We're now posting some pop-culture vignettes (preapproved, of course). Here's another:
The Beatles
In a small office room in the London offices of NEMS Enterprises, London, England, in the wee hours of a Wednesday in May 1966, the office lights were on. A visitor to this office would have been greeted with a most unexpected sight: Brian Epstein, the manager of the Beatles, seated at a desk, and two members of the world's most popular musical act, John Lennon and Paul McCartney, both sitting on the floor, all three of them going through a stack of Beatles albums and carefully writing down the names of the songs listed on the album covers.
What prompted this task - one which Epstein and the two Beatles had decided it was one they needed to perform personally, and not delegate to an office worker - was a request from Capitol Records which had finally pushed the group into taking action on something that had for years irritated them.
In the early months of 1964, a huge push from Capitol had, after several earlier failed attempts, broken the Beatles in America - their current single, "I Want to Hold Your Hand," had spent seven weeks at Number One in the States, and Beatlemania had crossed the Atlantic in full force. Capitol, the American arm of the Beatles' British label, EMI, hot on the heels of the single had released their second British album,
With the Beatles - retitled
Meet the Beatles for the American market - and it too had dominated the LP chart. But it wasn't the same as the British release.
In Britain at that time, there were virtually no radio stations that played rock and roll. The government-owned BBC, which by definition had to be all things to all people, confined rock and roll to a few hours on Saturday. This of course was in contrast to America's plethora of local commercial radio stations, many of which played pop music only.
This meant that in America, sales of records were driven by the radio; American teenagers would never buy an album, the conventional wisdom went at the time, that didn't include a hit single they'd heard on the radio. In Britain, it was the opposite; record sales were driven more by word of mouth, so British teenagers would resent buying an album that included singles they already owned on 45s; they wanted all-new material on albums. Until 1967 or so it was considered very bad form in Britain to include albums on singles. This meant that "I Want to Hold Your Hand" was not a track on
With the Beatles.
Furthermore, some of the songs on
With the Beatles were covers of recent American hits like "Please Mr. Postman," and Capitol had feared that American teenagers would find them old-hat, an important consideration for a group trying to break through from Britain, from which no group had yet successfully made it in America. So Capitol decided to solve the problem by leaving some of the cover versions off the retitled
Meet the Beatles and instead putting "I Want to Hold Your Hand" and its British and American B-sides (respectively, "This Boy" and "I Saw Her Standing There") on the album.
This had planted an idea in the mind of Dave Dexter, the head of international A&R for Capitol. Dexter was a jazz fan who hated rock and roll and didn't much like the Beatles either musically or personally. But he did like money, and it occurred to him to take the leftover cover versions, a recent British EP, and some older singles like "She Loves You" that had flopped in America before being revived by the January 1964 Beatlemania explosion, remix them, and slam them together into a new album called (with cynicism)
The Beatles' Second Album. Capitol ended up making double the profits it would have made from just one hit album - and a tradition of tampering with British releases was born.
For just about every release since then, Dexter had applied the same formula: take the British album, cut it in half, throw some singles onto it, and voila, the cigar smoke clears to reveal two new albums instead of one. Dexter's remixes were often more atmospheric than the original mix, but he cared not a whit for the fact that the resulting albums were often so short they could have fit on side of a vinyl album (and were thus a ripoff to the fans), nor for the fact that he was interfering with the careful work the Beatles had put into sequencing the albums to sound exactly they way they wanted them to sound. In Dexter's view, rock and roll was trash anyway, so what difference did it make?
Other record companies picked up on the idea as the British Invasion spread beyond the Beatles, and all the new British bands - the Rolling Stones, the Kinks, the Animals, the Yardbirds, you name it - were plagued by the same efforts on the part of their record companies to squeeze extra releases out of their work.
But as the Beatles' work had grown more sophisticated through records like late 1965's
Rubber Soul, Dexter's kind of disdain became harder and harder to justify. And the Beatles themselves, as their artistry grew, got to be more and more impatient with Capitol's interference.
The argument finally hit the fan in late spring 1966. The Beatles' summer US tour was upcoming, and Dexter had decided a new release was appropriate, to be titled
Yesterday and Today ("Yesterday," an album track only in England, had been released separately as a single in the US; now it was time for it to feature on an album, Dexter had decided). But, even with leftover tracks and singles Dexter had held back from
Help! and
Rubber Soul in their British versions, the album was still too short by three songs.
