With Halloween now a playful memory, so begins the gravitational pull toward Thanksgiving. This is easily the fastest time of year, when the sun sets earlier and the anticipation of family gatherings and a well-deserved break pull us forward at breakneck speed. [Photos above and below by ©Marc Myers]

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I spent much of yesterday listening to the newly released special edition of the Beatles’ Rubber Soul. Originally issued on Dec. 3, 1965 in the U.K. and three days later in the U.S., the album has been newly mixed by Giles Martin (George Martin’s son) and Sam Okell (the Grammy-winning engineer who has worked on remixes for recent box sets centered on individual Beatles albums).

The sound on the new set is clean, distinct and lavish, with additional sonic information that will be new to the ear. The music is more alive and springs from the speakers, and the vocals are more dimensional and colorful.

For American consumers who grew up in the 1960s, you’ll be compelled to confront the fact that Rubber Soul issued by EMI’s Parlophone label in the U.K. was a very different product and experience than the one Capitol issued here. In short, the British Rubber Soul is a combination of the songs we listened to here on the album plus four that would wind up on our Yesterday and Today.

The strategy for EMI was simple: Record buyers in the U.K. were reluctant to shell out for albums unless there were 14 songs. In the U.S., we (or our parents) were willing to pay for 12. I’m not a stranger to both versions, though I grew up with the America Rubber Soul and still have my original LP and listen to it.

The American release (with toasted brown lettering on the cover) was like a great book you read in the quiet of a forest—each song was a chapter that had a specific order and vibe. The British version (with burnt orange lettering) seemed all over the place, stylistically. In essence, the U.K. LP was envisioned as an art-pop experience while ours had a folk-rock feel, largely to show-up Bob Dylan and win over his fans.

The U.K. vinyl opened with Drive My Car and included tracks such as Nowhere Man, If I Needed Someone and What Goes On. The U.S. vinyl omitted the songs above and added two songs pulled from the British version of Help! (I’ve Just Seen a Face and It’s Only Love).

The newly mixed Rubber Soul comes in 10 formats: standard 1CD and 1LP editions, 2CD and 2LP Special Editions, and 4CD and 5LP Super Deluxe editions. The collection will also be available on Blu-ray, featuring the new Dolby Atmos mix, high-resolution stereo audio and promotional films for Day Tripper and We Can Work It Out, alongside limited-edition orange vinyl and D2C exclusive Zoetrope vinyl editions.

To buy the Beatles’ new Rubber Soul, shop through the different formats here.

Today, something a little different. Here’s my Wall Street Journal piece on the album’s 50th anniversary in 2015:

***

The Wall Street Journal/Dec. 2, 2015

The Beatles’ ‘Rubber Soul’ Turns 50

Is it possible to make a better Beatles? Debating different versions of an iconic album

©By Marc Myers (all rights reserved)

For most American teens, the arrival of the Beatles’ “Rubber Soul” 50 years ago was unsettling. Instead of cheerleading for love, the album’s songs held cryptic messages about thinking for yourself, the hypnotic power of women, something called “getting high” and bedding down with the opposite sex. Clearly, growing up wasn’t going to be easy.

Released in the U.K. on Dec. 3, 1965, and in the U.S. three days later, “Rubber Soul” remains one of the most critically acclaimed albums in rock history, influencing a generation of artists, including Brian Wilson, Bob Dylan and Stevie Wonder. It also marked rock’s shift from formulaic pop to studio experimentation and high art.

But while “Rubber Soul” has been hailed as an epic masterpiece and one of the first fully developed folk-rock albums, the vision for the U.S. release wasn’t entirely the work of John, Paul, George and Ringo or the Beatles’ producer, George Martin.

The 12-song album issued in the U.S. was markedly different from the British version, which featured 14 songs. Though both versions shared Robert Freeman’s cover photo and psychedelic lettering (ginger here and burnt orange in the U.K.), the U.S. version dropped two songs and replaced two others.

