HIN

GE

HIN

GE

PRINTER TO

CHECK SPINE

HIN

GE

HIN

GE

Chapter 1From Fab Four to Flying Solo

Left: John Lennon in 1967 at work in his home recording studio in Weybridge, U.K.

“As usual, there is a great

woman behind every idiot.”

—John Lennon

Chapter 1From Fab Four to Flying Solo

Left: John Lennon in 1967 at work in his home recording studio in Weybridge, U.K.

“As usual, there is a great

woman behind every idiot.”

—John Lennon

98

The last year of the 1960s was the last year of the Beatles. It was also the first year of John Lennon’s career as a solo artist—an artist abandoning the safety net of the group, even though the world did not yet know it. And it was perhaps not until the

summer of 1969 was fading that he even knew it himself for sure. There was no single crisis moment that caused John to step away

from the band he had founded as a sixteen-year-old back in 1957. Instead, a series of crises had grown steadily more intense since the suicide of Beatles’ manager Brian Epstein in August of 1967, at the zenith of Sgt. Pepper mania and the Summer of Love.

Brian was not the most astute dealmaker, as the group had learned to their cost. But with Brian protecting them from business pressures and helping resolve tensions in the pressure-cooker environment of phenomenal worldwide fame, the Beatles ran smoothly even when heading into completely uncharted territory—which they had been doing almost exclusively as musicians, superstars, and cultural icons since their global breakthrough in 1964.

But without Brian, who would take care of business? The Beatles launched Apple Corps, initially conceived as a Beatles’ holding company and investment vehicle to minimize their tax exposure. However, Apple soon turned into a money pit through various financially hemorrhaging enterprises, ranging from experimental electronics to a fashion boutique to (and this is the one that actually made a lot of money) a record label.

The Beginning of the EndIn May of 1968 John flew to New York with Paul McCartney to tell the world how Apple would reinvent capitalism for the hippie generation. In those heady days anything seemed possible, and for the two old friends and songwriting partners, the future together was still very bright. But within three months, recording sessions for what would be the double-length eponymous album (known more commonly as the White Album) had become so tense that

Left: Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil! John Lennon on the cover of Bravo magazine’s German edition.

Right: John Lennon talking with Beatles’ manager Brian Epstein on set. Epstein committed suicide in August of 1967—at the height of Sgt. Pepper mania.

Above: The Please Please Me sleeve early in early 1963, the Beatles’ first U.K. number one.

98

The last year of the 1960s was the last year of the Beatles. It was also the first year of John Lennon’s career as a solo artist—an artist abandoning the safety net of the group, even though the world did not yet know it. And it was perhaps not until the

summer of 1969 was fading that he even knew it himself for sure. There was no single crisis moment that caused John to step away

from the band he had founded as a sixteen-year-old back in 1957. Instead, a series of crises had grown steadily more intense since the suicide of Beatles’ manager Brian Epstein in August of 1967, at the zenith of Sgt. Pepper mania and the Summer of Love.

Brian was not the most astute dealmaker, as the group had learned to their cost. But with Brian protecting them from business pressures and helping resolve tensions in the pressure-cooker environment of phenomenal worldwide fame, the Beatles ran smoothly even when heading into completely uncharted territory—which they had been doing almost exclusively as musicians, superstars, and cultural icons since their global breakthrough in 1964.

But without Brian, who would take care of business? The Beatles launched Apple Corps, initially conceived as a Beatles’ holding company and investment vehicle to minimize their tax exposure. However, Apple soon turned into a money pit through various financially hemorrhaging enterprises, ranging from experimental electronics to a fashion boutique to (and this is the one that actually made a lot of money) a record label.

The Beginning of the EndIn May of 1968 John flew to New York with Paul McCartney to tell the world how Apple would reinvent capitalism for the hippie generation. In those heady days anything seemed possible, and for the two old friends and songwriting partners, the future together was still very bright. But within three months, recording sessions for what would be the double-length eponymous album (known more commonly as the White Album) had become so tense that

Left: Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil! John Lennon on the cover of Bravo magazine’s German edition.

Right: John Lennon talking with Beatles’ manager Brian Epstein on set. Epstein committed suicide in August of 1967—at the height of Sgt. Pepper mania.

