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"Revolution 9"
Composition by the Beatles
from the album The Beatles
Released22 November 1968 (1968-11-22)
RecordedJune 1968
StudioEMI, London
Genre
Length8:22
LabelApple
SongwriterLennon–McCartney
ProducerGeorge Martin

"Revolution 9" is a sound collage from the Beatles' 1968 self-titled double album (also known as the "White Album"). The composition, credited to Lennon–McCartney, was created primarily by John Lennon with assistance from Yoko Ono and George Harrison. Lennon said he was trying to paint a picture of a revolution using sound. The composition was influenced by the avant-garde style of Ono as well as the musique concrète works of composers such as Edgard Varèse and Karlheinz Stockhausen.

The recording began as an extended ending to the album version of Lennon's song "Revolution". Lennon, Harrison and Ono then combined the unused coda with numerous overdubbed vocals, speech, sound effects, and short tape loops of speech and musical performances, some of which were reversed. These were further manipulated with echo, distortion, stereo panning, and fading. At eight minutes and twenty-two seconds, it is the longest track that the Beatles officially released while together as a band.

Background and inspiration

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"Revolution 9" was not the first venture by the Beatles into experimental recordings. The group had introduced avant-garde styling in their 1966 song "Tomorrow Never Knows" and, in January 1967, they recorded an unreleased piece called "Carnival of Light". McCartney said the work was inspired by composers Karlheinz Stockhausen and John Cage.[1] Stockhausen was also a favourite of Lennon, and was one of the people included on the Sgt. Pepper album cover. Music critic Ian MacDonald wrote that "Revolution 9" may have been influenced by Stockhausen's Hymnen in particular.[2]

Another influence on Lennon was his relationship with Yoko Ono. Lennon and Ono had recently recorded their own avant-garde album, Unfinished Music No. 1: Two Virgins. Lennon said: "Once I heard her stuff – not just the screeching and howling but her sort of word pieces and talking and breathing and all this strange stuff ... I got intrigued, so I wanted to do one."[3] Ono attended the recording sessions and, according to Lennon, helped him select which tape loops to use.[4]

In a 1992 interview for Musician magazine, George Harrison said that it was he and Ringo Starr who selected the sounds, sourced from EMI's tape library, including the "Number nine, number nine" dialogue.[5] Authors Chip Madinger and Mark Easter write that the content of Harrison's lesser-known experimental piece "Dream Scene", recorded between November 1967 and February 1968 for his Wonderwall Music album, suggests that Harrison had a greater influence on "Revolution 9" than has been acknowledged.[6] In his book about the Beatles' White Album, titled Revolution, David Quantick lists Lennon, Ono and Harrison as the "actual writers", despite the Lennon–McCartney composer's credit.[7] In the 2011 documentary George Harrison: Living in the Material World, Ono says that "George, John and I made ['Revolution 9']" and that Harrison "sort of instigated it" and pushed them to create the piece.[8]

Recording

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"Revolution 9" originated on 30 May 1968 during the first recording session for Lennon's composition "Revolution". Take 20 of that song lasted more than ten minutes and was given additional overdubs over the next two sessions. Mark Lewisohn describes the last six minutes as "pure chaos ... with discordant instrumental jamming, feedback, John repeatedly screaming 'RIGHT' and then, simply, repeatedly screaming ... with Yoko talking and saying such off-the-wall phrases as 'you become naked', and with the overlaying of miscellaneous, home-made sound effects tapes."[9]

Lennon soon decided to make the first part of the recording into a conventional Beatles song, "Revolution 1", and to use the last six minutes as the basis for a separate track, "Revolution 9". He began preparing additional sound effects and tape loops: some newly recorded in the studio, at home and from the studio archives. The work culminated on 20 June, with Lennon performing a live mix from tape loops running on machines in all three studios at EMI Studios, but during the live mix, the STEED system ran out and the sound of the tape machine rewinding can be heard at the 5:11 mark[10] and additional prose was overdubbed by Lennon and Harrison.[11]

More overdubs were added on 21 June followed by final mixing in stereo. The stereo master was completed on 25 June when it was shortened by 53 seconds.[12] Although other songs on the album were separately remixed for the mono version, the complexity of "Revolution 9" necessitated making the mono mix a direct reduction of the final stereo master.[13] McCartney had been out of the country when "Revolution 9" was assembled and mixed; he was unimpressed when he first heard the finished track, and later tried to persuade Lennon to drop his insistence that it be included on the album.[14] Lennon said that the final editing was done by himself and Ono alone.[15]

Structure and content

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"Revolution 9" is a sound collage,[16][17] which has been described as piece of experimental,[18][19] avant-garde,[20][21] musique concrète,[22][23] surrealist,[24] and psychedelic music.[25] The piece begins with a slow piano theme in the key of B minor and the voice of an EMI engineer[26] repeating the words "number nine", quickly panning across the stereo channels. Both the piano theme and the "number nine" loop recur many times during the piece, serving as a motif. Lennon later said of the track and its production:

