You Never Give Me Your Money: The Battle for the Soul of the Beatles

by Peter Doggett

  For the next few weeks the Beatles existed simultaneously on two parallel but utterly distinct planes. In London the court case that would determine their future rumbled slowly through late February and early March, before halting for Mr Justice Stamp to reach his verdict. All four Beatles searched for distraction in the comfort of work. McCartney continued to wrestle with his second solo album, having been disappointed by the reaction of friends to the rough mixes he had played them. On 19 February 1971, the day the court case resumed, he issued his first single since leaving the Beatles, the charmingly lightweight 'Another Day'. Symbolically, it was credited to 'Paul and Linda McCartney'.

  Starkey was preparing to issue his own single, 'It Don't Come Easy'. The song was co-written by

  Harrison, who spent much of February in the studio with Phil Spector, while his records continued to dominate the world's sales charts. Lennon was an occasional visitor to those sessions, and recorded several blues-inflected songs of his own. His priority, however, was 'Power to the People', a radical political anthem far removed from the non-violent philosophy of his peace campaign. On his return from Japan he had arranged a lengthy interview with two activists from the Trotskyist newspaper Red Mole. The pair approached him as a potential sponsor and benefactor, recognising that they might have found a kindred spirit in the self-confessed 'Working Class Hero'. Lennon kept silent about his distinctly bourgeois background and engaged in a righteous debate with the Trotskyists about the class struggle, racism and the workers' route to power. Perhaps he felt guilty about his conspicuous wealth, as immediately after the interview he composed his simplistic but undeniably rousing chant as a gesture of political commitment. As with the Maharishi and Janov, he had found a crusade, and instantly remade himself in its image. Soon he and Ono were sporting army fatigues and Japanese riot helmets, and posing for photographs with their fists raised in solidarity with the global revolution. Meanwhile lawyers argued over the most suitable distribution of his riches.

  As Lennon complained later, his political subversion was interrupted by the demands of the legal system: 'We were having meetings all the time with these counsels, every other day, and it went on for weeks and weeks. George and Ringo were getting restless and didn't want to do it any more. George would say, "I've had enough. I don't want to do it. Fuck it all. I don't care if I'm poor."' Harrison diverted his exasperation into a song, 'Sue Me, Sue You Blues'. Money and the lure of the material world had been a constant theme of All Things MustPass, representing the ultimate distraction from the contemplation of divinity. But, as Lennon noted sarcastically, Harrison could be as materialistic as any working-class hero: 'George goes through that every now and then. "I'll give it all away." Will he, fuck! He's got it all charted up, like Monopoly money.'

  None of the three Beatles named as defendants in McCartney's action appeared in court, but John Eastman persuaded the plaintiff to attend. 'I realised it was make or break,' McCartney recalled. 'And it was, it really was. The Beatles' fortune was on the line. Not just mine, but theirs as well.' He strode into Court 16 on 19 February wearing a dark suit but no tie – a self-conscious throwback to teenage rebellion. As Lennon once noted, 'Paul's idea of being different is to look almost straight but to have one ear painted blue.' He sat with his lawyers, glanced around the court and noticed only one familiar face: Allen Klein 'in a brown turtleneck sweater . . . I just looked at him, then turned away.'

  As proceedings began, Klein could have been forgiven for imagining that he was in the dock. David Hurst set out to demolish the American's reputation, accentuating his convictions in New York and linking them to his handling of the Beatles' corporate finances. He alleged that Klein had claimed commissions on projects with which he was not involved, including the McCartney album, and that these claims were not only erroneous but also excessive. The following day Apple's QC, Morris Finer, defended Klein. 'He inherited a situation,' Finer insisted, 'and rightly or wrongly – we say rightly – took the view that the vital thing from his point of view, having regard to the total mess – almost total bankruptcy – of their affairs, was to generate income.' Then he reeled off the ways in which Klein had maximised that income.

