<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>
<BODY.CONTENT>
<UID>
9602060428
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
961124
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Sunday, November 24, 1996
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
COM
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1E
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>

</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1996, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE -- AND BEATLES MUSIC
</HEADLINE>
<SUBHEAD>

</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
<BODY>
The most successful musical group of this year is . . . the Beatles.
That's right. Thanks largely to their "Anthology" series, the Beatles have
sold more records than any artist in 1996. This might  surprise some people --
since the Beatles broke up in 1970 and one of them is dead -- but it does not
surprise me.

  Those of us who grew up in the '60s feel the need to keep our music going,
almost  as much as we need to keep our pulse going. Without our music on the
airwaves and sales charts, we would feel, well -- how can I put this? -- old?
Square? Unhip? Fading from coolness?

  And this would  kill us.
  So there is not a city in America without an "oldies" station or a "classic
rock" station (both of these phrases, by the way, are much preferred to "Music
For Balding Men and Middle-Aged  Women").
  And all these stations play the Beatles.
  That is because, at the core my generation's belief system, right up there
with freedom of speech, civil rights, peace and growing your hair  however
long you want it, is perhaps the most unshakable of all concepts:
  The Beatles -- John, Paul, George and Ringo -- were the best group ever.
  End of discussion.
 
A long and winding road
  Back in the '60s, this was as obvious as Michael Jordan is now with a
basketball. There were the Beatles, and there was everyone else. A new song by
the Beatles was cause to stay home in your bedroom,  frozen to the radio,
until you heard it come on, at which point you immediately called your friends
to announce 1) "It's a slow one," 2) "It's a fast one," 3) "It sounds like
(fill in the blank)," 4)  "It's cool."
  You then memorized the lyrics and you bought the album. There was no
question about buying the album, by the way. There were no bad Beatles albums.
While they were together, the Beatles  didn't put out re-releases or greatest
hits. They didn't do an collection of standards by Nat King Cole or big band
albums or unplugged albums.
  Every Beatles record was new and original, a step in  a journey, like lines
on your growth chart. They wrote about love, they wrote about drugs, they
wrote about peace, they wrote about escape. They got shaggy as we got shaggy.
They got psychedelic as we  got more psychedelic. They sort of walked us
through the '60s.
  And if you check my generation's record collections -- perhaps in the attic
now, collecting dust -- you likely will find the albums  still in order, from
"Meet The Beatles" to "Revolver" to "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" to
"Abbey Road" to "Let It Be."
  We have them all. The order was important.
  Which brings us to the  last question: Why? 
 
Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da 
  My good friend, the comedian Ken Brown -- who is younger than I -- does not
get the Beatles. He is constantly asking, "What is the big deal?"
  This  is how I answer him. Everything under the big umbrella they now call
rock 'n' roll music, the Beatles did.
  The energy of punk? The Beatles had it  on stage with "Can't Buy Me Love." 
  The noise  of heavy metal? The Beatles did that on The White Album.
  The angst of today's pseudo-folk rockers? The Beatles did it with "Eleanor
Rigby" and "While My Guitar Gently Weeps." 
  The lyrical love  songs that made "soft rock" in the '70s? The Beatles did
all that needed to be done with "Yesterday." 
  Now, it's true, rock 'n' roll existed before the Beatles, harmony existed
before the Beatles,  good lyrics, energy, melody, studio experimentation --
all there before the Beatles.
  But what the Beatles did was put it together into a one big bus, and opened
the door for the world to come along.  And their single biggest message -- and
you can't overlook this -- was love. More love. Free love. All you need is
love. Even in their wildest periods, when they were arguing and splitting up,
they still  recorded as pure a love song as "Something."
  Something in the way she moves
  attracts me like no other lover
  Love. In a decade as turbulent as the '60s, that was as universal a message
 as you could find.
  Maybe that's why Beatles music is still big. We live in an era of cell
phones, cable TV, mutual funds, O.J. Simpson, ATM's instead of tellers,
answering machines instead of voices.  We work harder and we feel less
satisfied, and more and more we find ourselves looking back over our shoulders
at the years behind us.
  The Beatles were the soundtrack of those years, and they made  us feel good
about ourselves. It's like that line from "The Big Chill" when the woman sits
with her old friends and says, "I feel like I was at my best when I was with
you people."
  That's the way  my generation feels about the Beatles. Better. Truer.
Younger. Freer. So we buy their records, we find their music on our radio
stations, and we go on yearning.
  The truth is, we didn't collect the  Beatles as much as they collected us.
And even today, in 1996, we don't want to let go.
 
  Mitch Albom's radio program, "Albom in the Afternoon," can be heard weekdays
from 4-6 p.m. on WJR-AM (760).
</BODY>
<DISCLAIMER>
THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION MAY DIFFER SLIGHTLY FROM THE PRINTED ARTICLE.
</DISCLAIMER>
<KEYWORDS>

</KEYWORDS>
</BODY.CONTENT>
