AIs Of a Dreamer

“I think it’s totally appropriate and actually quite amazing and cool, if I can still use that word,” Emma said. “To release this new material on the one hundredth anniversary of their first record is nothing short of astounding and extraordinary.”

“Any more adjectives you’d like to throw at me,?” James said,

strumming the guitar tattooed on his bald head. G Major played softly. 

“Alright alright, but you have to admit this is pretty great, right? It’s not every day you unearth a new Beatles song and a video to boot. True?”

Emma Martin, the Great Granddaughter of the legendary record producer and longtime Beatle collaborator George Martin, bit down on a small green tablet, let it linger sublingually for a moment, then swallowed the mushroom laced pill. “Want one,?” she asked James. 

“No thanks Em, already dosed this morning and yes I do think the timing would be perfect, it’ll be all over the media. I mean, it would be anyway, but this just ups the hype. Has your team finished cleaning up the video yet?”

“Almost, I’ll get it to you as soon as possible so your team can start the campaign.”

“We’ll begin dropping teasers into all the meta media and soci sites immediately, you gotta rev up the machine you know,” James said. “This will be immense!”  

On October 5th 1962 The Beatles released their first record, “Love Me Do,” and on October 5th 2062 a new record, the first since 2023’s AI augmented recording “Now and Then,” will be released. Beatlemania begins again 10/5/62

Read the net notice. 

Emma smiled and humming the new song absently, fidgeted with a few dials on her antique studio soundboard.  

The song and accompanying video had been found within the walls of Abbey Road Studios

when it was demolished in 2058 and had been in a gestational period ever since, waiting for teams of copyright lawyers and musicologists to sift through the material and guide it into the right hands. Emma seemed the correct choice not only because of her technological prowess but also for her historical significance, for being a

Martin. George, then his son Giles and now Emma Martin, a musical dynasty for one hundred years.  

Emma wanted James, the head of Media Ideas LLC, to be the first to see and hear the finished product. Dressed in a retro-peasant dress, adorned with strands of brightly colored necklaces and bangles, her long purple hair flowing around her shoulders, she entered James’ physical office, sat down cross legged on the floor and began humming a tune, the tune. 

“Okay Emma, I only have this space for a few hours. I do kinda like that whenever we meet, we do it old style, in person, and not virtually, given the material we’re involved in, it seems only fitting.”

“Exactly,” she said. I want to see your reaction, as they used to say, up close and personal.” And with that she steepled her fingers in the air, pulled them apart slowly, forming a large rectilinear screen, pointed and bounced two fingers towards it.  

Images appeared and clarified in midair. A closeup of John Lennon, vintage 1969, sitting behind a grand piano, long hair split down the middle, small round glasses, mouth chewing gum, as he sang. The room filled with music as the camera pulled back to show the whole band. Paul in a black suit, playing his iconic left handed base, George in Indian inspired garments playing his Stratocaster, and Ringo in a loose purple shirt, beating away in left handed fashion on the drums. They were in the old Abbey Road Studios. 

John began to sing. 

You’ve got the eyes of a dreamer

And the mind of a sage

I love your whole story

I love every page 

You’ve got the eyes of a dreamer

And the face of a child

You call me a dreamer

But there’s love in your smile 

Eyes of a dreamer

Eyes of a dreamer

Help me see

Help me love

You are my whole world girl 

What my dreams are made of 

Let me see

Let me love

We’ll be the whole world girl

I’m below you’re above

Eyes of a dreamer

Eyes of a dreamer 

The harmonies sent chills up James’ spine. Here they were, young and alive, seemingly happy to be playing together although on the cusp of a litigious breakup that would last years. James’ moist eyes met Emma’s. “This is amazing.”

“Adjectives, baby, adjectives,” she teased.  

“Are you sure this is for real,?” James asked

“Doesn’t it look real,?” she answered. 

“C’mon Em, you know that’s no answer, anything can look real, you know that. I’m not sure if I’m real sometimes. The Intelligence has gotten so good they’re not even calling it Artificial anymore. We’re  becoming artificial, everyone’s nano dosing and micro dosing hallucinogens and cannabinoids, losing themselves in fabricated realities. What’s real anymore?”

“Watch it again,” she said. 

“I soooo want this to be real,

I love this song, it’s instantly singable,” he said. 

“It’s a John song. Came from the Abbey Road sessions and for some reason never made it to the album. Then just disappeared.”

“True story?”

“Sure.”

“I have an idea,” James said. “Let’s get all the remaining children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren together for the song’s introduction. We could play the video for them and then have them all sing along with the band, you know, in Give Peace a Chance style. Imagine (no pun intended), a whole studio full of Beatles descendants, all singing along with their long gone relatives. It would be a singular event.”

“See,” Emma said, “this is why you’re the best.”

The night it dropped, it instantly became the most seen video in history, eclipsing everything else. In a real studio, real people in real time, watched a four minute performance by four long dead British musicians and sang along, clapping, hugging and crying for well over one hour in a room awash in shared DNA. 

The next month, after the media had moved on to the next “thing,” Emma paid another visit to James, remotely this time. 

“What would you say if I told you an entire album had been found,? she said. 

“Album? You mean a Beatles album,?” he said. “No way, not possible. Where? By who,?” his excitement raising his pitch.  

“Yeah, well, when that last earthquake knocked down the Dakota in New York, they found these old tapes. Must’ve been buried under the floorboards in one of the bedrooms. Yoko bought the whole damn place for her hundredth birthday as a gift to herself, remember,? Emma said. 

“True story?”

“Sure.”