Over the years, many U.S. critics have hailed the British release as the true masterpiece, a pure reflection of what the Beatles and Mr. Martin intended. But the U.S. version of “Rubber Soul,” with its more consistently poetic sound and narrative, is arguably the more powerful statement. It’s also the version that changed the direction of American rock.

The invisible hand behind the U.S. release belonged to Dave Dexter Jr., the head of Capitol’s international A&R in Los Angeles. Dexter and his team set out to keep the compelling folk narrative running throughout the album.

In 1965, Capitol had contractual permission to alter British versions of Beatles albums for the U.S. market. The agreement dated back to 1955, when British EMI purchased Capitol. At the time, EMI didn’t want to lose U.S. executives and figured they’d know best how to milk their own market.

Once the Beatles were signed to Capitol in late 1963, Dexter was put in charge of reprogramming U.K. versions of their albums for the U.S. market. U.S. versions usually used 11 songs to stay within licensing budgets. The dropped songs were then used on subsequent albums released only in the U.S.

But by late 1965 the Beatles had a problem. Bob Dylan’s album “Highway 61 Revisited” and the single “Like a Rolling Stone,” with its socially conscious folk-rock theme, was resonating with draft-age listeners in the States. To remain relevant, the Beatles needed a more mature, acoustic album.

Fresh off their successful stadium tour in August ’65, the Beatles returned to London and recorded “Rubber Soul” in just four weeks. When the recording was completed, a master reel was shipped to Dexter in Hollywood.

Earlier that fall, Brian Epstein, the Beatles’ manager, spoke with Voyle Gilmore, Capitol’s head of U.S. A&R. Gilmore, in turn, wrote a memo to Capitol president Alan Livingston and Dexter urging that the cover and tracks for the American “Rubber Soul” be identical to the British version.

Dexter pushed back, explaining that a 14-song album was out of the question due to costs and that the covers should be different. Capitol compromised by featuring 12 songs instead of the customary 11 but retained the same covers.

Then Dexter went to work on the U.S. track list. Instead of just dropping two songs, he replaced the raucous “Drive My Car” and cornball “What Goes On,” which opened sides 1 and 2, respectively, on the U.K. version.

In those critical lead-in slots, he inserted “I’ve Just Seen a Face” and “It’s Only Love”—acoustic songs he had cut from the British version of “Help!” for its U.S. release. Next, he dropped the alienating “Nowhere Man” and mystical “If I Needed Someone” from “Rubber Soul.”

All of the changes were brilliant and resulted in a more cohesive album. But when the U.S. version was released, the Beatles voiced displeasure to EMI, which demanded that Dexter no longer work on Beatles releases. In early 1966, Dexter was replaced by Bill Miller, who programmed the next two U.S. releases—“Yesterday and Today” and “Revolver.”

Today, most Beatles fans view Dexter, who died in 1990, as a villainous rock-hating executive who resented the Beatles and whose programming approach diluted the band’s U.S. releases.

Whatever Dexter’s shortcomings, the Beatles albums he programmed for Capitol are the ones American teens heard and loved. As for “Rubber Soul,” it may have been his greatest achievement, turning an unfocused album into a taut acoustic story of self-awareness and romantic confusion. It also provided millions in the U.S. with their first gentle glimpse of adulthood.

***

Here’s the full British version of the newly mixed Rubber Soul at YouTube…

Here’s Giles Martin on SiriusXM in July talking about the Rubber Soul project…

Growing up in the 1960s in Manhattan, I was frightened of three things: Billy, the neighborhood bully on his red bike; something my teacher called an A-bomb; and my dad (he had a bit of a temper). Somewhere between the playful 1960s and today, pre-teens and teens stopped experiencing fright. For them, it’s now terror, which has rendered Halloween both quaint and preposterous. [Photos above and below by Marc Myers]

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When I was a kid living in Manhattan’s Washington Heights in the 1960s, nothing was more important than candy. TV came in at No. 2. And then spaghetti. Adults went to bars; kids went to candy stores. Many of those neighborhood shops back then had counters with posted stools that had seats that twirled all the way around. Perched on one, you’d order a ch…

