For No One, Beatles (1966)

And in her eyes you see nothing
No sign of love behind the tears
Cried for no one
A love that should have lasted years

It was this past week in 1966 that an event many felt was a seminal one in the evolution of Beatles musicology occurred - the release of their album, Revolver.

I wasn't one of those people. I was underwhelmed, disappointed, even, in the tracks on Revolver. The fact that it marked a new phase in the Beatles' development as studio musicians just didn't resonate with me, because the majority of songs didn't resonate with me.

But lurking amidst the various ditties about taxes and yellow submarines was a gem called For No One. It was a song that Emmylou Harris once described as being about "love hurting real bad." It was notable for being such a stark departure from what surrounded it. And it was notable on its own merits, for nailing what it feels like when the look in your former love's eyes has gone dark and cold - even if tears are flowing from those same eyes.

Several things about this song made it interesting apart from its naked emotion. At first blush it appears to be outlining the all-too-familiar perspective of the one suffering - "Your day breaks, your mind aches" ... But we switch back and forth between hearing his anguish and watching her movements, presumably separate from his. A well done juxtaposition that made the song even more harrowing. Such power Paul McCartney packed into such a small space.

For No One also featured a haunting instrumental solo by Alan Civil, a French horn player of international renown who was asked by George Martin to become part of the recording session, because McCartney wanted a horn break.

Some say the song was so perfect because McCartney was writing about the demise of his relationship with the beautiful actress Jane Asher who, it must be said, I wanted to be for a full five years of my teenybopper life. (To her credit, Asher, who continues to act and is a much sought-after cake baker, has never sunk to a tell-all about their romance. If she hasn't by now, she probably never will. A true class act.) But unless they broke up at some point before the relationship ended completely (1968), the chronology is off. Regardless, it is McCartney at his best and purest.

As to Revolver, I will say that I also love everything about And Your Bird Can Sing. Everything. And Eleanor Rigby was a masterpiece in its own right. But because it was released simultaneously with Revolver as a single, I have always thought of it independently of the album because that is how I experienced it.

Different Drum, The Stone Poneys (1967)

With the exception of Martha and the Vandellas, I am horrified to realize that I have to this point featured no women's voices in this blog. That will have to be rectified in short order. Unfortunately, the early years of rock and roll were comparatively thin as far as successful women were concerned. But they were out there.

One who managed very well, thank you, was Linda Ronstadt, who became a sensation when she was with the Stone Poneys. Someone whose career I have followed ever since, her clear, larger-than-life voice was a welcome addition to the folk-rock scene, and catapulted her to solo stardom soon thereafter. Ronstadt was the only other singer besides Laura Nyro whose work I emulated (or tried to) when I took voice lessons in the 80s.

Written and originally performed by the Monkees' Mike Nesmith from the male perspective, Ronstadt's version of Different Drum turned the tables to tell the story of a free spirited woman - one who didn't need a man to complete her. The lyric Yes, and I ain't saying you ain't pretty / All I'm saying is I'm not ready / For any person place or thing / To try and pull the reins in on me / made an enduring impression on me!

According to Kenny Edwards, the Stone Poneys' co-founder and acoustic guitarist, Ronstadt (and Emmylou Harris) had the unusual knack of being able to "... pick songs ... that are perfect for them, as if they'd written them." I think that is one of the things that has really defined her throughout her career - whether it's Warren Zevon, Elvis Costello or Mike Nesmith, her versions of their songs are authentic and unforgettable. She does make them her own.

The burgeoning women's movement notwithstanding, it wouldn't have been common in those days for a woman to sing / I see no sense in this crying and grieving / We'll both live a lot longer / If you live without me / and come across convincingly. Linda could and did.