Tune In

by Mark Lewisohn

  Dick James had a reputation for honesty, and there was much goodwill for him to succeed—Record Retailer called him “the pillar of the trade,” and his longtime American associate Lee Eastman, visiting London from New York, wouldn’t have left without dropping by to wish him well.63 James’ determination to make a success of his business was unlimited, at least so long as the £5,000 start-up capital lasted. Half came from his own savings and half from his accountant, Emanuel Charles Silver, who recognized the sound investment potential. James found a “suite” of two small offices on the first floor at 132 Charing Cross Road, right over the corner of Denmark Street, and opened for business on September 21, 1961, the day after Yom Kippur and a week after George Martin’s “Double Scotch” was released on Parlophone by the Ron Goodwin Orchestra. With so many American companies operating around him, James made a conscious decision to promote British: in a handwritten document lodged with the Performing Right Society (PRS) he set out his mission statement: “It is the intention of the company to pursue a policy of securing and exploiting works by British writers. It is probable that the company may well publish works of foreign origin but the accent will be on British works wherever and whenever possible.”64

  On Sunday, December 3, the Beatles had their second meeting with Brian Epstein, to discuss management. It was the day they said yes.

  Bob Wooler wasn’t with them this time, it was just the Beatles, with three hours to spare before a night in the Casbah. Each made his own way by bus to Whitechapel for the 4:30 appointment. John, George and Pete arrived, Paul didn’t. Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. Brian became edgy. Anyone wanting to get under his skin could guarantee success by turning up late—he was a sensitive character and took it as a personal slight, and he also found it insultingly rude. Beyond this, Paul’s non-arrival made things awkward—Brian wouldn’t want to say everything twice, so they waited for him to show … and waited. Brian’s irritation couldn’t be suppressed, and at least one Beatle was angry too: as Brian would recall, “George was really cross with Paul because he thought he was going to spoil things.”65

  “I was a bit put out,” Brian said two years later, more coolly collected. “I thought, ‘This is the first meeting, they want to do something about management …’ ”66 He had every right to wonder what was going on. Paul was patently ambitious, liked to impress, and the Beatles needed a manager, so why was he doing this to the one person trying to help him, probably the only man in Liverpool who stood any chance of getting him everything he wanted?

  After three quarters of an hour, Brian suggested George phone Forthlin Road to establish when Paul had left for the bus. He returned saying Paul had only just got out of bed, was now having a bath, and would be along when he was done. Brian blew … but ended up being charmed and laughing—the usual Beatle mix. “I shouted about a bit, and I thought ‘This is very disgraceful indeed!’ and ‘How can he be so late for an important thing?’ and George, with his slow, lopsided smile, just simply replied—it was very typical of them—’Well he may be late but he’s very clean.’ ”67

  It’s unlikely Paul arrived much before six, when Brian finally got to explain in detail the London meetings he’d had on their behalf. EMI and Decca were likely to be back in touch within days, although neither would decide anything until clear on the terms of the Kaempfert contract.

  The Beatles’ reservoir of self-worth surely filled even higher when Brian expressed genuine surprise on hearing they earned only £15 per night between them. They told him promoters wouldn’t pay more, but Brian said their value was greater, and he intended to do something about it. (“I hoped that even if I were not to run their affairs completely I could at least secure a decent rate for their performances.”)68

  Brian agreed to have a separate meeting with Pete at which they would discuss Beatles bookings—leading to a transfer of responsibility, relieving Pete of the job; and he also undertook to look into the Beatles’ accounts and tax situation. Before Brian came along, the Beatles had appointed their own accountant, Keith Smith, a reputable young man who worked in one of the top local firms; Brian said he would meet him to establish the current state of affairs.69 Otherwise, his priorities were to get the Beatles a recording contract and get them photographed.

