In spite of Cleave’s efforts, the story simply wouldn’t ebb, even seeming to gain momentum as the Beatles’ American concert dates loomed. The perceived arrogance of John’s remarks was quickly becoming the prevailing talking point in media reports. When interpreted within the context of his actual utterance, it’s not a difficult leap for readers to make: “Christianity will go,” Lennon said to Cleave. “It will vanish and shrink. I needn’t argue about that; I’m right, and I will be proved right. We’re more popular than Jesus now; I don’t know which will go first—rock ’n’ roll or Christianity. Jesus was all right but his disciples were thick and ordinary. It’s them twisting it that ruins it for me.”
Perhaps worse yet, reporters had begun sensing a major news scoop on their hands, steadfastly fanning the flames of the brush fire that had plunged the bandmates and their reps into a state of PR chaos and a frenzy of ill-conceived communication. At this juncture—and in very different circumstances—the focus of Epstein’s efforts should have been entirely on Revolver, of course, which was released that same day back in the United Kingdom. But at this point, there wasn’t a hint of media strategy at work in the Beatles’ world, save for Brian’s hastily arranged visit to the United States and the idea about George recording a taped apology from John. Even George Harrison had gotten into the act, ill-advisedly informing Disc and Music Echo that, having just completed the Far East leg of their tour, “We’ll take a couple of weeks to recuperate before we go and get beaten up by the Americans.” It may have been at this point that Epstein shifted his still-latent PR strategy, deciding to scrap the taped apology and putting an embargo on further commentary to the media, whether it be from the bandmates, Cleave, or anyone else associated with the organization. He contacted his assistant, Wendy Hanson, directing her to “please advise Beatles to continue not to speak to the press under any circumstances. Also, it is not necessary for John to make the tape with Martin. Please advise Maureen Cleave.” No, Brian would be handling things himself from this point forward; he would deploy the very same charm and forthright personality that had helped to transform the Beatles into household names. Perhaps then he would end the scandal once and for all.22
For his part, Geoff Emerick later called Epstein’s directive to Hanson about the taped apology into question, suggesting that the decision to scrap the idea had nothing to do with Epstein’s evolving media strategy. As Geoff later remembered, George was ready to meet John at Abbey Road and make the recording forthwith, “but the problem was that John was away on holiday and unavailable to come into the studio in person. He was apparently willing to phone it in, but for some reason Brian deemed that unacceptable—not remorseful enough, perhaps? As a result, our technical boffins spent a few hurried days designing a dummy head into which John’s telephoned apology would be played: the idea was that the cavities of this little plaster head would somehow make his voice more realistic, as if he were actually in the studio talking on a high-quality microphone instead of over a low-fidelity phone line.” According to Emerick, the absurd plan eventually collapsed because “Lennon had changed his mind” about even bothering to make the recording with Martin in the first place. The Beatles’ engineer was flummoxed, not merely at John’s apparent disinclination to record the apology but also at EMI itself. “It just goes to show the lengths to which EMI would go to accommodate the Beatles,” Emerick observed. “If it had been any other artist, they would never have devoted the time and resources to such a foolish idea.”23
Sensing that time was increasingly of the essence in terms of staving off any further uproar, Epstein held a press conference on the afternoon of Friday, August 5, at New York City’s Americana Hotel. Like Martin and Cleave, Epstein cast the controversy as being based upon a quotation that had been taken out of the larger context of Lennon’s London Evening Standard interview. “What he said, and meant, was that he was astonished that in the last 50 years the church in England, and therefore Christ, had suffered a decline in interest,” Epstein proclaimed. “He did not mean to boast about the Beatles’ fame. He meant to point out that the Beatles’ effect appeared to him to be a more immediate one upon, certainly, the younger generation.” And that’s when the Beatles’ manager took the much-needed step of showing remorse, remarking that “in the circumstances, John is deeply concerned, and regrets that people with certain religious beliefs should have been offended in any way whatsoever.” Coming a week after the Datebook issue hit the newsstands and five days after the UPI story made national headlines, the apology, such as it was communicated, was too little, too late. Brian fared much better when he took questions from the media. “They feel absolutely terrible,” he replied with great earnestness when asked about the bandmates’ feelings about the American furor and having become targets of resentment. When pressed further, Brian confessed that he was concerned about the bandmates’ safety during the upcoming American jaunt, just as George had been throughout the group’s high-profile concert tours. After praising US authorities for providing first-rate protection over the years, Brian vowed that “I shall watch the security personally,” but in the end, he admitted, “one just hopes for the best.”24
