My friend and esteemed colleague Justin Rothberg recently suggested on Facebook that the Beatles, great as they were, were overrated. I beg to differ; my response to him is reproduced below for your enjoyment.

“Overrated? I don’t think so. The Beatles had two of the greatest popular songwriters of the twentieth century. They had two of the greatest rock singers of the twentieth century. Their third best songwriter and lead vocalist would have been the primary songwriter in 95% of the other bands working the same idiom at the same time. Their singing was almost perfectly in tune (except for Ringo) in an era when you got it live or didn’t get it at all. Their harmonies were spot-on, unique, and imaginative.

Their quality control, particularly in view of how much they recorded, and how busy they were on the road in the first four years of their career was stupendous. It’s hard to find an original Beatles song of less than B quality, and in my opinion 75% of their stuff was A- or better. Their artistic evolution was unparalleled. The writing went from “Love Me Do” to “Yesterday” in four years. Name another band that achieved a comparable amount of growth in a comparable amount of time.

Not only were the Beatles great studio players, three out of four of them also were influential stylists on their instruments (though admittedly not virtuosos). The only group of their era that topped them in this regard was Booker T and the MGs with four. (As much as I love the MGs, they don’t come close to the Beatles in any other regard.) In the two-hundred plus tracks the Beatles recorded, you can’t find one where the tempo is shaky, or varies more than a couple of BPM between the start and the end of the tune. There is not one gratuitous note in their basic tracks. Their playing was as economical and efficient as that of any of the great studio bands of the era.

In the eight years of their career, they not only sold more records than anybody else, they were an enormous influence culturally, they revolutionized record production, and they revolutionized the music business. Before the Beatles, groups that had no definite front person, wrote their own music, and played their own instruments were unheard of. After the Beatles, their model became the standard. After their breakup, each member continued to have significant, sometimes massive success under their own name for as long as they chose to do so.

You may not enjoy their music. But no other group in rock history did so many things so well and so regularly with that level of artistic and commercial consistency and success for that long.”

Please note that I don’t listen to the Beatles much myself, though before I was a musician I was an enormous fan. I can’t even play very many of their songs without a chart. But I call ’em as I see ’em, and this is how I see it.

After enduring a particularly annoying lecture from one of these people, I was moved to post the following on my Facebook page. The remarkable response I received suggested that I was not the only person who felt this way, so I’m reproducing it here for those of you who are not yet my Facebook friends.

An Open Letter To Those Who Preach On The Subway

You know who you are. Please read this before you attempt to save me again. I am sure I am not the only one on the train who does not appreciate being awakened from a nap by your loud, illiterate preaching. Many of us in the outer boroughs work multiple jobs, and/or are going to school. Sometimes the only sleep or study time we can manage is on the train. That nap you thoughtlessly interrupted is the only thing that may keep me from crashing the car on my way home from my gig or session tonight.

The teenager next to me who is studying for her chemistry final can’t really concentrate either. Your voice is really loud and annoying, even to me, who has a dip in the middle of my hearing chart that looks like the Grand Canyon. Anybody with normal hearing must be in agony. You’re killing her. Maybe she’ll get a scholarship if she does well on the test. You’re not helping.

And the single mom with three kids that she’s trying to keep from sliding off the bench while you’re yelling? I bet she’s not really interested. Not right now. I wouldn’t be surprised if she goes to church already. And if you haven’t noticed, the little girl in her lap is really frightened. Watch how she’s staring at you. She thinks there’s going to be a fight. What do you really think you’re accomplishing?

Now I may not look like one or act like one. (Opinions differ.) But I was raised as a Christian. I attended St. Albans Episcopal Church every Sunday for sixteen years, unless I was deathly ill. My mother taught Sunday school there. I sang in the choir. I played tenor banjo in the youth group. My parents took me along when they went to church committee meetings. I even helped my father, a fine amateur carpenter, build shelves and a movable podium for the services downstairs.

Of course I read the Bible cover to cover at least once a year. There was a time when I could name all the books in the Bible, in order. I used to read through the hymnal and try to figure out the chord changes. I sight read and sang all the lower parts, not just the lead part.

I read the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer. Over and over. There was nothing else to read. I even read all the rubrics in the Episcopalian Book of Common Prayer. You know the teeny fine print in the back of the book that nobody reads? Those are the rubrics. I read them. More than once I’m not even sure that seminary students have to read those. Why? I’m a compulsive reader and I was bored out of my skull. (Our minister was a fine person but not a compelling public speaker.) I could even quote you a couple.