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Walking through Central Park yesterday afternoon, I noticed two things: The trees were still about 80% green but the smell of autumn was in the air. Typically, New York’s trees aren’t in full color until the very end of October, sometimes lingering into the first week of November. If there’s a heavy wind accompanying a storm, we’re out of luck. [Photo above in Central Park on Friday and images below by Marc Myers]

The other event that stood out was the musty smell of fallen leaves. The scent triggered a craving for Brach’s classic candy corn—those triangular three-color kernels of pure sugar and flavoring. For some reason, candy corn takes me back to childhood faster than any other treat.

Soon, the smell of leaves will be joined on the Upper West Side by crisp air, low-50s temperatures, the lingering scent of onion bagels baking at bagel shops and, as the air cools off further, the smell of fireplaces ablaze in historic landmarked brownstones.

For now, it’s early autumn in New York, with lemony sunlight, cool shade, early sunsets and the anticipation of explosive color in Central Park. Next week, I’ll have photos of the city’s best-kept Halloween secret, and it’s not the parade in Greenwich Village, now a tourist trap.

Here’s guitarist Al Caiola in 1955, with Ronnie Ball (p), Clyde Lombardi (b) and Kenny Clarke (d) playing Early Autumn…

Here’s the Double Six of Paris in 1962…

And here’s Woody Herman live on TV’s Jazz Casual in 1963 (move the time bar to 12:44). The saxophone section: Woody Herman (as); Sal Nistico, Bobby Jones and Jack Stevens (ts); and Frank Hittner (bar). The tenor solo is by Jackie Stevens, with Nat Pierce on piano and Jake Hanna on drums…

Want $20? If you’re a free reader, you know this weekend post is a rarity. My posts from Wednesday through Saturday are typically sent only to paying customers. Why miss out?

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Movies streamed this week and loved: The Ninth Gate (1999/free at Tubi); Modi: Three Days on the Wings of Madness (2025/Amazon Prime); and Frank Sinatra: All or Nothing at All (2015/Netflix).

A beautiful new ballad from Portugal. Last week, I heard from songwriter Gonçalo Serras in Portugal. He alerted me to Maria, a new song about his mother recorded by Fritz Kahn and The Miracles. It’s now available on streaming platforms and is the first single from an upcoming EP called 50th, due Dec. 30, on Gonçalo’s 50th birthday (ah, youth).

As Gonçalo told me, “I began wondering about the young woman my mother had been before I arrived—about her ambitions, the dreams she might have pursued and the different life she might have lived if she had made other choices.”

Here’s Maria…

Snaps: Towers (in Manhattan’s Tribeca and Midtown neighborhoods)…

With temperatures in New York dropping into the 60s, the magnetic force that speeds up autumn has begun to accelerate the season. This annual phenomenon is mostly activated by the nostalgic tug of Thanksgiving and the December holidays. [Photo above taken in Central Park and images below by Marc Myers]

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Psychologically, jazz has much in common with excellent food. Albums in our collection are like favorite dishes that are perfectly prepared and make us feel a range of emotions, from happy and excited to wistful and or sad. Both press the same mental buttons. [New York photos above and below by Marc Myers]

For example, for me, Miles Davis’s Kind of Blue …

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Summer ended on September 18 in New York. That was our last sticky hot day. Since then, we’ve had significantly cooler temperatures, mostly in the low 70s. As I write this, the city is bracing for a nor’easter—a large-scale extratropical cyclone now barreling up the east coast. The storm is expected to arrive here overnight with wind gusts up to 55mph on Saturday into Sunday. [Photo above and Snaps images below by Marc Myers]

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Nobody likes missing out on stuff they love. Missing out leads to deprivation, misery, grouchiness and regrets. If you’re enjoying JazzWax and you’re a free subscriber, you’re receiving just two out of six posts per week. That means you’re missing out on four posts a week, 16 posts a month and 192 per year! [Photo above of the former General Motors Building (1968) and images below by Marc Myers]

What’s more, if you’re a free reader, you don’t have access to more than 3,000 posts about albums, song histories, artists, interviews with jazz legends and much more dating back to the blog’s founding in 2007 as well as the past year’s posts at Substack.