Revolution 9 was an unconscious picture of what I actually think will happen when it happens; just like a drawing of a revolution. All the thing was made with loops. I had about 30 loops going, fed them onto one basic track. I was getting classical tapes, going upstairs and chopping them up, making it backwards and things like that, to get the sound effects. One thing was an engineer's testing voice saying, "This is EMI test series number nine." I just cut up whatever he said and I'd number nine it. Nine turned out to be my birthday and my lucky number and everything. I didn't realise it: it was just so funny the voice saying, "number nine"; it was like a joke, bringing number nine into it all the time, that's all it was.[4]

Much of the track consists of tape loops that are faded in and out, several of which are sampled from performances of classical music. Works that have been specifically identified include the Vaughan Williams motet O Clap Your Hands, the final chord from Sibelius' Symphony No. 7, and the reversed finale of Schumann's Symphonic Studies.[27] Other loops include violins from "A Day in the Life" and sped up loops from Tomorrow Never Knows. Part of the Arabic song "Awal Hamsa" by Farid al-Atrash is included shortly after the 7-minute mark. There are also loops of unidentified operatic performances, backwards mellotron, violins and sound effects, a reversed, noisy, and often very warped oboe/cello duet with orchestral clatter as background noise, a reversed electric guitar in the key of E major, loud cymbals, and a reversed string quartet in the key of E-flat major.[27]

One notable loop, rumored to be from the unreleased track Carnival of Light, starts appearing at about the 2-and-a-half-minute mark and is heavily concentrated with a cacophony of noises, providing a chaotic texture to the track. The loop's background noise is hard to describe and features what sounds like loud industrial noise, chair creaking, and a discordant double bass. The loop begins with a barely discernible and heavily reverberated George Martin shouting "Geoff, could you put the red light on?", followed by distorted amplifier feedback, then a short "Swami"[27] solo clarinet rendition of The Streets of Cairo, ending with Martin shushing loudly before the loop repeats.

Portions of the unused coda of "Revolution 1 (Take 18)" can be heard briefly several times during the track, particularly Lennon's screams of "right" and "all right", with a longer portion near the end featuring Ono's discourse about becoming naked. Segments of random prose read by Lennon and Harrison are heard prominently throughout, along with numerous sound effects such as women's laughter, a cooing baby, crowd noise, playing schoolchildren, breaking glass, car horns, crackling fire and gunfire. Some of the sounds were taken from the Elektra Records "Authentic Sound Effects" series of stock sound effects.[28] The piece ends with a recording of American football chants ("Hold that line! Block that kick!"). In all, the final mix includes at least 45 different sound sources.[29]

Album sequencing and release

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During compilation and sequencing of the master tape for the album The Beatles, two unrelated segments were included between the previous song ("Cry Baby Cry") and "Revolution 9".[30] The first was a fragment of a song based on the line "Can you take me back", an improvisation sung by McCartney that was recorded between takes of "I Will". The second was a bit of conversation from the studio control room where Alistair Taylor asked Martin for forgiveness for not bringing him a bottle of claret, and then calling him a "cheeky bitch".[30]

"Revolution 9" was released as the penultimate track on side four of the double LP. With no gaps in the sequence from "Cry Baby Cry" to "Revolution 9", the point of track division has varied among different reissues of the album. Some versions place the conversation at the end of "Cry Baby Cry", resulting in a length of 8:13 for "Revolution 9", while others start "Revolution 9" with the conversation, for a track length of 8:22. Later CD and digital releases have the conversation at the beginning of "Revolution 9".

Reception

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... compare Lennon's work with Luigi Nono's similar Non Consumiamo Marx (1969) to see how much more aesthetically and politically acute Lennon was than most of the vaunted avant-garde composers of the time ... Nono's piece entirely lacks the pop-bred sense of texture and proportion manifested in "Revolution 9".[31]

– Ian MacDonald

"Revolution 9" is an embarrassment that stands like a black hole at the end of the White Album, sucking up whatever energy and interest remain after the preceding ninety minutes of music. It is a track that neither invites nor rewards close attention ...[32]

– Jonathan Gould

The unusual nature of "Revolution 9" engendered a wide range of opinions. Lewisohn summarised the public reaction upon its release as "most listeners loathing it outright, the dedicated fans trying to understand it".[33] Music critics Robert Christgau and John Piccarella called it "an anti-masterpiece" and commented that, in effect, "for eight minutes of an album officially titled The Beatles, there were no Beatles."[34] In their respective reviews of the White Album, Alan Walsh of Melody Maker called the track "noisy, boring and meaningless",[35] while the NME's Alan Smith derided it as "a pretentious piece of old codswallop ... a piece of idiot immaturity and a blotch on their own unquestioned talent as well as the album".[36] Jann Wenner was more complimentary, writing in Rolling Stone that "Revolution 9" was "beautifully organized" and had more political impact than "Revolution 1".[37] Ian MacDonald remarked that "Revolution 9" evoked the era's revolutionary disruptions and their repercussions, and thus was culturally "one of the most significant acts the Beatles ever perpetrated",[38] as well as "the world's most widely distributed avant-garde artifact".[39]