But perhaps, Mr. Subway Preacher, that doesn’t impress you. Maybe you think that the Episcopal Church of my childhood is not the real deal. Your church is more exciting and vibrant, possessed by the power of the Holy Spirit! Your ministers yell, and your church music has drums, six string bass, electric guitar, and modern synthesizers, big amplifiers and a loud PA system, right inside!

I’ll grant you that where you worship is probably a lot livelier than St. Albans. The Christian church three blocks from my house has an excellent band, a cranking PA, and soulful preaching. I’d actually consider going in there occasionally if I hadn’t been accused by one of the parishioners of being a spy for the Devil when I stopped to watch the band rehearse for a few minutes one night on my way home from the gym.

Well, I know something about this kind of church too. It might surprise you to know that when I was in Jamaica, I lived for several years in a house that had a Pentecostal Holiness church in the garage. My landlady was the minister. It wasn’t a big house, even though there were twenty-two people living in it. I couldn’t have avoided contact with your religion short of soundproofing my room, sealing the windows, and wearing shooter’s headphones.

It was nothing like St. Albans. There were services several nights a week and, of course, long ones on Sunday. Candles were lit in order to achieve various specific goals. The Books of the Maccabees were consulted. (I know because I bought them for my landlady at her request when I was on tour. I got some pretty funny looks in Customs.)

People preached, sang loudly, and talked in tongues. Old women crippled with arthritis were possessed by the spirit and danced like young girls. I heard and saw all this for myself. On Easter, the singing and drumming and praise went from noon until midnight.

One day I came home from the studio and hundreds of church officials from all over Jamaica, in amazing and beautiful outfits, were gathered in the yard in my landlady’s honor as she was ordained (I think as a bishop, I can’t remember for certain). They were a wondrous sight in their purple and white robes, seated in row after row of rented chairs. It was quite a party, and yes, there was food.

Apart from prolonged exposure to two very different Christian denominations, I have had other incidental contacts with people who believe as you do. I have made several gospel records, and performed, in church and out, with gospel singers. One of my best friends in the world is a devout and extremely well-informed, studious Christian, and we spent many nights on the road staying up until dawn discussing Christianity, religion in general, and ethics. He’s a serious guy. He walked away from a wonderful career in secular music because he felt it was in conflict with his beliefs. Are you that serious?

I also work with very devout and observant Christians every day. So, Mr. (or Ms.) Subway Preacher, I am quite familiar with both the seminal texts of your religion and a number of manifestations of it in practice. And do you know what? Just about everybody who’s ever engaged me in a serious discussion about it, no matter what their background or denomination, was smarter, better informed about the subject, and more articulate than you are. (Which, based on your painfully loud monologue I endured tonight on the way home, is not saying much.) You’re not exposing me to anything new, or even restating the old in a compelling way.

And if there was any chance on this earth that your preaching would lead me to the light, where these other people could not, IT WILL NOT HAPPEN IF YOU WAKE ME UP OUT OF A DEAD SLEEP. I am not a morning person. I will not be receptive. In fact, even if I agreed with you, I’d be furious. If I wasn’t so tired, I’d straighten out some of the things you say that I know are incorrect.

P.S. When you asked us for contributions at the end of your “sermon,” that was really lame. You’re bringing me the good news because your cup runneth over with blessings and you can’t keep it to yourself? And then you want me to put money in your cup? I know Christians can be broke just like anybody else. And people give money in church. But that’s because they already believe, and they are there voluntarily. I didn’t listen to you voluntarily. The opposite, in fact.

I usually give money to people when they ask respectfully. Even if it’s a con, the fact that they’re trying to con me means they have bigger problems than I do. Plus, if J—- is coming back, as you say he is, he’s probably coming back first as a beggar, or a homeless person. He’d want to check people out and get a feel for the state of our spiritual evolution before he pulls the plug on anything grandiose like the stuff in Revelations. That’s the way he’s rolled in the past.

I may not be a believer, but I’m not above playing the odds. I’d hate to see the Don Dada in his golden chariot on Judgement Day and go, “ZOMG! That’s the dude that I blew off on White Plains Road when he asked me for subway fare! He’s looking right at me! Boy, that was a mistake.” So I usually give. But not today. I’ll take my chances that you don’t have anything to do with the Second Coming.

In closing, please note that I don’t stand up in subway cars and harangue you, or anyone else about my politics. (Though I guarantee it would be more interesting than what we endured today.) Please allow me the same courtesy when it comes to your religion. If you have to preach, do it on the platform or in the station. I won’t be any more impressed with you, but at least I’m already awake. Thank you.

It’s always tempting to post about the thousand and one things that one will do differently this year than last. But I’m only going to mention one. This is the year that I release music myself instead of just play on other people’s releases.