Happy 55th Anniversary to The Beatles’ eleventh studio album Abbey Road, originally released in the UK September 26, 1969 and in the US October 1, 1969.
My first memories of Abbey Road are of my Dad’s vinyl. On the corner of blue sky in shaky ballpoint pen is our last name. And on the Apple Records pressing at the center of the disc are his initials, which are also mine: S.P.
The vinyl, he assured me, points to all the proof that Paul is dead: John walks first, dressed all in white, the doctor; Ringo in a suit and tie is the undertaker; Paul, barefoot, is the dead man because, he said, the dead aren’t buried in shoes; and George in a blue jumpsuit is the grave digger. All of them have their left foot forward, in sync with one another, except for Paul. Then there’s the white VW bug in the background with a license plate, its first alphanumeric jumble is 28IF, that is, Paul would be 28 if he were alive. On the back, next to their name, are eight dots that connect to make a 3: three Beatles.
Of course, it turns out, it’s not true. But the fun is in the lore.
Only two singles come from Abbey Road—”Something” and “Come Together”—but every song now has its place in the canon. In its first two months of existence, Abbey Road sold four million copies (about 60k copies a day). The Beatles are one of—if not the—most beloved and well known band of the 20th century. Their album covers are now famous works of art and even though we all know the songs, their music remains a commodity. When “Tomorrow Never Knows” played at the end of an episode of Mad Men in 2012, Matthew Weiner reportedly paid $250,000 for the rights. And on Christmas Eve of 2015, Spotify became the first streaming platform to ever include The Beatles discography: Happy Xmas indeed.
Abbey Road is The Beatles’ most accessible psychedelic record. We all know they invented the concept album with Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (1967), their most technicolor LP released at the dawn of The Summer of Love. Sgt. Pepper’s is pure day glo. And even though Abbey Road has its cartoonish moments (like “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” and “Octopus’s Garden”), it gets gloomy. “I Want You (She’s So Heavy),” their second longest song trailing “Revolution 9” by only twenty seconds, is psychedelic and drips doom unlike any other Beatles track. It transcends the experimental looseness of stereotypical psychedelia by winding its way into the blues with clear movements and a Moog (introduced to the band by Harrison, of course).
A lot of the lyrics dance on the border of the absurd (“he’s got to be good looking cause he’s so hard to see,” “Sunday’s on the phone to Monday / Monday’s on the phone to me,” “But now she sucks her thumb and wanders / By the banks of her own lagoon,” and so on). The Beatles’ collective imagination started wandering off many records prior to this, but it’s on Abbey Road where they let it run wild. By this point, there was nothing left to hide.
Abbey Road is where Paul’s vocal range finally spreads its wings, adding depth to the record in a way he hadn’t before. “Why Don’t We Do It In The Road?” and “Helter Skelter” established McCartney as a vocal powerhouse, but nothing can compete with the breadth between “Oh! Darling” and “Golden Slumbers.” He screams, howls, yelps, groans, and strains his voice. On Abbey Road, Paul reaches registers he never could, or didn’t want to, again. I guess you’re only 28 once.
But listening to the album in 2024 feels ironic or even cliché. The songs are personal to everyone, each track an already established memory for listeners all over the globe. It’s the home of “Something,” George’s first song to be a Beatles A-side single. There’s “Come Together” a classic rock radio staple, “You Never Give Me Your Money” and George’s enduring “Here Comes The Sun.”
Listen to the Album:
It’s side two that’s home to what I believe to be The Beatles’ magnum opus: the medley of nine songs beginning with “Because” running through to “The End.” During my college radio stint, I hosted “Breakfast with The Beatles” every Sunday from noon-2pm for two years. In addition to becoming familiar with the track listing of every record, B-sides, and alternate takes, I often played the Abbey Road medley not only to run to the bathroom but because interrupting their flow felt sacrilegious. Listeners who called the station to thank me for not breaking up the songs confirmed my instincts.
The medley contains five songs under two minutes long, including “Sun King” featuring their longtime producer George Martin on organ. Ringo’s work on the toms keep a heartbeat while they harmonize “here comes the sun king / everybody’s laughing / everybody’s happy.” There are a few lines of their own language, of gibberish and inside jokes with some Spanish thrown in (more farce, psychedelia’s best friend). But ultimately the track is a sonic ray of sunshine.
“Mean Mr. Mustard” bleeds into “Polythene Pam” which might as well be an interlude. John shouts, “Look Out!” and suddenly she’s coming in through the bathroom window. The medley is where they’re at their sharpest and smartest as musicians and composers. It’s just fun to them by this point. They knew exactly what they were doing, every word and progression designed to lift up the next. “Golden Slumbers” gives me chills every time Paul’s voice bottoms out and up, filling up all the air in the room even if my window is open. “Carry That Weight” and “The End” come naturally. Ringo’s fills remain the sexiest drumming on any Beatles LP, seamless and seemingly effortless. John and George play off each other on guitar and they build up to silence.
The most important part, Dad always told me, that still resonates with me decades later and remains a lesson we need now more than ever, are The Last Lines The Beatles Wrote Together: “The love you take is equal to the love you make.”
What more is there to say about Abbey Road? I was born into its world, where it’s worshiped, studied, and debated. The mythology and conspiracy theories surrounding the LP cement its power before you even listen to the music. And then there’s the music.
But when I think about Abbey Road, I think about decisiveness and absolutes. It’s an album ending an era for four men and their fans. John, Paul, George, and Ringo found each other and changed the course of history by expanding their own minds and those of anyone willing to listen. By 1969, they were divided as a group, but each man understood good things must come to an end.
Let It Be was released in 1970, the year after The Beatles officially broke up. The songs were recorded before Abbey Road and experiment deeper into the blues, but they clearly couldn’t fit into the formula of The Beatles’ final studio album. Like so many of their LPs, Abbey Road is a meticulously arranged and produced record that delivers a messages.
Which leads me to say: Abbey Road is also a concept album. Melodically there’s the medley, but there’s also themes of darkness and light, worry, anticipation, and wonder: what’s next? The record is a soundtrack to one of the greatest endings, literally and physically. Aside from McCartney’s twenty-three second ditty “Her Majesty,” naming your last song “The End” is a formative expression for any artist, let alone The Beatles. They’re the artists that defined a generation so blatantly that we’re still talking about them 55 years later and counting. Abbey Road was definitely their end, but only the beginning of something else to come.
LISTEN:
Editor's note: this anniversary tribute was originally published in 2019 and has since been edited for accuracy and timeliness.