Love for Sale

I used to love the Beatles. According to my mother, I demanded to be bought my first Beatles record at the tender age of three. She claimed she played it for me so many times a day she almost went crazy, and the record was soon scratched to bits. I was a serious child Beatlemaniac. Stunned and heartbroken when they disbanded, I blamed Yoko and Linda and thought the world was coming to an end. I was shocked by the death of Lennon, but not unduly distraught. The moment he married Yoko, I started disliking them both. Then I outgrew the Beatles (discovered other people like the Stones, and Pink Floyd and the Doors and the Police and Dire Straits, and Van Morrison, etc).
Now I listen to their songs and I cannot summon the awe and joy they used to bring me. Sometimes they seem too chirpy, sometimes they annoy me, like I'm tired of them, but sometimes their songs still seem supreme offerings of pure, beautiful pop.
And now, like we should have expected all along, they've gone all Vegas on us. What's worse, they've gone all Cirque Du Soleil on us. If you think about it, it's amazing it didn't happen sooner. But I think I'd rather have a Beatles show with showgirls and plummage and white Bengal tigers in cages, than the horrible, mercenary new-agey treacle that is the Cirque du Soleil.