Among more recent reviews, Rob Sheffield wrote in The New Rolling Stone Album Guide that it was "justly maligned", but "more fun than 'Honey Pie' or 'Yer Blues'".[40] Mark Richardson of Pitchfork commented that "the biggest pop band in the world exposed millions of fans to a really great and certainly frightening piece of avant-garde art."[41] David Quantick, writing in 2002, similarly described it as being "after nearly a quarter of a century, [still] the most radical and innovative track ever to bring a rock record to its climax".[7] He added that, given the Beatles' popularity ensured that an avant-garde recording was found in millions of homes around the world: "No one in the history of recorded music has ever been so successful in introducing such extreme music to so many people, most of whom, admittedly, will try their best never to hear 'Revolution 9.' Those who do listen to it usually find that it not only rewards repeated playing ... but that it also knocks other tracks on the White Album into a cocked hat."[42]

Edward Sharp-Paul of FasterLouder wrote that "'Revolution #9' is the sound of an illusion shattering: Yes, the Beatles are human, and sometimes they drop almighty turds."[43] The track was voted the worst Beatles song in one of the first such polls, conducted in 1971 by WPLJ and The Village Voice.[44] Writing for Mojo in 2003, Mark Paytress said that "Revolution 9" remained "the most unpopular piece of music the Beatles ever made", yet it was also their "most extraordinary [recording]".[45]

Interpretation

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Lennon said he was "painting in sound a picture of revolution", but he had mistakenly made it "anti-revolution".[4] In his analysis of the song, MacDonald doubted that Lennon conceptualised the piece as representing a revolution in the usual sense, but rather as "a sensory attack on the citadel of the intellect: a revolution in the head" aimed at each listener.[46] MacDonald also noted that the structure suggests a "half-awake, channel-hopping" mental state, with underlying themes of consciousness and quality of awareness.[47] Others have described the piece as Lennon's attempt at turning "nightmare imagery" into sound,[48] and as "an autobiographical soundscape".[49] The loop of "number nine" featured in the recording fuelled the legend of Paul McCartney's death after it was reported that it sounded like "turn me on, dead man" when played backwards.[50]

In an interview held at his home on 2 December 1968, Lennon was asked if "Revolution 9" was about death, because it seemed like that to the interviewer. Lennon answered: "Well then it is, then, when you heard it ... listen to it another day. In the sun. Outside. And see if it's about death then." He went on: "It's not specifically about anything. It's a set of sounds, like walking down the street is a set of sounds. And I just captured a moment of time, and put it on disc, and it's about that ... It was maybe to do with the sounds of a revolution ... so that's the vague story behind it. But apart from that, it's just a set of sounds."[51]

Based on interviews and testimony, prosecutor Vincent Bugliosi asserted that Charles Manson believed that many songs on the album The Beatles contained references confirming his prediction of an impending apocalyptic race war, a scenario dubbed "Helter Skelter". According to Gregg Jakobson, Manson mentioned "Revolution 9" more often than any of the other album tracks, and he interpreted it as a parallel of Chapter 9 of the Book of Revelation.[52] Manson viewed the piece as a portrayal in sound of the coming black-white revolution.[52] He misheard Lennon's distorted screams of "Right!" within "Revolution 9" as a command to "Rise!"[53] Speaking to music journalist David Dalton before his trial, Manson drew parallels between the animal noises that close Harrison's White Album track "Piggies" and a similar sound, followed by machine-gun fire, that appears in "Revolution 9".[54][55]

Personnel

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Additionally, Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr performed on the extended "Revolution" coda, elements of which were used intermittently in "Revolution 9".

Cover versions

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Kurt Hoffman's Band of Weeds performs "Revolution #9" on the 1992 album Live at the Knitting Factory: Downtown Does the Beatles (Knitting Factory Records).[56] The jam band Phish performed "Revolution 9" (along with almost all of the songs from The Beatles) at their Halloween 1994 concert that was released in 2002 as Live Phish Volume 13.[57] (Band member Jon Fishman streaked across the stage after the line "if you become naked".) Australian dance rock band Def FX recorded a version for their 1996 album Majick. Little Fyodor recorded a cover in 1987 and released it as a CD single in 2000.[58] The Shazam recorded a cover version of "Revolution #9" which appears as the final track on their mini-album Rev9, released in 2000.[59] Brazilian musician Rogério Skylab recorded a cover of the song in 2008 for a collaborative tribute album commemorating the 40th anniversary of the release of the White Album.[60]

In 2008, the contemporary classical chamber ensemble Alarm Will Sound transcribed an orchestral re-creation of "Revolution 9" which they performed on tour[61] and recorded on their 2016 album Alarm Will Sound Presents Modernists. Also in 2008, the contemporary jazz trio The Neil Cowley Trio recorded both "Revolution 9" and "Revolution" for the magazine Mojo. "Revolution 9" has also inspired songs by punk group United Nations ("Resolution 9") and rock band Marilyn Manson ("Revelation #9"). It also inspired White Zombie's "Real Solution #9", which contains samples of a Prime Time Live interview that Diane Sawyer conducted with Manson Family member Patricia Krenwinkel. In the sample used Krenwinkel is heard saying: "Yeah, I remember her saying, 'I'm already dead'." Skinny Puppy references a reversed melodic fragment from "Revolution #9" on their song "Love in Vein" from their album Last Rights. Mexican rock band Botellita de Jerez did a redemption to this theme with the track "Devolución, no hay", included in their second album called La venganza del hijo del guacarrock. Instead of the voice saying "Number nine", they recorded a voice saying "No'mbre, no hay" (translated as "No, man, there isn't").