The group was working on a new album, and Dexter, upon learning that three new songs were finished for the upcoming album (to be titled
Revolver), sent a message to EMI in London to have the tapes flown to America to be included on the new album.
However [OOC: here's our butterfly], Paul White, Dexter's counterpart in Capitol Canada, but a hip transplanted Brit who was much more sympathetic to the Beatles and to rock and roll, got wind of this request from a friend in the London offices, and promptly told Epstein, who told his band. The lads were duly outraged - here they were trying to make
Revolver a real statement of how far they had come musically, and here was Dexter disassembling the album before it was even finished.
A phone call from Epstein to Dexter indicated that the new album was short by three tracks; what the hell, Dexter insisted, was he supposed to do? And so this had prompted the late-night session: Epstein, John, and Paul had sat down with carefully-obtained stacks of all of their British and American releases to date, and carefully compared each and every track to see whether or not every song they'd released up until then had made it onto an album.
That Friday, Epstein called Dexter back, this time with John and Paul on the line. They were ready for him: if Dexter really needed three tracks, they said, their brand-new single, with the A-side "Paperback Writer" and the B-side "Rain", would provide two; and a 1965 B-side, "I'm Down", hadn't made it onto any album to date. Dexter, a bit sheepishly, admitted that he'd been intending to hold the new single for the NEXT release, and that "I'm Down" had simply been forgotten about. But he refused to budge, and the call ended with no resolution.
That is, until Monday. Dexter's secretary told him he had a call on the line: Sir Joseph Lockwood, the chairman and chief executive officer of EMI.
"Sir Joseph!" Dexter said cheerily, but with his shaky voice giving away his nervousness. "How are you?"
"David," Lockwood said curtly. This was obviously not going to be a friendly call, Dexter quickly realized.
"David," Lockwood said, in clipped tones, "you are of course aware that the Beatles represent EMI's most successful musical act?"
"Oh, absolutely," Dexter said, "I'd have to be a fool to..."
Lockwood cut him off. "And of course you do realize that therefore, the Beatles represent a very large source of income to EMI?"
"Yes," Dexter said nervously, now afraid to speak too much. It was crystal clear where Lockwood was going. But Lockwood was determined to dress Dexter down.
"And you do realize that the lads' contract with EMI is due for renewal at the end of this year?" Dexter assented.
"And of course you do understand that EMI should be very keen to continue our relationship with the Beatles, which means that we should be quite keen to avoid antagonizing them...because the slightest hint that they are unhappy with us would immediately lead to overtures from Decca, Pye, HMV, and American labels like Columbia , RCA, Warners and the like...do you not?"
"Uh, yes, Mr. Lockwood...."
"And you do understand clearly," Lockwood said icily, coming to his point, "that a loss of the Beatles due to problems with Capitol would lead us at EMI to decide that certain personnel changes might be necessary in the Capitol offices?"
"The Beatles will have no problems with us," Dexter said hoarsely.
"See that they don't," Lockwood snapped, and hung up.
A quick phone call to Epstein created an agreement.
Yesterday and Today would be released to include "Paperback Writer," "Rain," and "I'm Down." The three new tracks - "I'm Only Sleeping", "And Your Bird Can Sing", and "Dr. Robert" - would be held for
Revolver, as the Beatles intended. All future Beatles albums would be released as the group intended. Dexter did win one small concession from Epstein and the group: with the British record market changing, they would in the future be OK with including their singles on their albums to begin with, or to allow periodic compilation albums for those that were not.
Yesterday and Today was released in June, with an admittedly blah cover shot of the Beatles grouped around a trunk - the Beatles had done a surrealistic photo shoot wearing butcher smocks and holding baby dolls and slabs of meat, but Paul had urged the group to forego using that as the album cover after Dexter's surrender - let's not poke the poor guy more than necessary, he insisted.
Revolver would be held in the US until November release. The group began their 1966 tour around the same time. It was to be their last tour for five years.
--
The irony of the Beatles' pledge to Dave Dexter was that in 1967 the first single they issued ended up on their next album, though it was not originally planned that way.