  All four Beatles gave written evidence, which ensured that they were saved the potential embarrassment of cross-examination. Lennon's affidavit expressed his horror at the way Apple had been besieged by 'hustlers' and 'spongers', and his gratitude that Klein had imposed financial order on the company. Far from hiding information, 'Klein told me, George and Ringo almost daily what he was doing or trying to do, to the point almost of boring us.' And he insisted that, as far as he knew, Klein had never attempted to extract any money from the Beatles and Apple to which he was not fully entitled.

  His most revealing testimony concerned the group's internal democracy. He admitted that there had been regular arguments since they stopped touring in 1966, particularly between McCartney and Harrison. 'From time to time we all gave displays of temperament and threatened to walk out. Of necessity, we developed a pattern for sorting out our differences, by doing what any three of us decided.' This was a crucial point, hotly contested by McCartney, who insisted that had only happened once, when Klein was appointed. Lennon continued, 'It sometimes took a long time and sometimes there was deadlock and nothing was done, but generally that was the rule we followed, and until recent events, it worked quite well.' Only two issues had been contentious: McCartney's enthusiasm for appointing the Eastmans as the Beatles' managers, to which Lennon objected because they were 'related to one of the group', and the group's music. 'From our earliest days in Liverpool, George and I on the one hand and Paul on the other had different musical tastes. Paul preferred "pop type" music and we preferred what is now called "underground". This may have led to arguments, particularly between Paul and George, but the contrast in our tastes, I am sure, did more good than harm, musically speaking, and contributed to our success.' The truth was being stretched beyond the laws of physics. The contrast of 'musical tastes' was not only inaccurate and intended to denigrate McCartney's work, but Lennon's claim that he welcomed the mix of styles was sharply at odds with his scathing comments about his partner in his recent Rolling Stone interview. Fortunately for Lennon, the magazine's distribution network did not extend to the High Court.

  The affidavits from his colleagues were less contentious. Harrison focused on 'the superior attitude which for years past Paul had shown towards me musically' and reprised the story of his walk-out during the January 1969 sessions. 'Since Paul agreed that he would not try to interfere or teach me how to play,' Harrison testified, his sarcasm evident even in this legal statement, 'I went back. Since the row Paul has treated me more as a musical equal; I think this whole episode shows how a disagreement could be worked out so that we all benefited.' Starkey praised McCartney as 'the greatest bass player in the world', echoing a postcard he had received from his colleague at the end of the January 1969 filming: 'You are the greatest drummer in the world. Really.' He continued, 'He is also very determined. He goes on and on to see if he can get his own way. While that may be a virtue, it did mean that musical disagreements inevitably arose from time to time. But such disagreements contributed to really great products.' Starkey may have concluded by claiming that 'all four of us together could even yet work out everything satisfactorily' but his testimony, like those of Harrison and Lennon, consolidated the view that within the Beatles there was a unified trio, and then there was McCartney – ego-driven, spiky, difficult to please and ultimately divisive. By defending Klein, they had accentuated the gulf between them and McCartney and inadvertently aided his case for dissolution.

  Unable to testify in person as he was not named as a participant in the case, Klein still made his presence felt. First Apple's QC, Morris Finer, read into court an affidavit by an accountant who testified that Klein had increased the Beatles' income by a factor of five in two years, and that Apple was finally solvent. 'This is why my clients don't want the man interfered with,' Finer added, 'an
d would not have thought that Mr McCartney would either.' This was merely a warm-up for the main event: Finer's recitation of an epic 46-page affidavit from Klein, which commanded several hours of the court's time. Klein introduced himself as a 'record manufacturer, music publisher and entertainment business manager', and set out to defend himself against McCartney's attacks on 'my commercial integrity', and 'to demonstrate that the assets of The Beatles' partnership are not in any sense now in jeopardy'. He rebuffed allegations about the legality of his trading activities in the United States, his recent tax convictions and his handling of the Apple empire. He claimed that his priority was always 'to sort out the confusion which I found at Apple and to negotiate commercial arrangements for The Beatles much more advantageous to them than those previously subsisting'. He viewed the possible appointment of an official receiver to handle the Beatles' partnership as being likely to 'undermine the financial and commercial status of The Beatle companies. It will make it impossible to recruit new artists, and it will create enormous confusion in the minds of companies and individuals having dealings with Apple as to whom they should account and with whom they should deal.' Apple, he concluded, would be 'gravely damaged' by such a move.