Notes

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References

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Further reading

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[edit]
Revisions and contributorsEdit on WikipediaRead on Wikipedia
from Grokipedia
"Revolution 9" is an recorded by the English rock band for their 1968 The Beatles (commonly known as the White Album). Primarily assembled by with significant input from and minor contributions from , the piece eschews conventional song structure in favor of layered tape loops, ambient noises, orchestral snippets, and disjointed spoken phrases, resulting in the band's longest track at 8 minutes and 22 seconds. The composition originated as an extension of the backing track from "," a recorded on 5 June 1968 featuring all four , which Lennon later repurposed by adding elements inspired by Ono's experimental work and influences such as Karlheinz Stockhausen's electronic compositions. Additional overdubs and editing occurred over several sessions in June 1968 at Studios, involving Lennon manipulating pre-recorded sounds—including fire crackling, crowd murmurs, and excerpts—while Ono contributed vocal effects and Harrison added brief spoken interjections like "right" and guitar feedback. Credited to per band convention, had no direct involvement and actively opposed its inclusion on the album, viewing it as an unnecessary departure from the ' melodic strengths, though Lennon insisted on its place alongside other experimental tracks. Upon release, "Revolution 9" polarized listeners and critics, with many dismissing it as self-indulgent lacking musical value—earning descriptions as an "embarrassment" or irritating filler—while defenders praised its boundary-pushing innovation in , likening it to art that anticipated later electronic and ambient genres. The track's chaotic assemblage also fueled conspiracy theories, including interpretations by as prophetic of societal collapse and elements tied to the debunked "" rumor, amplifying its notoriety despite minimal commercial intent. Despite internal band tensions it exacerbated—highlighting diverging creative visions—its presence underscored the White Album's eclectic scope, reflecting ' late-period fragmentation amid individual pursuits.

Origins

Conceptual Background and Inspirations

John Lennon's development of Revolution 9 marked a deliberate pivot toward non-traditional composition amid The Beatles' intensifying internal strains in 1967-1968, as the band grappled with creative divergences and external pressures following their psychedelic peak. By mid-1967, Lennon had immersed himself in avant-garde practices, drawing from musique concrète—a technique of assembling and manipulating pre-recorded sounds pioneered in the 1940s—and tape manipulation methods. This shift built on earlier Beatles experiments, such as the backward tapes and loops in "Tomorrow Never Knows" from 1966, but escalated into abstract forms detached from melodic structures. Central to the piece's genesis was Lennon's reinterpretation of the "revolution" motif from his earlier single "Revolution," recorded in July 1968. Initially tied to political unrest, including student protests and Vietnam War opposition, Lennon abstracted it into a chaotic sonic collage rather than explicit lyrical advocacy, aiming to evoke the disarray of societal upheaval without prescriptive messaging. He viewed traditional protest songs as insufficient, opting instead for an immersive "atmosphere of revolution in progress" through layered, disjointed elements. Lennon's inspirations included electronic composers , whose aleatory techniques and works like Hymnen (1966-1967) emphasized chance and collage, and , known for indeterminate music challenging listener expectations. These aligned with Lennon's post-1966 explorations, fueled by sessions where he and friend improvised with feedback and reversed recordings at his Kenwood home, fostering a conceptual framework prioritizing raw auditory experience over songcraft. Lennon later called it "the music of the future," an unconscious depiction of revolutionary .

Avant-Garde Influences and Yoko Ono's Role

Yoko Ono engaged with the movement and in the early , producing instructional event scores that provided open-ended prompts for audience participation, such as conceptual actions emphasizing idea over fixed outcome. These pieces, developed from 1960 onward, prioritized non-traditional, interpretive engagement, akin to the disjointed audio layers in Revolution 9 that invite listeners to construct personal narratives from fragmented sounds rather than follow a linear composition. Ono's approach reflected a rejection of conventional artistic hierarchies, favoring abstract, participatory forms that paralleled the track's eschewal of melody and verse-chorus structure in favor of sonic abstraction. John Lennon's personal and artistic partnership with Ono, which deepened in 1968, directly channeled her conceptual methods into his work. Following their initial encounter in 1966, the pair recorded the experimental album on May 19, 1968, employing tape loops, found sounds, and unstructured improvisation—techniques that Lennon later adapted for Revolution 9's collage assembly during sessions from May 30 to June 21, 1968. Ono contributed actively to the track's construction, selecting elements and collaborating on its tape-based experimentation, which Lennon described as akin to "cooking up a great meal." Lennon explicitly credited Ono's influence for pushing him beyond pop conventions, noting in reflections that her lens inspired Revolution 9's radical departure into , marking a causal pivot from his prior contributions toward Ono's conceptual emphasis on and . This immersion altered Lennon's creative priorities, fostering band discord as his advocacy for such unorthodox forms clashed with preferences for accessible songcraft among other members.