  Brian was, in several ways, the ideal manager for Paul: “He’d gone to a public school: it was another strata of society, [and] none of us had been to RADA.”70 He also says Brian’s religion was an attraction for him, which wouldn’t have been the case with John and George, though it also wasn’t something that kept them away. “My dad was quite pleased when we went with Brian because he thought Jewish people had a flair with money, which I think is probably true.”71

  However, John remembered Paul’s attitude to Brian being very different. John was always emphatic that Paul didn’t want Brian as the Beatles’ manager and presented obstacles to destabilize him, to make his job difficult … like turning up late for meetings. “Three of us chose Epstein. Paul used to sulk and God knows what … [Paul] wasn’t that keen [on Brian]—he’s more conservative, the way he approaches things. He even says that: it’s nothing he denies.”72

  Paul’s stance may in part have been a reaction to John’s, who always made snap judgments and leapt right in. It was a major and constant difference between them. “John said to me once, ‘Look, imagine you’re like on a cliff-top and you’re thinking about diving off. Dive! Try it!’ I said, ‘Like bloody hell I’m gonna dive. You dive and give us a shout and tell me how it is, and then if it’s great I’ll dive.’ John always had a strong instinct to do that, but it’s not my personality.”73

  Paul has confirmed that he asked Brian most of the questions about the contract: there had to be a signed agreement between them, but there wasn’t one yet because Brian was still looking into it. Paul says they didn’t know the going rate for a manager’s commission—“We had a little discussion about percentage, whether it was going to be 20 or 15 or maybe 10 perhaps, you know, because isn’t that what they charge? We were pretty naive then”74—but, having mixed with other artists for the best part of eighteen months, they surely had some idea. They’re likely to have heard from Johnny Gentle that Larry Parnes kept him on £15 a week but took 40–50 percent from his bigger artists.

  At seven o’clock the pubs opened and they left the shop and went for a drink.75 The conversation relaxed, and it might have been at this point that Brian first learned John and Paul had written some songs. It was a while back, but they still had them. It’s clear from a letter Brian wrote five days later that he now knew this detail and there’s nothing to indicate he knew it before—and, given that he enthused about the quality of one of the songs, he must have heard it in the interim, probably in the Cavern the night of December 6.

  Perhaps it was coincidence, perhaps not, but it was here and now, in the last month of 1961, that John and Paul finally set their old reservations aside and the Beatles started playing Lennon-McCartney songs on a regular basis. The first was “Like Dreamers Do,” written by Paul in 1959—he sang it like he sang “Till There Was You,” “Over the Rainbow” and “The Honeymoon Song,” with his face turned up and angled, big eyes fixed on the far end of the tunnel, above the heads of the crowd. John also sang one, “Hello Little Girl,” the third song he wrote (but the first to stick), from 1957; and within days they added a third, Paul’s unusually melodic rock-ballad “Love of the Loved,” also from 1959. To begin with, they confined these numbers solely to the Cavern, where they were among adoring family—as John put it, the Cavernites “still preferred the straight rock but they were very nice to us.”76 Brian seized on it: this gave the Beatles a unique selling point. Who else among artists hoping for a recording contract could boast their own self-written songs?

  For all their ego and self-belief, it was still a shock for the Beatles to hear, as Brian told them, that they would one day be bigger than Elvis. George was genuinely taken aback by the remark. “That is where Brian was good. He knew how to get it
happening. We had felt cocky and certain but when Epstein said ‘You’re going to be bigger than Elvis you know,’ we thought, ‘Well, how big do you have to be? I mean, I doubt that.’ That seemed outrageous, yet he did have the right attitude.”77

  History is actually a little muddied about when the Beatles told Brian he had the job. Accounts of what was said at which meeting and where quickly became jumbled, but if it wasn’t here on this day, Sunday, December 3 (and it probably was), it was very soon after. The decision, of course, was John’s. This democracy had a leader and only he approved the moves. It was time for another of his big decisions. His first was to bring in Paul and his second was to allow Paul to bring in George. This was the third. Should he admit Brian Epstein into their partnership, or not?

