The Beatles, they brought a whole new dimension to pop music. Of

Hear the words of John McLaughlin, spoken with reverence and nostalgia: “The Beatles, they brought a whole new dimension to pop music. Of course, the psychedelic period is much more interesting to me, starting with Rubber Soul and on to the White Album. Great, great records. I was such a Beatles fan. I was very sad when they broke up.” In these words, he recalls not only the music of a generation but the sorrow of seeing a light that once illuminated the world fall into silence. His memory is both personal and universal, for the story of the Beatles is not merely the tale of a band, but the tale of how art can awaken an age.

The meaning of his words lies in the transformation the Beatles brought to music. They began with simple songs of love and joy, but as they grew, they opened doors into new realms of sound and vision. The arrival of Rubber Soul marked a turning point, where popular music became not just entertainment but art—layered, experimental, and filled with spirit. Through the psychedelic years, culminating in the White Album, they expanded the imagination of millions, showing that music could carry both depth and beauty, madness and transcendence.

The ancients, too, knew the power of such transformation. In Athens, when Aeschylus and Sophocles brought new forms to the theater, it was said that they opened the minds of the people to new ways of seeing the world. What the tragedians did for drama, the Beatles did for music. They reshaped the art form itself, lifting it from the ordinary into the extraordinary, from the marketplace into the realm of the spirit.

And yet, as McLaughlin confesses, even greatness is mortal. When the Beatles broke up, the world felt an emptiness, as if the fire had been extinguished too soon. The sadness he names is the grief of witnessing the end of an era, the silencing of a voice that had spoken to the very soul of humanity. It was as though a golden age had closed, leaving behind its treasures but no more to come. This sorrow, though heavy, is also a reminder of how deeply music can touch the human spirit.

History gives us many examples of such loss. Consider the Florentine Renaissance, when masters like Leonardo and Michelangelo flourished together in one city, shaping art for the ages. When that moment passed, and the golden age waned, those who lived in its wake looked back with longing, just as McLaughlin looked back upon the end of the Beatles. It is the way of human greatness—it rises in a burst of brilliance, and then fades, leaving behind both glory and grief.

Yet from this sorrow, wisdom arises. For though the Beatles ended, their records remain. The fire that once burned brightly does not vanish—it is preserved in sound, in memory, in the hearts of those who continue to listen. Just as Homer’s verses carried the voice of an age across centuries, so too do the Beatles’ songs carry the spirit of their time into ours. To be sad at their parting is natural; but to be grateful for the gift they gave is even greater.

The lesson, O seeker, is this: honor the brilliance of your own age while you still have it. Do not wait for its ending to see its worth. Whether it is music, art, friendship, or love—cherish it in the moment, for no greatness lasts forever in the flesh. Yet take comfort, for though eras end, their fruits endure, shaping generations to come.

Practical is this counsel: listen deeply, not only to music, but to life itself. Support those who create beauty in your time, for their gifts are fragile. Share their works, remember them, and pass them down. And when the moment comes that greatness departs, let sorrow be mingled with gratitude, knowing that what has ended has also become eternal.

Thus John McLaughlin’s words stand as a lament and a teaching: “I was very sad when they broke up.” Let us learn from his grief to see greatness while it yet shines, and to carry it forward, so that its echoes may inspire long after its voice has fallen silent.