Not News: "This Guy Swears He's a Blackhawks Fan"

CHICAGO, IL - Sitting in an Old Town bar during the Blackhawks game, California native Aden Williams makes sure to tell everyone that he's "like a huge Blackhawks fan." Donning a brand new Patrick Sharp jersey, he insists on sharing his encyclopedic knowledge of Blackhawks history that he learned through Wikipedia and ESPN over the past couple weeks. "Did you know this is the first Stanley Cup Finals between two Original Six teams since 1979? Crazy." Additionally he only refers to players by their hockey nicknames. "Everyone's favorite is probably Tazer or Kaner. But I love Sharpie the most. Or Crow. Or Dunc. Or The Rat, you know, Bolland." In his truest display of fandom, he criticizes all the "poser, fair-weather fans" sitting next to him. "I mean who do these people think they are? They think they can just try to escape the monotonous drudgery of their lives by waltzing into a Hawks bar and taking part in the exciting camaraderie of cheering for a championship sports team?  They have to pay their dues.  Like me, man."  Fred Jones, another "fan" who has been watching the Blackhawks his whole life and remembers watching as a kid when they won the Cup in 1961, could not be reached for comment as he was too busy  "watching the fucking game.”

Not News: "Unemployed Man Sick of Telemarketers Getting His Hopes Up"

CHICAGO, IL – A  local 28-year old man has been unemployed for the past 6 months since getting laid off at Kinko’s. Zack Tucker has applied to over a 100 jobs in the area, but continues to wait for an offer, which is why he gets so annoyed every time a telemarketer calls. “Each time that phone rings from an unknown number, I just get giddy thinking that someone from Jamba Juice is finally going to offer me a job. Instead, it’s Steve from Comcast telling me about their latest stupid deals. It’s almost as if they’re doing it on purpose.” In fact, telemarketers are doing it on purpose. Steve from Comcast explains, “We love the unemployed. First, we know they’re home, especially during the day. Second, they’re desperate for human contact so they’re definitely going to pick up the phone. And third, they’re clearly terrible with financial planning so they’re more likely to buy shit they don’t need.” To prove it, Steve sold Zack an additional 100 channels so he has something to do while he “parks his fast ass on the couch.” When reached for comment, Mrs. Tucker was surprised to hear that her son is unemployed and that his phone is, in fact, working. 

Kellogg For Life

There are very few permanent things in life. Just in my own time, I’ve seen buildings crumble, relationships fall apart, careers ended, reputations destroyed, and reigns dismantled. It’s very difficult to say which things will truly last and which will soon meet their demise. Some of the greatest sadness we feel is when good things come to a sudden, unexpected halt. Which is why, as I close out my Kellogg career, I am actually surprised to feel a certain sense of joyous calm. Sure, the past two years have flickered by at an unimaginable speed, and I will be saddened to say goodbye to the friends and lifestyle I’ve so greatly enjoyed. But I am leaving with a prideful certainty of one very important fact—I will forever be a Kellogg alum*.

You see, I was going to go to Booth. I was sure of it. After investigating some other schools, I finally settled on staying in Chicago with Booth #1 and Kellogg #2. In my mind, I could differentiate myself at Booth by being an outspoken, outgoing leader amongst a sea of calculating introverts. I poured all my energy and focus into my Booth application, and once I was done and took a breath, I applied to Kellogg. I remember Tegan telling me that my Kellogg essays, while much quicker to write, sounded more natural and like they came from the heart. In the end, I think the Booth admissions board smelled the desperation and the Kellogg board saw one of their own. Kellogg had already taught me an important lesson: stay true to yourself and the right people will welcome you with open arms.

Another lesson I’ve learned, visible only through the sharp lens of hindsight, is that Kellogg presents an incredibly vast set of opportunities for each and every student. We all start on the same wobbly foot by playing drunken dizzy bat at CIM, but from there we embark on a trip so unique that no two Kellogg experiences are exactly alike. Every student hurtles through their own chaotic path like a plinko chip bouncing through a wall of infinite plastic pegs, with each spike representing a class or club or party on which they can either leave their mark or pass on through. I charted my own course through entrepreneurship and finance classes; PE/VC conferences; FinD group meetings; Fall Balls and trollies; KWEST, ski, and golf trips; and countless hours of loud studying. And perhaps most importantly, it was Special K! and everyone involved with those productions that gave my Kellogg voyage its true meaning. Those experiences shaped me into the individual and (soon to be) graduate I am today.

