As someone whose formative years were profoundly influenced by The Beatles, I just assumed that their music was so indelibly etched in my consciousness that I would never hear it in a new way. The songs — all of them, or nearly — had taken on such a mythic quality that spinning them every so often and letting their magnificence wash over me would do just fine. (Pictured: The Beatles circa 1967, (c) Apple Corps Ltd 2009.)

Then on 9.09.09 came the remastered catalogue — 22 years after the initial CD issue — and an opportunity for a new perspective. I was sorely tempted to plunk down the 200-some bucks for the boxed set, but ultimately found the purchase a bit too dear, so I’ve vowed to scrimp and save and acquire as many of the 14 individual CDs as I can.

Which titles to start with is a source of great debate among Beatles devotees, but for me it was easy: Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band and Revolver. (Pepper wins as my favorite in a photo finish.) I was excited, of course, about the chance to hear “Getting Better,” “And Your Bird Can Sing,” “Lovely Rita,” “She Said She Said,” “Good Morning Good Morning,” “Tomorrow Never Knows” et al in crisp new sonic dimensions that took an elite group of engineers four years to accomplish.

But I didn’t expect a revelation.

After purchasing the discs, I whetted my appetite in a stock car stereo, but it wasn’t until I slipped Sgt. Pepper into my NAD CD player, adjusted the volume on my beast of a Sony receiver, ran it through my B&W tower speakers and grabbed the sweet spot on the couch that the amazement commenced.

Damn if I wasn’t hearing Beatles music in a new way. It’s not as simple as discovering fresh details, like the way hand percussion — shakers, tambourines and the like — gives the songs enhanced rhythmic propulsion; or how a bass harmonica fattens the low end of “Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite;” or how the string quartet on “Eleanor Rigby” reveals its component parts (dig the deep cello in the left channel).

It’s more than that: The remasters humanize the music.

How’s that, you say? Hasn’t the Beatles’ music always been valued for its humanity? Of course, but I’m talking about something different: the way the new versions provide a vivid reminder that humans actually made this music. It occurred to me that I had only heard Fab Four songs in more visceral circumstances: on transistor radios or a cheap record player as a kid; on crappy stereos in dorms and apartments as a young adult; in the car or as background party music as a grownup.

Sitting in the dark on the couch, it dawned on me: I hadn’t really listened to the Beatles in decades.

So the next day I pulled the original ’87 discs from the shelf and played them through the same stereo system. Yes, they are compressed and short on nuance in comparison to the remasters, but in no way are they’re lousy (which has been the accepted take on the early CDs over the last couple of decades).

The new versions were actually a bit unsettling at first. Because of all their sonic specifics, they downplayed some of the music’s majesty, made me constantly aware that a group of exceptionally talented musicians at a particular place and time pooled their resources and succeeded beyond all expectation. Rather than heaven sent, Pepper and Revolver were the product of intense creativity. And painstaking work. OK, maybe a bit of the divine as well.

So the new CDs demythologize the music some. I was hoping for a new perspective ­— and I got one.

Over several days of hyper-focused listening, I marveled at the consistent rightness of the aesthetic decisions, which is to warn you that we are now entering the geek portion of this article:

During the tape-loop calliope segment of “Mr. Kite,” a simple, wheezing organ plays the melody underneath, keeping the song grounded.

In the string section of “She’s Leaving Home” (one of the Pepper track’s I most neglected), staccato chirps counter the sweeping lines, adding to the tune’s quiet turmoil. And I’d not previously registered how McCartney’s vocals so exquisitely evokes regret and sadness.

On “Good Morning Good Morning,” the acerbic reed section is relegated to the right channel and pushed back in the mix, which sets the stage for the rambunctious power of the guitar solo.

As the first string crescendo in “A Day in the Life” gives way to the peppy McCartney section (“woke up, got out of bed”) Ringo taps four beats to the bar on the snare drum, accentuating the galloping rhythm.

The ramshackle acoustic guitar on “I’m Only Sleeping” helps give the song its slacker vibe.

The rhythm track of “Here There and Everywhere” relies on little more than muted drums, bass and a simple electric guitar chords, allowing the lush vocal arrangement to carry the tune.

A low-register boogie piano adds to the bounce of “Good Day Sunshine.”

The Carl Perkins-esque, early Beatles twang on the verses of “Dr. Robert” is countered by a spacey bridge (“Well, well, well, you’re feeling fine”) anchored by a droning organ. And on the chorus harmonies, I love McCartney’s bluesy shout as a counterpart of Lennon’s nasality.

An aggressive, four-square tambourine part on “Got to Get You Into My Life,” which sounds as if it’s coming from a center channel, gives the groove extra heft.

Suffice to say I could go on. And on.

In closing, let me pass along a tip that would seem obvious. I’d only recommend acquiring the remasters if you have a credible hi-fi system. During my Beatles vigil, I invited a couple of fellow travelers over for listening sessions. One of them, who already had the boxed set on order, said, “Oh shit, now I’ve got to buy a stereo.”

To find out more about this weekend's WMNF Beatles Tribute, click here; to read more about Rock Band: The Beatles, click here.

The Beatles’ “Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band” from Yellow Submarine.

And "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds"