John Lennon wrote “Norwegian Wood,” whose working title for a while was “This Bird Has Flown,” while on a ski trip in Switzerland. The middle section – including the eventual title — was attributed to Paul McCartney. In the book Many Years from Now McCartney said:
John told Playboy that he hadn’t the faintest idea where the title came from but I do. Peter Asher had his room done out in wood, a lot of people were decorating their places in wood. Norwegian wood. It was pine really, cheap pine. But it’s not as good a title, “Cheap Pine,”baby….
Bob Dylan
The song, the brief story of an affair, is a nod to Bob Dylan’s influence on John Lennon’s songwriting; and Dylan returned the favor with his own song “4th Time Around” from his 1966 album “Blonde on Blonde.”
This was an acoustic song, including George Harrison’s acoustic 12-string. Most notably, however, this was one of the first songs to feature a sitar, which Harrison overdubbed after some consternation in the studio that the arrangement just wasn’t working. His riffs got immediate approval from the group when they worked nicely in the song.
The Yardbirds
George had gotten interested in Indian music around this time, and bought an inexpensive sitar of his own to experiment with (this preceded his more serious lessons on the sitar with Ravi Shankar). And it’s possible that one of the influences on George’s growing interest came from the Yardbirds. The Beatles shared a gig with them in June of 1965, and earlier that year the Yardbirds had made their hit “Heart Full of Soul” with a sitar part. Ultimately the sitar was replaced with a guitar solo by Jeff Beck, but who knows. Everyone was listening to everyone else’s music around this time.
Everyone was exploring. And in a way, everything was derivative. The Beatles, Dylan, the Yardbirds, even the Kinks including some sitar-like licks in one of their songs. And Rubber Soul was the first of the Beatles’ “exploratory” albums complete with a sitar along with the traditional rock band instruments.
Something wasn’t working in the studio for the Beatles, and they explored new possibilities. During hard times, although the initial impulse typically is to rely on the tried and true, it may be necessary to improvise, to explore new ways to cope.
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.
March 11-12 — The Iron Door Club | ‘Rock Around The Clock’ 12-hour all-night gig | Liverpool’s very first ‘Saturday night and Sunday morning’ rock session for Sam Leach.
“LADIES AND GENTLEGERMS, welcome to the Iron Door Club and ‘Rock Around the Clock’…Liverpool’s first ever all-night rock session. Now, to open the show, we proudly present the best group ever to come out of…Where did you say you come from, lads?”
Rock Around The Clock
Terry McCann, minder-cum-compère, threw a wink at his boss, Sam Leach, standing down by the side of the stage. Johnny Rocco and The Jets were making their first professional appearance anywhere and Sam was as nervous as a newly neutered cat the band wouldn’t be up to scratch. But there was no time for a snappy comeback line. The Jets’ drummer bashed a cymbal, yelled “Onetoofreefawr!” and led the group straight into ‘Rock Around the Clock’.
Terry laughed, ran off stage, waving to the crowd.
“You know, Tel,” Sam shouted. “I’m sick to death of that bloody song, but they don’t sound too bad, do they? Clever of them to start off with it, I should’ve thought of it myself and I will next time.”
Sam Leach
The club had barely been open half an hour and the dance floor was already one heaving mass of beat fans. Sam shook his head in wonder. “I knew they’d come in droves if I gave them what they wanted.” He waved at a poster on the wall. Read it aloud. “‘Twelve groups for twelve hours. Price: only six shillings and sixpence’. But that’s me. Isn’t it? Sam Leach, the only Liverpool music promoter who’ll never get rich, because he always gives it straight back to the fans. Who else has the balls to turn this old ‘Trad-jazz only’ dive into Merseyside’s very first Mecca of rock ‘n’ roll?”
“Nobody’s got your balls, Sam,” Terry said. “And even if they did, none of them have got a pair of trousers big enough to fit them in.”
Sam sniffed. Nodded. How true. “I don’t know how much I’m paying you, Tel, but give yourself a bonus.” Suddenly feeling peckish, he turned, his eyes alighting on a fresh-faced teenager with an unruly mop of hair. He called the lad over. “Here, Spike. I know I said you being the new boy meant you had to get your feet wet, but I didn’t mean for you to go swimming in your soddin’ clothes.
“When I sent you outside to check on the size of the queue you obviously didn’t see the great, big, bloody umbrella by the front door did you? You’ve got to learn to use your head in the music business. Anyroad…do us another favour, will yers? Pop upstairs and get Tel and me some hot dogs…lashings of tomato sauce, onions…whole lotta mustard. And get one down your neck, too. You look like you could do with it.”
