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6 DECEMBER 1961: THE BEATLES MEET WITH BRIAN EPSTEIN AT NEMS

Part 1 The Beatles First Meeting with 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