December 31 – Sunday — New Year’s Eve. An uncomfortable 10-hour road journey from Liverpool to London—the four Beatles sitting hunched alongside their guitars, drums, and amplifiers in the back of Neil Aspinall’s unheated van—the journey made all the worse by bitter cold and falling snow | As ever—Brian Epstein travels down to London by train.
“OH, DIRTY MAGGIEMAE, they have taken her away and she won’t walk down snowy Lime Street anymore. Oh, the judge he…”
“Shurrup, John,” yelled Neil Aspinall. “I’m trying to concentrate up front, here. It’s like trying to see through a bloody blizzard, it is.”
“That’s because it is a blizzard, Neil,” yelled George Harrison. “It’s bloody f-f-freezin’ back here, it is. Isn’t there any more heat?”
“Just cuddle up and shurrup, will you. I’m doing me best.”
“Oh, driver Nelly Mae, he has lost his bleedin’ way and he won’t get down to London, New Year’s Day…”
“Bloody shurrup, will yer, John. Or you drive,” Neil shouted.
“Is that with or without his glasses on?” asked Paul.
“Where the fook we going to fellas?” yelled John.
“To London, Johnny, for our audition with Decca.”
“Whose turn is it to lie on top?”
“Mine, you bugger. Shove over.”
“I’ll be glad when I’ve had enough of this.”
“Me and all. It’s all right for some, though, isn’t it? ‘Eppy’ went by train. Probably had his breakfast and dinner on it, too, lucky swine.”
“Want another one of me cheese butties, Johnny?”
“No, ta, George. It was good of yer mum to make them up for us. I’d have starved otherwise. Got a spare ciggy, have yer?”
“How long, now, Neil?” called out Pete.
“In all this snow, I don’t bloody know, but we’re just coming up to a place called Watford. So, an hour or two, maybe.”
“Ten bloody hours of freezin’ me bloody balls off. We better get a warm reception tomorrow or I’ll start a bloody revolution, I will.”
“I think I’d just settle for a hot of cup of tea, at the moment.”
“Strike us a match will yer, I want to warm me hands up before I have another look at the Christmas card ‘Eppy’ sent me.”
A Happy New Year?
John pulled a crumpled envelope out of his coat pocket and eased out the card. “There’s a bloody snow scene on this, as well. He must’ve known.” He read the card out aloud in a posh voice, not unlike Brian Epstein’s. “ ‘John’…hand-written in ink, mind you…‘With all Good Wishes for Christmas and the New Year’. Then, in brackets, ‘Especially January 1st. Brian Epstein, 197 Queens Drive, Liverpool 15’.” He paused. “It’s lovely, just like a poem by a man named Lear.”
“We all got one,” drawled George. “Mine’s still on the mantelpiece, at home.”
“Ah,” said John, “but I bet you didn’t get any kisses on yours.”
Discover more in Tony Broadbent’s excellent book, The One After 9:09
The One After 9:09
A DISAFFECTED LIVERPOOL TEENAGER BECOMES INVOLVED WITH THE BEATLES WHEN HE’S HIRED TO HELP PREVENT THE MURDER OF THE GROUP’S MANAGER, BRIAN EPSTEIN.
Author Tony Broadbent takes a look at the defining moment in Beatles history.
The Beatles’ first 16-week stint in Hamburg, playing the Indra and Kaiserkeller clubs, all but ended in disaster. George Harrison was deported for being underage and not having a proper work permit. Paul McCartney and Pete Best were ordered to leave Germany immediately afterwards, on a trumped-up charge of arson; later rescinded. Stu Sutcliffe decided to stay on in Hamburg with his new girlfriend Astrid Kirchherr. And John Lennon travelled home, alone, by train and cross-Channel ferry; his guitar-case in one hand, his suitcase in the other, his amplifier strapped to his back.
