IN PRAISE OF RINGO STARR

AN APPRECIATION OF THE LEAST APPRECIATED BEATLE

By Michael James Moore

     There’s a story about John Lennon greeting a supremely gifted studio drummer named Jim Keltner at the start of a session Lennon was producing after the break-up of the Beatles.  This was in the early 1970s.  Jim Keltner was in demand at many sessions.

     By that time, Keltner had recorded with Joe Cocker and Eric Clapton, among others.

     Lennon didn’t care.  He looked at Keltner, nodded and said (according to legend): “Well, you’re not my favorite drummer.  But you’ll do.”  That’s how much John loved Ringo.

     Early last year (in ’08) a new solo album by Ringo Starr was released.  It’s called “Liverpool 8,” which is the zip code area within which young Richard Starkey grew up as the sickly only child of an overworked single mother.  When he was 22, fate intervened.

     The standard riff on Ringo is that he was the luckiest bit-part player in the history of pop music.  That at just the right time—and at the last minute, right before their first-ever recording dates—the Beatles canned their original drummer and Ringo lucked out.

     Well, it’s partly true.  But only in terms of the chronology.  Yes, Ringo stepped in right before producer George Martin spun the dials and tracked a little thing called “Love Me Do” in the fall of 1962.  One year later, Beatlemania (already rife in England) was about to be exported to America, where in February 1964 Ed Sullivan launched a phenomenon.

     Then and now, it’s been common for many to say that there really wasn’t anything special about Ringo’s playing.  And he wasn’t a songwriter at that time.  And his occasional singing effort (on “Boys” or “I Wanna Be Your Man” or “Act Naturally”) was reliably flat in its intonation, although always spirited and delivered with energy and wit.

     Simply put, Ringo was never taken seriously.  In the first two Beatles’ films (“A Hard Day’s Night” and “Help!”), all four were funny in different ways.  But only Ringo was presented as a bit of a dunce.  The shortest of the four, he even looked a bit diminished.

     Well, no new solo album by Ringo has generated major buzz in decades and chances are “Liverpool 8” won’t break any sales records.  But nothing can alter the fact that in the realm of the Beatles and their very best works, Ringo Starr was absolutely essential.

     The biggest misconception people have about drummers (even music aficionados who listen as carefully as possible) is that they’re best if they’re busy, busy, busy.  Playing long and technically dazzling solos is, for many, the sign of a truly great drummer.

     Most musicians, however, concur that a non-flashy drummer who plays to serve the needs of the ensemble is a rarity; even a dream come true.  Sometimes indispensable. 

     Throughout the Beatles’ career as a group (1962-70), Ringo’s gift was to bring to the band a textured “feel” in his playing that was musically and temperamentally perfect.

     In the company of John Lennon, Paul McCartney and George Harrison (three songwriting multi-instrumentalists who fast evolved into brilliant producers), Ringo’s function was not just musical.  He was also the group’s ultimate diplomat.  He could put the brakes on the others’ speeding egos, and his sense of humor often worked wonders.

     Musically, though, is where Ringo has been undervalued.  Yet, no one has to go far to hear the evidence of his superlative instincts.  Just turn on your classic-rock radio station.

     Examples abound: The snap-crackle-pop of the “fill” that follows a brief solo guitar in the middle of “I Feel Fine”—that’s enough to get anyone up and dancing, not to mention the unique samba-rock “feel” that dominates that song from start to finish.  Or listen closely to “A Hard Day’s Night,” and catch the ways that Ringo overdubbed the funky cowbell and the perfectly pitched bongo-drums to complement the overall recording.  His ornamental touches on “A Day in the Life” are the work of a percussionist, not just a drum-set player.  And his playing on certain “Abbey Road” tracks is utterly melodious.

     When ex-Beatle George Harrison presented the Concert for Bangladesh on August 1, 1971, he took a huge risk.  It was a one-shot gig with minimal time for rehearsing; many problems faced Harrison, who had never fronted a band on his own before, let alone an all-star ensemble populated with major talents whose baggage included drug problems.

     The newly restored DVD of “The Concert for Bangladesh” preserves a glorious moment that confirms the greatness of Ringo Starr, who double-drummed throughout the whole show with the esteemed Jim Keltner.  At the start of “Wah-Wah,” Harrison’s opening number, maestro George looks petrified.  His face is tense.  His posture is almost rigid.

     Then: after the introductory guitar hook is played, Ringo comes thundering in.  Harrison set the tempo with his guitar licks.  But Ringo established the “feel” that instantly caused the back-up singers and the audience to start swaying, dancing, moving with ecstasy.

     By the time he started singing “Wah-Wah,” Harrison was smiling broadly.  He knew the show was on its feet, which had much to do with the hands and feet of Ringo on drums.

     As for the new solo album, not to worry.  If “Liverpool 8” sells modestly, it’ll simply confirm the theme of Ringo’s first hit single back in 1971:

      “Got to pay your dues if you wanna sing the blues, and you know: It don’t come easy!”