themselves. But on those occasions when they do arrive -- one of the first fine days of spring, just after you've fallen in love or started a vacation -- "Good Day Sunshine" is an appropriate soundtrack. Principal composer Paul McCartney was to agree that the good-time mid-'60s hits of the Lovin' Spoonful, such as "Daydream," were an influence upon "Good Day Sunshine," although "Good Day Sunshine" isn't as folk-rock-based as the Lovin' Spoonful's records were. The track's corn-eared hook is its frequent chorus, when the Beatles come together for some of their most uplifting harmonies. Its verses could have come from an old vaudeville song, sounding not just good-timey but old-timey, although the line about the sun burning the narrator's feet as they touch the ground is striking. The old-timey vaudevillian feel is heightened by the honky tonk piano solo (played by George Martin), a passage which might be too upbeat and sentimental for post-punkers, but ensured that popular music listeners of all ages heard what the Beatles had to say. In the final chorus, McCartney adds a nice touch by slightly modifying and bending the melody for straining emphasis. But the nicest touch of all is the unexpected fadeout, in which the harmonized chorus suddenly enters a higher key and round-like harmonies, as if the good vibes projected by the tune will not end when the record does, but echo around the skies indefinitely.			02:09
	09	And Your Bird Can Sing			Reputedly so off-the-cuff that Lennon does not remember either writing or recording it, “And You Bird Can Sing” is nevertheless one of the finest songs on Revolver, and it’s noticeable for it’s carefree lyric and utterly mesmeric guitar work. Sure, the lyric is probably nonsense, yet it’s wildly entertaining, and both Lennon and McCartney sing it with glee. Indeed, in one of the outtakes of the song on Anthology 2, the pair crack up with laughter during one take. The song also proves what a great guitar player George Harrison is; his dazzling runs on the electric guitar are magnificent. The song has a lovely melody, and a unorthodox, yet ingenious bridge. It’s certainly one of the most successful songs on one of popular music’s great albums.			02:00
	10	For No One			One of Paul McCartney’s great ballads with The Beatles, “For No One” is a simply beautiful song, full of idiosyncratic McCartney touches, yet undeniably inspired. Usually assumed to have been written about Jane Asher, “For No One” contains a beautifully poised vocal – “Your day breaks/Your mind aches/You find that all her words of kindness linger on/when she no longer needs you”. This is a mature, confident lyric from McCartney, but it doesn’t compare to the melody, which is one of the most inspired of the singer’s whole career. The descending bass line is also a treat, creating a pivot for the rather advanced harmonies. The French Horn solo, in which McCartney pushed the soloist beyond the instrument’s natural range is similarly inspired. Simply one of the most delicate and fine ballads of the Beatles entire canon.			01:59
	11	Doctor Robert			It took until the end of 1965 for the Beatles to start writing songs that had nothing to do with man-woman romance. Typically, once that barrier was broken, there was nothing holding them back, and by the time of 1966's Revolver, they were writing about all sorts of subjects that had nothing to do with standard pop music situations. "Doctor Robert" was one of these, and it must have puzzled much of the group's audience, who not only had no idea who "Doctor Robert" might have been, but who totally missed out on the song's coded references to drugs that would not have been dispensed by most ordinary physicians. Musically, however, "Doctor Robert" was one of Revolver's more conventional and accessible tracks, and could have easily been performed live, unlike some of the record's more exotic offerings. Its choppy, clipped assertive guitar chording fit in well with the English mod rock of 1966, perhaps slightly influenced by bands such as the Who. The verse boasted a device the Beatles had perfected in previous years: the alternation of lines with solo lead vocals (by the song's principal composer, John Lennon) and phrases with thicker harmonies. Paul McCartney delivered some particularly strong, urgent high harmonies when the song unexpectedly descended keys for the latter parts of the verses. In these respects the song was much like previous Lennon- McCartney Beatles compositions, the chief difference here being the enigmatic lyrics, enthusiastically if a bit sardonically hailing a miracle doctor of sorts who got you feeling chipper, like a new man, after paying him visits. What a probable low percentage of the group's youth-dominated audience probably figured out was that "Doctor Robert" was the kind of guy who administered not always legal amphetamines and shots to harried jetsetters suffering fatigue, particularly celebrities