Production

Recording Process and Techniques

The recording of "Revolution 9" originated from the extended jam session appended to "Revolution 1" on 30 May 1968 at EMI Studios (later Abbey Road Studios) in London, which provided the foundational six minutes of unstructured improvisation. John Lennon, with assistance from George Harrison and Yoko Ono, expanded this into a sound collage through iterative sessions on 6, 10, 11, 20, and 21 June 1968, primarily using multi-track tape manipulation to layer disparate audio elements. A pivotal overnight session occurred on 20 June 1968, from 7:00 PM to 3:30 AM, utilizing all three studios simultaneously to handle the complexity of spooling and playing back tape loops, with maintenance engineers managing the machines. Lennon directed the live mixing of approximately 20-30 pre-prepared loops—sourced from archives, prior recordings, and ad-hoc creations—while Harrison and Ono contributed spoken interjections and fader adjustments, resulting in three takes of the composite track, with take three selected as the basis for refinement. Techniques included manual splicing of tape segments, speed variations, and reversals to create disorienting effects, alongside overdubs of vocal snippets such as Harrison's readings of abstract prose. Specific effects incorporated during these sessions featured reversed tape segments for ethereal textures, crackling fire sounds derived from newsreel footage, and orchestral samples including excerpts from Schumann's Symphonic Études. The Abbey Road STEED (single tape echo and echo delay) system was applied for reverb, though it depleted during the 20 June session, producing an audible tape rewind artifact around the 5:11 mark in the final mix. Engineer oversaw the technical execution under producer , who had pre-booked the facilities to accommodate the experimental workflow. Paul McCartney was absent from the core assembly sessions, having flown to the at 6:00 PM on 20 June, and later voiced opposition to the track's inclusion on the album during subsequent playback reviews, citing its divergence from conventional . Harrison's involvement remained limited to supportive elements, including brief vocal contributions and loop suggestions, reflecting the piece's primary authorship by Lennon. The process culminated in a rough mix on 20 June, with final mono mixing completed the following day in Studio Two.

Key Personnel and Contributions

John Lennon conceived and primarily assembled "Revolution 9" in June 1968 at Studios, starting with the unused coda from the "Revolution 1" session recorded on 30 May 1968, to which he added numerous tape loops, sound effects, and vocal snippets drawn from 's archives. Lennon directed the overdubs and editing, crediting the track to Lennon-McCartney per convention but executing it as a personal experiment influenced by his recent collaborations. George Harrison contributed substantially as co-creator, participating in the selection of audio elements from the tape library—including the repeated "number nine" announcement from a test tape—and providing overdubbed speech and vocal effects alongside Lennon during sessions on 20-21 June 1968. Harrison's involvement extended to mixing efforts, countering Lennon-centric accounts by helping integrate disparate sounds into the structure. Yoko Ono offered uncredited advisory input and performed overdubbed vocals and speech elements, reflecting her influence on Lennon's approach following their Two Virgins collaboration earlier in 1968, though her role remained auxiliary to Lennon's and Harrison's core assembly. Recording engineer handled the technical mixing and editing on 25 June 1968, balancing the chaotic layers of loops and effects into a coherent eight-minute piece across three , as documented in session logs. Ringo Starr's contributions were limited to drum elements looped from the original "Revolution 1" coda session, with no new recordings for "Revolution 9" during its primary assembly phases in June 1968, when Starr was often absent traveling. He assisted Harrison in sourcing library sounds but did not overdub drums specifically for the track. provided no significant input, absent from key "Revolution 9" sessions due to separate commitments, including U.S. travel, as noted in 1968 ; this exclusion highlighted emerging band divisions, with McCartney later opposing the track's inclusion.

Composition

Structural Elements and Audio Sources

"Revolution 9" unfolds in a non-linear sequence approximating 8 minutes and 22 seconds, divisible into three phases: an opening built from ascending orchestral swells and fragmented loops establishing a disorienting ambiance, a extended core of overlapping sonic mayhem dominated by vocal repetitions and erratic effects, and a trailing coda dissolving into attenuated classical motifs and sparse dialogue. The introductory loops layer short tape segments of reversed and ambient hums, transitioning without resolution into the central disorder. This core segment intensifies through superimposed announcements, metallic clashes, and human exclamations, sustaining auditory overload for several minutes before receding. The coda reintroduces subdued notes and orchestral residues, fading amid echoes of "right" and crowd-like murmurs. Verifiable audio elements derive from diverse archival tapes, encompassing at least 45 distinct sources such as sound effects library excerpts, broadcast snippets, and commercial recordings. Key inclusions feature orchestral fragments from Jean Sibelius's Symphony No. 7 in C major, Arabic singer Farid El Atrache's "Awel Hamsa," and the choral piece "O Clap Your Hands" performed by King's College Choir. The phrase "number nine, number nine" recurs frequently across channels, sourced from an test tape used for audio calibration, selected by for its rhythmic persistence. Vocal eruptions akin to screams originate from Yoko Ono's contributions during the assembly, drawn from her experimental vocalizations recorded in prior sessions. Additional layers incorporate reversed speech, fire crackling effects, and metallic impacts from studio libraries, empirically verifiable through spectral analysis of the master tape.