On that same day back in the United Kingdom, the release of Revolver had been accompanied by the arrival of a new Beatles single, “Yellow Submarine” backed with “Eleanor Rigby.” By the time that the Beatles landed stateside the very next week, the single would be released in America as well. As the group traipsed across the country for the next several weeks and the controversy slowly began to subside, “Yellow Submarine” and “Eleanor Rigby” swirled about the airwaves, selling well over a million units in August 1966 and earning the Beatles their twenty-first American gold record. It made for a remarkable moment of cultural dissonance, as Lennon was lambasted across the media for his remarks even as his band’s latest song ascended the charts, with American radio audiences happily singing along with a children’s tune about living a life of whimsy in the land of submarines. When US DJs flipped over the record and played “Eleanor Rigby,” they were ceding airtime to a tune that excoriated contemporary religious institutions for being unable, and worse, unwilling at times, to look out for the welfare of vulnerable parishioners like Eleanor Rigby. The ironic juxtaposition of Lennon’s remarks about religion’s wane and the thematics inherent in “Eleanor Rigby” was very stark indeed, yet in all likelihood lost on the mass culture of the day. In the United Kingdom, the double A-sided “Yellow Submarine” backed with “Eleanor Rigby” single not only notched the band their twelfth straight chart-topper, but it also was the first single to feature Ringo as lead vocalist. However, at the same time the “Yellow Submarine” backed with “Eleanor Rigby” single marked the end of an era. Composed of a pair of tracks that had been lifted directly from Revolver, the single broke Martin’s long-standing tradition—his personal ethic, really—about not duplicating Beatles singles on long-players, a plan that he and Epstein had devised in order to ensure that Beatles fans enjoyed greater value for their money. But with the “Yellow Submarine” backed with “Eleanor Rigby” single, George and Brian’s grand design had been intentionally scuttled for the sake of pure expediency. Over the years, Beatles albums had been released concurrently with new singles, of course. But as Robert Rodriguez has noted, the Beatles were simply “out of gas at the time of Revolver’s release, only two months after their last single, ‘Paperback Writer’ b/w ‘Rain,’ and tradition had them issuing a new single alongside a new album.” Unfortunately, John and Paul were both spent as far as new material was concerned.25
As the group prepared to travel to the United States, John had taken to calling their upcoming spate of American concerts the “Jesus Christ” tour. He had no idea how discerning his words would prove to be. On August 11, they flew to Chicago and were driven directly to the Astor Tower Hotel, where Epstein and Barrow had arranged for a press conference so that Lennon could face the music, and, as their manager fervently hoped, stem the derisive anti-Beatles tide. “He wa
s terrified,” John’s wife Cynthia later recalled. “What he’d said had affected the whole group. Their popularity was under the microscope but he was the one who had opened his mouth and put his foot in it.” After being briefed by Epstein and Barrow, Lennon wasted little time in getting to the matter at hand: “I wasn’t saying whatever they’re saying I was saying,” he remarked. “I’m sorry I said it really. I never meant it to be a lousy anti-religious thing. I apologize if that will make you happy. I still don’t know quite what I’ve done. I’ve tried to tell you what I did do, but if you want me to apologize, if that will make you happy, then okay, I’m sorry.”26
Over the next several days—as the Beatles traveled from one city to another—the controversy began to wane perceptibly. But the die had already been cast, as demonstrated by flagging ticket sales. During their August 15 return engagement at Shea Stadium, the fallout from the recent controversy could be observed in the stands, which were pocked with empty seats. “Some tickets for the Shea Stadium performance even had to be given away,” Martin wrote. “This was incredible to Brian, as it was to me. It was the only time we could remember when the band had played to anything less than a full house. Brian’s main fear on that last tour, like my own, was for the physical well-being of the Beatles.” Lennon had publicly apologized numerous times by the time the band reached Memphis