Direct from Hamburg
For the first couple of weeks of December 1960, everyone kept to themselves and licked their wounds. Paul even got himself a temporary job as a delivery van driver to help with the Christmas rush. Then John resurfaced. The group played a couple of evenings at the Casbah Coffee Club, owned by Pete’s mum, Mona Best. The posters on the walls, hand-drawn by young accountancy student Neil Aspinall, the group’s new part-time roadie, proclaiming: ‘Direct from Hamburg’. But the momentum and drive The Beatles had built up as a group playing the Indra and Kaiserkeller had essentially stalled.
It was then that their booking agent-cum-manager Allan Williams, in another of his still relatively unsung all-important acts, given its later significance, introduced the group to 28-year-old Bob Wooler; itinerant disc jockey and compère extraordinaire. Wooler listened to The Beatles’ tales of recent woe; developed a liking for the young lads in the group; and offered to help get them some bookings. And he contacted promoter Brian Kelly, for whom he sometimes acted as compère, and for the agreed-to princely fee of £6; about $18 at the time, but still £2 short of what he’d originally asked for; set The Beatles up as last minute additions to Beekay Promotions’ ‘Post-Boxing-Day’ dance, scheduled to take place at the Litherland Town Hall ballroom, located some five miles north of Liverpool city-centre.
Chas Newby on Bass
The Beatles grasped hold of the opportunity with four sets of hands. But with Stu Sutcliffe still in Hamburg they still had to convince Chas Newby, then a college student, to fill-in on bass. (Chas had been the bass-player with Pete’s original Casbah Coffee Club band, The Blackjacks, before he’d suddenly disappeared off to Hamburg with The Beatles.) The Beatles all spent Christmas with their respective families; did a quick rehearsal with Mr. Newby; and on the evening of Tuesday, 27th December, 1960, donned their leather gear and got ready to rock ‘n’ roll.
Meanwhile, posters proclaiming The Del Renas, The Deltones, and The Searchers were already up, so Bob Wooler, ever the professional, was busy pasting overlays with ‘The Beatles – Direct from Hamburg’ across as many of them as he could. It’s hardly surprising that many in the audience thought John, Paul, George, and Pete were German. Especially when they first saw them in their black leather jackets and trousers and cowboy boots. What they made of tweed-jacket wearing Chas Newby, filling in for the still absent Stu Sutcliffe, is anybody’s guess.
Long Tall Sally
But right from the start, when Paul nudged Bob Wooler off the microphone before he could even finish his mellifluous behind-the-stage-curtain introduction: “Ladies and Gentleman… direct from Hamburg… the Be…” and started belting out the opening words to Little Richard’s ‘Long Tall Sally’, The Beatles stunned the crowd. No one had ever seen or heard anything like it. The group’s hard rocking, hard-hitting, boot-stomping ‘Hamburg’ sound was so new, so raw, so loud, and so very, very different; it blew everyone and everything else away.
All the dancers in the ballroom; there were over a thousand people there that night; just stopped, turned, and rushed the stage to get closer to the action; again totally unprecedented. The Beatles’ nonstop set of rock ‘n’ roll and R&B classics was an absolute smash. It instantly established The Beatles as a top ‘live’ draw all around Merseyside. Brian Kelly immediately booked them for two months straight. And every other Liverpool promoter, worth his salt, scrambled to book the group to do more gigs. From this point on the group never really looked back; only ever forward, towards the future, and reaching ‘the toppermost of the poppermost’.
Top of the Bill
The Beatles played 19 dates for Brian Kelly and an ever- growing number of other local promoters in January 1961. They played 31 dates in February, including their first lunchtime sessions at the Cavern Club and appearances at the Cassanova Club. They did 37 dates in March; three bookings in a single day increasingly the norm; including the first ‘all-nighter’ at the Iron Door for Sam Leach and their first evening appearance at the Cavern. The Beatles played Litherland Town Hall for Beekay Promotions fully 19 times during 1961; although never again as last minute additions, only ever as ‘top of the bill’ headliners.