Above: The Please Please Me sleeve early in early 1963, the Beatles’ first U.K. number one.

11

Left: A tense John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, and Ringo Starr rehearsing for the “Night of 100 Stars” at the London Palladium in 1964. Judy Garland was also on the bill.

reconciled with her free spirit, falling in love with her as if she were a sexy older sister. When she was knocked down by an out-of-control car and killed instantly in 1958, the off-duty police officer at the wheel was officially exonerated. John was a rebel before, but now it was personal.

John was a sexual rover, but at the age of twenty-two he married his long-suffering girlfriend, Cynthia, when she became pregnant. His mid-twenties, at the height of Beatlemania, were what John was to call his “Fat Elvis” phase, when bouts of depression, overeating, and lethargy were interspersed with bursts of furious creativity. By the end of 1966 he had slimmed down, but that was because he had switched to an LSD diet, spending most of the year under its influence.

Then Yoko Ono appeared on the Swinging London scene. She was an avant-garde artist from Japan—via New York—whose conceptual and performance art were by turns provocative, enigmatic, and witty. John was charmed, while she saw in him a rich potential patron. Mutual intrigue turned into a love affair as they discovered they had much in common: a troubled childhood, a failed marriage (John would eventually divorce from Cynthia in 1968), and a deep commitment to stirring up the world with art.

Suddenly, John had the female soul mate he’d pined for since his mother’s death. He and Yoko jointly documented their first eighteen months together in the medium John knew best. The albums Unfinished Music No. 1: Two Virgins (with the couple controversially photographed naked on the sleeve), Unfinished Music No. 2: Life With The Lions, and Wedding Album are scrapbooks of snapshots in sound whose merits are strictly as historical artifacts; as Lennon side projects, they offer far less than his two highly inventive mid-1960s books, In His Own Write and A Spaniard in the Works. But the album trilogy told the world what Paul, George, Ringo, and the unfortunate Cynthia found out out in the summer of 1968: John and Yoko were inseparable.

Right: A young John Lennon with his wife, Cynthia.

Above: John Lennon on the September 1968 cover of Eye magazine. The photo was taken by Linda Eastman, who would later go on to marry Paul McCartney in 1969.

Ringo Starr walked out of the group and had to be coaxed back. The Beatles had disagreed among themselves before, but nothing like this. George Harrison was on a songwriting streak but was frustrated that his efforts were sidelined by John and Paul’s determination to dominate the writing credits. And both George and Ringo felt increasingly patronized by Paul—no mean guitarist and drummer himself—telling them exactly how to play their parts on his songs.

But above all, there was Yoko Ono.

About a GirlThe term “dysfunctional family” had yet to be invented, but John’s background was a classic case. As an only child abandoned by both parents, he had been raised by his mother’s respectable older sister, his aunt Mimi. John’s mother, Julia, had reappeared when he was a teenager, and he was

11

Left: A tense John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, and Ringo Starr rehearsing for the “Night of 100 Stars” at the London Palladium in 1964. Judy Garland was also on the bill.

reconciled with her free spirit, falling in love with her as if she were a sexy older sister. When she was knocked down by an out-of-control car and killed instantly in 1958, the off-duty police officer at the wheel was officially exonerated. John was a rebel before, but now it was personal.

John was a sexual rover, but at the age of twenty-two he married his long-suffering girlfriend, Cynthia, when she became pregnant. His mid-twenties, at the height of Beatlemania, were what John was to call his “Fat Elvis” phase, when bouts of depression, overeating, and lethargy were interspersed with bursts of furious creativity. By the end of 1966 he had slimmed down, but that was because he had switched to an LSD diet, spending most of the year under its influence.

Then Yoko Ono appeared on the Swinging London scene. She was an avant-garde artist from Japan—via New York—whose conceptual and performance art were by turns provocative, enigmatic, and witty. John was charmed, while she saw in him a rich potential patron. Mutual intrigue turned into a love affair as they discovered they had much in common: a troubled childhood, a failed marriage (John would eventually divorce from Cynthia in 1968), and a deep commitment to stirring up the world with art.

