Fab

by Howard Sounes

  In the studio, Paul began to record what became the Ram album, working with Denny Seiwell and session guitarist Dave Spinoza. Linda was there, too, but she spent most of her time minding the kids in the control room. As we have seen, Paul’s début solo album had been a homemade record of fragmentary songs that, upon release, didn’t find favour with the critics. As a result, Paul was determined to make his second solo record more professional, putting more work into the songs, some of which seemed to express his feelings about the break-up of the Beatles, notably ‘Oh Woman, Oh Why’ and ‘Too Many People’, which could be read as an attack on John and Yoko. ‘I really think that Ram was all the angst coming out,’ comments Seiwell. ‘A lot of these tunes were written at the end of the Beatles period and there was a lot of emotion in all of the writing, and the preparation for the tunes, and I think he was getting a lot off his chest.’ There were other musical textures. ‘Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey’ was a song suite with sound effects, strings, comical voices and a tempo change, all features reminiscent of the Beatles. Other songs celebrated family life (‘Eat at Home’). ‘Ram On’ punningly recalled Paul’s stage name for the Scottish tour with Johnny Gentle (Paul Ramon), with Linda singing backing vocals. ‘She wasn’t spot on a lot of the time. But we would just work with what we could, and she did improve over the years,’ says Seiwell, who didn’t view Paul’s wife as a fellow musician, but nonetheless admired her ‘spirit’ in pitching in with them. Paul had originally intended to play with Seiwell for a week, then try out a different drummer, but they were getting on so well they kept recording together, starting work each day around 10:30 a.m., playing until 2:30, then breaking for lunch before continuing into the late afternoon.

  Working with the Beatles at EMI, where the band had been cosseted and indulged to a rare degree, Paul was used to having everything and everybody at his disposal when he wanted to record. He didn’t seem to understand that the new people he was working with in America might have other things to do as well. When Dave Spinoza excused himself once or twice to fulfil other commitments, Paul was not pleased, and replaced Spinoza with guitarist Hugh McCracken. McCartney, McCracken and Seiwell worked together until 20 November, by which date Paul had the bulk of Ram, plus an additional catchy love song, ‘Another Day’, which would be his first post-Beatles single.

  The McCartneys then returned to Scotland where, as 1970 drew to a close, Paul put his mind to resolving his relationship with the Beatles, telling a reporter:I think the other three are the most honest, sincere men I have ever met. I love them, I really do. I don’t mind being bound to them as a friend - I like that idea. I don’t mind being bound to them musically, because I like the others as musical partners. I like being in their band. But for my own sanity we must change the business arrangements we have. Only by being completely free of each other financially will we ever have any chance of coming back together as friends …

  John Eastman came to Kintyre to discuss the options. The brothers-in-law went for a walk, climbing a hill near the farm, at the top of which Paul reached a momentous decision. ‘We were standing on this big hill which overlooked a loch - it was quite a nice day, a bit chilly - and we’d been searching our souls. Was there any other way? And we eventually said, “Oh, we’ve got to do it.”’ They would go to court to ask a judge to dissolve the Beatles partnership and appoint a receiver to run Apple until a new manager could be agreed. Allen Klein would oppose this, and John, George and Ritchie would line up behind Klein. So Paul would have to sue his band mates.

  At the time it looked to many people as if Paul was acting selfishly, motivated by pique. Paul had never liked Klein. He was bitter about Let It Be and the way the release of McCartney had been handled. His character was such that he would never tolerate being told when he could release his records. So in order to win his creative and financial freedom he took his friends to court. In years to come he would argue that the court case was in fact to the ultimate benefit of all four Beatles; by going to court he rescued the band from Allen Klein. ‘I single-handedly saved the Beatles empire! Ha! Ha! He said modestly. I can laugh about it now; it was not so funny at the time,’ McCartney told Barry Miles for his authorised biography, going so far as to comment in Rolling Stone, in 2007, that the court case was the ‘worst moment of my life’. This was surely an exaggeration, bearing in mind the traumatic loss of his mother, and his calamitous second marriage, but the court case was, nevertheless, ‘a horrific thing to go through’.