I know that no other student did exactly what I did over these past two years, but I also know that all of us grew in tandem, supporting each other along the way—our paths were unique but our journey was shared. While we were distracted by all the activities, homework, and brave thinking, an education snuck up on us until we look back at the fall of 2011 and barely recognize ourselves. All of us are now better prepared and more inspired to tackle our futures that will diverge ever wider and ever more unique.

But we will always have Kellogg. No one can ever take that away from us. So before we take that first step after graduation, I’d like to thank every student, professor, administrator, and faculty member for an unforgettably permanent experience. And a special thank you to the Class of 2013—I can’t think of a better group of people to spend forever with.

*And a Wisconsin alum. Go Badgers!

Dear Roger

Dear Roger,

Thank you. Thank you so very much.

I first met you through my mother. She would love to watch you and your beloved friend Gene Siskel battle it out on “At the Movies.” When I was around 10 years old I was invited to join, and I couldn’t have been happier. I had loved movies from a very young age, but listening to you and Gene discuss these pieces of entertainment with such great passion and intellect opened my eyes to a whole new way of looking at movies. Loving film could be an identity. It could be a part of my life.

Starting with those nights with my mom and continuing until now, you inspired me to learn about film as much as I could. And you, as you will remain to be, were my greatest teacher. First, you taught me that a film cannot be judged on a singular scale, but on a measure of intent—a measure of potential. You could give 4-stars to a movie like Almost Famous and to The Godfather without any inclination of equity. According to you, these movies are critically different in scope and scale, yet perfectly accomplished what they were each trying to do. This is what made you so incredibly popular. You never looked down your nose at movies and deemed them inadequate in and of themselves. For movies deserving bad reviews, you looked at that particular story, those particular actors, and that particular director and said, “You could have done better.” Your negative press was almost a call to action, which arose from a deeply seeded belief and hope that movies can be great.

Secondly, you taught me, and the world, that film criticism itself can be a beautiful form of entertainment.  Now, I have not come close to reading all 10,000 of your reviews. But I can say with almost certainty that if I saw a movie, and you wrote a review, I’ve most definitely read it. With the amazing power of internet archives, I’ve gone back and read 100s if not 1,000s of your reviews. And I’ve never gone to see a movie without reading your review either before or after. You were my cinematic guiding light. Hell, the number of your reviews I’ve read of movies I’ve never even seen might exceed those that I have seen. But I didn’t read them just to hear your opinion about the movie itself. I read them to listen to your unique, insightful, and often funny voice. While I know you disdain lists and favorites, two gems of yours that immediately come to mind are your Great Movies review of E.T. and your hilariously disdainful review of North. Because of your ability to make criticism an entertaining enrichment to great film, your reviews will forever accompany my favorite cinematic memories.

Thirdly, you taught me is that it’s OK to love movies. Critics have a desire to appear impartial in giving an intellectual assessment of a film. But you were completely, and unabashedly certain that we will never be able to fully remove our personal and emotional lens when watching film. That’s actually what movies are there to do—they are there to evoke an emotional response from its viewers. A perfect recent example of this is your 4-star review of Secretariat. The general consensus was that this was a decent-at-best Disney movie. I myself hated it. But your love of your friend Bill Nack, the author who wrote the book Secretariat, came through while you watched it. Half of your review was actually about Bill and your memories with him. Your love for Bill and love of the story itself affected your love of the film. And you would argue, “so what?” As with many things in life, our love has nothing to do with rational valuation, and it’s OK let a movie touch us and then defend those sometimes solitary feelings to the very end.

And lastly, you taught me that a love of the movies is actually a love of life. When you underwent surgery in 2006 to remove cancerous tissue near your jaw, you lost your ability to speak—a terrible prognosis made especially terrible for someone who talked endlessly about movies for a living. But that did not stop you from writing. You took to the blogosphere with Roger Ebert’s Journal to write about literally everything and anything. Since then, it has been a daily check of mine to look for any new additions. You were awarded Webby awards and garnered a massive following of people like me who knew that you were not just a great critic; you were a great writer. Your innate love of story, of characters, of beauty, and of truth in movies was really a love of everything worth watching in life.

