The Beatles — “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” from Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (1967, Parlophone, Capitol)
See, I always thought the lyric was “there’s nothing you can do that’s not been done,” but it turns out it’s “there’s nothing you can do that can’t be done.” I at least knew that, while it’s a Beatles lyric, that not only is it not from “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,” but it’s not even on Sgt. Pepper’s. Turns out it’s a non-album single from six months prior. But the point stands.
I mean, come on. This song?! What can I, goober that I am, say about “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” that hasn’t already been written a million times? Probably not much.
That can only mean one thing: personal anecdote time. I really got into the Beatles in middle school, as did a lot of my peers. It seems wild now to think that this album was only 23 years old at that point. I have vivid memories of shows I saw and albums I bought on either side of the year 2000, which was 23 years ago from today. That’s a dangerous game.
Somewhere in there I bought Sgt. Pepper’s on CD before the Pentecostals really got their hooks in me and convinced me that secular music was evil. That was a dark time, but not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about spending the night at my friend Brandon’s house and listening to this song at an obnoxious volume. Brandon was a year or two younger than me, but preternaturally cool. His sister was in my grade and I think she and I briefly dated, but that’s neither here nor there.
Like certain smells, I think music really has the power to hurl us backwards on our personal timelines so that it’s almost as if we’re re-experiencing past events in real time. “Lucy…” is no exception. I remember Brandon’s basement had a fireplace, and while we didn’t have a fire while I was there, the sense memory of the pleasant smoky aroma of that basement family room is instantly accessible. And then that’s got me thinking of Brandon, and then the next thing I’m remembering is that, another time, he was at my house, wearing black suede Airwalk chukkas, leaving stripey footprints in the carpet of our dining room because I lacked the courage to ask him to take his shoes off. Airwalk chukkas. Cool. And a song brought this all back.
For the record, back then I thought it was super fun to traffic in the kinds of Beatles conspiracy theories that in those days could only be accessed via Casey Kasem’s Top 40 Countdown. Theories that a backwards message on one Beatles record stating “I buried Paul” was ironclad proof that Paul McCartney had died and been replaced by a, well, replacement, without anyone knowing. But they left a clue, though.
Or that “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” is an acronym for LSD. These are fun theories, but I don’t believe either one. The Paul one because it’s ridiculous, and the drugs one because, well, the Beatles denied it repeatedly, and it’s not like they were secretive about their drug use. Hell, there’s a drug song right before this one, and at least one more deeper in the record; if they say this one isn’t a drug song, I don’t have a reason not to believe them.
Unless we consider the transitive property: the lads insist that the lyrics were inspired by a drawing that young Julian had made of a classmate, and that John attempted to channel Lewis Carroll while writing about the song. So I guess if you believe that Lewis Carroll was under the influence of a toadstool while writing Alice in Wonderland, then indirectly, and using math, “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” is a drug song. Except most experts don’t believe that about Carroll, and not being an expert myself, I choose to believe them.
Not only that, but Alice in Wonderland, er, excuse me, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland is considered a classic of the Literary Nonsense genre, so if things seem a bit nonsensical in this source text or those that it inspired, it might just be because of all the nonsense, not drugs.
So that’s what I got. Video is below, in case you’ve never heard this song before somehow. And I’ll leave it to you to Google other facts about instrumentation, etc., as, once again, it is my firm belief that many others have covered this ad nauseam much better than I could ever hope to do.
And oh, if you haven’t yet heard the remixed version of Sgt. Pepper’s from a couple years back, it will blow your mind. I recommend headphones or good speakers.
R.I.P. Paul.
The Shuffler 