Along with the Allied victory in the Vietnam War and the Summer of Love, 1967 was also the year the Beach Boys released
Smile, their masterpiece, in April. The Beatles were duly impressed by the record - so much so, in fact, that they felt that their own under-construction masterpiece,
Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, felt a bit thin in comparison. Paul, in particular, backed by producer George Martin, felt the album needed some beefing up. So it was decided to include "Penny Lane" and "Strawberry Fields Forever" on the album, even though those two songs had already been issued as a single in February. This meant
Sgt. Pepper wouldn't be all-new, to the chagrin of both John and Paul, but it would at least sound better side by side with
Smile.
So one song, "She's Leaving Home," was abandoned, never to be returned to by the group; while another, "When I'm 64," was set aside for the next LP. The addition of "Strawberry Fields Forever" had also the side effect of adding another Lennon track to the heavily McCartney-dominated album.
Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, released June 1967
Side One:
Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band
With a Little Help from My Friends
Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds
Getting Better
Fixing a Hole
Strawberry Fields Forever
Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite
Side Two:
Within You Without You
Penny Lane
Lovely Rita
Good Morning, Good Morning
Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (reprise)
A Day in the LIfe
Meanwhile, the November 1966 release of
Revolver, which had included "Yellow Submarine" (released as a single in the US as well, where it reached Number One in December), had inspired the commencement of work on a psychedelic animated feature to serve as the Beatles' next film, prompted by a 3 am phone call from John Lennon to one of the creative minds at King Features: "Wouldn't it be great if Ringo were followed down the street by a yellow submarine?" The Beatles needed to make another film anyway to fulfill their contract with United Artists, and they liked the idea of doing voiceovers for an animated feature, as it would save them the trouble of going outside of a studio to record their lines.
However, Brian Epstein did some checking and came back to the boys with some bad news: the contract would require at least 25 percent of the content of the film to be live-action; animation alone would not do. Briefly they all thought of scrapping the animated film, but then George Harrison had the brainstorm of suggesting that the Beatles film some live-action sequences that could be mixed in with the story, making the film an unusual experiment for the time - a mixed live-action and animated movie.
Paul had written a song, "Magical Mystery Tour," that was too late for
Sgt. Pepper; but he suggested that somehow a storyline could be woven around it. Paul's original idea was to emulate the Merry Pranksters, a group of California acid-heads led by Ken Kesey who had traveled around in a psychedelic-painted bus in 1965 filming whatever they saw. Epstein suggested that Paul watch the Prankster's film sober instead of stoned; when he did, he realized how boring it was, and agreed with Epstein that a proper screenwriter should work on the Beatles' animated sequences.
The resulting story began with the animation, wherein we were introduced to a world of peace and love called "Pepperland," which had been taken over the Red Meanies (widely believed to be an allusion to the Soviet Communists). Old Fred had fled in the Yellow Submarine to try to find help. Then the live-action sequence began with the Beatles boarding a Mystery Tour in Liverpool (a common British pastime, where travelers would take a day trip to an unannounced destination). The trip quickly turns into a "Magical Mystery Tour", in the course of which the Beatles encounter Old Fred, who has come to them for help. The Beatles - transformed into their animated versions - return with Old Fred to Pepperland, break the rule of the Red Meanies, and restore Pepperland to peace and love.
The resulting film was titled
Yellow Submarine: A Magical Mystery Tour. It was the perfect Christmastime 1967 release to cap off the year of the Summer of Love, and it received wide acclaim for both its (trippy and groovy) animated and live-action sequences, both of which featured the Beatles' music. A soundtrack album was released as well:
Yellow Submarine, released December 1967
Side One:
Magical Mystery Tour
The Fool on the Hill
Flying
Blue Jay Way
Your Mother Should Know
I Am the Walrus
Side Two:
Yellow Submarine
Only a Northern Song
When I'm 64
All Together Now
Hey Bulldog
It's All Too Much
The Beatles also released two non-album singles in 1967. One was their Summer of Love anthem, "All You Need Is Love," backed with "Baby You're a Rich Man" on the flip side. Then, with the Beatles, encouraged by George Harrison, having discovered the joys of transcendental meditation, John Lennon had written one of his most beautiful songs, "Across the Universe." Paul, for one, was impressed enough by the song that he declared it should be the next single, and he put a great deal of work into it, adding vocal harmonies and a stunning bass guitar solo at the end, while George added both sitar and wah-wah guitar to the song. John was deeply pleased at his mates' contributions (Paul was happy that John was happy, as it had felt as though John's commitment to the group was beginning to waver), and everyone was pleased that the Beatles had squared the difficult circle of creating a song about a religious/spiritual experience that managed to be both majestic enough to evoke the awe of such an experience and to be gentle enough to convey the peace and serenity of being in such a moment. "Across the Universe" was the group's December 1967 single release, with Paul's "Hello Goodbye" on the B-side (John particularly appreciated this gesture, since Paul's more-commercial songs were usually picked for the A-sides of the group's singles).
