Awhile back I was asked to complete a “list” for this magazine named Fingermag, based out of Zurich. The whole magazine is a series of lists from a variety of artists, each artist answers their preferences to a set of questions that mostly revolve around musical tastes. In a roundabout way, it gives you a glimpse into the psyche of each artist.

One of the questions asked was, “Favorite Beatles Song?” I responded, “In My Life”, which is a fabulous song, well crafted and nicely hard-to-pin-down, as far as style and intent, etc. I do love it. However, I’d like to change my answer.

About two weeks ago I feel in love, HARD, with “Happiness Is a Warm Gun”. Just thinking about it now, I turn all mushy and gooey and warm-feeling inside, ha! Though I’d previously heard the song, I’d never owned a copy of the White Album until now, and the song had never hit me—and then, POW, right between the eyes.

I’m still trying to get to the bottom of the song, actually, so I’m probably not ripe to talk about it, but… I mean, the form, the imagery, the way it just, with no warning, yawns into this twistedly sexy chorus that’s so smart and witty and… perfect. The song doesn’t make sense, structurally, it’s not your typical pop song verse-chorus thing (which especially endears it to me, because sometimes my own forms are, um, imaginitive! Off the beaten path, shall we say.) but IT WORKS so well… HOW does it work so well?? How did that happen??!!

How did they get the right sound for John Lennon’s vocals in the chorus? Aurally, it sounds like red wine momentarily dripping somewhere and then being licked off, ha! IT DOES! And… of course, I’m a sucker for sensual religious references, god knows why (no pun intended ;)) so “Mother Superior jumped the gun” is… such a ripe and obtuse phrase, deliciously so. And don’t even get me started on, “She’s not a girl who misses much—she’s well acquainted with the touch of a velvet hand like a lizard on a window pane.” I mean, (... inarticulatable pause… )

(shakes head and comes back to present moment) Sorry, language seduces me! And all these pictures conjured up behind my eyelids are as intoxicating as all that red wine in the chorus.

Last thing I’ll mention and then I’ll stop swooning here-if nothing else at least you are being made aware of how my honest reaction to music I love is visceral as well as intellectual!-I just want to know: how is it possible that we travel such a great distance between each short section of the song? Seconds pass as the sections collide into each other, and there is different sonic landscapes set for each section, but even so—nothing seems inappropriately disjointed, it all works together… oh man, I gotta stop typing. Steam is pouring out of my ears as my brain is working overtime, much like the man in the song’s hands are working overtime as he’s lying with his eyes. Too much greatness for me.

One of the first days after I’d fallen in love with “Happiness Is a Warm Gun”, I stumbled by accident into Strawberry Fields in Central Park as I was listening to the White Album on my headphones. I left a show flier there in memory of and in thanks to Mr. John Lennon.