  Throughout, Klein presented himself as a man of great patience and understanding who had withstood a barrage of opposition and invective from the Eastmans and McCartney. At every point of conflict he had been proven right; even McCartney, Klein claimed, had been forced to recognise the logic of his arguments and actions. Yet there was one gaping hole in his testimony: at no point did he acknowledge that the Beatles had broken up. He presumably knew that the central arch of McCartney's case was unanswerable: the partnership was dead. By ignoring that fact, he was effectively acknowledging that he had lost the battle. Klein's best hope was that he might emerge from the debris with his integrity intact.

  Finer consolidated Klein's affidavit with another wash of figures designed to demonstrate that the manager had not only restricted his share of the Beatles' income to that laid down in his contract, but that he had actually chosen to forgo some potential earnings. He also reminded the judge of the disparity in earnings between the recent McCartney and Harrison albums, under which McCartney would benefit at Harrison's expense. 'No one is getting at Mr McCartney in this,' he noted.

  That, however, was exactly what McCartney had experienced for more than two years: sniping, insinuations, kidney punches while the referee's back was turned, a full repertoire of snide remarks from Lennon and Harrison, from Klein, and more recently from the fans who didn't want their dream to end and were searching for a convenient scapegoat.

  On 26 February his response to his colleagues' claims and accusations was read in court. For the first time the court picked up a flavour of the American's character, as McCartney recalled how Klein would exaggerate his power. Faced with the challenge of obtaining control of NEMS, he remembered Klein boasting, 'I'll get it for nothing.' It was swagger, bluster, ego, and it wasn't the McCartney way. 'I became more and more determined that Klein was not the right man to be appointed manager,' he declared.

  The Beatles' relationships dominated his testimony. He denied the claim in Lennon's affidavit that 'We always thought of ourselves as Beatles,' reminding the court of Lennon's outright rejection of the group in the song 'God'. 'One has only to look at recent recordings by John or George to see that neither thinks of himself as a Beatle,' he insisted. He rejected another Lennon suggestion, that quarrels within the group had always been solved on the basis of a majority verdict. Nonsense, he said. Nothing was done unless the group was unanimous. 'I know of no decision taken on a three-to-one basis.'

  Aware that Klein would be watching, McCartney couldn't resist the opportunity to twist the knife. Lennon had denied his original claim that Klein had instigated much of the personal conflict within the Beatles. McCartney remembered a phone conversation in which Klein had told him, 'You know why John is angry with you? It is because you came off better than he did on Let It Be.' He also alleged that Klein had told him, 'The real trouble is Yoko. She is the one with ambition.' He added, 'I often wonder what John would have said if he had heard the remark.' It was designed to suggest that Klein's apparent loyalty to the Lennons was only a negotiating tactic.

  McCartney deserved his moment of public retaliation. He landed his firmest blow when he recounted that Harrison had once told him, 'If I could have my bit [of Apple] in an envelope, I'd love it.' What else, McCartney might have added, was he trying to achieve? His closing comments were poignant and decisive. He admitted that none of the other Beatles appeared to know why he had taken the drastic step of launching this court action; after two years of arguments and explanations, they still didn't understand him. So he repeated the reasons he had stated in his original affidavit: there were no more Beatles, merely four solo artists; Apple's accounts were in disarray; and none of the group knew what his tax liability might be. These were the issues that underlined his case, he said, and none of the others had attempted to answer them.

