Cooking Christmas dinner while listening to The White Album is one of my favourite Christmas traditions (even if the kids don’t share my enthusiasm for it!), so what better way to get into the festive spirit this year than by heading to The Octagon to see The Sheffield Beatles Project play the seminal album in its entirety?
For the uninitiated, The Sheffield Beatles Project is a 30+ piece band made up of a selection of familiar Sheffield musicians who have, for around a decade, made a name for themselves as an interesting reinvention of the Beatles cover band. Unlike contemporaries, there are no mop-top wigs, or Scouse accents and they don’t just play the hits; they pick an album and play it in its entirety. The whole shebang.
This year’s proposition was to take on the 1968 Beatles classic, colloquially known as The White Album, playing every song (yes, including Revolution No. 9), in track order.
Which is no mean feat. The White Album is inarguably a weird album and therefore a tricky proposition for a project like this. Thanks to the varying narcotics influences the Fab Four were under at the time of recording, the record is a sprawling, indulgent (and brilliant) double album, made up of 30 tracks that are, quite frankly, all over the place in terms of style. Even on Christmas dinner duty, some skipping is required.
For example, the album bounces from the country ballad storytelling of Rocky Raccoon, to Ringo’s debut effort Don’t Pass Me By (the less said, the better), to the monkey-copulating blues of Why Don’t We Do It in the Road, all in the space of less than ten minutes. Having not seen The Sheffield Beatles Project before, I was intrigued to see how they would navigate this.
If that wasn’t enough, many of these songs were never performed live by The Beatles and were probably never meant to be. The Sheffield Beatles Project’s commitment to reproducing a like-for-like rendition of every song, with the added twist of four different singers (two male, two female) taking it in turns on lead vocal duties, is wholly commendable, if only for the scale of its ambition.
Before the performers take to the stage, we’re treated to a light-hearted, short video montage of the making of the ‘bloody long’ album, told by the Beatles in cropped interviews, as well as an introduction to what we’re about to witness.
As the track listing dictates, we start proper with a raucous rendition of spy thriller Back in the USSR, and I immediately feel in safe hands. Belted out by Jack Weston, with backing from the other three lead vocalists (Teah Lewis, Laura James and Ad Follet), we’re off to a flyer.
The first hour, heading into the intermission, is made up of sides one and two, and we rattle through a singalong of Ob-la-Di, Ob-la-Da, before a moving rendition of While My Guitar Gently Weeps, where guitarist and founder Nick Cox crushes the solo, as well as Happiness Is a Warm Gun and Blackbird, which both bring the house down.
The seamless transitions between lead vocalists and musicians chopping and changing (shout-out to Phillipe Clegg’s rapid-fire bass changes) never leaves a lag as the album unfolds before us in a uniquely timeless fashion.
My highlight of the first half though was Teah Lewis’ country-influenced rendition of Rocky Raccoon. This somewhat stripped-back moment in the set allowed Sheffield singer-songwriter Teah to shine, and it was beautifully delivered (and the synchronised dance routine at the end was a laugh, eh!)
We’re halfway through then, and while waiting at the bar, there comes the realisation that there’s a LOT to come on sides three and four. I reckon these two are even weirder than their predecessors, so we’re in for some interesting choices in the second half.
Mercifully, Revolution No. 9 is restricted to a couple of minutes of madness and mind-bending overdubs as the penultimate track, and side three’s rocking run of tracks chugs along nicely.
But it’s a massive version of Helter Skelter, fabled as the invention of heavy metal, which steals the show. It’s my favourite tune on the album anyway (basic, I know), but it’s an absolute banger and Ad Follet fully destroys his larynx to do it justice. Commitment, indeed.
We end, predictably, with a sweet rendition of Good Night. It’s a quiet moment to end on, so of course they’re back out for an encore. After teasing us with Temporary Secretary, McCartney’s attempt at techno, they abandon it in favour of a proper ending: a lovely festive singalong of Happy Christmas (War Is Over).
Can’t wait for next year, and Abbey Road, I presume?
