This was, of course, the record The Beatles set out to make, despite the objections of their most important collaborator, über producer George Martin himself, who was not at all partial to the idea of making it any lengthier than a single album; and over the years many have agreed with him. (I do.) But, as seems to be the case with every revered double album since, no one seems to agree on a single album-length track listing. Some may argue this indeed proves the overall greatness of the record, while I am inclined to think that perhaps a lack of the necessary mettle to discard sentimental favorites is mostly to blame.

Of course, who can argue the inclusion of such gems as “Back in the USSR”, “Dear Prudence”, “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”, “Happiness is a Warm Gun”, “Martha My Dear”, “Blackbird”, “I Will”, “Julia”, “Mother Nature’s Son”, and “Long Long Long”? But then the selection process starts getting murky and, for many, objectivity becomes hard to muster. One would think the likes of “Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da”, “Wild Honey Pie”, “The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill”, “Piggies”, “Rocky Raccoon”, “Why Don’t We Do it in the Road?” and “Everybody’s Got Something to Hide Except Me and My Monkey” would be imminent castoffs for those seeking to streamline the record into a more cohesive statement. Yeah, right. Good luck with that. (To wit: the late Ian MacDonald, who wrote the must-read, chronological account of every song The Beatles recorded, Revolution in the Head, would certainly add “Helter Skelter” to the latter bunch. But I wouldn’t. So there you go.)

One rarely mentioned and very important aspect of The White Album’s influence is how, for better or for worse, its very nature—the sometimes maddening variety and scope of the record—can be seen as the future indie/alt-rock generation’s musical ADD blueprint. This influence, is what leads me to consider it much more far-reaching in affixing its stamp on subsequent artists and like-minded albums, than the aforementioned Sgt. Pepper’s, Abbey Road or Revolver.

On a personal level, while The White Album is not my top favorite among the Fabs’ records—that distinction belongs to Abbey Road—it has been, however, very near and dear to my heart from the very moment I discovered it decades ago. Like all of The Beatles’ best work, once you put aside the myth and the hype, it’s easy to understand why we’re still talking about it four decades on.

My biggest problem with the White Album is McCartney’s increasing tendency towards tweeness, something that really had begun in ’67. I just don’t care much for his Ob-la-di-bla-da-isms and all that Honey Pie. Although, to be fair, Blackbird and I Will are lovely, along with the bone-crunching Helter Skelter. I general, I find Lennon’s songs to be much more compelling. On the previous albums and singles, John and Paul, to my ears, were equally strong albeit going in increasingly divergent directions after Rubber Soul. As for George, well, while overhearing While My Guitar Gently Weeps on AOR FM radio back in the day has forever robbed that tune of its luster for me, I still get a real charge out of Piggies with its baroque-y feel and oh-so-English humourous misanthropy.

Sure, the White Album is far from being the fabulous unified whole that is Rubber Soul and Sgt. Pepper but any LP with Happiness is a Warm Gun, Cry Baby Cry, Savoy Truffle, and Back in the U.S.S.R, on it, for starters, is still a bloody masterpiece. My two shillings worth…

HD