  John, George and Ritchie received letters from Paul’s lawyers informing them that they were being sued by the guy they’d worked with like brothers for years, by their own Macca. It came as a profound shock. ‘I just couldn’t believe it,’ said Ritchie.

  The writ was issued on the last day of 1970 in the Chancery Division of the High Court at the Royal Courts of Justice in London, a fantastical Victorian-Gothic building on the Strand. In a preliminary court hearing, McCartney’s barrister, David Hirst QC,39 informed the judge, Mr Justice Stamp, that the Beatles’ finances were in a mess. With the group earning vast sums by the standards of the day, between four and five million pounds sterling in 1970, the Beatles now faced an income tax bill of £678,000 ($1.03m) plus surtax and corporation tax. ‘The latest accounts suggest there is probably not enough in the kitty to meet even the individual Beatles’ income and surtax liability,’ Hirst warned His Lordship. Moreover, the company books were in a lamentable state - McCartney had never been given audited accounts - and Allen Klein was ‘a man of bad commercial reputation’. The matter was adjourned, with Klein issuing a statement that the Beatles’ accounts were not in bad shape, and there was enough money to pay the taxman.

  Paul was in Scotland when the initial legal skirmish took place, his attention diverted by the latest issue of Rolling Stone which carried the first sensational instalment of a two-part interview with John Lennon conducted by the magazine’s Editor, Jann Wenner. Under the influence of the new Primal Scream therapy, pioneered by American psychologist Arthur Janov, which encouraged one to let it all hang out, Lennon had given Wenner the unexpurgated scoop on the Beatles. McCartney read with horrified fascination how he’d taken over the leadership of the Beatles after Brian Epstein died, only to lead the band ‘round in circles’ while John, George and Ringo had been made to feel like his sidemen. McCartney ‘thought he was the fuckin’ Beatles, and he never fucking was … none of us were the Beatles, four of us were,’ John growled. Lennon complained about Let It Be. ‘When Paul was feeling kindly he would give me a solo,’ he said of his guitar part on ‘Get Back’, while he asserted that the movie was edited to Paul’s advantage, with scenes involving him and Yoko cut ‘for no other reason than the people were orientated towards Engelbert Humperdinck …’ It was this comparison, to the middle-of-the-road balladeer of ‘Release Me’, that cut McCartney most deeply; that and John’s assessment of his first solo album: ‘I thought Paul’s was rubbish,’ opined Lennon, saying that he (like most people) preferred George’s All Things Must Pass. McCartney studied the article with the morbid fascination of a jilted lover receiving a kiss-off letter. ‘I sat down and pored over every little paragraph, every sentence. “Does he really think that of me?”’ Paul said a couple of years later in 1974. ‘And at the time I thought, “It’s me …That’s just what I’m like. He’s captured me so well; I’m a turd …” [Then] Linda said, “Now, you know that’s not true …”’

  Paul came down to London to attend the opening of his court case on 19 February, the first part being an application to appoint a receiver to manage the Beatles’ affairs. Heavily bearded and wearing the same suit he’d worn for the Abbey Road cover, Paul was accompanied by a protective Linda, who clutched his arm as they entered Court 16 of the Royal Courts of Justice. Inside McCartney’s QC listed reasons - including tax offences in the USA - why Klein was not a man to be trusted, and told the judge Paul had never agreed that Klein should represent him. In reply Klein said he was appealing against convictions of having failed to f
ile tax returns, and McCartney hadn’t complained about the enhanced royalties he’d negotiated for the band. The Beatles’ income had increased to £4.3 million a year during his tenure ($6.5m). Now McCartney was trying to extricate himself from the partnership so that he could benefit from his solo career.

