As a child during the 70s and 80s, I found myself in a constant state of aversion towards the Beatles. My upbringing was steeped in the age-old debate between the Beatles and the Rolling Stones—two bands that seemed to epitomize the music my parents adored. While I didn’t particularly care for the Stones either, their music felt more raw and edgy compared to the Beatles’ polished sound. If it was my parents driving the carpool, we were likely to hear “Sympathy for the Devil.” But, if I was in my best friend’s mom’s car, it was an endless loop of “I Want to Hold Your Hand,” played repeatedly on her cassette tape while we sat in the back of the station wagon, bored and restless.
To my young mind, both bands represented music from a bygone era—what I termed the “Land of the Olds.” This was the soundtrack of my parents’ youth, filled with songs they reminisced about during their formative years. The debates over whether Paul or John was the more charming Beatle—or whether Mick was the ultimate rock star—felt pointless to me. I thought the Beatles’ music was simple and overly cheerful, while the Stones’ lyrics seemed unnecessarily cryptic. I preferred the sounds of the 80s: bands like Tears for Fears, Madonna, and Depeche Mode filled my playlists. In college, I struggled to engage in the Beatles versus Stones discussions that emerged after a few drinks, often feeling like an outsider in the world of rock appreciation.
The crux of my discontent stemmed from a lack of context. It wasn’t until a boyfriend gifted me a used copy of Abbey Road during a road trip that I began to understand the Beatles in a new light. As we drove along I-95, his hand rhythmically tapping the steering wheel, I found myself immersed in “Here Comes the Sun,” no longer just a nursery school tune but a song that transported me to a dreamlike state. Years later, while living near Villefranche-sur-Mer, where the Stones recorded Exile on Main Street, I finally grasped the magnetism of Mick Jagger and Keith Richards and their unforgettable riffs.
My journey toward appreciating these iconic bands required personal experiences and memories. With time, I realized the false dichotomy that pitted the Beatles against the Stones was simply that—false. I have since grown comfortable in my neutrality, enjoying both bands for their distinct contributions to music without feeling the need to choose sides. And truth be told, I still find myself leaning more towards Dylan’s evocative storytelling.
In summary, my transformation from a Beatles skeptic to an appreciative listener highlights the importance of personal context in music. It’s not about choosing a side; it’s about finding value in the melodies that resonate with our own experiences.
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