“Up to Hamburg we’d thought we were OK, but not good enough. It was only back in Liverpool that we realised the difference and saw what had happened to us while everyone else was playing Cliff Richard shit.”— John Lennon
The Beatles in Liverpool, Hamburg, London
The Beatles in Liverpool, Hamburg, London is a guidebook to The Beatles’ all-important early years.
The book takes you from ‘Be-Bop-A-Lula’—and ‘The Birth of The Beatles’—all the way through to the extraordinary global phenomenon that the world’s press, with no little irony, dubbed “Beatlemania.”
It highlights: The People | The Venues | The Events that The Beatles knew and loved in the three world-renowned cities that were background to the group’s astonishingly rapid rise to worldwide success and acclaim.
In the latest in the series, our Beatles memorabilia expert, Terry Crain, takes a look at Beatles Binders:
Every “paperback writer” could safely secure essential manuscripts and homework in the official Beatles Binder! Fans could now collect and save the lyrics and sheet music for their favorite Fab Four songs in one place! Students could carry notes about the band to school and daydream of the Fabs instead of the football team star!
Standard Plastic Products (SPP), 450 Oak Tree Avenue, South Plainfield, New Jersey, received their merchandise license in late February of 1964 as a sub-licensee from the Belt Manufacturing Company of Canada. The agreement allowed them to produce the “early 1964 issue” binders featuring the Fab Four. Vinyl-coated and supported with pressboard, the binders were sold with either two or three snap-rings to anchor the paper (either 10½” x11¾” x1″ or 10½” x11¾” x1½” – advertised as 29cm x 24cm x 4cm). The advertisements for these binders started showing up around April 1964.
Book of Beatles Binders
Paul McCartney Brandishing a Cigarette!
The “early 1964 binders” came in various colors – white, beige/tan, grey, blue, hot pink, purple, red, and yellow – with either slightly sharpened or rounded corners. The front cover exhibited a large, highly detailed, sepia-toned Beatles photo (the famous image by photographer Dezo Hoffmann) and scattered facsimile signatures. Interestingly, this early version of the binder featured Paul McCartney brandishing a cigarette in his right fingers. The contraband was “airbrushed out” of the subsequent binders, manufactured by New York Loose Leaf Corporation (labeled the ‘mid-1964 issue’).
“I carried my white one to school in 4th grade…until the principal sent around a note telling us that no binders were allowed. It was a Catholic school, so I guess they considered it too sexy. Years later, my mom laughed and said that I should thank them because it probably stayed in better shape since I didn’t lug it back and forth.” – Mary Jo Navarra McIntyre.
Newspaper advertisements for the binders – or “ringbinder” as some ads called them – really put the hard-sell on consumers:
Advert for the Beatles Binders
“Famous Beatles Binder…2 or 3 ring binder with photo of The Beatles on cover” priced the item for $1.29, but for “this weekend-64¢!”
Another ad announced:
“The Beatles are here! The Beatle Loose Leaf binder. Beatle Binder Set. 3 Heavy Duty Metal Rings With Metal Base And Boosters. Consists of sturdy Loose Leaf binder, spiral notebook and memo pad. Just 500, limit 1 per customer. 99¢ set.”
“I remember buying this binder in late ’64. I was seven years old at the time. I purchased it at Woolworth’s at the Interstate Shopping Center in Ramsey, NJ. I don’t remember how much, but probably $3 or $4. I used it for homework and drawings I made. I think I had it for just over a year before someone stole it from my desk during recess one day.” – Gregory Voutsas.
Beatles Binder Advert
The New York Loose Leaf Corporation’s aforementioned ‘mid-1964 issue’ binders – whose advertisements came out about August 1964 – were available with two or three rings and manufactured in white. The front cover displayed a larger but less detailed black and white Beatles photo with signatures. Paul McCartney’s cigarette had been “airbrushed” out of his hand for this binder design. By mid-1964, Standard Plastic Products (SPP) most likely sub-licensed the binders to the New York Loose Leaf Corporation, and their new binder version was mass-produced through the end of 1964. The New York Loose Leaf Corporation applied for its trademark on August 14, 1962. The brand (US Registration Number 0736031) covered “paper, items made of paper, stationery items, loose-leaf books, and ledger binders.” Their trademark design was on the cover of the mid-1964 Beatles binder.