  The court heard from Lennon, Harrison and Starkey in the form of written affidavits, read aloud by barristers. In his statement, Lennon revealed the chaotic manner in which Apple Corps operated. He had only recently discovered that two company cars Apple had bought had ‘completely disappeared, and that we owned a house which no one can remember buying’. Lennon described fractious business meetings with Klein and the Eastmans, describing Paul’s brother-in-law as ‘excitable and easily confused. Lee Eastman was more impressive at first sight, but after five minutes’ conversation he lost his temper and became quite hysterical, screaming and shouting abuse at Klein’. In his affidavit, George Harrison contrasted a happy, relaxed time he’d spent recently with Bob Dylan in upstate New York with working with Paul, who, he said, had always shown a ‘superior attitude’ to him. George believed, however, that the showdown at Twickenham had cleared the air. ‘Since the row Paul has treated me more as a musical equal …’ In perhaps the most revealing affidavit, Ritchie said: ‘Paul is the greatest bass player in the world. 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.’ On Friday 26 February, as ‘Another Day’ went to number two in the UK charts, Paul went into the witness box to answer these affidavits, telling the court, among other things, of a conversation he’d had with Allen Klein in which Klein blamed Yoko for the discord within the band, saying, ‘The real trouble is Yoko. She is the one with ambition.’ Paul wondered aloud what John would have said if he’d heard that basic truth. He had now.

  Leaving the lawyers to get on with the case, Paul and Linda flew to Los Angeles to complete Ram. Despite the good work done in New York, Paul had become bogged down in indecision, unable to select between the 20 or so songs he had recorded. To try and help his brother-in-law finish the record, John Eastman introduced Paul to the fashionable producer Jim Guercio, a fellow Eastman & Eastman client who’d won a Grammy for his work with Blood, Sweat and Tears. Guercio was so keen to produce Paul that he cancelled his honeymoon to help out with Ram, laying down a new track, ‘Dear Boy’, and working to make a final selection from the songs Paul already had in the bag. It was clear McCartney felt under pressure to do better than his début album, partly in answer to Lennon’s criticism of McCartney as Engelbert Humperdinck music. Yet the pressure had a paralysing effect on the star. Instead of finishing Ram in LA, Paul kept fiddling with it, block-booking a Hollywood studio and insisting Guercio was there every day from 10:00 a.m. so they could record, though Paul rarely showed up before mid-afternoon. Then he’d smoke a joint and jam. Guercio tried to assert some discipline, but could not guide or control his star: ‘Paul is not an artist you can direct or collaborate with. You kind of have [to] support his ideas.’ As weeks passed, and the album was no nearer completion, Guercio gave Paul a suggested track listing and told him the engineers could do what was necessary. He had to go. ‘I think he took offence. I said, “No, no, this isn’t personal, Paul, you don’t need me. I can’t come in here every day. We’ve got to finish … I have other obligations … I gave up my damn honeymoon here!’

  The McCartneys were still in LA when, on 12 March 1971, Justice Stamp ruled in Paul’s favour at the High Court in London. ‘The appointment of Abkco [Klein’s company], without the concurrence of Paul, was in my judgement a breach of the terms of the partnership deed,’ said the judge. There was no evidence Klein had stolen money from the Beatles, but he had received excessive commission, and McCartney had grounds to distrust the American, whose statements read ‘like the irresponsible patter of a second-rate salesman’. Under the terms of the Partnership Act, the judge appointed an accountant, James Douglas Spooner, to manage the Beatles’ affairs until a full hearing on the issue of dissolving the partnership, which was McCartney’s ultimate goal. The judge expected Paul to be successful, saying: ‘The Beatles have long since ceased to perform as a group.’ McCartney had conducted his case well, with the help of a first-class legal team, showing himself to be a formidable courtroom adversary, one whom judges tended to side with in the future, appreciating his sensible, civil responses to difficult situations. When he went to law, McCartney usually got what he wanted. That evening a thwarted John Lennon threw bricks through the windows of Paul’s London home in a childish attempt to get even with him.

  James Spooner therefore became the Beatles’ new, court-appointed manager, though his role was strictly that of a disinterested professional, rather than pop Svengali. He didn’t move into the Apple Building, but undertook his duties from his usual desk in the City of London. Spooner (later Sir James Spooner) got on well with Paul, the little he saw of him, and tended to agree with McCartney’s view that Allen Klein was a crook, while the accountant considered John Lennon simply impossible. ‘John Lennon was a popular hero, a brilliant man, but terribly tiresome,’ he observed, likewise declaring McCartney was correct to sue his band mates. ‘They’d have been bust otherwise. The [others] foolishly took on this crook called Klein as a manager and Klein firstly ripped them off something shocking, by taking a percentage off the gross, rather than off the net, after expenses.’