  We certainly weren’t naive. We were no more naive than he was. It was a mutual deal. You want to manage us? OK, we’ll let you. We allow you to. We weren’t picked up off the street, we allowed him to take us …

  It was assessment. I make a lot of mistakes, character-wise, but now and then I make a good one … and Brian was one.78

  Five months earlier, writing his pocket CV for Bert Kaempfert, John was categoric in his stated ambition, scribbling three short words: “TO BE RICH.” Brian was a man who might achieve it for him. Of all the characters he knew in Liverpool, no one better suggested the possibility. It was plain that Brian had a fragile personality, but he was also intelligent, cultured, a fellow reader and thinker, generous, smart, civilized, cool, edgy, arrogant and, most vitally, a risk-taker. There was enough here for John to decide, and to disregard Paul’s games. In time he’d subject Brian to a few tests of character, to find out how he really worked—but, for now, John had seen and heard enough.

  “Right then, Brian—manage us.”79

  * * *

  * And straightaway the surname pronunciation problems began again. Some (including Wooler and—most of the time—the Beatles) said it as “Epsteen” and others said “Epstine.” Brian still used “Epstine,” contrary to the rest of his family.

  † In December 1961, S. A. Beecher-Stevens was 54, L. G. Wood 51, Colin Borland 41 and Ron White 40.

  TWENTY-THREE

  DECEMBER 1961

  THE BOYS

  The Beatles’ fan base followed a steep upward curve through the autumn of 1961 and into what was already set to be the severest winter in a decade. The Cavern was the crucible—this is where it was all happening, and word spread from here by lunchtime and by night, out into the offices, shops and schools of Liverpool. Playing the Cavern between three and five times a week now, the Beatles inspired infinite passions, allegiances and joyful delight in their followers, some of whom also grabbed the easy opportunity to become their acquaintances or friends.

  Geoff Davies was an 18-year-old jazz fan forced to “drop all prejudices” when he caught the Beatles one lunchtime. He went back as often as possible.

  One of my favorite numbers was “Money.” They always varied the intro—sometimes they’d keep it going for a long time—and then there was John Lennon’s voice as he came in with “The best things in life are free!” No one had ever sung like this before. It was so dirty and horrible, but horrible-great.

  They had this “couldn’t care less” attitude, with their style and the jokes they cracked between numbers, but of course they did care. It got to the stage where I just loved this lot so much.1

  Fourteen-year-old Linda Ness was a member of the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament, a badge-wearing beatnik in duffel-coat and desert boots, quite unprepared for the sight of the Beatles.

  They were true all-round entertainers—no other group had members taking the mickey out of each other during songs. They did silly walks, they larked around, and sent-up records in the top twenty, just a couple of bars but enough. They didn’t tell jokes as such, with a beginning and end, but there were loads of throwaway gags, typically Liverpool and very original, with wordplay and double-entendres.

  They also smoked and ate during their set—they’d take a bite from a sandwich and leave it on top of an amp, sing a song, then go back for another bite. And they stuck lit cigarettes on the ends of their guitar strings—George particularly did that. They were incredibly charismatic … and John Lennon in a leather suit was a sight to behold!2

  One of Linda Ness’s closest friends was Linda Steen. John called them Lindy and Lou (or Louey) and that’s how they stayed. They went to evening sessions together, and Lou also saw some lunchtime shows.

  I used to bunk off school and race down the Cavern for lunchtime sessions. Every stitch of my clothes stank afterward and it was great. I didn’t care.

  We saw every Liverpool band. The Big Three were shit-hot, head-butting rockers but the Beatles were streets ahead. I loved “Searchin’,” “Memphis,” loads of them, and my favorite was “Your Feet’s Too Big.” Sometimes George’s guitar solo would be an awkward moment, but the energy of their performances was fantastic: they played proper rock and roll, they enjoyed themselves, and they were drop-dead gorgeous.