“I got my binders not long ago from a guy in Detroit who had bought a derelict factory and was liquidating it. He came across these binders in a cupboard. They were being used to hold all the previous business’s documents!” – Phil Harbour.
Discover more great stories about the Beatles memorabilia in Terry’s book:
NEMS and the Business of Selling Beatles Merchandise in the U.S. 1964-1966 (2ND EDITION)
The book covers the approximately 150 licensed items that dotted store shelves and helped fuel the band-crazed fan during the time right after the band landed in America and performed on The Ed Sullivan Show. Toys, games, dolls, jewelry, clothing, wigs, and more!
Strawberry Fields Forever by The Beatles on Magical Mystery Tour
“Strawberry Fields Forever” from Magical Mystery Tour
Equal time here for a critically acclaimed Beatles song, one that some critics have described as a masterpiece. “Strawberry Fields Forever,” written by John Lennon, was on the other side of the double-A-sided 45 with Paul McCartney’s “Penny Lane” when it was initially released in 1967, and then included on the Magical Mystery Tour album. It was based on Lennon’s recollections of playing as a child on the grounds of Strawberry Fields, the Salvation Army home for children in Liverpool.
Lennon crafted the song during the six weeks that he was on the set for a small part in Richard Lester’s film How I Won the War. With the help of LSD to give the song its psychedelic tone, Lennon referred to “Strawberry Fields” as psychoanalysis set to music, a look inside the real him, including some of his significant insecurities. For example, in David Sheff’s Lennon biography All We are Saying Lennon reflected:
John Lennon on Strawberry Fields Forever
“No one I think is in my tree.” Well, what I was trying to say in that line is “Nobody seems to be as hip as me, therefore I must be crazy or a genius.” It’s the same problem as I had when I was five: There is something wrong with me because I seem to see things other people don’t see. Am I crazy, or am I a genius?… What I’m saying, in my insecure way, is “Nobody seems to understand where I’m coming from. I seem to see things in a different way from most people.”
In the studio, some elaborate instrumentation accompanied Lennon’s introspection: all four of the Beatles played additional percussion instruments in addition to their guitars and drums, as did some Beatles assistants. Four trumpet players and three cellists contributed as well. And John Lennon and Paul McCartney each played a mellotron, a keyboard instrument that played tape loops and could mimic musical instruments. For this song, the mellotron’s flute sounds were accessed.
Knowing Where We Came From
“Strawberry Fields” began and ended with the mellotron and was dreamy/avant-garde/psychedelic in tone, with a false ending followed seconds later by cacophonous swirly-sounding mellotron, trumpet, and snare. John said this was one of the favorite songs that he wrote.
Knowing where we came from – and where we’re going, together – is worthwhile. Be smart, be safe, be well.
Get Tim’s great book looking at the meanings behind Beatles songs:
When We Find Ourselves in Times of Trouble: The Beatles: All Their Songs with Encouraging Words for Challenging Times
KINDLE (OR DOWNLOAD THE FREE APP TO READ ON YOUR LAPTOP)
This book addresses all the songs of the Beatles, from their earliest demos to Abbey Road, in a conversational, accessible format. Special attention is devoted to the band’s creative process and its influence on and synergistic relationship with the culture at large. The book’s genesis was the author’s hope that a daily Beatles song could provide a brief respite from the significant stress and uncertainty caused by the coronavirus pandemic, and beyond that, from the challenges of any personally difficult time – our times of trouble.
The Beatles played in Aldershot on 9th December 1961. Tony Broadbent takes a look at the momentous day that would end Sam Leach’s hopes of becoming Beatles manager, and convince John, Paul, George and Pete that Brian Epstein was the right man for the job.