  Sir James alleges that when McCartney failed to sign with Klein in 1969, his signature was actually forged. ‘They wrote some document which they claimed Paul had signed as a partnership deed, or new partnership deed, or new partnership agreement. In fact he wasn’t in the room when it was signed … it was a very crooked piece of paper, as far as I recall.’ Sir James concedes that Klein negotiated an advantageous royalty deal with EMI, ‘the percentage that the Beatles were getting out of EMI was far higher than anybody had ever achieved before, but the trouble was that Klein, as I say, took his cut before any expenses of any sort, or tried to do so’. If Paul hadn’t sued the Beatles, Sir James believes the band would have drowned in debt.

  If they hadn’t been a success they’d all have been bankrupt because they had huge tax liabilities on previous years, which nobody had ever helped them [with], or told them how to meet or reserve for. But happily they were earning a million a year each even then, and going upwards, so they were able to pay past tax liabilities out of the current income and future income.

  Having won the first round of his legal battle, Paul retreated with Linda to High Park, where he atavistically enjoyed the rural life his Irish forebears had led before Owen Mohin crossed the Irish Sea. Unlike his ancestors Paul was a millionaire smallholder, one who commuted to his steading in a convertible Rolls Royce, or private jet, depending on how much time he had, shearing a few sheep for recreation before leaving the farm in the hands of his estate manager Duncan Cairns, disappearing back down to London or abroad. Neighbours were amazed at the way Paul and Linda flitted about the world. Alec McLean, who farmed adjacent High Ranachan Farm with his brother Duncan, was cutting thistles one afternoon in May 1971 when he saw Paul and Linda driving down to the main road. The McCartneys stopped to say hello, and mentioned that they were on their way to a wedding. Alec wished them well, imagining this was a local wedding. When he turned on the television that night, he discovered that in the few hours since he’d seen Paul and Linda they’d flown to France to attend Mick Jagger’s nuptials.

  Despite the remoteness of High Park, fans increasingly found their way to the farm. One morning the McLeans were getting their cows in when their dog started sniffing round the sheds. Duncan discovered five hippies inside. They wanted to practise their yoga near a Beatle. The hippies turned out to be nice people, but other fans could be worrying. ‘I’ve been working at the sink and looked around and somebody was peeking in the window, thinking this was maybe [Paul’s house],’ says Alice McLean. One Christmas Day a man came to the
door asking where Paul lived, saying he had to see him. ‘He said he wrote songs and the more I engaged him in conversation the more I realised he was quite cracked - he was a musician, and he was victimised.’ When the McCartneys became aware that such people were in the area, or if they knew the press were up, Linda would ring round and apologise for any inconvenience, reminding her neighbours to please not tell strangers where they lived. Linda proved adept at befriending local people, fitting surprisingly snugly into Kintyre life. The American particularly enjoyed hailing Scottish neighbours with the local cry of ‘Hoots happenin’ in the wee toon? ’,40 which sounded very amusing coming from a foreigner.

  One of the most bothersome fans was a Mormon girl from Utah. She camped with a friend on the edge of a wood within 100 yards of Paul’s farmhouse, watching the McCartneys from the trees. ‘And they couldn’t move them,’ recalls neighbour Rory Colville, ‘as long as they didn’t intrude they could sit there all day with their binoculars and watch Paul.’ In the summer of 1971, the Mormon complained to the local police that Paul had assaulted her: ‘Paul came out of the house and drove up in his Land Rover. He jumped out and began shouting and swearing. I don’t remember much about what happened, but my nose was bleeding. ’ Paul confirmed that he had confronted the girl, but denied assault. ‘For three years now I have been asking her politely - pleading with her - to leave me and my family alone. She refuses to recognise that I am married with a family.’ Nothing came of the complaint and Paul ultimately solved the problem by buying the wood in which the girls had camped. This was the start of a process of purchasing adjacent tracts of land, indeed whole farms, as they came on the market, to gain privacy. When Archie Revie at Low Ranachan retired, Paul bought his 304 acres, plus his farmhouse, which the star began to use as a rehearsal space and accommodation for visiting musicians. Next he bought Low Park Farm from the McDougals, by which time it was difficult to gain a glimpse of Paul’s cottage without straying onto his land.