such as the Beatles. The calming effect of Doctor Robert's medicines was perhaps deliberately evoked by the unusual bridge, in which the song slowed drastically and an angelic organ drifted in as the group beatifically sang about feeling fine, as if they'd just been artificially transported into a new sensation. In -A Hard Day's Write: The Stories Behind Every eatles' Song, Steve Turner speculated that Dr. Robert was probably Dr. Robert Freymann, a New York doctor who administered amphetamines to many in the performing arts scene. ( Freymann was eventually expelled from the New York State Medical Society for malpractice, in 1975.) Getting back to "Doctor Robert" the song, it benefits from a neat subtle kick at the very end, where the Beatles raise the key several notches as they repeat the title on the fade, though perhaps the track shouldn't have been faded out before the final guitar chord (which can be faintly heard bringing the cut to a cold close).			02:14
	12	I Want To Tell You			"I Want to Tell You" might be the least famous of the songs on the Beatles' Revolver album, and thus the least recognizable of the three songs George Harrison wrote for the LP -- "Taxman" was by far his most celebrated contribution, and while "Love You To" might not be universally admired, it stood out for its all-out dive into raga-rock. "I Want to Tell You" is more conventional than either of those songs. It's a bouncy, catchy tune, kicked off by a circular, full guitar riff typical of 1966 British mod rock. It is not, however, lacking in interesting, idiosyncratic qualities, starting with the slow fade-in, a device the Beatles had first used back on "Eight Days a Week." The jaunty, almost honky-tonk piano had a peculiarly metallic tone, leaning on a sequence of almost dissonant jiggling two-note riffs in the latter part of the verses that well mirrored the anxieties detailed in the lyric. The group vocal harmonies at the end of the verses were rich and swelling, Paul McCartney adding another of many notches to his career as one of the great upper-register male harmony singers in rock. The tempo, too, had an indecisive stop-start quality, almost petering out altogether near the end of the bridge before a stuttering piano and Ringo Starr's declarative drum brought it back to life. And while "I Want to Tell You" on the face of it seems like it might be a lyric of a guy talking to his girlfriend, it seems more likely to be a reflection of a confused interior state of mind -- the kind of thing the Beatles were just starting to take on in some of their song lyrics in 1966. What exactly it is that George wants to tell us, why exactly he feels so tense about it, why he feels hung up without knowing why, why he can't articulate what's on his mind -- none of that's made clear, perhaps because it isn't clear to himself. It's a rather strange song in that regard, but musically it's more upbeat than the subject matter might portend, coming to a satisfying fade-out climax as the group repeatedly harmonizes on the phrase "I've got time," behind and elongating the word "time" as the track drifts off. The most widely heard cover of "I Want to Tell You" is probably the surprising one done by Ted Nugent on his 1979 album State of Shock.			02:27
	13	Got To Get You Into My Life			“Got To Get You Into My Life” is enormous fun and a heartfelt Stax tribute from Paul McCartney. There’s no denying the tune’s catchy, and the faux-soul arrangement is spot-on. McCartney’s always been a great vocalist, and this is perhaps the best example of his singing on Revolver. One of the overlooked gems on the album.			02:28
	14	Tomorrow Never Knows			"Tomorrow Never Knows" was the most experimental and psychedelic track on Revolver, in both its structure and production. This was not a song that could be easily sung by a rock group live, as the special effects and tape manipulation that were integral to the tune could not be re-created on-stage. In addition, there was a conspicuous absence of the riffs and verse-bridge-chorus-dominated construction that had colored virtually every original Beatles composition before 1966. The underpinnings of "Tomorrow Never Knows" were a single-tone drone, influenced by the group's growing interest in Indian music, and unforgettable stop-start, stuttering drum patterns by Ringo Starr. Eerie high-pitched seagull-like chanting was in the background throughout; principal composer John Lennon had actually envisioned the sound of monks chanting, and if this effect was not precisely what he had in mind, it was equally memorable. The lyrics were psychedelic, which is not just a critic's assumption: some of the words were adapted from Timothy Leary's book The Psychedelic Experience and the Tibetan Book of the Dead. Regardless of the source, the lyrics were philosophical, existential, sometimes inscrutable reflections on the state of being: a heavy subject for popular music, whether in 1966 or