Last Updated on 24/07/2020
This week we’re slicing into a portion of English history by discussing what we think are the top five albums recorded or mastered at Abbey Road Studios, one of the most famous recording studios on the planet. Still used today by the likes of Kanye and Brockhampton, it’s history stretches way back to 1931 with an inaugural recording of “Land of Hope and Glory” performed by the London Symphony Orchestra and Sir Edward Elgar. Without much further ado, let’s crack on with the list.
5. Duets II.
In fifth place is an already controversial choice, as only one song on Tony Bennett’s Duets II (2011) was recorded at Abbey Road. What a song it is though. Sung between Bennett and Amy Winehouse, “Body and Soul” would be the last song that Amy would record before her untimely death only months later. Despite not being in the studio for an extended period of time leading up to the recording, there’s still a touch of Billie Holiday and a lick of Dinah Washington in Amy’s voice, making it so mesmerising to listen to. Bennett complements Amy’s singing tastefully and clearly makes her comfortable in his presence, regardless of being an idol of hers. It is also refreshing that, despite “Body and Soul” being a popular jazz standard originally written in 1930 by Johnny Green, both take chances artistically, revitalising each verse with contemporary longing, love and desire.
If you like the traditional, jazz bar tunes of Frank Sinatra and Burt Bacharach, Bennett’s whole album is worth listening to. I’d even go as far to say that the audible chemistry that oozes from Bennett’s and his partners’ lips transcends that on Sinatra’s Duets (1993). Listening to the amorous toing and froing on his and Lady Gaga’s “The Lady is a Tramp”, it’s clear that the then 85-year-old rolls back the years for the occasion. Bennett evidently learns from Sinatra’s misstep of recording each segment with his companion separately, insisting instead on performing face-to-face. What a difference it makes. Bennett and k.d. Lang’s rendition of “Blue Velvet” exists as a sensual lullaby, gracefully inviting you to dance, placing both of your hands on its hips and gently swaying you from side to side. These are but two examples of the intimacy in sound that spans the whole album. “One for My Baby” with John Mayer and “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore” with Michael Bublé, as well as collaborations with Willie Nelson, Aretha Franklin and Queen Latifa, are also flawless.
4. Kid A.
Although the success and subsequent soul-sapping promotion of OK Computer (1997) had led to burn out, it would have been entirely understandable if Radiohead, after a period of rest, were to continue producing similar music with familiar instruments for their follow up fourth album. After all, OK Computer completely reinvented the rock genre. Fortunately for us, this wouldn’t be the case. Most bands struggle to mature and fall into obscurity. Those that do take decades to reinvent their sound. On the other hand, Radiohead in the space of five years managed to have not one but two industry defining moments. As mentioned, OK Computer was the first; Kid A (2000), mastered at Abbey Road, was the second. The millennium release resembled their metamorphic growth from caterpillar to adult butterfly, whilst their noisy Britpop neighbours continued to feed off 60s riffs and rhythms making the evolution from homo erectus to homo sapien look hasty.
On Kid A, out went the guitars and drums and in came the synths, drum machines, strings and brass arrangements. The album combines both past and modern sounds, but make no mistake. It is not simply a pastiche of Aphex Twin-esque IDM, Can krautrock and Charles Mingus jazz. From “Everything In Its Right Place” to “Motion Picture Soundtrack”, there is still a Radiohead imprint on each track that compliments their previous discography. Listen to “Optimistic” and “How To Disappear Completely” and you’ll continue to hear something deeply emotional that goes beyond Thom Yorke’s trademark falsetto voice. Still not convinced? If you’re on the fence and fear that Kid A might sound like “awful art-rock nonsense just for its own sake” (as Jonny and Colin Greenwood originally feared when Thom revealed his new vision), then perhaps you’ll be swayed otherwise by “Idioteque”. Despite essentially being a Paul Lansky track sampled over a drum machine beat, its obscure composition is alien-like yet familiar and will leave you with goosebumps.
3. Live!
“O l’oun t’awa se n’yara je k’abere/ Je k’abere”. These are the words that Fela Kuti cooly announces at the beginning of the Live! (1971) album he performs alongside his twelve-piece Africa ‘70 band and the illustrious Ginger Baker. In Fela’s words, the English translation is: “Let’s start what we have come into the room to do”. What proceeds is an hour-long session, so tight, so rhythmic, that you would have had no idea that full-band rehearsals only lasted an hour prior. Jeff Jarratt, a former Abbey Road producer, remarks how Ginger “immediately blended with the other musicians, as if he had always been a member of the group”. So smooth is his and Africa ‘70’s Tony Allen’s drumming that it blends into one. For all the listener knows, a four-armed Vishnu might as well have taken over. Despite Studio 3 only being capable of formally fitting in 100 guests, 150 eager audience members turned up for the recording, creating an incredibly intimate and smoky atmosphere. This easygoing set-up without doubt adds to the feel of the album. It sounds like a gig, and a gig you want to jive to at that. That’s the beauty of Fela’s pioneering Afrobeat sound. Blending James Brown funk with old school Lagos rhythm, the exchange between the horns and drums on “Egbe Mi O”, for example, makes for a great dance track. The closing song’s lyrics recognise this, describing the dream-like state that music can impose upon listeners completely absorbed by a beat.
