Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people
Eleanor Rigby, picks up the rice in the church
Where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window,
Wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?
Father McKenzie, writing the words of a sermon
That no one will hear
No one comes near
Look at him working,
Darning his socks in the night
When there’s nobody there
What does he care?
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?
Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people
Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her name
Nobody came
Father McKenzie, wiping the dirt from his hands
As he walks from the grave
No one was saved
All the lonely people (Ah, look at all the lonely people)
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people (Ah, look at all the lonely people)
Where do they all belong?
Sheet music for ‘Eleanor Rigby’, illustration by Klaus Voorman, artist and musician, a friend of the Beatles from Hamburg.
I’m Only Sleeping
When I used to go down to Kenwood and see John he was very often lying on the curved couch in his day room, half-asleep or idly reading a newspaper. I wondered why, when he had such a big house, he would huddle in what must have been the smallest room. I also wondered about the sticker on the cupboard above his head, which read SAFE AS MILK. I took it to be ironic. I never saw him drink milk.
John at home at Kenwood in his favourite room.
Paul, when he came down to Kenwood, by appointment, to work on a song, would often find John still in bed, sound asleep, and have to wake him up.
I once arrived to see John only to be informed that he had decided it was a day for not speaking. So we had lunch, not speaking. He flopped on his couch, watching children’s afternoon TV, not speaking, then we had a swim in his pool, still not speaking. I was furious. All that way–to get so little out of him.
So ‘I’m Only Sleeping’ was true to life. He spent a lot of his days just lying around, if not in fact asleep. In the ‘Jesus’ interview with Maureen Cleave, she quotes him as saying that he can sleep almost indefinitely. ‘Sex is the only physical thing I can be bothered with any more.’
When the idea for the song came to him, based on what he was doing, or not doing, he scribbled the first version on the back of a bill from the Post Office, being too lazy to go and find a clean piece of paper. The letter informed him he owed them twelve pounds and three shillings for a car radio bill. John was never a techie, and always had trouble remembering his own phone number or making his own calls, but being a young millionaire with a Rolls-Royce, bought in June 1965, he had acquired one of the earliest phones for use in his car.
It’s a bit too obvious to say this is a druggie song, about someone who has over-indulged–which John did. I believe it really is about sleeping: the joys of it, taking your time, letting the world rush by, a neat commentary on our crazy modern lifestyle. True, ‘Float upstream’ could be a reference to drugs, but it is also what you do when you dream, when that marvellous drowsy feeling takes over and you feel yourself drifting away.
The words, which are sharp and succinct–not at all the mark of a lazy lyricist–can also be seen as a clear indication of his boredom, not just with life but with Cynthia.
The song took a long time to record, for they were endlessly experimenting with new sounds and effects. I had always assumed that there was a sitar being played in the background, but thanks to the musicologists I have learned that it was a backwards-played guitar. It took twelve hours to get right–for just seventeen seconds.
In John’s voice I can detect the hint of an old man, singing in a strong Lancashire accent, vaguely reminiscent of George Formby. Again, that was deliberate, speeding up and slowing down the tapes to achieve the right effect.
The manuscript with the Post Office bill on the other side is clearly dated 12 April 1966, very useful for musicologists. It shows lots of changes as John worked on the lyrics. It seems to begin with the first line ‘Try to sleep again. Got to get to sleep’–which he didn’t use–before moving on to: ‘When I waken early in the morning’, which became his first line, more or less. The other lines are variations on roughly what was to come.
This manuscript is owned by Pete Shotton, John’s best friend from school:
I was going to see our accountant one day, whom we both used, and John said, ‘I have this bill, will you tell him about it and get him to pay it.’ He gave me the bill and I turned it over and there was a song on the other side. He said, ‘It doesn’t matter, I’ll have to write it out again on a larger piece of paper.’ So I went off to the accountant, showed him the bill. He said he already had a copy, and would pay it. I shoved the bill in my suit pocket–which I never wore again for about four years. So I just kept it. There was no value in Beatles memorabilia in those days.