Regardless of title etymology, there's something different going on with Yoko, an urgency that was never present before. Whereas the sextet's When Your Heartstrings Break and The Coast Is Never Clear presented the listener with the sort of sugary-pop kitsch that artsy college kids use for film school projects (not that that's a bad thing), Yoko finds the band embracing a curiously new tenderness. Songs lilt and swing, drum fills are plentiful, majestic guitars charmingly weep, and Kurosky emotes every whisper and gush with intimate affection.
The record's most telling track, the album closer "Wipe Those Prints and Run," is an opus that joins rock history's most precious moments without sounding too derivative. It's as if the Beulah boys tapped the vein from whence flowed Led Zeppelin's "When the Levee Breaks," Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon," and the Beatles' "Helter Skelter." By the end of the song, instruments have climaxed and broken down, but even in their sloppy, post-coital state, their remaining notes ache and glow.
Perhaps, then, it's worth remembering that while Yoko initially seemed to be the wrench in the well-oiled mop-top machine, the Fab Four did produce their most cohesive work, Abbey Road, in their post-Yoko existence. -- Abigail Clouseau