Technical Analysis of Sound Collage Methods

Revolution 9 employs tape-based collage techniques, primarily involving the physical splicing of magnetic tape segments sourced from EMI's effects library, studio outtakes like those from "Revolution 1," and ad-hoc recordings of crowds, gunfire, and spoken phrases. Engineers created loops by joining tape ends, enabling repetitive motifs such as the recurring "number nine" announcement derived from a Royal Parks Commissioner's public address tape. Additional manipulations included reversing tape direction to invert speech and instrumentation, altering playback speeds to pitch-shift sounds, and multi-track layering up to eight stems during final mixing on 10 May 1968 at Abbey Road Studios. These methods, executed over multiple sessions from June 1968, prioritized density over precision, with rapid cuts and stereo panning amplifying spatial disorientation. In contrast to pioneers like , who emphasized deliberate morphological analysis of "sound objects"—isolating and transforming recordings to reveal inherent musical structures—Revolution 9's approach favors aleatory splicing and superposition of unrefined fragments, yielding chaotic overlaps rather than composed forms. Schaeffer's methodology, as outlined in his 1948-1952 GRM experiments, involved systematic editing to forge novel timbres from everyday noises, whereas the track's construction reflects ad-libbed assembly, with limited evidence of pre-planned sonic architecture beyond basic thematic recurrence. This curtails innovation to adaptation within pop constraints, extending tape collage without advancing the electroacoustic lexicon established by Schaeffer's closed-circuit manipulations. The resultant sonic profile arises from superimposing incongruent spectra, where disparate frequencies—such as orchestral swells clashing with percussive effects—generate beating patterns and distortion within critical bands, as defined in psychoacoustic models of roughness. These interactions, measurable via spectral decomposition showing dense, non-periodic energy distributions, deviate from consonance principles grounded in low-integer ratios that minimize auditory nerve interference. Overlapping onsets and decays further induce temporal dissonance, amplifying perceived instability through nonlinear cochlear responses rather than intentional harmonic progression.

Release and Placement

Sequencing Decisions Within The White Album

The sequencing of "Revolution 9" within The Beatles (commonly known as the White Album) was determined during final assembly sessions in late October and early November 1968 at EMI Studios, culminating in its placement as the penultimate track on Side 4. John Lennon insisted on its inclusion and positioning near the album's conclusion, despite opposition from Paul McCartney, who preferred its exclusion due to dissatisfaction with the track's unstructured form, as documented in contemporaneous accounts of band dynamics. McCartney's attempts to veto it highlighted emerging power imbalances, with Lennon's determination prevailing amid the group's fracturing cohesion post-Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Producer also expressed reservations, arguing against its addition to the double album on artistic grounds, viewing it as extraneous to ' core songwriting strengths, though his influence waned as individual member autonomy grew. Mark Lewisohn's sessionography details how these debates extended into November 1968, when the track order was locked, overriding preferences for omission and opting instead for "Revolution 9" to precede Ringo Starr's "Good Night" as the album's closer. This juxtaposition engineered a stark auditory shift from the collage's cacophonous loops, fire effects, and fragmented voices—peaking in density around the 4-minute mark—to the orchestral lullaby's serene resolution, altering Side 4's overall momentum from introspective rock ("Revolution 1") through ("") to experimental climax and denouement. The decision reflected Lennon's conceptual vision of the White Album as a eclectic "state of mind" collection rather than a unified whole, prioritizing personal expression over consensus, which test pressings and reviews in early November reportedly adjusted to accommodate despite Martin's advocacy for a trimmed single-disc format excluding such outliers. This placement amplified the track's disruptive role, forcing listeners to confront disruption immediately before the album's soothing exit, a causal choice that underscored the band's transition toward solo divergences.

Initial Release and Distribution

"Revolution 9" appeared as the penultimate track on side four of ' self-titled (commonly known as The White Album), released on 22 November 1968 in the United Kingdom by and distributed by , with the US release following on 25 November 1968 via . The track's 8-minute-22-second duration formed a significant portion of the side's runtime, fitting within the vinyl format's constraints alongside the preceding "Good Night," without requiring truncation for the initial LP pressings. Initial distribution emphasized the album's premium packaging, including individually numbered sleeves and a list price of approximately $11.79 in the —nearly three times that of a standard single LP—yet demand drove rapid sales exceeding four million copies worldwide within the first month. In the , Capitol's manufacturing and shipping logistics handled the surge, with the format accommodating the experimental track's length intact across stereo and mono editions. No official singles or edited versions of "Revolution 9" were issued at launch, confining its distribution to the full ; subsequent compilations would later include it unaltered until anthologies in the and beyond. This approach preserved Lennon's original vision amid the label's focus on album sales over radio-friendly extracts.

Reception and Controversies

Contemporary Critical and Fan Reactions

Jann Wenner of lauded "Revolution 9" in his December 1968 review as a "beautifully organized" sonic experiment that carried more potent political weight than the melodic "," positioning it as a deliberate of chaos through layered audio fragments. In contrast, Alan Smith in New Musical Express on November 9, 1968, derided the track as a "pretentious" manifestation of "idiot immaturity," encapsulating broader mainstream skepticism toward its eight-minute barrage of disjointed loops, fire sounds, and spoken interjections as self-indulgent rather than innovative. Fan responses in the late 1960s mirrored this polarization, with many expressing bewilderment or aversion; contemporary accounts describe listeners routinely skipping the piece on vinyl pressings, perceiving its repetitive "number nine" announcements and abstract collages as grating unfit for a album. The track's opacity sparked informal debates over its necessity, amplifying perceptions of the double album's bloat amid the band's internal tensions. Scrutiny escalated in October 1969 with the "" rumor, which spotlighted "Revolution 9" for alleged —reversing segments purportedly yielded phrases like "turn me on, dead man" and references to a crash—drawing obsessive analysis from fans and tying the sound to broader conspiratorial narratives about McCartney's fate. These reactions, while divisive, exerted no measurable drag on sales; shipped 2.3 million units in the US by year's end, held the Billboard top spot for eight non-consecutive weeks in 1968-1969, and achieved multi-platinum reflective of sustained demand.

