Growing up, I couldn’t stand The Beatles. In the ’70s and ’80s, my childhood was filled with conversations among adults debating the merits of The Beatles versus the Rolling Stones. Both bands seemed like relics from a bygone era, and to my young ears, they were just okay. If my parents were driving, we’d likely hear “Sympathy for the Devil,” while my best friend’s mom would loop “I Want to Hold Your Hand” on repeat during carpool rides, creating a soundtrack that felt more like a parental world than my own.
To me, both bands represented the music of “the olds.” It was the stuff my parents reminisced about—the songs they played during their youth, filled with nostalgia. The debates over who was cuter, Paul or John—or perhaps Mick—felt foreign to my childhood sensibilities. I thought The Beatles’ tunes were simplistic and jangly, but at least I could grasp their lyrics. “I’ll tell you something I think you’ll understand,” they sang, while Mick Jagger taunted with his enigmatic “pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name.” Why should I have to guess? I knew he was Mick Jagger, a wiry figure with a stage presence I wasn’t yet able to appreciate.
What I listened to was a different vibe altogether—Tears for Fears’ “Everybody Wants to Rule the World,” the synth-pop of Depeche Mode, and the catchy beats of Madonna. As I navigated through college, I felt out of place when friends reignited the Beatles vs. Stones debate after a few drinks. I questioned my taste in music, feeling like I was missing out on something that everyone deemed “quality.” It was as if I were a philistine who enjoyed TV Guide but hadn’t cracked open a Dickens novel.
The turning point came when a boyfriend gifted me a CD of Abbey Road during a road trip. Listening to it while cruising down the highway, I began to feel a connection to The Beatles. “Here Comes the Sun” transformed from a nursery school tune into a personal anthem, enriched by the scenery passing by and the warmth of my boyfriend’s hand on the steering wheel. The music took on new meaning as I imagined myself as the “little darling” the song alluded to.
Years later, living near the beautiful Villefranche-sur-Mer, where the Stones recorded Exile on Main Street, I began to understand the allure of Mick and Keith. I realized that to truly appreciate these musical legends, I needed to create my own memories and context. Now, I happily embrace the notion that I don’t have to choose between The Beatles and the Stones. Instead, I can enjoy the unique qualities each band brings to the table, free from the pressure of siding with one over the other.
And if I’m being honest, I lean more towards Dylan anyway.
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Summary:
In this reflection, I share my journey from disliking The Beatles to discovering their music’s significance in my life. Through personal experiences and memories, I learned to appreciate both The Beatles and the Rolling Stones without feeling pressured to choose sides.
Keyphrase: “appreciating The Beatles”
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