THE PALAIS BALLROOM, ALDERSHOT
SAM LEACH thought quick and hard. When in doubt do something, anything. “I tell you what lads, never say die, we’ll drive round the town, pin up posters on every hoarding or telegraph pole we see. That done, we’ll drop off your instruments and equipment at the Palais Ballroom, then I’ll take everyone for a quick bite to eat at the little cafe opposite. How’s that sound?”
For once, The Beatles were stone cold silent.
After grabbing something to eat, they all split up and scoured the town for prospective punters. Handing out handbills to everyone they met. They visited every pub and coffee bar and dropped word about the fabulous group playing that night, at the Palais. But the good people of Aldershot weren’t interested, even when, in utter desperation, Sam played his final card and told any and every one that’d listen that admission was free.
“Aldershot’s not ready for rock ‘n’ roll or The Beatles,” Sam said, dejectedly, lighting up another cigarette.
“Aldershot’s so crap, they’re not even ready for inside bloody toilets,” snapped John. “But as we’re already bloody here, let’s all just sod off down to Soho, in London, and get ourselves royally pissed.”
“Hey, come on, John,” pleaded Paul. “We’ve got to give it a try, even if we only play for five minutes. Eh, oop, kid, what do you say?”
“No, they can all go and get buggered…the dozy sods.”
Paul McCartney Started to Sing
Paul put his head on one side and started to sing ‘There’s no business like show business’. He smiled inanely and waved his hands in the air as if they were tambourines. “Hey, come on, John.” He kicked a foot out like a Kentucky minstrel and started prancing up the street. “Hey, Johnny, you know the show’s always gotta go on.”
“Ah, sod it,” snapped John. “Where the fook are we going to, fellas?”
“To the top, Johnny,” they all chorused back.
“And which fookin’ top is that, fellas?”
“To the top of the fookin’ poppermost, Johnny,” they all yelled.
“Okay, fellow Beatles, we fookin’ well play. The show goes on.”
Everyone cheered then, even Dave, Sam’s driver.
Sam Opened The Doors and……..
Sam opened the doors of the Palais Ballroom at half-past seven on the dot, as advertised, but the only thing he was met with was a face-full of swirling snowflakes. He closed the door quickly. “God’s holy trousers, whatever did I do in my past life to deserve this?” He shook his head. “No business, like no business? Sod that, let’s have a ball, anyway.” He sauntered into the ballroom. “They’ll all be along in a minute, lads, so why don’t you get started. Just think of it being like your early days in Hamburg. You know, those times you told me about, when it was the sound of your music alone that had to grab the punters by the scruff of the neck and drag ‘em in, off the street. What was it called, now? The Punjabi?”
“No!” The Beatles all shouted back. “The fookin’ Indra.”
“That’s what I meant,” said Sam. “Do some fookin’ Indra. If anything will bring the buggers in, it’ll be a bit of that.”
“Yeah,” sniffed George. “Mach some more bloody schau.”
“Mach schau! Mach schau!” yelled John into the microphone.
Pete, Count us in!
“Okay,” shouted Paul, vamping a run of notes on his bass. “Pete, count us in.” Pete hit his sticks together. Tik-a-Tik-a-Tik-a-Tik-a. Paul hit a single bass note and launched straight into ‘Long Tall Sally’. That done, fully energised by the music, The Beatles shot themselves full of rhythm-and-blues and ripped it up and rocked it up for three finger-blistering, pick-scraping hours. They pounded out the beat as if they were playing ‘the Tower’ in front of four thousand screaming fans, not the eighteen or so people dancing and jiving at the Palais Ballroom. And Sam, Terry, Spike, and the van driver, Dave, could do nothing but lose themselves in the magic of it all. Swinging and swaying, clapping their hands, popping their fingers, and tapping their feet to the relentless rockin’ Mersey beat.
Money
And then with John’s final scream that all he ever wanted from life was ‘Money’, The Beatles rolled up the night with one last long chiming chord. Everyone clapped and cheered, jumped up and down, and shouted for more. And all four Beatles up on the stage, their hearts thumping in their chests, sweat pouring from them, looked out from under the spell they’d just cast and saw that as tiny as the crowd was, the cry for more was as urgent and as heartfelt as any audience they’d ever played to.
