Hey Jude
Seven minutes, four of them just na-na-na, and somehow nobody has ever wanted it to end sooner.
Seven minutes, four of them just na-na-na, and somehow nobody has ever wanted it to end sooner.

Motown shelved Gaye's version for over a year; it came out sounding like paranoia set to a Funk Brothers groove.

Hendrix took Dylan's parable and lit it, and Dylan has played it Hendrix's way ever since.
Faithfull handed Jagger Bulgakov, Richards turned the folk sketch into samba and played both bass and the solo.

Redding cut the vocal three days before the plane crash, and Cropper finished it into the first posthumous American number one.

Robertson saw Nazareth stamped inside his 1951 Martin, and Helm sang the burden every verse hands over.
Named for the gardener who woke them up, and cut with an acoustic guitar recorded into a Philips cassette recorder.
Harrison opened a book at random, saw "gently weeps", and Clapton came in uncredited to play the solo.

Simon had it as Mrs. Roosevelt with nonsense syllables for a verse, and it won Record of the Year.

Webb sent it over unfinished, one verse short, and Campbell cut the loneliest three minutes in country music.
Cut May 3, 1968 with an ABC film crew rolling, and it became Hendrix's only British number one, posthumously.

A band mixed in race and gender, four weeks at number one, and "different strokes for different folks" ever since.

Brown cut it in Los Angeles with thirty-odd young people from Watts and Compton shouting the answer back.

Erma Franklin had it first in 1967, then Joplin tore the same Ragovoy and Berns song wide open.

Written with Aretha in mind, handed to Springfield by Jerry Wexler; Memphis cut the track, New York got her vocal.

Mars Bonfire's used Ford Falcon inspired it, Steppenwolf sped it up, and Easy Rider made it biker culture's signature.

Mitchell was reading Henderson the Rain King on a plane, looked out at the clouds, and started writing immediately.

Three years in San Quentin behind him, Haggard gave his narrator a life sentence he never served himself.
Richards cut the acoustic into a Philips cassette recorder until it distorted, Watts drumming on a 1930s toy kit.

Clive Davis wanted a hit, so Sly wrote a roll call: each player steps forward, Cynthia Robinson shouting the title.