In the mid-1960's, in Nottingham, I was the lucky little kid that even had Beatles wallpaper in my bedroom. My favourite record, by miles, was 'She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah', understanding the basic principle that it provided a good excuse to shout as loud as one could.
It took 30 years or more for me to find out that the reason why it was such a good record is that the subtle use of subversive chords makes it obvious that what Lennon meant was that she loves you and, regrettably, not him.
This was the fan photograph I had framed by my bedside. Ringo was my favourite then because he was the funny one. When I went through the moody, teenage stage (that I'm hoping will end soon), I thought John was best because he was all avant-garde and had Yoko to prove it, but even though we all must now realize that Paul was the best one, we also wonder where it all went wrong. Never has a combination of talents proved to be so much greater than its constituent parts. And also, they went on too long, not not long enough.
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