Vera Lynn entertaining the troops.

As with the letter U, there are not a lot of V songs in the Beatles’ world. I am going to start with one which I did not really remember very well, but as soon as I played the track it came back to me—and it is a good one.

It is a Paul McCartney song called “Vintage Clothes,” produced by my friend David Kahne, an excellent producer who made the Bangles’ best records and worked with a whole list of other cool people. “Vintage Clothes” features the mellotron—apparently the same mellotron the Beatles used back in the day at EMI Studios, an instrument which I guess Paul subsequently bought. So Paul had it and they used it.

The mellotron has a very particular and fascinating sound, but it is also a temperamental and mechanically untrustworthy piece of equipment. Both characteristics can be attributed to how the machine works—it uses actual physical samples of real instruments playing specific notes, recorded on tape. This was the first time the concept of sampling instrument sounds came to the fore because the mellotron contained within it a multitude of lengths of recording tape. Not continuous loops; each one had a beginning and an ending, and each length was a recording of an instrument (or several of the same instruments in unison) playing a specific note.

The mellotron came with several different racks of these strips of tape, one for each group of instruments (strings or brass and so on). One would lift out the rack of tapes that were inside the keyboard (about the size of an upright piano) and insert a different one as needed. The rack consisted of a whole lot of dangling tapes hanging from little wheels, and the chosen rack would be slotted down into the mellotron. Then, when one hit the relevant note on the keyboard, the machine would play that specific tape—it would play for a maximum of about seven or eight seconds, as I recall—until either that tape ran out or one removed one’s finger from the key. As soon as the key was released, there would be this kind of clacking noise, and the tape would whiz back to the beginning as fast as it could in case that same note was needed again. One of the side effects of that instant rewind was that quite often the tape would break, and mellotrons were a bit of a nightmare in that regard. The Moody Blues took a mellotron on the road for a while and apparently had to have three or four available so that one would be working for every gig.

The first time we all fully realized how stunning and magical a mellotron could sound was when we heard the song “Strawberry Fields Forever.” The Beatles used mellotron flutes right at the intro, rather than actual flutes, because the mellotron had a sound all its own. The thing about having these little pre-recorded tapes is that by the time the necessary process of recording and playback for the mellotron was completed, the tapes no longer sounded exactly like real flutes but rather like a spooky replica of real flutes. Not quite sonically accurate and not quite in tune or entirely steady in pitch—but in some ways more mystical and inspiring than real flutes would have been in the same context.

The tape would be a bit wobbly, so the instruments would have a weird and inhuman vibrato to them. And of course this weirdness sounded really cool in the hands of the collective musical genius that was the Beatles. When you first hear those flutes on “Strawberry Fields Forever,” they don’t sound quite like real flutes, but they sound totally fantastic.

Thinking about the mellotron makes me think of all the original devices that the Beatles employed to achieve the sound they wanted on their records. One of these devices begins with the letter V, and that was the varispeed. Now, varispeed refers to any method by which one speeds up or slows down a tape. When you speed a tape up, obviously, the tempo gets faster. In addition, the key gets higher until eventually one ends up in Alvin and the Chipmunks world, when it is all very fast and very high. Nowadays, it is different. Digitally, one can change the speed and the pitch of recorded music separately and independently. But back then one’s only option was physically changing the speed of the tape, and even that was quite complicated. It was easy to double or halve the speed of the tape (a setting available on the tape machine itself), but more subtle variations were not as easy, and such adjustments became a trick the Beatles pioneered to a considerable extent. They had a machine built (the varispeed) that would change the frequency of the electricity powering the electric motor that drove the tape, which enabled subtle changes in speed (and therefore in pitch as well).

One of the key songs on which they did this was, again, the masterpiece that is “Strawberry Fields Forever.” The record is made up of two sections from two different takes. These two takes were different arrangements in different keys, and to make them fit together, Geoff Emerick used the varispeed to lower the key of the higher-pitched take. John’s voice in that section thus became low and doomy sounding, which he liked very much. So that’s what was used, and varispeed was the key to all of this.