Achievements in Experimental Music

"Revolution 9" advanced experimental music by applying musique concrète techniques—such as tape looping, audio reversal, speed variation, and multilayered sound overlays—to construct an eight-minute, non-linear composition devoid of conventional melody or rhythm. Primarily assembled by John Lennon between May and August 1968 at EMI Studios, the track incorporated over 30 distinct audio elements, including firecracker explosions, crowd noises, classical music snippets, and spoken phrases sourced from EMI's effects library and personal recordings. This method extended principles pioneered by Pierre Schaeffer in the 1940s but innovated within a pop framework by prioritizing sonic chaos over harmonic structure, thereby challenging traditional notions of musical form. A key achievement lay in its integration into a commercially dominant album, marking the first instance of an extended on a blockbuster pop release and thereby broadening production norms for major-label recordings. Released on November 22, 1968, as part of ' self-titled double album, which garnered 24 million certified units in the United States alone, the track exposed millions to experimentation through an accessible medium typically reserved for melodic songs. This shifted experimentalism from esoteric tape music circulated in niche art scenes to a platform reachable by mainstream listeners, enabling non-specialists to confront unstructured auditory abstraction as a valid artistic expression. The work's causal linkage to prior art, including Yoko Ono's conceptual influences and Karlheinz Stockhausen's electronic compositions, underscored its role in synthesizing high-art experimentation with pop dissemination, fostering subsequent innovations in non-musical sound design. By embedding such elements in a triple-platinum-selling LP within weeks of release, it empirically validated collage methods as viable for expanding genre boundaries, paving pathways for 1970s developments in ambient and tape-based works that prioritized environmental immersion over performer-centric narratives.

Major Criticisms and Debates

Paul McCartney opposed the inclusion of "Revolution 9" on The Beatles, arguing that it deviated sharply from the band's established musical conventions and lacked coherent structure, famously lobbying against it during mixing sessions in 1968. He reportedly viewed the track as antithetical to the Beatles' strengths in melody and accessibility, prioritizing tape loops and noise over traditional songcraft, which he believed undermined the album's populist draw. This internal dissent highlighted broader tensions, as McCartney favored commercially viable pop elements amid the band's shift toward individualism. Yoko Ono's close collaboration with on avant-garde experiments directly shaped "Revolution 9," drawing from their joint 1968 album Unfinished Music No. 1: Two Virgins, which encouraged Lennon's embrace of unstructured sound collages over Beatles-style composition. This influence exacerbated band fractures, as Ono's presence in creative processes alienated McCartney and , contributing to escalated conflicts during the January 1969 Get Back sessions—mere months after the track's completion—and accelerating the group's effective dissolution by September 1969, well before the formal 1970 breakup announcement. The track's experimental form alienated core fans expecting melodic content, resulting in minimal commercial viability; it received virtually no radio airplay on major stations post-release, reflecting programmers' reluctance to broadcast its eight-minute dissonance amid 1968's hit-driven formats. Fan and critic polls have consistently ranked "Revolution 9" among the Beatles' weakest offerings, often topping lists of least favored tracks due to its perceived pretentiousness and departure from musical norms, as evidenced by aggregated rankings from 2006 onward. This enduring backlash underscores risks to the band's mass appeal during a period of internal experimentation.

Interpretations

Lennon's Stated Intentions

John Lennon described "Revolution 9" as an effort to sonically depict the chaos and disorder of a through layered audio fragments, rather than advancing a specific . In , he characterized it as "an unconscious picture of what I actually think will happen when it happens; just like a of a revolution," emphasizing its role in evoking via disjointed loops and effects sourced from archives. Lennon likened the track's structure to an abstract painting executed in sound, intended to mirror dream-like impressions and unstructured experimentation influenced by Yoko Ono's aesthetic. The recurring "number nine" motif, derived from a BBC test recording of "This is EMI test series number nine," resonated with Lennon's longstanding personal affinity for the digit, tied to his October 9, 1940 birthdate, recurring dreams featuring the number, and a sense of numerological recurrence in his life events. Reflecting in 1980, Lennon attributed aspects of the composition to his period of psychedelic exploration, noting it captured a "far-out" impulse occasionally drawing him into experimental territory, while downplaying any overarching seriousness in favor of improvisational playfulness.