Last night, I forwarded your latest blog post to Tegan, as I often do, with the header, “We’re not going to have him much longer.” By this morning you were no longer with us. In it, you celebrated 46 years as a film critic at the Chicago Sun-Times and revealed you would be taking a “leave of presence.” That little crack in your leg bone was actually your cancer that never really left. But you assured us you would still be here, working on reviews of “only the movies I want to review” and the roll-out of Ebert Digital. But I think you knew. And you said good-bye in the only way you knew how—by telling us that we shouldn't worry and ending with “I’ll see you at the movies.”

Roger, we won’t see you at the movies anymore. But I promise—you will always be with us.

Your gracious fan,

Tommy

Third Time's a Charm?

The Dark Knight Rises will not be the best of the epic Batman series nor should it be.

This Friday, Christopher Nolan’s reinvention of the Batman series comes to an end with The Dark Knight Rises. After breaking the comic-book movie mold with Batman Begins the series had major critical and commercial success with The Dark Knight, resulting in an Oscar for the late Heath Ledger. Nolan has insisted that The Dark Knight Rises is the final installment of the series, and some are wondering if the finale can top its predecessor. But as with all trilogies, the third installment is never the best because we are saying good-bye to a series we love.

Released in 2005, Batman Begins followed to major trends of the time period—the overwhelming popularity of comic book movies that first started with the surprise success of X-Men (2000) and the inherent interest in superhero origins. Starting with the TV series Smallville (2001) and then further explored with the movie Spider-Man (2002) and to a lesser extent Daredevil (2003) and Hulk (2003), these origin stories tapped into the odd phenomenon that while most people generally knew about the characters and their back-story, none of us had seen their beginning unfold on screen.

Unlike Spider-Man, however, the Batman franchise was well established. It had gone from the fantastical, stylized version of Tim Burton to the horribly goofy Batman & Robin (1997) that really became the apex of the campy superhero movies of the 1990s. The only way to swipe the slate clean was to go all the way back to the beginning of Batman’s story. But Christopher Nolan decided to take it one step further by finally giving a dark significance to a comic book movie. He realized that Batman was the perfect vehicle for exploring what can best be described as a “real-life” superhero as its titular character has no actual superpowers and could ostensibly exist.

We were enveloped as Bruce Wayne slowly became Batman just like we were when Peter Parker became Spider-Man, but this time it was all oddly believable. Christopher Nolan made us think that a melancholy rich guy fighting crime in a bat suit is not that far-fetched of an idea. This concept of placing comic-book heroes in the real world both in theme and story-line has influenced several other movies including Casino Royale (2006), Iron Man (2008), and the upcoming Man of Steel (2013). The first installment, therefore, was a success because it was something entirely new and surprisingly real.

If Batman Begins won our interest because of its novelty, The Dark Knight (2008) hit our core because of its tragedy. Nolan recognized that comic books can touch on deep fears and scared the hell out of us with the Joker, terrifyingly acted by the late Heath Ledger. A self-described “agent of chaos,” the Joker didn’t want money or power like most comic book villains; he simply wanted to “watch the world burn.” Our real-life constant fear of terrorism was therefore played out by a madman in jagged make-up. Furthermore, by testing the morality of Batman’s secret identity and rigging two boats to explode each other, the Joker hit hard on tragic choices and made us question what we would do in each situation. It was not just a comic book movie; it was high drama with a couple silly costumes.

And now we finally arrive at the third and final chapter. While the movie is about to take the box office by storm this weekend with pre-sales already breaking records, there is palpably less buzz this time around. No doubt this is due in part to the fact that none of the actors has unexpectedly died creating a media firestorm, but I can’t help but feel like I’m not the only one who thinks that The Dark Knight simply can’t be beat. I am excited to see Batman face another demonic foe, but now that he’s lost Rachel what else is there for him to lose? Tom Hardy is a fantastic actor and will undoubtedly play the brute force of Bane perfectly, but can he really top the hateful charisma of the Joker? Can this third movie top the second?

To answer my questions I researched some of the most famous movie trilogies. Empire Magazine put together a nice list of 33 top ranked trilogies. The list is certainly not exhaustive of all trilogies, but enough to explore history. (While I’m not here to debate the ranking, in my opinion Lord of the Rings should not come before Star Wars even if only because LOTR had the benefit of being filmed all at once). One thing that I noticed was that not a single trilogy had the third installment as the generally accepted “best.” In my opinion, the only one that comes close is The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly (1966). But even that is debatable because of the looseness of their coherence and the fact that Fistful of Dollars (1964) is pretty damn awesome.