Please consider upgrading to paid. It’s just $10 per month—or save $20 a year by getting two months free by paying a flat fee of $100. I work very hard each day to bring you the very best jazz albums and provide a jazz education in my posts. For 18 years, JazzWax was free until I had to move the blog to Substack.

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Streamed and loved: Mobland S2 (2026/Paramount+)

9/11 films. Last week, many readers asked me for my favorite documentaries and filmed dramatizations of the 9/11 terrorist attack and the aftermath. I don’t know which ones are available online or not; you’ll have to do a Google search.

Here they are:

• 9/11: One Day in America (2022/Hulu)

• 9/11: The Falling Man (2006)

• 9/11: The Miracle of Stairway B (2006)

• World Trade Center (2006), with Nicolas Cage

• 102 Minutes That Changed America (2008)

• Man in Red Bandana (2017)

• Inside the President’s War Room (2021)

• Man on Wire (2008). This isn’t a documentary on the 9/11 attacks but on Philippe Petit’s wire walk between the Twin Towers in 1974. It will give you lots of up-close views of the beloved towers.

Pat Senatore (1935-2026), a jazz bassist who toured with Stan Kenton in the early 1960s before finding fame recording and performing with Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass and then returned to jazz, died on September 8 at age 91.

Born in Newark, N.J., Pat attended high school with saxophonist Wayne Shorter. In high school, Pat began playing baritone horn before switching to trombone and then to bass in his senior year. After he graduated, he studied at the Juilliard School of Music for a period before leaving because the conservatory lacked a jazz program.

To read my interview with Pat, go here.

Here’s Pat with his electric bass keeping time with his hand as he and the Tijuana Brass listen back to their recording of Lollipops and Roses in 1966. Dig Pat’s killer bass line throughout…

Fresh Sound recorded three jazz albums with Pat—two in Los Angeles and one in Rome. Go here.

Spain loves Shorty Rogers. Last week I heard from Fresh Sound’s Jordi Pujol, who shared with me a video of the Púlsar Big Band in Barcelona rehearsing arrangements by Shorty Rogers. For those festival and club bookers who might be interested, email the Púlsar Big Band’s drummer, Enrique, at enriqueherediadrummer@gmail.com

Gene Bertoncini. Last week, I heard from jazz vocalist, songwriter and painter Meredith d’Ambrosio about the late guitarist:

“Hi Marc. I loved this whole piece about Gene Bertoncini! Gene was my good friend. So sorry to say goodbye to one of the sweetest gentlemen in the world. When he played on my Silent Passion album, he was wonderful and a pleasure to work with. Every chord he played made great jazz sense. I was fortunate to have him with me on that album! Thanks so much for writing such beautiful words about him.”

Here’s I Got Lost in His Arms by Meredith in 1996 from her Silent Passion album with Meredith on piano and Gene on guitar…

And here they are on The Shining Sea…

The original, the cover and the hit. Here’s Midnight Plane to Houston in 1972 by composer Jim Weatherly; it failed to chart…

Here’s Cissy Houston’s Midnight Train to Georgia in early 1973, after a few word changes; it failed to chart…

And here are Gladys Knight and the Pips singing Midnight Train to Georgia, released in August 1973. It spent two weeks at #1 on the Billboard Hot 100…

Snaps from last week: From top to bottom, Steinway Tower (2022), 200 Central Park South (1963), former AT&T Building (1984) and the Crown Building (1922)…

That morning, my brother called just before 9. I was preparing for a meeting in Midtown a few hours later with clients from Ernst & Young, the accounting firm, to go over the galleys for my book on the new tax law. “Where are you?,” my brother said. “Sitting in my kitchen, why?” “Turn around.” Looking straight through my living room out over Upper West Side buildings to southern Manhattan, I could see a charcoal cloud rising in the distance. “What’s that?,” I asked. “A plane just hit one of the Twin Towers.” [Photos above and below by Marc Myers]