  John came over as a bit of a hard-case—nice too, but edgy. Paul was the pretty boy: I fancied him and was blinded by the google-eyes—also, he was approachable and never offhand. George was the young one who looked kind of vulnerable, and Pete was like “I’m a gorgeous simmering sex-god but don’t talk to me because I’m too busy playing me drums.” He hardly cracked a smile, but John, Paul and George were always getting the giggles and bursting out laughing. Pete was on his own, but he did look good with them. Off stage, no matter how busy they were, they were never rude—they always made time for you. They weren’t Little Lord Fauntleroys but they were nice; they could have been right bastards and they weren’t.3

  Freda Kelly was a 16-year-old office secretary. She preferred the second lunchtime spot, but because her “dinner hour” finished at two and the Beatles played until a few minutes after, she “was always running back late.” Had anyone watched Mathew Street in the middle of the day they would have seen many lads and lasses haring back to their schools, shops or offices, incapable of tearing themselves away from the Beatles a moment sooner. For Freda, as for so many others, it was love at first sight.

  They were messing about on stage and that’s what I liked, the fun side of it. Initially, I liked Paul the most, for his looks, but then George spoke to me and I liked him. He was thoughtful, and while the other two were always larking about, George would just say something dry. They all had their own following, and Pete had plenty of fans. He was very quiet, though, and wasn’t on the scene with them around town, in the KD [Kardomah] and other places. The three of them bounced off each other—there was repartee the whole time—but I don’t think they listened to each other much.4

  Pat Brady was 15 and went to Childwall Valley High School for Girls. It was a two-bus journey to town and going out lunchtimes was forbidden. “I went to school in my uniform with other clothes underneath. I used to register and then sneak out at morning break, and go back for the end of the day. I got my comeuppance, but I don’t regret having done it. It was such an exciting time.”

  I really liked John, though I found him overwhelming. He would come up really close to you, look you in the eye and say something. I was quite a mature 15-year-old and wasn’t stupid so I could quip back at him, which of course he absolutely reveled in. He would just stand there and soak it all up.

  I could make George giggle by staring at his feet—he knew I was doing it and it would set him laughing; Paul also thought it was hysterical and that would get me going, so they called me Laughing Annie. John once signed an autograph to me as “Love to Laughing Pat or Deaf Annie or Happy Ernie from John Lennon xxx.”5

  The Cavern had no hiding place. On that tiny stage, within arm’s reach of an adoring, respecting audience, everyone witnessed everything. Liverpudlians are renowned for seeing through sham … but the Beatles weren’t faking, and their personalities were always in full view. No greater insight into the Beatles at the end of 1961 can be had t
han from the words of the people glued to their every move.

  The Beatles had a big following of males. Other groups didn’t. They didn’t follow Gerry and the Pacemakers but they followed the Beatles, which you knew was another good thing for them.

  Freda Kelly

  They would say things that would make you think.

  Steve Calrow

  When Paul sang “Besame Mucho,” John used to stand behind him and make cripple faces. He had to: Paul was asking for it. But John wasn’t particular—he also took the piss out of George and Pete, mostly by imitations of some kind.

  Lindy Ness

  You could tell right away they were into the Goons. John and Paul said things to each other in Goon voices.

  Geoff Davies

  You had to be a Paul fan or a John fan or a George fan or a Pete fan—you had to be identified with one Beatle, you couldn’t only be a fan of the band.

  Susan Sanders

  I liked Pete, and he was a great favorite with the fans. He was a very nice boy. I think Paul was number one and then Pete. George was my own favorite, though, and then Paul.

  Maureen O’Shea

  When they did Chuck Berry’s “Almost Grown,” John used to do the spastic bit, singing it like “halmosgrun,” and do a club-foot walk around the stage à la Charles Laughton.