Suddenly, John had the female soul mate he’d pined for since his mother’s death. He and Yoko jointly documented their first eighteen months together in the medium John knew best. The albums Unfinished Music No. 1: Two Virgins (with the couple controversially photographed naked on the sleeve), Unfinished Music No. 2: Life With The Lions, and Wedding Album are scrapbooks of snapshots in sound whose merits are strictly as historical artifacts; as Lennon side projects, they offer far less than his two highly inventive mid-1960s books, In His Own Write and A Spaniard in the Works. But the album trilogy told the world what Paul, George, Ringo, and the unfortunate Cynthia found out out in the summer of 1968: John and Yoko were inseparable.

Right: A young John Lennon with his wife, Cynthia.

Above: John Lennon on the September 1968 cover of Eye magazine. The photo was taken by Linda Eastman, who would later go on to marry Paul McCartney in 1969.

Ringo Starr walked out of the group and had to be coaxed back. The Beatles had disagreed among themselves before, but nothing like this. George Harrison was on a songwriting streak but was frustrated that his efforts were sidelined by John and Paul’s determination to dominate the writing credits. And both George and Ringo felt increasingly patronized by Paul—no mean guitarist and drummer himself—telling them exactly how to play their parts on his songs.

But above all, there was Yoko Ono.

About a GirlThe term “dysfunctional family” had yet to be invented, but John’s background was a classic case. As an only child abandoned by both parents, he had been raised by his mother’s respectable older sister, his aunt Mimi. John’s mother, Julia, had reappeared when he was a teenager, and he was

Above: John Lennon, Yoko Ono, and Paul McCartney at the premiere of the new Beatles’ film “Yellow Submarine” on July 18, 1968. Thousands of Beatles’ fans brought traffic to a halt in Piccadilly Circus as they waited to see the band arrive at the premiere. John and Paul hold apples, the symbol of their newly formed company, Apple Corps.

Right: Wedding Album cover. John and Yoko were married in 1969.

Left: Inseparable . . . John Lennon holds Japanese-born artist and musician Yoko Ono in his arms in December of 1968.

Above: Two Virgins album cover and sleeve, which was a source of controversy in 1968.

Above: John Lennon, Yoko Ono, and Paul McCartney at the premiere of the new Beatles’ film “Yellow Submarine” on July 18, 1968. Thousands of Beatles’ fans brought traffic to a halt in Piccadilly Circus as they waited to see the band arrive at the premiere. John and Paul hold apples, the symbol of their newly formed company, Apple Corps.

Right: Wedding Album cover. John and Yoko were married in 1969.

Left: Inseparable . . . John Lennon holds Japanese-born artist and musician Yoko Ono in his arms in December of 1968.

Above: Two Virgins album cover and sleeve, which was a source of controversy in 1968.

15

When Yoko arrived with John at Abbey Road Studios to sit in on the White Album sessions, the four-way working chemistry that they’d all taken for granted since 1962 abruptly broke down. Only Ringo accepted Yoko’s presence. George was downright rude to her, while Paul, sensing John’s dependence on her approval rather than on his own instincts, began to dominate proceedings, which infuriated everyone.

Almost miraculously, the White Album emerged as another masterpiece. What came next, at Paul’s behest, did not. Inspired by the spontaneous, organic sound of the Band—on both their album Music from Big Pink and the “Basement Tapes” collection of songs they’d recorded with Bob Dylan, which were circulating among rock insiders—Paul cajoled the Beatles into writing and recording songs on the roof, documenting the whole process for a movie release and finishing the whole shebang with a secret gig, their first since quitting the road in August of 1966.

Left: On January 30, 1969, the Beatles performed their last live public concert on the rooftop of the Apple Organization building for director Michael Lindsey-Hogg’s film documentary, “Let It Be,” on Sevile Row in London. Drummer Ringo Starr sits behind his kit. Paul McCartney and John Lennon perform at their microphones, and guitarist George Harrison (1943–2001) stands behind them. Lennon’s wife, Yoko Ono, is sitting on the right.

Above: John Lennon and Yoko Ono with Beatles’ manager Allen Klein in 1969. Klein convinced Lennon to let him manage the Beatles’ business, and it was this decision that caused a major rift between John and Paul, since McCartney never trusted Klein.