Upon seeing this, I start to wonder not if the third can be the best but if it is supposed to be the best, and I’m starting to think that maybe it’s not. Take for example The Lord of the Rings Trilogy. The Two Towers (2002) is usually accepted as the better of the three films due to its introduction to Gollum, focus on character development, and a great battle for Helm’s Deep. The movie ends with a bang and leaves us thirsty for the finale. While the Return of the King (2003) has the epic battle of Minis Tirith and the final conquering of Lord Sauron, the last 30 minutes of the movie get bogged down with tying up the loose ends inevitably created by 10 hours of film.

Saying good-bye is never easy and always messy, so even if the third act of a trilogy is a wonderful film, it will be psychologically dragged down by our disappointment that it’s all over. The series has to come to an end. As an audience, we’re not supposed to leave the theater giddy from stimulation, we’re supposed to leave content with a deep understanding of the series as a whole. That doesn't make for the most exciting, or impactful, or “best” part of a trilogy, but it’s a necessary piece.

I’ll never forget seeing The Dark Knight in the theater for the first time. It was a packed house at the AMC Theater on Illinois. People were there early and the audience was abuzz with anticipation. After the previews, the screen went black and the sound went quiet. The blue Warner Brothers logo with the slowly exploding background came on the screen. I have never heard a movie theater so silent. No munching. No whispering. No nothing. It was if any movement would halt the projector. Just a hushed silence as we all prepared to see what we had long been waiting for.

When the movie was over, I swear I saw some people go right back to the ticket counter to try and buy tickets for the next showing. We were all hungry for more. More exhilarating action scenes. More ethical dilemmas. More Joker.

After I walk out of The Dark Knight Rises at about 6:00PM this Saturday, I don’t want to be hungry. I want to be full. I want to be content. I want to feel a sense of closure. Therefore, the role of the third film in a trilogy is not to top the previous two. It is there to end an epic tale. And if I’m a little sad that it’s all over, I’ll know Christopher Nolan did what he was supposed to do.

Sour Tomatoes

Rotten Tomatoes misses the point of film criticism 

For decades, the only way you could find out if you were going to like a movie was to read a review in the newspaper, ask your friends, or go see the damn thing yourself. But as you can say for just about anything besides wiping your ass, “everything changed with the internet.” Since then we’ve seen the advent of the encyclopedic resource of IMDb, which was originally started as an on-paper list in 1987 but has become the go-to reference for movie trivia and fan-based rankings. Mistaking financial performance for inherent quality, we’ve become obsessed with box-office results and use sites like BoxOfficeMojo to track whether a movie is “successful.” And with the power of anonymity and universal access to message boards, everyone truly can be a critic.

The worst of all these cine-sites is Rotten Tomatoes. At its heart, Rotten Tomatoes is a review aggregator, which by itself would provide a wonderful convenience to film goers looking for a single place to read about film. Where Rotten Tomatoes goes wrong is not in the way it aggregates movie reviews to a single site but in the way it boils every review down to a single vote.

The site has three user groups. Top Critics are those accredited critics who write for a newspaper. All Critics are users who have enough “Likes” for their postings on the site. And the Audience is simply anyone with an e-mail account and an opinion. The site takes the ratings of each member and then boils it down to a binary “positive” or “negative” review. If a movie has 60% or more positive reviews it is deemed “Certified Fresh.” Anything less than that and sure enough that movie is “Rotten” and is awarded a squishy, green tomato right next to its title.

To see how these three groups can vary in their final ranking, take for example this past weekend’s box office winner Ted. Top Critics gave the movie 64% positive reviews, All Critics gave 69%, and Audience members gave 86% positive reviews. As evidenced, the age-old discrepancy between film criticism and movie populism remains fully intact and could prompt another discussion centering on the real or perceived anti-intellectualism in the United States. My main concern here is simply the voting system.