Sam Leach (bottom, with Dick Matthews, John Lennon and George Harrison)
Beat fans were still pouring down the stairs into the huge basement cellar that served as the dance floor. Glory be, thought Sam, there must be well over five hundred of the lovely buggers and The Beatles aren’t even due on until eleven. He turned and shouted into Terry’s ear, “You know, Tel, I think it’s going to be a very successful night. And, unless I’m very much mistaken, I hear the sound of cash registers a-ring-a-ding-dinging.”
Sam sang along to ‘Hound Dog’, the Jets’ third number—and when Spike handed him a hot dog in a paper wrapper, he paused, curled his lip and mumbled, “Thank you, very much.” Then he bit the head off his hot dog and yelled, “This is the life…rock ‘n’ roll!”
Check back for Part 2
Get Tony Broadbent’s great book celebrating the early history of The Beatles
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.
Get a copy of Terry’s great book on Beatles memorabilia
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!
If you had to select the 100 Most Pivotal Moments of The Beatles’ career, what would you choose…and why? And by “The Beatles’ career,” I mean both their years together and their solo years. Quite a daunting task, isn’t it? But that was the opportunity afforded to Goldmine writer and author of John Lennon: Life is What Matters, John Borack. John was recently asked to write a great new book, The Beatles 100: One Hundred Pivotal Moments in Beatles History. And it is really, really interesting!
Please join Lanea Stagg, the author of The Recipe Records Series of rock’n’roll cookbooks and Jude Southerland Kessler, author of The John Lennon Series of narrative biographies as they sit down with Borack to discuss his choices.
This is one of the most thought-provoking, conversation-starting podcasts that “She Said She Said” has ever published. Here’s a teaser: Pivotal Moment #1 is John meeting Paul. Pivotal Moment #2 is America Greets the Fab Four in 1964 and Moment #3 is Pete Best is Replaced by Ringo Starr.
So, the moments are NOT in cause-and-effect, sequential order. You will agree and disagree. You will nod and shout at the show. You will be totally engaged. Don’t miss this lively podcast! And buy John’s intriguing book wherever great books are sold!
1964 in John’s life! “A Hard Day’s Night”, and created/recorded the accompanying, best-selling soundtrack; a World Tour, a Scottish sojourn, a lengthy North American Tour hitting cities all across the U.S. and Canada.
Recipe Records – A Culinary Tribute to The Beatles
Invite your friends to “jam” with recipes such as “Stuffed Sgt. Peppers,” “Strawberry Pie Forever,” “Savoy Truffles,” “You Say Goodbye, I Say Jell-O,” and more! The cookbook contains recipes which “pair well” with song selections, trivia, stories, quips, and quotes about the Fabs. 50 recipes to celebrate 50 years of the Fabs are cleverly set out, and feature recipes from Beatles Book Store friends, Jude Southerland Kessler and David Bedford! This book makes a terrific gift for anyone who likes to eat….and dig The Beatles!
Tony Broadbent looks at that day when Brian Epstein first walked into The Cavern to see The Beatles at a lunchtime gig.
BILL HARRY had been as good as his word. Even the weather had played its part. Early November was usually cold, wet and windy. And here he was, without an overcoat. Even so, he walked briskly down Mathew Street. Not to appear overly eager, but promptness was ever a virtue. He noticed his personal assistant, Alistair Taylor, had to make an effort to keep up with him.
“Bit of a surprise, Brian. Not your usual lunchtime custom.”
Mathew Street
He narrowed his eyes. Mathew Street didn’t improve with daylight. It was still a dark, grubby little street, utterly devoid of character. He turned and smiled, encouragingly. “It’s only so we can get some more information on this Polydor record they’ve released, Alistair. We needn’t stay long.”
He tried not to look too disquieted as he picked his way between the goods-lorries. Or, indeed, disgusted, as he did his best to avoid stepping on the squashed fruit and vegetables that littered the cobblestones. That would give entirely the wrong impression. Yet, even he saw that, dressed as they both were, in their business suits, they looked more and more out of place with every step they took. He did his best to ignore the inquisitive, almost insolent, gazes of the shop girls, office girls, delivery-boys, and apprentices. All of them stood in a line that stretched down one entire side of the street. Yet, much to his surprise, he found the chatter and swell of voices only added to his own growing sense of excitement.
