What of the book's main subject though, the songs themselves? Here, MacDonald appears to waver precariously (and infuriatingly) between occasional brilliance and long-winded irrelevance. Perhaps that is unfairly harsh, but prospective readers should be warned that there is a lot of music theory in this book. In many ways, the it is all worryingly reminiscent of the talk of 'aeolian cadences' that famously appeared in the London Times in the early 60s, making the Beatles acceptable to the intellectual classes overnight. If straight-faced discussion of modes, tonics and time signatures is your gig then this book is highly recommended, but to a majority of readers such discussion is largely meaningless and perhaps irrelevant. One can't help but feel that this is precisely the sort of scholarly analysis that the band themselves would have ridiculed in their time. Mercifully, MacDonald's temptation to reach for the thesaurus at every opportunity does let up a little from his introduction, making this second part of the book a more forgiving, enjoyable read.

Perhaps it would seem unfair, and not a little juvenile, to dismiss a book simply because of its intellectual ambition. It might also be misleading to imply that credence is given only to songs that employ exotic time signatures. There is, without doubt, great insight here. What is more, as one reviewer comments, this book will send you scurrying back to your old Beatles records to listen with fresh ears, and surely anything capable of that has to be pretty special. MacDonald's penetrating style of analysis almost guarantees that every song can offer us something new to think about; whether as a consequence of one of his winding eulogies (cf. 'A Day in the Life', 'Tomorrow Never Knows', 'Strawberry Fields Forever') or in disputation of one of his many startling dismissals (cf. 'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds', 'Nowhere Man', 'Across the Universe').

The crucial element here is objectivity. It is this ambition that explains why MacDonald takes the direction he does in terms of analysing the Beatles work. By taking the relatively concrete framework of musicological analysis he can objectively 'prove' that the Beatles were the best (and his introduction should leave us in no doubt that this is his firm belief). Whilst MacDonald can't be criticised for seeking to argue this case (and certainly there's a very strong case to be made), the manner in which he chooses to go about it appears to be wholly contradictory to the spirit of rock n' roll, post-50s pop music, and the Beatles themselves. As he demonstrates at length in the central essay of his 'People's Music' collection, Ian MacDonald appears to have little grasp of the very essence of popular music. What he fails to understand is that the best criticism of pop music succeeds because it recognizes it's own inherent prejudice and presents itself with the irreverence and humour that such a recognition involves.

But the all-important question, should you buy this book? Despite what I've said above, I would highly recommend this book to anyone with a good collection of Beatles records (and let's face it, if you have any appreciation for music whatsoever you'll have a good collection of Beatles records). The fact is, regardless of the extent to which you agree with MacDonald or his modus operandi, you will almost certainly enrich your 'Beatles listening experience' with this book. After all, if the Fukuyama pretensions of the essays become unbearable you can always skip to the main (and most important) section, which deals with the songs. There are certainly a great many positives to admire; MacDonald's re-evaluation of McCartney's role is of particular significance. His lyrical analysis too - although at times lacking in an appreciation of irony and occasionally inexplicably overlooking the lyrics of certain songs (cf. 'Baby's in Black') - is generally strong and imaginative. Occasionally a song's analysis can be spoilt by a tenuous link to the dubious theories he puts forward at the outset of the book, but ultimately this is a fault that one can learn to manoeuvre around. This is a book that deserves to be read, disputed and debated.

But, factually precise and encyclopedic as Revolution In The Head is, it is the spirit and style of the book that resound and remain with the reader. Ian MacDonald turns a series of recording notes into a classical tragedy. The rise, the peak and the fall of the first and greatest pop band to change the world becomes, through the intimate character portrayal, masterly musical/technical criticism and beautifully crafted historical detail, a story of individual ambition, brotherly love and jealousy, musical genius unbound, a society in flux and a centre that couldn't hold... It has an epic quality and a terrible sadness. I cried at the final words.

More importantly, perhaps, MacDonald identifies through his close examination of The Beatles where and how today's barren social, spiritual, personal mental environments were sown. The revolution of the title comes alive as historical fact as the story he tells confronts us with some unpleasant and highly plausible 'truths' about the way we live now. They are dark and unpleasant truths that in the end overwhelmed him - he took his own life last year, presumably depressed beyond salvation at how the high hopes of the glorious age and revolution he describes - a time when, to paraphrase another great commentator on the sixties, the energy of a generation united in a single flash of shared creativity - have been so savagely betrayed...

I hope Ian MacDonald is resting easy in his grave. For giving the world this book he deserves some peace. It is a sad tribute to him that those of us left alive to read this masterpiece will, or should, while celebrating with him the pure happiness that great music brings, rest a little less easy but a lot wiser in our beds at night, as a result of his insight, passion and marvellous writing.