John sighed and nodded at Paul. Paul nodded at George. Paul, his voice hoarse, whispered, “Roll Over Beethoven.” John, George and Pete each nodded back. George picked out the opening notes of the Chuck Berry rocker, each note as sharp and bright as the glass in the mirror ball hanging from the ceiling. The girls spun. The boys jived. And The Beatles rocked it, two by two, for ten glorious minutes and everyone dug to the rhythm-and-blues until ‘Liverpool’s Number One Rock Outfit’ brought their first rocking visit to the south to a close.
Roll over Aldershot and go tell London the news.
Sam stood at the foot of the stage, beaming. “That, fellas, was bloody marvellous. You did yourselves and all of Liverpool proud. So, what say, we celebrate? I’ve asked the local judies if they’d like to stay on for a bit and, believe it or not, they all said yes. I wonder why? So I had our Spike go and get in two crates of Watneys Brown Ale and a box of Smith’s crisps from the pub over the road. So, if you’re up for it, like, I’ll go crank up the record player, put on a swinging platter or two, and we can all have ourselves a proper party.”
John didn’t bother looking at Paul or George. He already had his eye fixed on something blonde standing in the middle of the dance floor. “Oooh, yes, please, Mr Sam, I could do with a bit o’ hanky-panky about now. I need to exercise me evil ways.”
Dancing with The Girls
They all took turns dancing with the girls, everyone doing their version of The Twist. John, impatient for his next turn at dancing waltzed with George, then Paul. Pete sat that one out. They played ‘Bingo’ using beer bottle-tops as counters. Played football with Ping-Pong balls. The rest of the time they just played the fool. John, his back hunched, his face distorted, staggering around the ballroom yelling, “The bells. The bells. It’s the bells.”
Sam handed Spike a camera. “Here, Spike, take some more photographs. I want to remember this. They’re certifiable, the lot of them.”
“Yeah,” said Spike, “certifiably brilliant.”
There was a sudden loud hammering on the front door.
“Come on in, if you’re coming,” shouted Paul.
“Bugger off!” yelled John.
Police!
Terry went to investigate and quickly reappeared, his arms waving from side to side, in a frenzied hand-jive. He snatched the needle arm from off the turntable, spun round, and mouthed the word, “Police.”
The effect was instantaneous. John began giggling and was soon doubled up with laughter. Paul sniggered. George grinned. Pete bit his lip. Sam, madly signalling for quiet, bounced his hands up and down in front of him as if trying to push the sound to the floor, but it did no good, the giggling and laughter just grew louder, as did the knocking.
Sam sighed, burped, belched; went to deal with ‘the bizzies’.
“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” yelled an authoritative voice. “Do you know what bloody time, it is?”
Sam peered out into the gloom. In the pale yellow light of the street lamps were four police vans, two police motorbikes, a mounted policeman, and a very big, sour-faced police sergeant.
“Er, um, we were just finishing, like, constable.”
“And about bloody time, too. It’s gone bloody midnight. And you lot are creating a very serious disturbance of the peace.”
Sam blinked and blinked and tried desperately to sober up. “Er, we, er, were just going, officer.”
Get Out of Aldershot!
“Now, wouldn’t be soon enough,” barked the police sergeant. “You bloody shower have got fifteen minutes to get out of Aldershot, do you hear me? On yer bikes, the lot of you, and don’t you ever come back.”
“You and Aldershot can fook off, too,” George muttered under his breath. “Never would be far too soon for us ever to come back here.”
Get Tony’s great book, The One After 9:09 now
The One After 9:09
A DISAFFECTED LIVERPOOL TEENAGER BECOMES INVOLVED WITH THE BEATLES WHEN HE’S HIRED TO HELP PREVENT THE MURDER OF THE GROUP’S MANAGER, BRIAN EPSTEIN.
