The Beatles’ “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da”

The Beatles publicly announced their breakup in April 1970, but it’s a wonder that did not happen before since the band had long been roiling with acrimony. They squabbled in front of cameras during the recording and filming of Let It Be, and John Lennon had bluntly told Paul McCartney eight months earlier (when Abbey Road was released), “I want a divorce.” George Harrison and Ringo Starr, ever the junior partners, were informed soon thereafter.

The antagonism goes back at least to the summer of 1968. That’s when “the boys,” as manager Brian Epstein used to call them, were recording the White Album at EMI Studios in London. A specific track, “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da,” was giving them fits. Written by McCartney, it is listed as a Lennon–McCartney song. They often collaborated, but quite a few of their numbers were composed mostly or entirely by one or the other; if it was good, each wanted credit and if it was a loser the other got blamed. Lennon and McCartney, whose lives have been studied in minute detail, sometimes behaved like immature ego-trippers.

First, a little background about “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da.” The title and chorus came from a London-based Nigerian conga player named Jimmy Scott-Emuakpor, who later accused McCartney of plagiarism. The storyline involves two characters named Desmond and Molly, and something about him buying her a golden ring, them having a pair of children and how life goes on. Pardon the interruption, but I have never given much thought to the lyrics of pop songs. As if this whimsical ditty about Desmond and Molly has deep social significance! The White Album, I remind you, allegedly contained hidden messages that only Charles Manson could decipher—some absurd ideas about racial war, which he and his followers sought to precipitate by the Tate-LaBianca murders of August 8-9, 1969.

At any rate, John, Paul, George and Ringo were in the studio, getting on each other’s nerves. Even producer George Martin, usually a very even-tempered man, had a little shouting match with McCartney. Long-time recording engineer Geoff Emerick took it even further, quitting his job. I have always liked McCartney, but he was the source of the problems here. He told Harrison how to play guitar, took over the drums from Starr and most of all insisted on rehearsing the song ad nauseum. It required 42 hours of studio time to get it right, in McCartney’s view: lots of changes, overdubs and complete remakes. Lennon, Harrison and Starr knew about the disagreement with Scott-Emuakpor and took his side, also suggesting that the Beatles’ prima donna bassist was guilty of cultural appropriation. The song, as you may know, was done in Jamaican ska/rock steady style.

Those last two years of the band’s existence, Lennon and McCartney were just plain sick of each other. Yoko Ono’s intrusive presence and Lennon’s addiction to heroin from mid-1968 to late 1969 only exacerbated matters. Lennon, spaced out on smack, opined that “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” was lousy. He called it “more of Paul’s granny music s—.”

Although not released as a single in the UK or the USA, it was in West Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands, France, New Zealand, Austria, Switzerland, Israel, Australia and Japan, backed by Harrison’s “While My Guitar Gently Weeps.” Sales were actually quite good. The song has been covered by artists such as Jimmy Cliff, Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, and Peter Nero. Some contemporary critics (Jann Wenner of Rolling Stone and Alan Smith of NME, for example) gave it fairly high marks. Many, however, did not. Blender magazine did a poll in 2004 of the 50 worst rock & roll songs ever, and “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” was listed at 48. Tom Rowley of the Daily Telegraph in 2012 ranked it near the bottom of the Beatles’ oeuvre. Only Lennon’s cacophonous 8-minute “Revolution 9,” he thought, was more devoid of musical value.