This being said, it is a crime to misjudge Fela and his Africa ‘70 band solely as a tuneful bakers dozen. The man was one of Africa’s most iconic political pin-ups, making enemies with both the Nigerian government and church in the name of inspiring waves of needed reform. He was also incredibly vocal about colonialism, and openly sang about its socio-economic impact. “Black Man’s Cry”, the second song on the live album, witnesses Fela combating racial inferiority complexes, expressesing in the song with feverish passion that he is proud to be black. Other Fela songs recorded at Abbey Road, such as “Buy Africa” and “Je’Nwi Temi (Don’t Gag Me)”, also deal effectively with colonialism and government corruption respectively.
2. Wish You Were Here.
Ogres are like Wish You Were Here … Wish You Were Here has layers, Ogres have layers. Save for a few too many syllables, I reckon the makers of Shrek missed a trick here when they penned down their now famous onion analogy. Brilliantly produced, deeply personal and especially critical of the music industry’s fat cats, Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here (1975) is a must-listen. The band at the time were dealing with the commercial pressures forcing them to push past the heights of Dark Side Of The Moon (1973) – whose iconography you can still see stapled to shirts up and down Primark’s chain stores – and in turn channelled them into the concept for their ninth studio album. In the midst of it lies the band’s concomitant double A-side single, namely “Welcome To The Machine” followed by “Have A Cigar”. The former track has menacing synth, as provided by Richard Wright, creating an incredibly engrossing atmosphere that even Kraftwerk would be proud of. Layered on top is some damning David Gilmour acoustic and double-tracked vocals. All parts of the song are incredibly sinister and the lyrics written by bassist Roger Waters are nothing short of Shakespearean, reminiscent of Macbeth’s Weird Sisters monologue. They prothesise the story of a young musician with noble intentions who is inevitably indoctrinated by music businessmen and transformed into one himself. “Have a Cigar” is very similar, yet not at all repetitive. They compliment each other perfectly.
This said, the album’s songs that preoccupy me the most are “Shine On You Crazy Diamond, Pts. 1-5” and the title track, both acting as fitting tributes to Floyd’s original frontman Syd Barrett. Since being “caught on the crossfire of childhood and stardom”, Syd had closed himself off from the rest of the world, becoming a shell of his former self. Indeed, when he happened to visit Abbey Road during Floyd’s recording of the songs in his name, the band stared at him not knowing who the gaunt, overweight figure in front of them was. The tragedy definitely seeps in general into the iconic synth-cum-blues ambience of the album, making for powerful listening.
1. Abbey Road.
It’s impossible to finish reflecting on Abbey Road Studios’ legacy without mentioning The Beatles and their eleventh album, Abbey Road (1969). It’s timeless, marking the last time that John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr would sit together in a studio. Would it be an exaggeration to say that I’ve listened to it over a hundred times? Probably not. But let’s not kid ourselves, nostalgia can be a very dangerous thing. I’ve even heard some resultingly suggest that U2 are the best band of all time … deary me. Thankfully, Abbey Road’s defence stretches further than the stuff you find in Youtube comment sections of people reminiscing how it played in the background when their [insert ‘loveable’ pet with stupid name] died.
Instead, the warmth that radiates from listening to the album primarily comes from the fact that everyone knew this would be the end, The Beatles’ swansong. Whether this was due to burgeoning music differences evidenced by the toxic Let It Be sessions, or the money-men at Apple Records bleeding the band’s creativity dry or (as is often popular to argue) because of Yoko, who knows. Regardless, by some miracle, the four along with producer George Martin would manage to put differences aside one last time and close their shared chapters gracefully. Martin recollects how: “Once we finished Abbey Road, the game was up, and I think we all accepted that.” Even if you don’t know the history behind the album, it’s impossible to not hear the positive release of catharsis that varnishes each song. Loose ends are tied, as new material brings older, unfinished tracks to life. Although the album is split into two sections, Side A solely composed of individual releases and Side B comprising a great big, serpent-like medley, it is still much more coherent than The Beatles (1968) and more consistent than stuff like Sgt. Pepper’s (1967). They go full circle, returning to their rock n’ roll roots, but with a much more mature sound.
Funnily enough, such a sound can be best heard on the opening track, “Come Together”. Admittedly, John took too much from Chuck Berry’s “You Can’t Catch Me”, leading to a dispute having to be settled out of court with his lawyers. However, The Beatles’ song is still iconic with Paul’s bass being especially creamy. We’re then treated to “Something”, which Frank Sinatra himself calls “the greatest love song ever written”. Whilst we’re hammering home the mature element of the album, it’s also touching to see that, being responsible for both the second song’s recording as well as “Here Comes The Sun”, George, who for years had been under Paul and John’s shadow, had emphatically risen to their level of penmanship. This brings us to the herculean cries of passion that are “Oh! Darling” and “I Want You (She’s So Heavy)”. Both Paul’s scream on the former and John’s on I Want You, layered over Moog white-noise, make for some fantastic listening and cut-throat replicating. Definitely two tracks that ought to come with a health and safety warning for those trying to replicate Beatles numbers at their local karaoke. On the contrary, it’s probably best not to dwell as much time as the four did on “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” and “Octopus’ Garden”. They’re … umm … jovial.
And so the medley begins, of which the piecing ought to be recognised as Paul’s best work. If you want an idea of what The Beatles were all about and only have fifteen odd minutes, look no further. Starting with “You Never Give Me Your Money”, the momentum never unwillingly sags or accelerates. It’s laid back, yet eccentric; humorous yet dark; intelligible yet gibberish; refined yet scouse. It’s so perfect that even the legendary Booker T. & the M.G.’s had to have a go. When we finally reach “The End”, each participate in solos, even Ringo, with what sounds like a final send off to their fans. Their goodbyes are all done in one take, symbolising a real heart in sleeve moment. Amazing stuff.
