The Curmudgeonly Beatle

Nobody loves the Beatles more than I do; I've loved them since I was in diapers. There was a time when they could do no wrong, a time when I could tell you minute details, including at what time of day each of them was born, in what hospital, and the names of the delivering obstetricians.

But, as George Harrison astutely observed nearly four decades ago, all things must pass. At one time, the Beatles were untouchable--nobody else even aspired to their status, significance, or fame. But I think their star has dimmed considerably in the public consciousness, which is not a negative thing--just human nature. Aside from the inevitable chinks in the armor--was Sgt. Pepper really the greatest rock album of all time? Has McCartney written one great song since "Let It Be? Doesn't John's Primal Scream-influenced "Mother" seem a little less primal now? Isn't Two Virgins really, really embarrassing?--so much time has passed that things that once seemed so important have become mere footnotes, if not totally irrelevant.

John Lennon's October 9 birthday came and went with nary a mention in the press; a decade ago, it would have garnered a few lines in the dailies, and two decades ago, a paragraph and a photo. Paul McCartney's dating, and nobody cares, though occasionally, a shot of a saggy, baggy, Grecian Formula-ed Sir Macca will make its way onto Page Six. And now that Ringo has milked the All Starr Band tours dry and sung "The No No Song" 30 years longer than what most fans would deem palatable, now that his career retrospective CD and his blip of a TV show has tanked, he's gotten curmudgeonly.

The buildup to his latest tantrum started in January, when he had a hissy fit and walked off the set of Regis & Kelly when he was asked to shorten a song. His cantankerous new attitude emerged again just this week when the world's luckiest drummer issued a passive-aggressive plea to fans to stop sending him autograph requests, because after the seemingly arbitrary date of October 20, he will no longer honor them.

In a way, you can't blame Ringo. He's got to be tired. I've always liked Ringo, but have always considered him the token Beatle, knowing that he was a rudimentary drummer with a barely passable voice and a good personality. Yes, he should be thankful that anybody still wants his autograph. But at 68 years old, he's never had a private life. I guess he just wants to be left alone--by fans, at least.

I never thought I'd see the day when the silly, smiling, happy-go-lucky Beatle would become a crotchety old man. But nothing stays the same.