Amidst the fabulous performances of The Beatles' 1968 self-titled release (commonly known as the White Album), among them "Dear Prudence," "Blackbird," and the actual "Revolution," comes Revolution 9, a collaborative effort between two Beatles (George and John) and one Japanese woman who is wrongly blamed at every possible turn for the breakup of The Beatles.
As the song begins we are treated to a lovely piano introduction and,a few seconds in, a looping track of a man saying "Number 9" passes through the speakers, crossing over from left to right and right to left.
Soon, chaos erupts. Feedback plagues the air, unused rehearsal tracks, more tape loops, people and babies laughing, people screaming. Chants for American football games (jumping between left and right speakers) and people simply talking about things makes things even uneasier. Backmasking appears throughout the song, and other songs play almost as if through a radio.
If I had to compare this song to something, I would gauge it as like a visit to a haunted madhouse. Appearing first on the asylum grounds, nothing seems too out of the ordinary but you get this eerie feeling. Then you enter and it's pure unadulterated madness at every turn. By the time you leave, you are only left with freakish chants echoing in your mind. That is the effect of Revolution Number 9.
Number 9
Number 9
Number 9
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