  McCartney's testimony closed the first full week of hearings. The rest was lawyers, secure in their fees, arguing for their pride. But there were occasional sunbursts across the legal landscape – such as the moment when Morris Finer, for Apple, said dryly, 'Mr McCartney, through his counsel, seems to live in a world where everyone is either a seraphim or angel, or ape or viper – where there is precious little room for the intermediate atmosphere in which most people live.' He complained that McCartney's entire case boiled down to a simple instruction: 'You must appoint a receiver because of this wicked man.' Finer continued, 'The whole object of this operation is to poison the court against Mr Klein and say that he is dangerous, and it is for the benefit of everybody to get him out.'

  His opponent, David Hurst, did little to refute Finer's claim, devoting much of his final summary to Klein's iniquities: 'Having regard to his record and his performance since he became manager, and what we now know of what has happened in America, and having regard to his evidence, we say he is not a suitable person to bear these responsibilities.' The key phrase was 'what we now know': Klein's tax convictions were like the tragic flaw afflicting a Shakespearean hero. The manager must have wondered how this case might have proceeded if he had taken better care of his bookkeeping a decade earlier.

  On Friday 5 March, Mr Justice Stamp adjourned hearings for a week to consider his initial judgment. The following Wednesday there was a late-night meeting at Richard Starkey's house in Highgate, attended by all the Beatles except McCartney, plus Klein, Ono, Maureen Starkey and lawyers Peter Howard and Raymond Skilling. The conference would not have been called had Apple's legal team enjoyed any hope of victory: this was a summit of the soon-to-be-defeated. The verdict was delivered on 12 March, the day, ironically, on which Lennon's political anthem 'Power to the People' was released. In this instance, however, the power rested entirely with McCartney. The judge appointed Mr James Douglas Spooner, a partner in a London firm of accountants, as the official receiver and manager of the Beatles' assets until such a time as the partnership should be legally dissolved. Apple's lawyers had one week to lodge an appeal.

  Mr Justice Stamp confirmed what David Hurst had hoped: the deciding factor in the case was the judgement and behaviour of Allen Klein. He stated the reality that Klein had refused to acknowledge: 'The Beatles have long since ceased to perform as a group.' He remarked, 'Apple is not, as it were, a Frankenstein set-up to control the individual partners'; it would be unjust for McCartney to be forced to remain in such a restrictive situation. The condition of their accounts was 'quite intolerable'; of their business affairs in general he said simply, 'Confidence has gone.' Equally intolerable was the idea that McCartney should submit to Klein's management, especially as the American had received 'grossly in excess' of what his work deserved. That this was a moral verdict as well as a financial one was emphasised by Stamp's reaction to Klein's statement that he had actually taken less commission than he was owed. This, Stamp said, 'reads t
o me like the irresponsible patter of a second-rate salesman'. (Even Morris Finer was forced to admit that his client's claim was 'a silly paragraph'.) Klein's testimony carried 'the flavour of dishonesty' and was in part 'untrue'. The judge stooped to offer a brief word of consolation to Klein, recognising that he had been forced to listen to his opponents' allegations without the legal right of reply. But he negated the gesture by declaring that nobody at Apple – even Klein, he might have added – had the financial knowledge and dexterity to manage the Beatles' affairs. It was a damning conclusion.

  There have been lurid accounts of what happened next – of Lennon, Harrison and Starkey storming out of the court, brushing past reporters and driving immediately to McCartney's house, where Lennon allegedly took two bricks from his car and threw them through the nearest window. Then they are supposed to have returned to Apple to face the press. But none of the Beatles, victor or loser, was in court that day; there was no press conference; and the bricks remain an urban myth. Challenged on a similar tale, McCartney said, 'I recently read that I was supposed to have given John a painting, and he was supposed to have come around to my house and put his foot through it. I never did give John a painting, and if I did he never put his foot through it.' Even in the more reserved media climate of 1971 it seems unlikely that three of the Beatles could have vandalised the home of the fourth without a hint of the incident reaching the press.