7th place: The Beatles with “The Beatles” (1968)
Everything is white: the cover. The noise. The robe of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Paul McCartney’s Bobtail, “Martha”. The teeth of Mia Farrow’s sister Prudence, who – not only figuratively – stays in her depression instead of coming out, although John asks her so nicely: “Won’t you come out to play/ Greet the brand new day?” The Beatles are no longer on the cover of their 1968 album, not even in marching band guise like a record before.
Four entities at the height of their musical creativity who know each other so well they can perform solo, like Paul (with a little help from Ringo) on Why Don’t We Do It In The Road?, like John on Love song for his mother, “Julia”, about whose trauma of loss he only became aware with Yoko Ono’s help: “When I cannot sing my heart/ I can only speak my mind.”
This is how the Beatles sound when you let them go completely – the differences in their personal, social and musical identities are clear. Their range (on analogue tapes) is immeasurable, their inventiveness endless, their sound innovative. And sometimes they forget what happened and groove like they used to: “If I ain’t dead already/ Girl, you know the reason why.”
Jenny Zylka
6th place: Fleetwood Mac with “Rumours” (1977)
Even the local intelligentsia could not avoid “Rumours” at the time. Thus, the magazine “Kursbuch” published by Hans Magnus Enzensberger recognized “modern pop realism” in its “Jugend” edition after the expected nagging about too much US polish without any real depth.
It was the other way around, and that was the band’s art: Fleetwood Mac transformed “Trauma, Trauma” (Christine McVie) into radio-friendly accompaniment for everyday life, without denying its dark core.
Because the reality for the often mute quintet at that time was to negotiate their relationship chaos in and about their music, also fed by lines of coke that do not necessarily strengthen the sense of reality, which may have stretched from California to Alaska. Mick Fleetwood and Stevie Nicks pose on the cover.
But despite “Dreams” (their only US number one), “Rumours” is first and foremost the album of Lindsey Buckingham, who fueled the pre-single “Go Your Own Way” with a trademark solo and always promotes his vision of perfect pop had eyes, and last but not least that of the wonderful Christine McVie, who mocked her ex (“You Make Loving Fun”), bathed the boss in gentle sarcasm (“Oh Daddy”), in between sent a ray of love as if from another planet (“Songbird “) and with “Don’t Stop” even had room for a bit of future.
As early as 1977, the critics largely declared “Rumours” to be a classic, and that’s what the album became. Only Robert Hilburn (“LA Times”) heard a “frustratingly uneven” record. He had probably read too much Adorno.
Jorg Feyer