The Long and Bumpy Road

 Over the long Thanksgiving weekend I watched the new 3-part documentary on The Beatles which is focused on the intensive days of creativity, desperation, interpersonal and artistic conflict, and playful chemistry that evolved into a couple of albums along with the iconic and unannounced “concert” the band performed in January of 1969 on the rooftop of Apple Studios in Savile Row.  I leave it for others to critique the documentary – a sort of “fly on the wall” view of those intensely tedious and only occasionally productive days. As I later commented to my brother about the 8-hour program, “that’s a lot of sausage to watch getting made.”  Sausage, that is, that became some of the most memorable songs of multiple generations.  

 

The fascination that has lingered with me, however, is less the almost guilty piquancy of watching the realness of these lives or the alchemy of how songs are teased out of thin air and more the varying reactions to that surprise performance from the roof.  Cameras captured the facial expressions and body language of those on the streets and sidewalks below.  Microphones recorded their comments, ranging from the fawning to the furious.  Offices emptied.  Cars stopped.  Passersby paused and congregated, first in curiosity and confusion that soon melted into fixation as clarity spread like a contagion.  “That’s the Beatles!”  

And, of course, the police were called.  Because alongside those whose only complaint was that the performance didn't go on longer were those who were appalled at the fact that it had happened at all.  “Disruption,” don’t you know.  “Disturbing the peace.”  Stifling disapproval, then, side by side with swooning adulation coupled with gratitude for happening to be in that very place at that very moment.

 

Side by side.  “One man’s meat is another man’s poison,” as the familiar saying observes – a colloquial translation of Lucretius’ expression from the 1^st century BCE, “quod ali cibus est aliis fuat acre venenum".  What is food for one man may be bitter poison to others.

 

Even, apparently, when it comes to The Beatles.  No wonder we disagree about cornbread versus white bread stuffing, roasted turkey versus smoked.  No wonder we argue about masks versus personal freedom, infrastructure maintenance versus lower taxes, diversity training versus clarity about particular identity, Hummers versus Teslas, creation as pyramid versus creation as egalitarian community, climate versus progress, “more” versus “better”, stability versus wanderlust, “fit for heaven” versus “no earthly good”, “Merry Christmas” versus “Happy Holidays.”  

 

What is food for one may be poison to another.

 

So it was that, while watching and listening to The Beatles thrump out the familiar rhythms and lyrics to “Get Back” from atop that Savile Row roof, I found myself reconsidering.  Perhaps it is that we less need to “get back” to some Elysian Fields of quietude and communal harmony that never, in fact, really existed, and instead simply “get on with” the patient, cacophonous and persisting work of crafting ways to live in a diverse world where some stop what they are doing to listen to the music, while others call the police; annoyed by the interruption.

 

Our dissonance will not be “fixed”.  It will not be beaten into submission, bent by persuasion or ignored by distraction.  It will, at best and if we have any grace, be navigated.  Our dissonance is the start and finish of our collective selves.  We will not ever tune it into harmony.  We will, if we are to survive – I’m sorry, I can’t help myself – let it be.