People often ask me about the actual location in Liverpool after which “Strawberry Fields Forever” was named, and I have to admit I have never been there. I have hardly been to Liverpool at all. People sometimes assume that I am some kind of universal Beatles expert, and I have to explain that I am definitely not that person. The only visits I have made to Liverpool have been to play a gig and drive back home. My only Beatles expertise is that I have loved their music for so long and happened to have had the extraordinary good fortune to witness some events of that historic period and the pleasure to have known them—an honour which persists to this day.

I mentioned that there are not a lot of V songs in the Beatles’ world, and that is true. But there is one thing the Beatles have that begins with V that you must admit is extremely important. And that is their voices. The Beatles’ voices were extraordinary! I’ve mentioned before that they had to be able to sing pretty loud to have any chance of hearing themselves, and I remember being particularly impressed when I went to a couple of their BBC sessions. When I sat in the control room, of course, I could hear everything because it was coming through the microphones and the board and the big speakers. But if I sat in the studio itself, as I sometimes did, I would hear only what was making music in that room, without benefit of any amplification or electronics. I would hear live drums, live guitar, guitar amps, and so on, but the vocals I would hear only from their lips, as it were, as they stood at the microphone. And yet I could still hear everything they sang very clearly.

I honestly cannot remember exactly which BBC sessions I attended, but if you listen to them now, you will get a sense of what I heard when I was sitting on the floor in the little BBC carpeted studio listening to them singing and being extraordinarily impressed.

This vocal strength was clear from their very first recordings. In the studio, they had the advantage of microphones. When singing together, Paul and John would often stand on opposite sides of the same microphone, a Neumann U67, which can work in what they call figure eight, which means that the two opposite sides of the mic can be live at the same time. I love recording that way. Engineers tell me I may be imagining this, but to my mind, the fact that two people are singing into the same capsule means that the same vibrating diaphragm joins up both voices and records that physically blended signal onto tape. That is how John and Paul did most of those early records.

The letter V also stands for violins, violas, and what were originally called violoncellos. The word cello is actually an abbreviation. If one wants to be a little bit pedantic, one actually puts an apostrophe before the word cello to indicate the fact that one knows it is violoncello.

I already wrote about these instruments under the letter Q, as we discussed string quartets, but I would like to ask one new question: When is a violin not a violin? When it’s a fiddle. A fiddle is almost a different instrument (while remaining, physically, exactly the same thing as a violin) because great fiddle players—and I think of that category as including bluegrass fiddlers and country fiddlers and Cajun fiddlers—can be just as skillful and equally amazing at what they do as the finest classical violinists. Different styles, different sounds, different songs, and they both use the exact same instrument, but played in very different ways. A rare few musicians excel in both worlds (Mark O’Connor deserves recognition in this regard), but most specialize in one or the other. For my own listening pleasure, I treasure players like Stuart Duncan or Alison Krauss or Sara Watkins in the bluegrass world—and for classical violin, no one can beat Hillary Hahn playing Bach or pretty much anything else.

Another favourite fiddle player is Nicky Sanders of the Steep Canyon Rangers, the great bluegrass band with whom Steve Martin makes records. I have had the pleasure of working on some of them myself as a producer.

One of the records I did not produce is an early album on which Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers had a guest singer who is relevant to our task. On the song “Best Love,” Steve had the idea to invite a singer he thought would sound really good on that particular song. He called Paul McCartney and asked him if he would come in and sing one song—and Paul said yes. If you find “Best Love,” you will hear the great fiddle player Nicky Sanders, Steve Martin on the banjo, and the rest of the Steep Canyon Rangers accompanying Sir Paul—it is a great track.