After their first meeting with Brian Epstein, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Pete Best had a follow up meeting at Brian’s NEMS office in Whitechapel, Liverpool. Tony Broadbent takes up the story from his book, The One After 9:09:
“I tell you, the door’s bloody well locked.”
“That’s because it’s half-day closing, dafty.”
“Well knock on it, then.”
“You knock, you’re nearest.”
“Pete, you do it.”
“Me hands are full.”
“Well, use yer head, then.”
“We could always use Bob as a battering ram, if we had to.”
“We already are,” growled John Lennon.
This Is Me Dad
He opened the door and smiled a greeting as all four Beatles tried to push through as one. “This is me Dad,” John said, pointing over his shoulder to the small dapper figure of Bob Wooler. The absurdity of it perplexed him for a moment. He’d fully expected the Beatles to come by themselves, his simple hope they’d all arrive together and on time. Now here they were with a stranger of sorts in tow and everyone smelling very strongly of beer. It was all suddenly so very awkward. The Cavern’s disc jockey smiled at him, apologetically.
He knew very well who Bob Wooler was. And in many ways had every reason to be grateful to the man, as the DJ had been largely responsible for creating local demand for The Beatles’ recording of ‘My Bonnie’. So once he’d managed to get everybody sat down in his office, upstairs, he took Bob Wooler as his cue.
Bob Wooler
“Thanks to Mr Wooler’s constant featuring of ‘My Bonnie’ in clubs and dancehalls around Liverpool, NEMS has sold over a hundred copies of your Polydor recording in the last week and a half, alone. Further, to which, I’ve already met with the London representatives of Deutsche Grammophon, the owners of the Polydor label, to ask them to release your record in the United Kingdom.”
It was a good opening verse, but The Beatles were impatient to get to the chorus. That’s why they’d brought Bob Wooler along. They liked and respected the DJ, because they knew he liked them and championed their music. He was also an adult, like Brian Epstein, and they wanted his opinion, because as eager as they were for business guidance, they were still very cagey about it all. When they’d all met up in the Grapes, prior to their appointment at NEMS, John Lennon had been his usual blunt self.
All Mouth and No Trousers?
“This Epstein fella has no experience with rock ‘n’ roll other than selling pop records from his shops. From the look of him, he’s probably more into Mantovani and his bloody Orchestra or, worse, bloody opera. So, the question is, Bob, as much as we need help, like, is this Epstein ever going to amount to anything? Or do you reckon he’s all mouth and no trousers?”
As ever, Bob Wooler played it cautious and said he’d best hold his counsel until later. It was always the wiser course to rehearse your ad-libs before you ever gave voice to them, off the cuff, so to speak.
BRIAN EPSTEIN looked at each Beatle, in turn. “You don’t currently have a manager, do you?” They slowly shook their heads. “So, I take it then,” he added, cautiously, “that there’s no one that negotiates your fees or that deals with your engagements on a regular basis?”
We Don’t Have A Proper Manager
They shook their heads. After a lengthy silence, Bob Wooler made as if to speak, but it was Paul McCartney that spoke up. “As I said, last time, Brian, Pete sorts out our diary of engagements, usually. Helped of course by his mum, Mona. She owns the Casbah Club, like. But other than that, no, we don’t have a proper manager. So we generally take whatever we can get.”
“Yes, I see,” said Brian Epstein.
“We take anything and everything we can get our bloody hands on, okay?” snapped John. “But we get lots of bloody work and we don’t have to go bloody begging for it, either, if that’s what you think.”
“No, no, John, I’m not inferring anything. It’s only that whatever you’re getting from people, I think you’re worth much, much more. And I think that all the promoters around Liverpool know that. That’s why you’re always in work, but really going nowhere at all.”
A Dead End?
The silence this time was like a blanket of fog. The truth of Brian Epstein’s words hit hard, even though The Beatles had talked of little else for weeks. They were working harder and harder and becoming more and more popular every time they played, but were really just going round and round the same old circles. John, Paul, and George all shared a growing dread that, as big as The Beatles were around Merseyside, there was a very real danger that a proper recording contract, let alone greater fame and fortune, might elude them forever. Liverpool had very quickly and surprisingly turned into a dead end. And for once, drained of all their colourful banter, The Beatles stared back at the man who’d suddenly shone a bright light onto their deepest and darkest fear.