The Cavern Club
“This is silly, Brian. Look at the steam billowing out of that hole in the wall. There must be a fire down there or something.”
He smiled enigmatically. “We’re here. And exactly on time.”
Thin wisps of steam surrounded the entrance to the Cavern like a cheap theatrical effect. But the impression it made on him was much more dramatic. It was as the very air itself was suffused with the pounding beat of drums and electric bass. Out of the blue a large man, wearing a dinner jacket and red cummerbund under an open overcoat, stepped forward sweeping out an arm towards them, like a door opening. “You must be Mr Epstein. Please go straight down, sir. We’ve been expecting you.” Paddy Delaney, the club’s doorman and chief bouncer, threw a slow salute and smiled. He nodded and said, “Thank you,” and tried hard not to salute back.
He glanced over his shoulder to see if Alistair Taylor was actually following him. Then he stepped through the brick-arched doorway and descended into the depths of The Cavern. It felt like he was entering a train tunnel and a blast of hot, fetid air hit him before he had a chance to catch his breath. The place was dark and dank and stank of disinfectant and cheap tobacco and sweat and body odour and urine. He almost gagged, but continued on down the narrow slippery stone stairs to the warehouse cellar. He put out a hand to steady himself and immediately withdrew it when he felt the walls running with condensation. For one panicky moment he regretted being there and was about to turn and push his way back up to the street, when the beat of the music caught and grabbed him¾transfixed him.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.
He swallowed—lost for words as much as for air. It was different from anything he’d ever experienced. It wasn’t at all like the charity show at the Albany Cinema. It was raw, urgent, almost primal, and it hit him in the chest. Pounded at his head.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom¼Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom
What On Earth is This Place?
“Good God, Brian. What on earth is this place?” Alistair Taylor shouted. But he pretended not to hear and just continued his descent into the depths of The Cavern.
At the bottom of the steps, a man sat at a battered folding canteen table. On top of it were two bowls of loose change. One for silver, the other for pennies. The man looked up and waved him past the line of teenagers waiting to pay their admission money. He pressed on, the crush of tightly packed bodies parting in front of him, as if it too had been ordained.
The Beatles
He was in a low cavernous space made of three, long interlocking brick arches. It resembled nothing so much as a dungeon in a second-rate horror movie. Undeterred, he moved closer to the source of the sound and light until he found himself at the back of the long central aisle. There was a small stage at the far end with rows and rows of swaying teenagers seated in front of it. He looked around. Both outer aisles were one writhing mass of dancing, jiving, jumping bodies. Then suddenly The Beatles were there in front of him.
Boom. Ba-Boom. Boom. Ba-Boom.
He couldn’t speak. He could hardly breathe. He didn’t even turn round when he felt Alistair Taylor come to stand by his side. He was already bound in chains, chains of love, and he didn’t want to break away from them. Not now. Not ever.
Boom. Ba-Boom. Boom. Ba-Boom¼
The sound of The Beatles hammered at him. It was beyond loud; it was physical. The beat thudded against his chest. Went deeper and deeper and became one with the beating chambers of his heart. Became the very lifeblood rushing and pounding in his ears.
Boom. Ba-Boom.Ba-Boom. Ba-Boom.
And suddenly he was through the sound barrier and on into the realm beyond. He became one with the mass of dancing, joyous, revelling bodies and he knew with all his heart the boys on stage were playing, singing, drumming, moving, only for him.
Boom. Ba-Boom. Boom. Ba-Boom
He felt free. “Oh, my God,” he all but cried to himself. “This is what it must feel like to feel really and truly free.” There was no prickling, no blushing, no dark sweats. Only a joy that coursed through him and buoyed him, and held him tethered, transfixed and deliciously captive. He realised he was grinning like a demented young schoolboy. And as he tried to still the urge to shout his feelings out loud, he felt tears of sheer joy pricking at the corners of his eyes.
Mr Brian Epstein of NEMS
The music stopped. The effect so wrenching, he had to shake off a rising feeling of panic he might never hear it again. But as the wave of clapping and cheering slowly subsided, and his heart stopped racing, he found he could breathe once more. He blinked, blinked. Slowly became aware of a smooth, velvety voice. “I have some special news for all you Cavern dwellers.” He tried to focus, to listen. It was probably some announcement to do with The Beatles. “We have someone rather famous in the audience today. A Mr Brian Epstein of NEMS Music Stores.”
