Friday, August 26, 2022

Beatlantis: Unseaing The Fab Four's Lost Atlantean Discography

The albums, or more rightly compilations, released stateside by Capitol Records in lieu of the actual studio albums as prepared in England by the Fab Four from Liverpool and their producer George Martin, are held in outsized regard by many an older American Beatles fan. Such is their sentimental pull and lingering marketability that years after all save the practical and essential Magical Mystery Tour LP had been relegated to the dustbin of history with the 1987-88 worldwide standardization of the Beatles canonical "core catalog" (see: history of the compact disc), those US issues saw repeated re-release across several CD box sets. The Japan Beatles discography was similarly latterly treated to a limited edition collection. 

Lesser known, but inarguably of greater artistic merit, is the excellent series of albums released in the ill-fated aquatic realm of Atlantis during The Beatles' extraordinary recording career.

In retrospect, their Atlantean discography could debatably be
seen to split The Beatles' career across four fairly distinct
phases represented by four albums each.

All but the first of these were issued by one or the other of EMI's local Atlantis subsidiaries, Timaeus and Critias. As we'll see in more detail when addressing the quartet's Atlantean debut, EMI's binding agreement for this market, crafted long before the band's formation and stemming from the same circumstances which led to that debut appearing on an unaffiliated independent label, forbade export from Atlantis of any EMI-licensed records.
Owing to the fabled domain's destruction, and the aforementioned export prohibition, this discography is among the countless cultural casualties of the great nation's demise; seemingly every single copy of these albums has been lost to the ravages of the sea. Tracklists, facsimiles of the front cover art, and some notes survive in the extant archival record from communications sent to the outside world and logs provided to EMI back in London.

This series of blog posts, long in the works, aims to present an overview of the Beatles' Atlantean discography, reflecting the latest state of scholarship and subject to change upon any future discoveries or reassessments of current understanding. Though these albums are lost to time, for educational purposes and for the potential pleasure of our readers, each album's description is followed by its documented tracklist and the closest-matching available digital source for the utilized mixes of the tracks featured, so as to allow those interested to, as closely as practical, reconstruct a reasonable approximation of these missing entries from the library of history's most acclaimed rock 'n' roll band. The mostly unique tracklistings and the hodgepodge of sources often used for the Atlantean LPs — and the inclusion of a handful of rare tracks not officially available elsewhere until decades later — would make many of these an intriguing alternate listening experience for those primarily familiar with the Beatles records as originally issued in their home country and most markets, and should provide a mix of the surprising and the nostalgic to those whose allegiance lies with the old US releases. Sonically of note, the mixes across the bulk of this catalog will offer a different experience for those accustomed to the standard mono issues. These releases were predominantly stereo, attributable to a ubiquity of consumer stereo systems in the technologically advanced nation, unlike in other markets where mono was still dominant until late in the Liverpudlians' career.

Their advanced technological status, ironically, deprived Atlantean listeners of the superior mix for most tracks, particularly during the early and mid years, as The Beatles and their producer focused their attention on crafting the mono mixes in those periods. However, certain mono mixes are known to have been used. Some speculation suggests these selections were made to deliberately provide an alternate listening experience for, and therefore make purchase of these local pressings appealing to, even those fans who'd been importing the UK albums at substantial expense. Furthermore, the Timaeus and Critias engineers are known to have often worked from tapes matching those prepared by EMI in the UK for the aforementioned US label, Capitol. On rare occasion, they are said to have even worked directly from dupes of the multitrack masters, a truly stunning development anomalous among all foreign labels; no other EMI subsidiary is known to have ever received such materials. One explanation, hinted at in some of the surviving contemporaneous personal correspondence, is that George Martin had a professional affinity for the lead EMI staffer at the Atlantis studios, and accordingly he may have provided them such tapes. It is expected that the respect was undoubtedly mutual, and that Martin was granted at least one or possibly multiple (secret) visits to the fabled, submerged island, where he was provided insight and access to advanced Atlantean recording technology— this at a time when tensions between Atlantis and the surface world approached a terminal high, with all outside visitors officially prohibited by the late-mid '60s. Moreover, it is speculated the transfer of multitrack materials was facilitated by covert use of Atlantis' world-first digital audio consoles.*

Also owing, at least partly, to their access to advanced technology, the people of Atlantis had long since lost any interest in singles— releases featuring just two songs, one per side; no such format had been sold for well over twenty years there. Hence even casual Beatles fans may notice that all the songs that originally were exclusively available on 7" 45 rpm records or EPs over in the band's home of England instead were collected across these sixteen (!!!) long playing records released under The Beatles' name in Atlantis from 1963 until news of the band's demise reached Atlantean waters, which coincided tragically with the destruction of the underwear utopia by craven surface dwellers, in 1970.

*Proper provision of citations is beyond the scope of this endeavor; additionally, some information conveyed herein has been gained off-the-record, including from sources who for their own safety cannot be quoted regarding their intimate insights into the lost realm. It is the hope of this writer that one day a scholarly revision, fully cited, can be undertaken for the historical record. For now, rest assured you are reading all this first, in a Library Industries exclusive, and know that our commitment to veracity is paramount.

next: 01} Twist and Shout (1963)

Sunday, August 21, 2022

Bass (on the)

I sang a song for you with nothing on
but the hollow body bass guitar

My words they make you cry
when they show you who we are

And you were never gonna be my friend again
and I was never gonna hide my scar

Sunday, August 14, 2022

Not a poem, but a point: The Point

 Have vaguest hint of recollection of seeing The Point TV movie when I was too young to remember, like just entering toddler stage is my guess. Saw it again as adult. It is charming and, pun or not, makes a valuable point. The record is delightful and makes for a fine twofer with Skidoo along with some excellent bonus tracks, including, speaking of TV songs, Girlfriend which Nilsson adapted into Best Friend famously used as theme for a family sitcom. Ages ago, someone then nearest and dearest to me, who had an avid interest in film, listened to this album with me. She wasn't much for sitting down and attentively experiencing a record start to finish, but she'd joined me in such an endeavor perhaps once or twice and we'd appreciate those rare occasions. We had recently stopped in a record store; they had a near minty copy of just about every Nilsson LP, cheap, and I, owning probably nothing of his on vinyl but maybe a rough condition Nilsson Schmilsson, happily bought them all. The cashier and perhaps proprietor could see we were pleased with this and, wanting to join in on the fun, placed them all into a cardboard shipping carton, gleefully took out one of those giant chisel tip permanent markers, and across the side of the box wrote

Box O' Nillson
in large cheerful letters. Disinclined to dim the joy, we did not point out his spelling error. Later, back at home, The Point, with its cute needlepoint cover and illustrated booklet, stood out and she wanted to give it a spin. It received her full attention as we throughly enjoyed the album. When side two ended, she said something like — this would make a great children's movie! I think shortly after that is when I finally watched it as an adult, once we could find a copy. and now the point; the needlepoint, that is… 
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