Rubber Soul inched toward the idea of a Beatles record without rules, but that one was staunchly traditionalist compared to what came next. Revolver has probably topped more all-time greatest albums lists than any other Beatles LP, and a lot of that has to do with its historical significance: They really blew the doors off with this shit. The Beatles became the biggest band in the world partly by participating in the highly systematic big-budget teenage music industry. There was a procedure to be followed. Even though they broke the mold by writing most of their own songs, they were still part of a musical assembly line of sorts. In look and feel, sound and spirit, there was an underlying uniformity in their output. They were easily digestible. Even a square could wrap his head around the Beatles.

That all changed with Revolver — just ask Don Draper. This is where they got weirder and more sophisticated, where all the drugs (hello, “Doctor Robert”!), world travels, and spiritual seeking congealed into something entirely unique. Away went the matching wardrobes and the cookie-cutter songwriting. Not only is every track on Revolver its own beast, some of them are incredibly strange (albeit character-appropriate) beasts. John’s acid-fried tape loop “Tomorrow Never Knows” is, to paraphrase Primal Scream, far more than five years ahead of its time. “Love To You” tumbles all the way down George’s sitar rabbit hole. Ringo sings “Yellow Submarine,” the first of many Beatles songs that could (and did) double as cartoons. “Eleanor Rigby” dispensed with the rock band entirely, setting Paul’s mournful croon against a string quartet.

Speaking of “Eleanor Rigby,” it’s one of several remarkably traditional moments on this record, all of which can be traced to Paul. (Other culprits include “Here, There, And Everywhere,” “Good Day Sunshine,” and the heart-stopping French horn ballad “For No One.”) Paradoxically, in the context of the rock revolution, those blasts from the past are among Revolver’s weirdest moments. Those songs did as much as the mind-benders to reframe the possibilities of rock ‘n’ roll. In turn, “Taxman,” “She Said She Said” and “And Your Bird Can Sing” deploy wanton psychedelic fuzzbombing the likes of which had never been heard on a Beatles song, forging new frontiers in an entirely different capacity. Anyhow, here’s why Revolver rules even if you don’t know the first thing about its circumstances: No matter how the band chose to dress them up, these were just tremendous pop songs through and through. “I’m Only Sleeping”? “I Want To Tell You”? “Got To Get You Into My Life”? Unfuckwithable, one and all.