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Because I interview Hollywood stars all week, I have to do a ton of research on each one. That means reading memoirs and past interviews and watching their movies and TV series. Someone asked me recently what I watch each night for fun before turning in? I’m almost ashamed to tell you, but I will. [Photo above of the Empire State Building and photos below by Marc Myers]

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I already have fall on my mind. Way before the Internet, artist discographies could be found only in the Schwann Catalog, which came in two sizes: A small monthly periodical of new releases or a Torah-sized ringed directory that sat in central areas of large record stores for public access. [Photos above and below by Marc Myers]

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Looking back this past week, I counted eight events that had the biggest impact on me growing up in the 1960s. Don’t get me wrong, plenty of mindblowing events took place since the ‘60s that left a mark on younger generations. These include the arrival of the CD and VHS formats and players in the 1980s; the personal computer and AOL Mail in the 1990s; the iPod, iTunes and the high-speed modem in the early 2000s; the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center’s Twin Towers in New York on Sept. 11, 2001; and the launch of the iPhone in 2007. [Photos above and below by Marc Myers]

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Tower of Power, the Bay Area bump-and-grind horn band that emerged in the early 1970s, was best known for their greasy, driving funk hits such as What Is Hip, Get Yo’ Feet Back on the Ground and Knock Yourself Out. But many of these started to sound formulaic by mid-decade. Fifty years later, the real Tower of Power gems are their ballads. [Photo above of Tower of Power in the early 1970s]

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This coming week is traditionally the most quiet time of year in Manhattan, rivaled only by the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day. A sizable number of residents are out of town here and young kids are in camp. Parents who remained are enjoying their last pre-children dates until next year. Soon, they’ll resume arguing with their pre-teens and teens about curfew, homework and phone use. [Photos of Times Square above and below by Marc Myers]

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Central Park is a massive sound stage for musicians playing many different types of music. Strolling through the park, you’ll hear groups playing Latin, jazz and rock and singing doo-wop, a cappella. Last weekend, I entered the park at East 76th St and quickly encountered a terrific jazz quartet playing. I had to sit on a bench and listen. [Photo above of the quartet by Marc Myers]

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JazzWax was born exactly 19 years ago. A month before its launch, I was urged to start blogging when the late Terry Teachout, a dear friend and critic, gave me a shove. Since 1996, Terry and I had been listening to jazz at each other’s apartments once each quarter for a few hours on Saturday mornings. We’d choose 10 tracks each and the goal was to blow each other’s minds, point out interesting things going on in the music and just relax. We were both rabid jazz fans.

At the time, I was a financial writer and marketing consultant. My company counted New York’s major real estate corporations, accounting companies and risk advisory firms as clients.

Terry was breathtakingly brilliant, and freelancing for The Wall Street Journal as well as The New York Times, Commentary and many other publications. He hadn’t been named the WSJ’s theater critic yet or arts essayist, nor had he written his regal biographies of Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington (though he had already published a bunch of books).

Listening to jazz was our way of kicking back by re-connecting with our college selves, when students sat around staring at two speakers and talked about what they heard. During our July 2007 session at my apartment, Terry presented a challenge that was more like a friendly command.

“You have to start a jazz blog. You know too much and need to be writing about it,” he said.

“Terry, I’m massively busy,” I pleaded.

“No one is busier than I am, and I found time. It’s a necessity. Deep down, you’re a journalist. You started as a journalist and that never leaves you. You need to be doing that, not what you’re doing now.”

“Fine,” I said, “In two weeks I’ll launch a blog.” I recalled that a few months earlier, Mena and Ben Trott of Six Apart had asked me to lunch. They had just started Typepad, a blogging platform, and were looking for writers to sign up. I decided to launch my blog there.