The tragic death of Brian Epstein in late August 1967, meanwhile, while it didn't derail the
Yellow Submarine project, made the group deeply apprehensive about their futures. They had begun the process of setting up their own company, originally as a means of reducing their tax bill but eventually with the idea that they could promote other creative artists with it, to be called "Apple Corps" (after a Magritte painting Paul had purchased). The plans for Apple threatened to come undone without clarity as to who would be in charge. The Beatles would act as Apple's board of directors, but the idea, floated briefly by Paul, that they handle the business themselves was scotched by the other three - they had no interest, aptitude, or desire to become businessmen. It was clear that they needed to hire a manager. And it was at this point, in early 1968, that the figure of Allen Klein entered their lives.
--
Allen Klein wasn't the type of hipster that formed the stereotype of the rock music manager. A fat, dumpy accountant, he lacked both the urbane sophistication of a Brian Epstein or Kit Lambert and the "cool" factor of Kinks manager Ian Lawson and the Yardbirds' later manager, Peter Grant. Klein, however, was very good at forcing money out of record companies, and that made him very well liked by his clients. That far more of that money than was appropriate found its way into Klein's pockets was generally something that his artists found out only later.
Klein had long dreamed of managing the Beatles, and had tried to strike a deal with Epstein, but the normally polite Epstein had refused even to shake Klein's hand when they met. Klein, who had previously managed the late soul singer Sam Cooke, scored a number of British Invasion consolation-prize clients - Herman's Hermits, Donovan, finally the Rolling Stones - but his ultimate goal remained the Beatles, and when Epstein died in August 1967, Klein was sure his opportunity had come. When a contact told Klein in December that he'd overheard John Lennon remark in a group of people "unless we get someone to manage [Apple], we're fucked," he wasted no time in flying to London to present his credentials.
Paul McCartney was ambivalent; from the start, there was something about Klein that didn't feel right. But the Rolling Stones spoke well of him, and besides, Paul had no alternative candidates. The group had talked of approaching Lord Beeching, notorious for applying the "Beeching axe" in a major cutback of British Rail services, but no one was sure whether he would be interested in running a music-film-publishing company (he wasn't). Robert Stigwood, the Australian impresario behind the Bee Gees, had approached the group; but the Beatles were unimpressed with the Bee Gees, who at that time tried to emulate the Beatles' own sound, and they'd heard enough bad things about Stigwood that they wanted no part of him. Paul wasn't yet seeing his future wife, Linda Eastman; in fact, at the end of 1967 he and actress Jane Asher had announced their engagement. Paul would end up marrying Linda instead, and would seek to get his classy new father-in-law, Lee Eastman, at that time involved in Apple (he became general counsel); but in January 1968 Lee Eastman wasn't yet on Paul's radar. So, reluctantly, he went along with the rest of the group, hiring Klein to serve as the group's personal manager and as CEO of Apple Corps.
Klein kept a tight rein at Apple. The Beatles made it clear they were interested in new musicians, filmmakers, writers, artists - anyone creative - but Klein insisted on running a traditional A&R department to sort through the inevitable deluge of submissions that would arrive at the Beatles' doorstep. The Beatles were free, of course, to carry on whatever nonsense they pleased, but Klein kept the staff on a short leash regarding expenses and made sure that random hangers-on were chased out of the offices on Savile Row without getting a change to mooch off the Beatles.
Klein delegated his authority: Ron Kass was put in charge of the Records division, Dennis O'Dell in charge of Films, Neil Aspinall in charge of Music Publishing, Peter Brown in charge of Books. An Apple Foundation for the Arts was also promised, though Klein kept putting it off. "Magic Alex" Mardas, a crony who had weaseled his way into the Beatles' confidence, had likewise been promised an Apple Electronics division on the basis of his claim to be an electronics expert. Klein told him to submit some prototypes; when he kept failing to do so but kept asking for money, Klein cut him loose, his protests to Lennon and McCartney unavailing.