Let’s first take a look at a simple mathematical example. Assume there are 100 people rating a movie, each on a 100 point scale. 80 audience members felt relatively indifferent to the movie and give it a rating of 49—they wouldn’t mind seeing it again on TBS but aren’t going to go out and rent it. Now, the other 20 audience members cried and cheered and begged for more, giving the movie 100 points. It was simply the best movie they’ve ever seen. As can be seen in the chart below, this situation would receive a “Rotten” 59.2% rating on Rotten Tomatoes. This is clearly an exercise in hyperbole, but the fact remains that this “yay or nay” system has the ability to subject passionate feelings to the oppressive indifference of the masses.

Rotten Tomatoes has created a “with me or against me” form of film criticism. You either like the movie or you didn’t. And if we disagree, we are in conflict. The nuance of discussing creative ventures has gone by the wayside and the Like/Dislike world of social media has stepped in and taken its place. In a connected example, the current vitriol in our political atmosphere is a result of our insistence on reducing incredibly complex issues to black and white decisions. There might be at least some need for that when we have to choose only one president, but it certainly has no place when discussing artwork.

Since watching “At the Movies with Siskel and Ebert” with my mom as a little kid, I’ve always enjoyed hearing other people discuss film. Today, I rarely see a film without reading the reviews by Roger Ebert, A.O. Scott, Peter Travers, and Todd McCarthy. I prefer to read them after I see the movie to retain the magic of seeing something with uninformed eyes, but sometimes I can’t help myself and scratch the impatient itch of wanting to see the film by reading the review ahead of time. Like any writer, each has his own style and world view on what makes a film great. Ebert is by far the most emotional writer and judges films on a sliding scale of what the film intended to be. A.O. Scott makes his judgments on a more rigid scale, sometimes to the chagrin of populist fanboys. Todd McCarthy is always level headed and gives a fair assessment of how the film will be received.

I don’t read these critics because I want their final ranking. I’ve grown to enjoy their writing and trust their assessment even if I disagree with their point of view. Only taking their “star ratings” or even “positive/negative” vote would rob me of their intelligence and critical thinking. And it would take away that inherent knowledge that films really do mean something more than box office results. We really can find meaning in our lives through the stories that directors tell on celluloid.

And that is where the main argument for Rotten Tomatoes lies. Not everyone loves film. Not everyone enjoys reading about a movie they just saw. All they want to know is if they are going to enjoy themselves. Will this movie be worth the two hours of my busy life and $15 of my hard earned money? The easiest way to know this is by working the odds. “If 76% of the audience members loved this movie than hopefully I will too. I’m not a film critic, so who cares if only 15% of the Top Critics liked it.” (Those are real numbers from Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen.)

With the plethora of movies coming out every week and the limited time people have, the practicability of Rotten Tomatoes is completely unavoidable, which makes me so incredibly sad. Because in the end Rotten Tomatoes steals away discovery and individualism. Imagine walking into a movie theater and having a chance to see the hypothetical movie I discussed earlier. You look on your Rotten Tomatoes app and see it has an aggregate rating of 59%. You decide to skip it and see the movie everyone else likes, the movie that everyone is rating 65/100. You walk out 65% pleased just like everyone else. You had a good time but forget the details of the movie in a week.

Now, what if you went in to the first movie? What if you were the 20% who loved it with 100% of your heart? What if it changed your life, answered your questions, or made you feel emotionally connected like never before?

If you base your decisions on Rotten Tomatoes, you’ll never know the answer to those questions, but you sure will get to blend in with everyone else.  

The choice is yours.

Music to Our Ears

Does it matter when we start listening to a musician?

I am a big fan of John Mayer’s music. I have been listening to him ever since my little sister Emily introduced me to Room For Squares in 2001. I’ve bought every album and seen him live several times in Tinley Park, Milwaukee, and Chicago. I’ve seen the progression of his music, as he’s grown from a pop musician into one of the most respected guitarists of our time.

I have also become a big fan of The White Stripes. While the duo of Jack and Meg White has been officially split and the band broken up since February of this year, I’ve only been listening to them for the past 6 months, since Jack White appeared on the Colbert Report and piqued my interest. I’ve downloaded a lot, though far from all, of their music and have loved every bit of it. I’ve excitedly researched their career and read reviews and articles about their music.

Now I ask myself—holding personal preference constant—is it possible to love The White Stripes as much as I love John Mayer? Put another way, can I appreciate The White Stripes as much as I would have if I started listening to them when they started, the way I did with John Mayer? Does our musical appreciation depend on when in their career we are introduced to an artist?

