That focus is apparent from the title on down, and it’s a relief to see the scope reduced to two songs. Who needs another general overview of this particular band? (Yes, it’s good those exist in general, there will always be new, curious people as time passes, but it feels like that category is pretty densely populated at this point.) The Beatles are also one of the few acts that could conceivably sustain (in a financial sense) a whole book on one of their singles, even a double A side. But Let Me Take You Down is only partly a history of the two songs. The first section here covers, in 50 pages, the circumstances of the two songs’ creation. It looks at the first period where the four members tried taking a break from the Beatles (and, in some cases, had existential crises about what not being a Beatle might mean), Lennon and McCartney’s artistic partnership/slight rivalry, the personal history that fed into both songs, and so on. It’s well done and moves briskly; someone who knew nothing about the Beatles would probably come away wanting to know more, and those already deeply steeped in the lore won’t feel their time has been wasted.

The second and final section here is nearly twice as long as the first; Cott, clearly a seasoned interviewer (with an impressive ability to either quote other myriad other works and authors out of thin air, or an impressive dedication to keeping potentially relevant quotations on hand to refer to), sits down with “five remarkable people” to discuss the single. Only two of them, Laurie Anderson and Bill Frisell, are primarily known as musicians. The other three are the urban planner and Gramavision Records founder Jonathan F. P. Rose, Jungian analyst Margaret Klenck, and actor (and, more significantly for his section, noted Buddhist) Richard Gere. These conversations feel like they make up the heart of the book, and are where it will succeed or fail for most readers.

The tone throughout all five conversations is loose and friendly, with everyone involved engaging with the songs (lyrics, sound, historical context, personal context) deeply but informally. It’s worth noting that the median age of all six interlocutors is in the early 70s, and all come at “Strawberry Fields Forever”/“Penny Lane” from the perspective of people who were there at the time and who’ve been playing and thinking about these two particular songs ever since. Although Cott does have a bit of a thesis (based on James Hillman’s The Dream and the Underworld, with Paul as Zeus taking you “back” and John as Hades taking you “down”), he doesn’t impose it on any of the conversations and they all go in their own directions. Are these songs about depression? memory? love? the illusion of the self? all of the above? Let Me Take You Down’s most cardinal virtue is the way it might remind you of your own deep conversations with friends about music (Beatles or not), digging deeply into shared passions and volleying insights and theories back and forth.

The result is a book small in scope that goes to surprising places. If there are quibbles to be had, they’re along the lines of wishing “Penny Lane” got as much space from any of the people involved as “Strawberry Fields Forever” (but then again, isn’t the underworld something most of us find more fascinating, and easier to talk about, than our pasts?), and that the dense repetition of “said,” “explained,” “commented,” etc. might make one wish these interviews were presented in a more transcript-like style. Those small issues aside, the only big issue Let Me Take You Down really has is the obvious one, that most can answer for themselves instantly: in 2024, do you want to read another book about the Beatles?