Apple seemed to be in good hands, so the Beatles were content to let Klein run the show. At this point, they didn't ask too many questions about the money.
After releasing the single "Lady Madonna" backed with "The Inner Light" in February 1968, the group went off to India for a several-weeks-long course on transcendental meditation run by the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. The group came back discouraged; Lennon in particular felt let down at not having received an immediate answer that would make him blissfully happy. (He had yet to learn that spirituality is a journey, not an overnight thing.)
They had written a large pile of new songs in India, though, due to the lack of distraction, and they set about working on their next album once they arrived back in London. Originally they planned on releasing much of their new work as a double album, but George Martin convinced them to winnow the record down to a single LP, completed for release in October and titled
A Doll's House [OOC: I'm assuming the British group Family split up before recording
Music from a Doll's House in TTL, so the Beatles didn't feel compelled to change the album title; they also used the originally-intended artwork:
https://jiggy22.blogspot.com/2016/10/the-beatles-dolls-house-alternate.html]
A Doll's House, released October 1968:
Side One:
Back in the USSR
Dear Prudence
Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da
I'm So Tired
Rocky Raccoon
While My Guitar Gently Weeps
Happiness Is a Warm Gun
Side Two:
Birthday
Yer Blues
Blackbird
Sexy Sadie
Long Long Long
Helter Skelter
Good Night
In contrast to the previous three albums of freewheeling psychedelic experimentalism,
A Doll's House was a return to more straight-ahead rock and roll, with out-and-out rockers like "Birthday" and "Helter Skelter" interspersed with meditative acoustic-guitar-dominated pieces like "Long Long Long" and "Blackbird."
Two singles were also released separately from the album. In May ,the group issued "Revolution," John's insistence - after watching news reports of rioting in France - that changing the world should be a matter of "free[ing] your mind" rather than violence; "When you talk about destruction/Don't you know you can count me out." The hard rocker had as its B-side "Savoy Truffle," a sardonic, soulful number from George.
Then, in August, Paul's stunning "Hey Jude" was released as the second single, with George's "Not Guilty" on the flip side. "Hey Jude," a truly stirring anthem about finding strength from each other and supporting one another, topped the charts for most of the fall of 1968.
But the recording sessions had not been without problems. Some of those stemmed from the restlessness of George Harrison. A junior partner in the group, he was now writing songs as prodigiously as John and Paul, and they were getting better and better. He was becoming frustrated at his lack of an outlet.
Also, somehow the India experience seemed to have scrambled the group's communications. All of them later said they felt alienated from one another during the
Doll's House sessions. Communication seemed weak within the group.
But the biggest problem of all was John's new girlfriend.
Yoko Ono was known in the avant-garde community of New York well before she came to London in 1966, with the express purpose of latching onto the Beatles, hoping to get them to finance her art projects. She was known, but not respected; at a party once, when another person asked famed pop artist Andy Warhol about her, he answered, "Oh, yeah, her. She's always around. She's always stealing other people's ideas."
Yoko, who was twice divorced, had set her sights originally on Paul, but upon receiving a cold shoulder had focused on John instead. She had chosen her target well. John resisted her at first, but he was very unhappy in his marriage to the former Cynthia Powell and felt as though he were stuck at home while the art explosion of the Sixties was passing him by - in contrast to Paul, who was always at the latest art shows and galleries. Yoko, who was quirky if nothing else, seemed to promise John a means of breaking free of the box he felt he was in. Around May 1968, when he got back from India, they finally began a relationship, and John quickly fell deeply in love.
John insisted on having Yoko at his side at all times, which meant that she sat next to him in the Abbey Road studios while the Beatles were working on the album. That itself was not the problem - it was the fact that she freely offered suggestions, gave critiques on the songs and performances, even tried to perform herself in her truly unique caterwauling style, that irked the other three Beatles, Paul in particular. It had always been only the four of them, along with George Martin, who made musical decisions; when other musicians played on Beatles records, they did so at the group's and Martin's direction. Now Yoko was nonchalantly inserting herself into the group's working dynamic - and John allowed it to happen, convinced of the brilliant artistic merit of her ideas. The friction this caused with the group threatened to undo all the good that had happened up till then as the Beatles headed into 1969.
(More Beatles to come)