Symbolic and Conspiracy Theories

One prominent surrounding "Revolution 9" emerged during the 1969 "" hoax, which alleged that had perished in a 1966 automobile accident and been replaced by a . Proponents claimed that reversing segments of the track's repeated spoken phrase "number nine"—sampled from a Commission public announcement—produces the words "turn me on, dead man," interpreted as a veiled reference to McCartney's demise. This assertion gained media attention after Detroit DJ Russ Gibb broadcast a reversed playback on October 18, 1969, amid widespread campus rumors, prompting listeners to scrutinize albums for further "clues." Empirical analysis, however, undermines the intentionality of this claim. Phonetic reversal of "number nine" yields an ambiguous phonetic approximation reliant on auditory , where the human brain discerns meaningful speech in random noise, as demonstrated in psychological studies of subliminal perception. Production records indicate the phrase originated from mundane test tapes used in studios, with no documentation of deliberate reversal engineering by or during the June 1968 sessions. Stereo separation of the track's layers further reveals no hidden forward phrasing that cleanly reverses to the alleged message, confirming it as coincidental rather than encoded. Beyond , fan interpretations have ascribed symbolic meanings to the track's chaotic assemblage of fire sounds, crowd disturbances, and orchestral fragments, positing it as an for apocalyptic collapse or revolutionary anarchy. These views, popularized in underground fanzines and online forums post-1968 release, frame the eight-minute as a prophetic depiction of societal unraveling, drawing parallels to wartime broadcasts amid the era. Such readings, however, constitute post-hoc impositions onto an unstructured sound experiment derived from unscripted tape splicing, devoid of corroborating production intent or pattern analysis showing thematic orchestration. Quantitative breakdowns of the audio loops reveal random splicing without recurring motifs predictive of symbolic narrative. Numerological speculation centers on the mantra-like repetition of "number nine," with theorists invoking esoteric traditions where 9 signifies universal completion or cycles' end—echoing discography nods like the nine-minute medley—to suggest hidden signaling tied to the hoax timeline. Yet, archival evidence traces the samples to prosaic sources like engineering tests, with repetition frequency (over 30 instances) aligning with redundancy rather than encoded ; statistical variance in phrasing delivery shows no deliberate patterning, as confirmed by analyses absent predictive anomalies. These interpretations persist primarily in anecdotal conjecture, lacking empirical validation from audio forensics or historical records.

Legacy

Cultural Impact and Broader Influence

"Revolution 9" exerted influence on subsequent music production techniques, particularly in the development of sampling and collage-based composition in hip-hop and electronic genres, by demonstrating early tape-loop manipulation akin to . This eight-minute-plus , assembled from reversed tapes, broadcast snippets, and studio effects, prefigured the dense layering employed by producers in the 1980s and beyond, though direct emulation remained niche due to its abstract nature. While not sampled verbatim in major hip-hop tracks, its methodology contributed to the experimental ethos of groups like , whose production team layered samples to create chaotic sonic environments, echoing the track's overload of disjointed elements. In popular media, "Revolution 9" has been referenced to evoke countercultural and excess, notably in a 1993 episode of titled "," where a fictional band's experimental track "Number 8" parodies its repetitive announcements and belch loops over tape effects. This portrayal reinforced perceptions of the piece as emblematic of Beatles-era indulgence, influencing how later media depicted psychedelic experimentation without broader adoption into mainstream narratives. The track's persistence in Beatles reissues underscores its canonical status, appearing unaltered in the 2018 50th-anniversary super deluxe edition of The White Album, which remastered the original tapes while preserving its chaotic structure. However, its reproducibility challenges—requiring analog tape splicing and specific archival sounds—have limited emulation in tribute performances or homages, confining its broader influence to conceptual rather than practical replication in contemporary music.

Cover Versions and Subsequent Adaptations

Cover versions of "Revolution 9" remain exceedingly rare, attributable to the track's composition as a collage reliant on analog tape loops, reversed audio, and sourced sound effects that prove challenging to duplicate without access to the original setup and equipment from 1968. Efforts to recreate it empirically often falter in fidelity, as synchronizing dozens of overlapping loops—estimated at around 30 by —demands precise multi-track analog manipulation not easily replicated digitally or live. Among verifiable professional adaptations, the Dutch Beatles tribute ensemble executed a live performance in August 2022 at the Philharmonic Hall in , employing vintage tape machines and sourced effects to approximate the original's chaotic layering during their full recreation of The Beatles (White Album). Similarly, the contemporary music group Alarm Will Sound issued a studio rendition on April 29, 2016, reinterpreting the piece for acoustic instruments and electronics in a manner that preserved its dissonance while adapting to ensemble constraints. Independent fan attempts, such as a 2013 full cover by producer Goldmine1969 using sampled and synthesized elements, demonstrate the technical hurdles, with creators noting inconsistencies in loop timing and sonic depth compared to the master tapes. Subsequent media adaptations frequently involve sampling rather than wholesale covers, with "Revolution 9" elements appearing in electronic and mashup works of the 2000s, including Danger Mouse's 2004 interlude "Lucifer 9," which layered excerpts over vocals. Such uses have spotlighted ownership tensions, as ' stringent enforcement of copyrights—exemplified by their 1987 lawsuit against Nike and over unauthorized "Revolution" licensing—extends to sampled collages, fostering debates on amid the track's own embedded unlicensed snippets from classical and archival sources. Direct 1990s avant-garde tributes are scant, likely deterred by replication complexities and potential infringement risks from the collage's derivative audio fragments.

References

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