Brian Epstein smiled, almost bashfully. “As I told you, last Sunday, I don’t have much experience in these sort of things, but I’d very much like to look after your affairs.” He swallowed. “To put it simply, you do need a manager. The question is would you like me to do it?”
The Beatles Sat Still
The Beatles sat as still as statues and just stared at him. He resisted the temptation to shoot his cuffs and instead re-read the points he’d written down on his notepad. He looked up. “If you did want me to manage you, I’d require fifteen per cent of your gross fees, on a weekly basis. In return, I would assume responsibility for arranging all of your bookings, which, let me stress, would be much better organised, far more prestigious, and would take you much further afield than all the venues you play here in Liverpool.
I would also make it a point that you would never again play a date for less than £15, except for your Cavern lunchtime sessions, where I will renegotiate your current fee of £5, so that it’s doubled to £10. With the number of people you attract to the club regularly, Ray McFall can more than afford it. Further, I will do my best to extricate you from the recording contract you signed with Mr Bert Kaempfert, in Hamburg. After which, I’ll use my influence as one of the largest record retailers in the north-west to get you a proper recording contract with a major British recording company.”
Would You Like Me To Manage You?
He looked down, aligned his notepad with the edge of the leather-bound blotting pad and carefully and deliberately placed his hands flat on the desk. Summoning up all his theatrical training, he composed his face into one of quiet confidence. “So, would you like me to manage you?” He looked at each Beatle, in turn, again, purposefully ignoring the ripples and currents in the silence.
John’s eyes slid sideways and he wrinkled his nose. Paul and George both coughed so as to conceal the slight nod of their heads. Only Pete Best held Brian Epstein’s gaze without regard to how his band-mates felt. This would dramatically change his role in the group and he wondered what his mother would think about it. After all, as she’d so often told him, it was really his group, wasn’t it? Pete Best and The Beatles. He was the one the girls always screamed and shouted for. Everyone said so.
Bob Wooler did his best to fade further into the background. After all, he’d often been one of those greedy Liverpool promoters Brian Epstein had just spoken about. It was time to keep a very still tongue.
You Manage Us!
John’s voice suddenly boomed out like a foghorn. “Right, then, Brian, you manage us. Where’s the contract? On yer desk, is it? Give it us, here, then, and I’ll sign it now.”
“I don’t have a contract for you to sign, John, because I didn’t want you to think I was being presumptuous. However, I promise, I’ll have one drawn up by the next time we meet.”
“Will it make a difference to what we play, Brian?” Paul asked.
“No, Paul, not at all. I just want to help present you in the very best light possible, ensure you’re always paid what you’re worth, and given the proper respect that is your due.”
This was the sort of stuff they wanted to hear. The Beatles nodded. At least three of them did. And so did Bob Wooler.
Bob Wooler was deep in thought. Even he’d underestimated the manager of NEMS. Brian Epstein’s timing had been impeccable. If he’d had the courage or the vision or the money, he might’ve had a go at managing The Beatles himself. As it was, he had enough on his plate tending to his turntable, his ever-expanding record collection, and arranging for groups to play at the Cavern and elsewhere. One thing he knew for sure, though, this latest development would put a good few Liverpool noses out of joint.
George Harrison scratched his nose, absentmindedly. “I think I better go now, go relax in a bubble bath. I need to ponder what the word ‘presumptuous’ means when it’s at home.”
Discover more about this important time in Beatles history in Tony’s great book, The One After 9:09
The One After 9:09
A DISAFFECTED LIVERPOOL TEENAGER BECOMES INVOLVED WITH THE BEATLES WHEN HE’S HIRED TO HELP PREVENT THE MURDER OF THE GROUP’S MANAGER, BRIAN EPSTEIN.
