Let it Be
The Beatles have always been a touchstone for me throughout my musical life. Perhaps it’s due to their omnipresence during most family gatherings; it’s one of those things we can all agree on, an easy win. Throw on Abbey Road post-Christmas-present-opening or Sgt. Pepper while working on Thanksgiving dinner and the day is complete.
Naturally, some albums we tended to favor more than others. Let It Be was not included in the repertoire as frequently as I remember. I only really started listening to this album in my adult years, and truthfully I never cared for it as much as their other later-period work. There’s a feeling of disjointedness, a lack of cohesion, that makes it difficult to enjoy fully. Some of it has to do with its very fragmented composition and production, with songs taken from both studio recordings and the band’s famous impromptu rooftop concert rolled together (ultimately) by Phil Spector—a divisive figure in his own right. The band’s own fragmentation also came to a head during this period, exacerbated by the simultaneous filming of the documentary that shares the album’s name.
I’ve been listening to Let It Be quite a lot the last two weeks or so. It was brought on by my dad, who sent along the “sneak preview” of Peter Jackson’s recut of the film, entitled Get Back (which I’ve learned, in reading about Let It Be, was slated to be the original title in order to hearken back to the band’s rock-and-roll roots).
Suffice it to say the earworm of the eponymous track (of Jackson’s film, that is) would not leave me be. Most of my walkabouts and chores have been scored by, specifically, Let It Be…Naked—Paul McCartney’s remaster from 2003 which does away with Spector’s production quirks. Good riddance, I say. Let It Be…Naked is a much tighter experience, letting the songwriting speak for itself. I still feel this album is not as strong in some spots; I tend to skip “For You Blue” more often than not (I rarely skip tracks on any album, so for me that’s saying something) and McCartney’s heavy hand is even more evident here with tracks like “The Long and Winding Road” and “Let It Be.” On the other hand, I’m a sucker for a nice and cheesy Paul song.
While it’s not unusual for me to latch on to an album and listen to it ad nauseam, I do wonder why I’ve taken Let It Be now, as opposed to all the other times I’ve tried to give it a shot. Music sometimes comes to us at the wrong time, but once we listen more carefully, with an attentive and sympathetic ear, we may find something that speaks to and soothes our tired heart.
“Across the Universe” was always a track that escaped me, no matter how hard I tried to like it. I don’t even like Fiona Apple’s cover, and she’s one of my favorite artists of all time. But in listening once again to Lennon’s mantra—“nothing’s gonna change my world”—I found a little kernel of strength inside me that had begun to sprout. My world has been changed irrevocably in the last year, between the pandemic, the fire, and moving to Philadelphia. I imagine my world is going to continue to change even more drastically than I may realize. That doesn’t mean I need to give up the things that make me who I am. Living in a brand-new city where no one knows me gives me the opportunity to be the person I really want to be. There is something so paradoxically grounding about this song that makes me feel like I can plant my feet and let the roots grow, while my head can keep spiraling on into infinity.
I’ve also found comfort in the title track, which seems to be its intended purpose, though I’m now at a place in my life where I can receive it. These two tracks, which McCartney puts back-to-back at the end of Naked, showcase the different ways Lennon and McCartney present musical meditation. It’s not just about the lyrics themselves but the melodies they’re paired with that give them power. “Let it be” without music is just a command; with music, it’s an affirmation. As long as I’m singing this song, nothing’s gonna change my world.