any other year. It would be difficult to assign an interpretation to the Beatles' own viewpoint as seen through "Tomorrow Never Knows," since the words are themselves a kaleidoscopic shift of thoughts and feelings, sometimes seeming to advocate passive relaxation and acceptance, at others intense karmic exploration, and at others advising unconventional intuition (as in the exhortation to listen to the color of one's dreams). There's way too much going on in the production of the track to detail in one paragraph: readers are advised to consult Mark Lewisohn's The Beatles Recording Sessions for full details of the tape loops, organ, honky tonk piano, wine glass, and Leslie speakers employed to conjure the dreamlike ambience. Bits worth noting, however, are the final verse, in which Lennon's voice suddenly takes on an interstellar intercom-like quality; the alarm-like noise heard just as Lennon starts that final verse; the berserk gyrations of the riffs, as such, in the instrumental break, which sound like a tape being threaded through the machine on varispeed; and Lennon's insistent repetitions of "of the beginning" at the end, which puts things on a somewhat more tranquil note before everything winds down in a cacophony of chants and piano. One would think that "Tomorrow Never Knows" is one of the most uncoverable of all Beatles songs, but actually the new wave raga- rock group Monsoon (with singer Sheila Chandra) did a credible version in the early '80s.			02:57

Les Beatles débordent alors de confiance en eux. On le voit bien sur la pochette mystérieuse, en noir et blanc, un dessin-collage créé par Klaus Voorman que les Beatles connaissent depuis Hambourg. On le voit aussi dans ce titre ambigu - tellement plus léger que ce qui avait pu être suggéré : Abracadabra, Magic Circles ou Beatles on safari. On la retrouve enfin dans les quatorze morceaux impeccables ou onze, si vous êtes américain en 1966, puisque Capital réserve l'm only sleeping, And your bird can sing et Doctor Robert à Yesterday and today.
Révolutionnaire à l'époque - « J'en ai marre, déclare McCartney, de créer des styles musicaux que les gens peuvent prétendre avoir déjà entendus ailleurs » -, Revolver résonne encore des décennies plus tard. Earth wind and fire a transporté la frime éclatante de Got to get you into my life à l'ère disco. Les Jam ont copié les riffs flamboyants de Taxman dans Start ! et les Chemical Brothers ont fondé toute leur carrière sur Tomorrow never knows.
On cite Revolver comme l'album qui a marqué la sépa­ration des Beatles. En effet, ils ont donné leur dernier concert payant quelques semaines seulement après sa sortie, alors que Lennon et McCartney n'écrivaient plus ensemble, et que Harrison débordait de ressentiment.
Le résultat final est cependant époustouflant, résumé par le seul 45 tours qu'on en tira, Yellow Submarine/Eleanor Rigby : d'un côté une chanson pour enfant qui nous sur-vivra à tous, de l'autre une complainte sur fond de violons, qui même aujourd'hui ne ressemble pas à de la pop - qui, comme l'album dont elle provient, est tout simplement brillante.


Review by Stephen Thomas Erlewine
All the rules fell by the wayside with Revolver, as the Beatles began exploring new sonic territory, lyrical subjects, and styles of composition. It wasn't just Lennon and McCartney, either - Harrison staked out his own dark territory with the tightly wound, cynical rocker "Taxman"; the jaunty yet dissonant "I Want to Tell You"; and "Love You To," George's first and best foray into Indian music. Such explorations were bold, yet they were eclipsed by Lennon's trippy kaleidoscopes of sound. His most straightforward number was "Doctor Robert," an ode to his dealer, and things just got stranger from there as he buried "And Your Bird Can Sing" in a maze of multi-tracked guitars, gave Ringo a charmingly hallucinogenic slice of childhood whimsy in "Yellow Submarine," and then capped it off with a triptych of bad trips: the spiraling "She Said She Said"; the crawling, druggy "I'm Only Sleeping"; and "Tomorrow Never Knows," a pure nightmare where John sang portions of the Tibetan Book of the Dead into a suspended microphone over Ringo's thundering, menacing drumbeats and layers of overdubbed, phased guitars and tape loops. McCartney's experiments were formal, as he tried on every pop style from chamber pop to soul, and when placed alongside Lennon's and Harrison's outright experimentations, McCartney's songcraft becomes all the more impressive. The biggest miracle of Revolver may be that the Beatles covered so much new stylistic ground and executed it perfectly on one record, or it may be that all of it holds together perfectly. Either way, its daring sonic adventures and consistently stunning songcraft set the standard for what pop/rock could achieve. Even after Sgt. Pepper, Revolver stands as the ultimate modern pop album and it's still as emulated as it was upon its original release.