In truth, I’ve posted and written about Fanny’s version of this song, “Hey Bulldog”, so much already, but I’m writing this new post because I’ve found that I actually do have something different to say about it, and I want to do so by intentionally comparing it to the original version.

If you aren’t already familiar with The Beatles’ version of this song (the original version), 1) you’re lucky, and 2) I would actually like to ask that you check it out for the purpose of this post (and I am embedding it here for your convenience).

When I listen to The Beatles’ version, I hear the end of the band. I hate to say that, because The Beatles’ material among their last three/four albums are my favorite from the band’s entire career, but I’m being honest. I hear their no-longer-togetherness in the production, of so many important parts of this song being recorded literally separately and overdubbed. And maybe my comparison for the sake of this post won’t land quite the same way because, in this case, I’m comparing Fanny’s live version of this song to The Beatles’ studio recording of it (since they never played it live), but trust me when I say that doing this is better…because if I compared The Beatles’ version of it to Fanny’s studio version of it, my comparison would be so much worse than it already is (for The Beatles; not for Fanny).

Listening to The Beatles’ version of this song, besides sounding detached, it strikes me how clinical it sounds. Maybe part of it is the production, but it sounds sterile – way too sanitary and overly polished for the lyrical AND musical thematic content of the song. It just doesn’t work quite as well as it could have, had it been more of a group/team effort in recording it.

Now, to finally address the version of this song that I posted and mentioned first – Fanny’s version of this song – I’m going to try to avoid reiterating my favorite thing about their version of this song (the extra verse they added in, which they got permission from the ex-Beatles themselves to add). Focusing on this particular live version of it, let’s talk about the way it opens – slowly, with Nickey Barclay’s piano not quite touching the main riff that opens The Beatles’ version, and June Millington’s fuzzed out guitar building toward the first verse.

Not only do Fanny purposefully choose not to introduce the song with its recognizable intro riff (which most people, whether they’re familiar with The Beatles’ music or not, can probably acknowledge as something they’ve heard before at the very least), but by letting its intro build slowly, they literally give the song space to distinguish itself from the original version. You’ll probably also notice that the pacing of Fanny’s live version drags a little bit, but that’s only a critique afforded to this live version. In spite of that, you know what else I hear in this live version that’s far – vastly – different from The Beatles’ version? Life. By god, I hear life. This song is living, breathing! Don’t you know the slower pace is just its heartbeat, steady and patiently willing to fulfill its lyrics’ very promise: “If you’re lonely, you can talk to me”?

And in that vein, something I believe I have talked about before, is that is how and why this song succeeds (far better than The Beatles’ version ever did) – because the way Fanny plays this song is honestly, graciously, and openly inviting discussion. “If you’re lonely, you can talk to me,” because “I know just what it’s like to listen to my fears,” and “You think you’re going/But you haven’t got a ride” (bolded lyrics and last quoted lyrics are Fanny’s revision and Fanny’s original verse, respectively); in spite of John Lennon’s dark and unsettling lyrics, Fanny’s version is championing empathy. Even Barclay’s adorably ad-libbed “Come on, bulldog! Dry your feet now!” is offering space for patience and empathy.

Somehow, too, I find that June Millington’s guitar solo is more vivacious, more realistic, and in that regard more interesting thematically for the song than John Lennon’s George Harrison’s whichever Beatle actually played it the original version’s solo which is fittingly volatile but only underpins what we already know and understand about/in the song. The lively nature of Millington’s guitar solo seems to indicate this idea that, ‘in spite of all of this paranoia and self doubt and also maybe the dark, vaguely threatening tone of my guitar, I’m open-minded.’ The riff with which it fades into the outro works similarly, but as a steady reinforcement that it’s true – that it’s being honest. Maybe that sounds crazy and unrealistic, because how the fuck do instruments sound like they’re telling the truth versus lying, but surely it also comes down to musicianship. And there is little to no dishonesty in June Millington’s guitar playing ever. And I would be remiss not to mention that the rest of the band’s musicianship reflects similarly, and if it didn’t, this version would sound a lot more like The Beatles’ version than it does, so: Fanny’s “Hey Bulldog” would certainly not succeed as well as it does without the essential rhythmic melody of Nickey Barclay’s piano (the piano riff, which this song was originally built around), nor the steady and groovy support of Jean Millington’s basslines or Alice de Buhr’s unwavering timing and straight-ahead, badass drumming, without which this song’s heartbeat would have very little heart, let alone a beat! Simply stated, if it were not for all of these elements working together honestly and empathetically (and also: joyously! You can tell in the performance that they’re all having fun! Try not to judge de Buhr, though; that’s just her usual intense face of concentration, which I love), it would not have that necessary tone of a collective effort. And that’s the tone that was missing from the original version all along: the tone of collectiveness!

Fanny’s version of this song is everything the song should have been. And if you haven’t heard Fanny’s studio version of “Hey Bulldog” off of their astounding album Fanny Hill (1972), I say to you: good luck. I find it difficult to restrain myself from listening to it on repeat for four hours minimum. Aren’t we lucky that it had the consolation of existing, after all!