"Seussian" Album Review - The Beatles - Revolver

I was recently challenged by a member of a message board that I frequent to write an album review in the style of one Dr. Seuss.  I don't anticipate making this a regular feature (or ever doing one again) as it took me about three lunch breaks to write.  Regardless, I accepted his challenge and present to you the following.

August 5, 1966
Parlophone

 Rating:  10/10

Best of all time? It’s surely sublime.  Let us pander a gander through gibberish and rhyme.

Make sense this shall not, but it’s worth a shot.  It’s at least worth a razzer, pitsnitch or tubsplot.

George opens the album with an amply paced beat, an impressive feat that he would not repeat.  The Taxman tactfully taxes your street.  The Taxman tactfully taxes your heat.  Checking his sheet, his job won’t be complete, until he taxes your seat and at long last, your feet. 

And Eleanor Rigby, aging and feeble, laying rest beneath steeple, pointing out cuptillions of sad lonely people.

Dreary strings subside to rhythmic swings that invite us to all to go floating up streams.  Triple x-labeled jugs, or mind-bending drugs, could have led to the presence of drawckab ratiugs.  If you ask me they all deserve a snug round of hugs.

The next in the show comes off as an ode, to musical things in abodes round the globe.  Fear not though, for just up the road are melodious tones known for getting girls off their toes.

Poetic balladry aside, let’s all take a ride, on a lemony vessel where even hornswaggles abide to reside.

Here’s the thing though, it’s not always neato, when the time finally comes to let Ringo sing-o.

The following entry is a tune for the century, about bleak conversational rudimentary imagery.  The concept here is poignant but elementary.

All of a sudden, the flowers are budding.  The great sun’s rays’ displays are erasing the flooding.

Good day to yours, good day to mine.  Good day to curtain-splitting morning sunshine.  This song should be designed into every alarm clock chime.

The happiness train picks up some steam as the plot zings to a green bird who swings things and sings in one of the catchiest numbers that I’ve ever seen.  Know what I mean?

I now want to tell you, nay, sell you and pay value to the next stretch of three that many give hell to.  For no one should mock or throw away in a box, or feed to a lox tales of generically named docs.

If this does cause forlorn, than perhaps I may warn you of a soulful little romp adorned fully with brass horns.

The fact is we all love Paul, after all.  He sounds good in the mall, he sounds good at the ball, he might even sound good in the famed Albert Hall; assuming no holes through which he could fall. The fact is we all love Paul, after all.

This masterpiece culminates with a spectacular show.  One of chaos, one of fury, one with which minds will blow.  And if you say “no, for this mine won’t be blown,” check back tomorrow ‘cause by then you’ll have known.

Now that we’ve taken some looks and copycatted books, it’s easy to see how the world got so shook.  Only a schnook could possibly overlook the chances the Beatles took in creating these hooks.

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