a week later, and the staged record burnings had all but stopped in the interim. They arrived at the Mid-South Coliseum in Memphis to the stomach-churning sight of a clutch of hooded Ku Klux Klansmen parading outside. That same day, a Christian revival meeting was held in the city as a demonstration against John’s comments, and that afternoon reports about a coming assassination attempt had begun to make the rounds. In perhaps the tensest moment during the Jesus Christ tour, the Beatles were startled by a firecracker that was tossed onstage and had exploded near Ringo’s drums during “If I Needed Someone.” For a split second, the bandmates thought that they were under attack, that one of them had, in fact, been killed. As Lennon remembered, “There had been threats to shoot us, the Klan were burning Beatle records outside, and a lot of the crew-cut kids were joining in with them. Somebody let off a firecracker and every one of us—I think it’s on film—look at each other, because each thought it was the other that had been shot. It was that bad.” For a moment, it seemed like Martin’s fear about their vulnerability had come true, but then, having realized that they were still alive, the bandmates played on as if nothing had happened. Not surprisingly, over the next few days—as the normal rigors of a big-time stadium tour set in—the bandmates began to come to a decision that the current American jaunt would be their last concert tour.27
If the Jesus Christ tour had a high point for the Beatles, it was unquestionably their two-day stopover in Los Angeles after a pair of shows in Seattle. As they relaxed in their rented Hollywood home, Beatles associate and current Beach Boys publicist Derek Taylor arranged for McCartney and Harrison to meet Brian Wilson and his brother Carl Wilson. With the release of Pet Sounds, the Beach Boys had enjoyed remarkable critical success, the likes of which they hadn’t previously experienced with their earlier, less-sophisticated efforts. In July 1966, they had even taken out an advertisement for Pet Sounds in Billboard in order to thank the music industry and their fans for the unprecedented response to the long-player. “We’re moved over the fact that our Pet Sounds brought on nothing but Good Vibrations,” the ad copy proclaimed, hinting, rather obliquely, at even greater things to come. As the party at Taylor’s house got underway, it was McCartney who spoke up first, saying, “Well, you’re Brian Wilson and I’m Paul McCartney, so let’s get that out of the way and have a good time.” Over the next several hours, the men listened to music and shared stories together. And eventually, Brian, unable to contain himself any longer, played a new Beach Boys recording for Paul and George.28
With his new track “Good Vibrations,” Brian confessed that he’d been working almost nonstop on developing the composition over the past eight months. A complex amalgam of musical layers and vivid Technicolor, “Good Vibrations” had required some ninety hours to record, with Wilson even working in four different studios to bring the track home. Amazingly, “Good Vibrations” had already racked up more expenses than the entire Pet Sounds album, and it wouldn’t even be released until October. With a final cost estimated to be somewhere in the vicinity of $50,000, the song’s Electro-Theremin segment alone had clocked in at $15,000. Years later, Martin would admit that he hadn’t been surprised by Wilson’s achievement with “Good Vibrations,” that Wilson had even greater things up his sleeve beyond Pet Sounds. The Beatles’ producer had observed as the Beach Boy, buoyed by the sounds and innovation of Rubber Soul, had begun changing his industry in pioneering ways. “Good Vibrations” was the culmination of Wilson’s trajectory to Martin’s mind. “One of the great things about Brian’s music is its marvelous unpredictability,” said George. “He avoided clichés, giving his melodies changes of direction that amaze and charm the listener. And Brian’s sounds take us into a new and beautiful countryside.” By this point, “the recording studio had become his [Wilson’s] workshop,” said George, “the place where he painted his masterpieces, and in doing so, he changed the very concept of record production. The studio became rock’s most powerful instrument.” It was almost as if, in praising Wilson, Martin wasn’t speaking about Lennon and McCartney but rather himself.29