But what would I call it? After playing around with names that were easy to remember, I settled on JazzWax—jazz, for obvious reasons, and wax, because it was a double entendre. “Wax” was shorthand for recording and records in entertainment trade publications of the 1930s, ‘40s and ‘50s. Like this one from Billboard in 1944: “Billy Eckstine Waxes Blues for DeLuxe Records.” Wax also meant to write in an emotional style.

I went to GoDaddy, typed in the URL and found it was available. All that remained was to start writing, which I did on August 3, 2007. As Terry predicted, the journalist in me returned (I had started at The New York Times in 1976 while in college, when the paper was still hot type and pages were set in lead in the composing room).

To stand out among all other blogs, I decided to post six days a week. Most others at the time were weekly. I also decided to interview jazz legends who popped up on favorite albums but were largely overlooked. My first JazzWax phone interview was with Danny Bank, published on August 30, 2007.

The rest, as they say, is history. Over the past 19 years, I never missed a day except once, when Typepad had a technical issue and the site was down. In 2010, Terry felt I had to be writing for the WSJ and introduced me to his editor. That began my career there.

Nat Hentoff, who had become a vocal JazzWax fan and called weekly, urged me to write a book and told his editor at the University of California that I’d be calling. The result was Why Jazz Happened (2012). Ira Gitler sent emails frequently filling me in with eyewitness reports on subjects I wrote about.

In 2013, Terry thought I should be writing more books and introduced me to his literary agent and attorney. Three books followed. Terry was clever and knew what he was doing. His timing was perfect; I was prepared for each opportunity he presented.

Our workloads increased when the WSJ introduced new sections in 2012 with increased assignments. In addition to his books, Terry wrote a play and an opera in addition to criticism and reviews for the WSJ and other publications. Too much, in fact. He died in his sleep on January 13, 2022 at age 65.

So as JazzWax turns 19, a special thanks to Terry Teachout, Nat Hentoff and Hank O’Neal as well as Michael O’Daniel, Todd Selbert, Bill Kirchner, Carl Woideck, Bret Primack, Stuart Anello, Gilles D’Elia and so many others who have been there for JazzWax and me over the years. And thank you, to my many paying subscribers as well as readers who haven’t yet decided to convert to paid.

PS: Whenever Terry or I would playfully gripe to each other by email about a piece we just finished writing that was an especially heavy lift, the other would send along a YouTube featuring fish in a tank with Joe Mooney singing Nina Never Knew, backed by the Sauter-Finegan Orchestra in 1952. It always generated an instant laugh and sent stress packing.

Sadly, that video has disappeared from YouTube. So here’s the recording that became for us a metaphoric and sympathetic cold bottle of soda pulled out out of an ice-filled cooler after a hot day in the writing fields. Terry was a strategic mentor and always right. I miss him…

The start of August this weekend marks the start of summer’s second half, when thoughts start turning to fall. I already miss not rising with the sun. I’m usually up between 5 and 5:30 a.m. In July, the sun rises at about that time. I love being awakened by the sun. Over the past two weeks, the sun has been rising closer to 6 a.m. [Photos above and below of New York by Marc Myers]

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The passing of Joe Melson last week made me revisit Roy Orbison, one of pop’s most fascinating songwriters who also had one of the most beautiful singing voices of the 1960s. His music style blended rockabilly, rock ‘n’ roll, doo-wop and country, and Melson was Orbison’s songwriting partner on many hits. In all, they wrote more than 200 songs together—both of them weighing in on the words and music. Today, a deep dive into Orbison and 10 video clips. [Photo above of Joe Melson and Roy Orbison, courtesy of RoyOrbison.com]

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New York downshifted into the low 80s last week (26.7-29 celsius), a relief from the crushing 90s and 100+ temps of previous weeks. We’re now in what’s known as the “dog days of summer.” This period is named for Sirius, the bright “Dog Star,” because our Northern Hemisphere ancestors believed that the star’s alignment this time of year with the Sun caused extra heat to be beamed down. [Photo of Central Park’s 79th St. Transverse above and photos below by Marc Myers]

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