All four Beatles were born during World War II, as was I, and to anyone who grew up in postwar Britain, a very important V singer is Vera Lynn. She is a major national heroine. She sang to the troops throughout the war and had monster hits with “(There’ll Be Bluebirds Over) The White Cliffs of Dover” and particularly “We’ll Meet Again,” which became kind of a national anthem for Britain during the war. Vera Lynn, I am very happy to say, at least at the time I am writing this, is still with us. She is 102 years old. She has always been held in incredibly high esteem throughout the whole of Britain by all artists, including the Beatles. She reciprocated this admiration and even covered one of their songs, “The Fool on the Hill.”

By the way, in theory, but I am certain not in practice, the Beatles might have actually resented Vera Lynn ever so slightly, because in 2009, when the long-awaited remastered editions of the Fab Four’s whole catalogue were finally released, the No. 1 position on the British album chart was claimed by Vera Lynn with a new repackage of her greatest hits, The Very Best of Vera Lynn, released at the same time. She was ninety-two at the time and she kept the Beatles off No. 1, but I am confident they didn’t mind in the slightest.

Paul McCartney seems to be the only Beatle with a fondness for the letter V. In addition to “Vintage Clothes” and “Venus and Mars” (the elegantly melodic prelude to “Rock Show”), he wrote and recorded two other V songs with related titles, “Valentine Day” and “My Valentine.” “Valentine Day” is an instrumental, whereas “My Valentine” is a more conventional and traditional song. It is a fine work with some beautiful guitar playing from Eric Clapton. And if you watch the video, you will see the actress Natalie Portman doing sign language.

On “My Valentine,” Eric Clapton plays classical lead guitar in something of a departure from his usual style—but clearly, he can play anything! When I had the pleasure of producing a session with Eric, I found it to be a remarkable experience. He came in and played on a charity record I was producing (with Cher, Chrissie Hynde, and Neneh Cherry) and just ripped off three or four amazing solos, all completely different and all extraordinary, and then he said, “Will that do?” All I could do was respond, “That’s brilliant! Thank you very much!” And he packed up and left. He was both efficient and miraculously good—and the record went to No. 1, raising a lot of money for Comic Relief on Red Nose Day.

Let us end our journey through the letter V on a jovial note, because V also stands for vaudeville. Vaudeville is, of course, the American version of what we in England mostly call music hall, but it has the same vibe. Everything is bouncy and happy (except when occasionally it’s maudlin and tear-jerkingly sentimental), sometimes adding double meanings and jokes and lighthearted moments. Paul McCartney was a fan of the vaudeville and music hall traditions, as we can see in particular in songs like “Honey Pie” and “Your Mother Should Know.”

“Honey Pie” is a clear and direct tribute to ragtime and vaudeville and also very much a collective Beatles recording, proving that the band shared Paul’s affection for the genre. John played the old-school guitar solo and George played a perfect bass part which was very much not rock and roll in tone or in composition, with Ringo on drums and Paul on ragtime piano, playing with a feel probably more familiar to Paul’s father’s band than to the Beatles. The arrangement for saxophones and clarinets was a joint effort by George Martin and Paul—and a masterpiece of authenticity. The song also follows a story line not unfamiliar to Beatles fans—an act from the north of England hits the big time in America and off she goes!

Vaudeville and music hall have always included a substantial quotient of nostalgia in their appeal. And “Your Mother Should Know” is heavily laced with nostalgia throughout. From the opening lines which specifically address the past (“Let’s all get up and dance to a song / That was a hit before your mother was born”) to the visual presentation of the song in Magical Mystery Tour (white tails, choreography, and an elaborate set reminiscent of the glory days of movie musicals) to the musical arrangement itself (the lovely old-fashioned “ah”s in the background vocals and Ringo’s retro hi-hat shuffle on the second verse), the whole track has a joyous and nostalgic sentimentality which I much admire. Indeed this 1967 song expresses and exemplifies an admiration for the music of previous eras which parallels the respect and love we enthusiastically express for the ’60s and the band that gave voice to that decade.