Falling in love with someone else’s music is about the personal connection. I’ve often said that Mayer’s discography was the soundtrack of my young adult life. I'm sure most people have a similar connection to their favorite artist. Room For Squares fed directly into my adolescent romanticism, singing that girl’s body is a wonderland and dreaming of running through the halls of my high school, “screaming at the top of my lungs”. From there, the aptly named Heavier Things came out right when I was entering college. The lyrics “Someday I’ll fly, someday I’ll soar, someday I'll be so damn much more, cause I'm bigger than my body gives me credit for” embodied how I felt entering my adult life, with nothing but opportunity before me.

Continuum came out when I was a senior. Capturing my realization that my college days were coming to an end and that it all went by too quickly, in “Stop This Train” Mayer sings “so scared of getting older, I’m only good at being young.” And then the songs “Slow Dancing In a Burning Room,” “Dreaming With a Broken Heart,” “In Repair,” and “I’m Gonna Find Another You” got me through a painful breakup at the end of my senior year. Finally, when I was single and finally happy again, Mayer came out with Battle Studies. In “Who Says” he asks “who says I can’t be free, from all the things that I used to be?” In “Perfectly Lonely”, Mayer sings about blissfully belonging to nobody, but the lyrics below described exactly how I felt about starting a relationship with Tegan.

And this is not to say

There never comes a day

I'll take my chances and start again

And when I look behind

On all my younger times

I have to thank the wrongs that led me to a love so strong

But hearing the song when it first comes out is certainly not required to feel a personal connection to the music. Just because I listen to The White Stripe’s “Icky Thump” four years after it came out doesn’t mean I feel the anger behind that song any less than I would have had I heard it in 2007. I’m sure that if I were to go through a hurtful breakup now, The White Stripe’s angst filled rendition of Bob Dylan’s “Love Sick” would help me just as much as “I’m Gonna Find Another You.” I will always feel the same exciting motivation and energy whenever I listen to the chest thumping beat in “Seven Nation Army” or the charged guitar riffs in “Hello Operator.” By their very nature, songs will always be the same as they were when they were first recorded in the studio. We’re free to enjoy them whenever we want.

So, there has to be something that goes beyond the personal connection to music. And I think the temporal difference of appreciating music comes from the social element. When I was in high school, I went through a Beatles-mania faze after purchasing the compilation album “1” in 2000. I listened to nothing but The Beatles for a significant portion of my sophomore and junior year. I love listening to The Beatles and understand their impact on music as much as someone my age possibly can. But compare that to my mom, who not only knows about the hysteria that gripped the nation during that time but was a part of it. To this day, she still holds a tiny grudge against her mother for not letting her go to Midway airport to welcome the Fab Four to Chicago. Her appreciation is based in the history and deep connection to anyone growing up during that time.

As anyone knows, seeing music live is always better and more exciting than listening alone. But that reality goes beyond the concert hall. When we’re learning to love an artist in tandem with the progression of their career, we are experiencing their music live, in real time. We wait anxiously for every new album and discuss it with our friends or fellow fans. We hear their music on the radio and listen to DJs interview them on the air. And, yes, we go to their concerts and humbly watch as our favorite artist sings to us and thousands of others. The fact that our favorite music usually comes from our youth makes sense as that is the time when our social lives were most important to us.

My appreciation of John Mayer, therefore, comes not only from the music itself but the discussions I had with my sister about his new album or his personal antics. It comes from going to see him at Tinley Park or at the United Center with my mom and my sisters. It arises from the excitement of what’s to come. My internet research on The White Stripes and the ability to listen to their entire discography all at once cannot equate to the enjoyment of growing with them over the years and experiencing their career with others.

This past summer, Paul McCartney put on a couple sold-out and very expensive shows at Wrigley Field. There were two kinds of people in the audience—those who had experienced the entire span of The Beatles’ music and those who had not. The younger people in the crowd no doubt love and feel connected to McCartney’s and The Beatles’ songs. They were there to get a taste of the excitement that a musician like Paul McCartney can bring to a crowd. But it was more an attempt to get a slice of history. The older fans, on the other hand, were there to remind themselves of what it was like back when they were young—when an entire nation first saw the The Beatles together. That social experience can never be recreated no matter how many times they listen to Abbey Road. And that is why being there in the moment is so special.