On Sunday, August 28, the Beatles were back at it, performing an evening show at Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles. The next day, Monday, August 29, the group performed at San Francisco’s Candlestick Park before some twenty-five thousand fans. Like numerous other venues on the dreadful “Jesus Christ” tour, Candlestick Park hadn’t sold out—in fact, there were some ten thousand conspicuously empty seats that day. Having now decided among themselves that Candlestick Park would be the scene of their last concert, the Beatles good-naturedly photographed each other in order to commemorate the occasion. Meanwhile, Paul instructed Tony Barrow to make a cassette recording of their final set. It was a blustery evening—complete with a full moon, no less—and the Beatles took the stage at 9:27 PM, having been escorted onto the baseball diamond in an armored car with a security detail of some two hundred police officers in tow. The stage itself was five feet tall, with a six-foot-high wire fence around the perimeter as an extra precautionary measure. The Beatles opened the concert with a searing rendition of “Rock and Roll Music,” while Barrow held his cassette player aloft in front of the stage and recorded the show for posterity. Barrow’s tape of the Beatles’ thirty-three-minute performance ran out of space less than a minute into “Long Tall Sally,” the group’s final number before a paying audience. As for Epstein, the Beatles’ manager had intentionally opted not to attend the band’s swan song, hoping against hope that they would change their minds. He spent the afternoon of August 29 swimming in the Beverly Hills Hotel pool with John “Dizz” Gillespie, a sometime boyfriend and full-time hustler. As the Beatles jetted away from San Francisco that night, Harrison remarked to Barrow, “That’s it. I’m not a Beatle anymore.” At that moment, he later added, “We knew—this is it. We’re not going to do this again. We’d done about 1,400 live shows, and I certainly felt that was it.”30
And for a time at least—in the eyes of the outside world certainly, possibly even to Martin at times—it seemed as if the Beatles were done. Perhaps the trials and tribulations of Beatlemania—not to mention the horrors of the Jesus Christ tour—had taken too great a toll on the four lads from Liverpool, who no longer seemed quite so innocent to their legions of fans and detractors alike.
8
Floating on AIR
* * *
IF MARTIN HAD HARBORED any doubts about the Beatles’ immediate future in the autumn of 1966, he didn’t show it. With an open calendar and without any upcoming Beatles sessions for the first time in years—indeed, for the foreseeable future—he began filling up his time by attending to his neglected AIR clients. For George, first
up were David and Jonathan, the duo who had reached into the upper echelons of the UK charts earlier in the year on the strength of their cover version of the Beatles’ “Michelle” and their own “Lovers of the World Unite.” As with his strategy with the Beatles four years earlier, in which he produced a long-player with the relatively unknown band on the strength of the “Love Me Do” single and the promise of “Please Please Me,” George brought David and Jonathan back to Abbey Road to make an album and, hopefully, capitalize on their momentum. For Roger Cook (Jonathan), this was a sound plan of action, and if the duo could benefit from the Beatles’ coattails yet again, then all the better. “I don’t think that there is a musician in England who didn’t learn something from the Beatles records,” he later remarked. “How do you do ‘reverse echo’? We learnt a lot of tricks from the Beatles, especially as we had their engineer, Geoff Emerick, but you can’t say enough about the Beatles. They led the way. Would we have had our first hit in America as David and Jonathan if the Beatles had not already established English artists as being stars? They should have all been Lords for what they did for British music.”1
In addition to their single, David and Jonathan had been in the spotlight for having performed the theme song for Modesty Blaise, Joseph Losey’s spy-fi comedy starring Monica Vitti as the title character, along with Terence Stamp and Dirk Bogarde. The “Modesty Blaise Theme” paired David and Jonathan with composer Johnny Dankworth, a longtime client and close friend of George’s. Performed with Dankworth’s orchestra, the theme song was produced by Martin and later released as a single. With Revolver behind him and the Beatles apparently on hiatus, Martin set about producing the duo’s first long-player, which was subsequently titled David and Jonathan. In addition to “Michelle,” the album also included a cover version of the Lennon-McCartney song “Yesterday.” David and Jonathan enjoyed yet another Beatles connection in Leslie Bryce, the photographer behind the imaginative cover art for the long-player. Bryce’s photo of David and Jonathan echoed Robert Freeman’s work on Rubber Soul, although the Beatles connection didn’t end there. For many years, Bryce had served as the house photographer for Beatles Book Monthly, and by this time, she had carried out some forty photo sessions with the bandmates. With fourteen tracks, as was Martin’s usual practice, David and Jonathan was released on EMI’s Columbia label. But any momentum that the duo had established with “Michelle” and “Lovers of the World Unite” had clearly dissipated, as David and Jonathan failed to chart. For the time being, Roger Greenaway and Roger Cook would busy themselves composing songs for other artists, including AIR’s Engelbert Humperdinck, Cilla Black, and the Hollies, among others.
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