The Fab Four…EHM Three… EHM EHM Two… Paul where are you?

Welcome people, readers, friends and mum, hi mum (epileptic wave of hand to mum), to this new blog of mine. For you to get to now me better (if you ever care about it) this post about The Bealtes should be a good way to kick it off. The Beatles, although a better name could have been found, was what got me this close to music and to the world of fangirling (I’m only a girl after all…). I liked John, then George, then Paul, sorry Ringo. Once upon, a long ago (shout out to the magic of Paul’s omonym song, I can hear the trill of the beginning of the song in my head as I write), continuing… Once upon, I was only six or seven at the time (not true) I remember I heard my dad blasting the vinyl “Rubber Soul” (1965, I knew the date but checked) from the living room and ran down the hallway from my room to have my earing sorted out for well.. That’s what happened, but also, I felt in love. So, staring at the album cover, had to ask: “Dad, who died of these four?” As I usually do, like if my dad worked at the funeral parlour in his spare time and went as “The Undertaker of the 60s”. However, he did reply, and almost got them all right, sorry Ringo, again. He got John right though. So sad, it was love at first sight for me (also because he is the only one who understood the photographer’s intention to take the picture and check the camera, while the others look like if they were sitting with a headache at a speed date with Yoko Ono). *Discussable haricut for John, looks like Guido from Patito Feo (“Il mondo di patty” in italian, go check it out). However, two of them survived to Yoko Ono being possessed by some shouting demon and they are Sir Paul Mccartney and Ringo Starr, “Cocunut Head” (see “Ned’s Declassified School Survival Guide”). Only two were left, but some believe Paul is dead too, so the count goes down to one. And it’s you Ringo.

Peaceandlovepeaceandlovepeaceandlove (like he does repeat like if hypnotised every time someone tries to talk to him). I bet you all to find a late Ringo’s picture where he does not put two fingers of his hand in a “V” shape like a cute Japanese high schooler with a pink string on her head. Returning to the point, there was this “Paul is dead” conspiracy, which began in the 1966, according to which Paul had died in a car accident and had been secretely replaced by a look-like. The supporters of such claim had brought up lots of hints hidden in the Beatles’ album covers, especially in Sgt. Pepper; but also in Abbey Road, where Paul is the only one crossing the street barefoot. They claimed that dead people walk barefoot (do they even walk???). Paul said he was only hot. Fair point. Some songs also suggest the real Paul’s death, like in “Glass Onion” where John claims that “the walrus was Paul” (please, help me to make the connection). AHHH John, always the same… In Rome, Italy, we say “Amici, amici, e poi te rubano ‘a bici” (they call themselves friends, and then they steal your bike).

When I refer vaguely in the title to the “Fab one” it is not because I believe Paul is dead or other myths like that. I don’t know whether Paul is dead or not. What I do know, and for sure, is that his voice, recently, is nowhere to be found. LOST. At every concert he sounds like he is being strangled on stage, and I feel the drummer: sweat dripping down every inch of his skin for the amount of strengh he has to put when hitting those things in order to make some noise and cover Paul’s vo… Nothing, Paul’s nothing! I love you Paul but do take some rest, go to Liverpool, have a pint, you can keep my bra as well, but instead of making albums like the last one, or songs with Rihanna and Kanye West where you look like the grandpa visting the grandchildren over Christmas, go have a Bud, buddyy.