“Oh, damn and blast,” he said to himself. That was the very last thing he’d wanted to happen. He felt his skin start to prickle from his neck to his cheeks—the precursor to a shaming, full, red-faced blush. He felt nauseous. Tried to swallow. Did his best to smile. Maintain his dignity. Almost at the point of choking, he nodded, waved a hand for the music to continue. Mercifully, the group’s drummer immediately counted out the time on his drumsticks. The pounding beat began again. The sound engulfed him. And in an instant he was transported from the depths of misery to almost dizzying heights of joy.
The Boys Had An Extraordinary Presence
He stared at the boys on the bandstand. The lead singer was singing, imploringly, of wanting money. But money was the very last thing on his mind, it was The Beatles, themselves, that utterly consumed him and his hungry eyes missed nothing. The boys were all dressed in leather jackets and jeans as in the photographs. Their hair still unfashionably long, three of them with it brushed down over the foreheads. In between songs, they smoked, ate sandwiches, and drank Coca-Cola straight from the bottle. At times, they even turned their backs on their audience and talked and joked amongst themselves.
They ad-libbed sarcastic replies to requests and shouts from the audience. Yet they were always surprisingly funny and engaging. Once or twice, without any sort of apology, they even stopped singing halfway through a song, seemingly dissatisfied or bored with their performance. Much to his surprise, he found them no less charming for their outrageous antics. A feeling, he noticed, fully shared by the rest of the audience. The boys had an extraordinary presence. More importantly, they exuded that unmistakable charisma that spelled star quality. The very thing he now realised he’d unknowingly been searching for all the days of his life.
I Must Go and Talk To Them
At the interval, he turned, almost breathless, to his still utterly bewildered assistant. “Come on, Alistair. I must go and talk to them. I must.” Holding an arm out in front of him, as if to ward off any killjoys, he jostled his way through the crowd to the cramped band-room at the side of the stage. He approached a Beatle lighting a cigarette. “Hello,” he said, “I’m Brian Epstein. And this is my personal assistant, Alistair Taylor.”
“That must be very nice for you,” said George Harrison, grinning. “What brings Mr Epstein and his personable assistant here, then?”
My Bonnie
“Your, er…it’s about your record, ‘My Bonnie’. People keep coming into the store and asking for it. They say you play it, here, at the Cavern.”
“Well, I don’t play it meself, like,” said George, dryly, “but he does. That little short fella hunched over his turntable desperately trying not to listen to what we’re saying. Here, Bob, meet Mr Brian Epstein of…”
“NEMS. Yes. Thank you, Mr Harrison.” Bob Wooler checked the status of the disc he was playing, squeezed out from his little cubbyhole, and proffered his hand. “The Beatles’ record of ‘My Bonnie’? Yes. I’m the one you have to blame for that. People are always pestering me about how they can get hold of a copy.”
He shook Bob Wooler’s hand. “Yes, well, I’ve been on to Polydor Records in…in London and they’ve never heard of it.”
The Beat Brothers
“Yeah, well that’s because they know us as ‘The Beat Brothers’.” It was Paul McCartney. “Hello, I’m Paul. Only, George, here, just said you’re Brian Epstein, of NEMS. We’ve bought thousands of records from your shop. Well, hundreds, maybe. But, er, our record will be listed as ‘Tony Sheridan and The Beat Brothers’. We were just the backing group, like. Although we do have a contract with Polydor to do more.”
He smiled, a winning smile. “Er, Paul MacArthy?”
“No, that’s McCartney. You must’ve been reading your Mersey Beat. I’ll duff Bill Harry next time I see him. He’s always misspelling me name.”
He nodded. “Tony Sheridan?¼and…‘The Beat Brothers’? Yes?” He half-turned. “Alistair, make a note of that, please?”
George stuck his head over Paul’s shoulder, grinned. “Would the rather famous Mr Epstein like to hear the record played live? Because if he did, like, I’m sure we could ask the not so famous Mr Wooler, here, to oblige. Couldn’t we, Bob?”
He smiled, enthusiastically, nodded again. “Yes. Thank you. That would be delightful. That is, of course, if Mr Wooler wouldn’t mind?”
“It’s all work and no play for those of us that toil in obscurity in the vineyards of pop,” muttered Bob Wooler, as he squeezed himself back into his tiny cubicle. But once The Coasters had finished their ‘Searchin’, his dulcet velvety voice purred: “Now dig this, all you Cavern dwellers, it’s time you made this disc, one of NEMS’ best ever, best sellers.”