15

When Yoko arrived with John at Abbey Road Studios to sit in on the White Album sessions, the four-way working chemistry that they’d all taken for granted since 1962 abruptly broke down. Only Ringo accepted Yoko’s presence. George was downright rude to her, while Paul, sensing John’s dependence on her approval rather than on his own instincts, began to dominate proceedings, which infuriated everyone.

Almost miraculously, the White Album emerged as another masterpiece. What came next, at Paul’s behest, did not. Inspired by the spontaneous, organic sound of the Band—on both their album Music from Big Pink and the “Basement Tapes” collection of songs they’d recorded with Bob Dylan, which were circulating among rock insiders—Paul cajoled the Beatles into writing and recording songs on the roof, documenting the whole process for a movie release and finishing the whole shebang with a secret gig, their first since quitting the road in August of 1966.

Left: On January 30, 1969, the Beatles performed their last live public concert on the rooftop of the Apple Organization building for director Michael Lindsey-Hogg’s film documentary, “Let It Be,” on Sevile Row in London. Drummer Ringo Starr sits behind his kit. Paul McCartney and John Lennon perform at their microphones, and guitarist George Harrison (1943–2001) stands behind them. Lennon’s wife, Yoko Ono, is sitting on the right.

Above: John Lennon and Yoko Ono with Beatles’ manager Allen Klein in 1969. Klein convinced Lennon to let him manage the Beatles’ business, and it was this decision that caused a major rift between John and Paul, since McCartney never trusted Klein.

1716

Above: John Lennon and Yoko Ono conducting a press conference from a hotel bed in 1969 to advertise peace.

Tempers ran high in a virtually unheated movie studio in January 1969, in what would later become known as the “Let It Be” sessions. Few really good songs came out of those weeks, though the show the band gave on the rooftop of the Apple HQ in London had a rough-and-ready charm. Depressed by the whole experience, the Beatles could not bear to review the hours of movie footage and recording tape—plus there was a more immediate crisis to contend with.

Apple Corps was in chaos, as were all the Beatles’ complex business affairs. Enter Allen Klein, a canny and aggressive music-business accountant from New Jersey who, with some justification, claimed to be able to screw back every cent the record companies had originally screwed out of the artists. He’d done it for the Beatles’ buddies the Rolling Stones, and now he could do it for the biggest band on the planet. Paul, on the verge of marrying New Yorker Linda Eastman, had been warned by his future in-laws that Klein was not to be trusted, but John was seduced by Klein’s approach, which blended no-bullshit abrasiveness with flattery of John’s artistry and personal empathy (Klein had lost his mother at a young age). John impulsively appointed Klein to look after his business affairs. At John’s urging, George and Ringo followed suit. Paul had been lobbying for his future in-laws to take care of the Beatles’ business, but the other three, already resentful of the way Paul had treated them in the studio, refused. Suddenly, John and Paul were at war over who was to run the show; though George and Ringo sided with John, Paul held out.

It is a measure of the enduring Lennon-McCartney partnership that, on John’s first Beatles’ A-side in two years, a bouncy song all about him and Yoko, Paul was happy to play drums, piano, and bass during George and Ringo’s absence on other business.

“The Ballad of John and Yoko” tells the story of the first modern rock ’n’ roll celebrity event: how the newly married couple cheerfully exploited their fame and controversy (Yoko was widely seen as an inscrutable Oriental home-wrecker) to stage oddball happenings—sitting enigmatically in a giant bag, conducting press conferences from a hotel bed—to attract the world’s media and, in John’s words, to “advertise peace.”

John’s publicity campaign for peace (even as tensions with Paul escalated) gave him a sense of a mission—that he was taking his biggest step out of the comfort zone the Beatles had afforded him. Even though he was still officially a Beatle and in the midst of recording sessions for their final masterpiece, Abbey Road, that big step would be the first statement of his solo musical career: the worldwide anthem “Give Peace a Chance.”

John and Paul were at war with who was going to run the show . . .

Above: John Lennon doodled a self-portrait of Bed Peace.

1716

Above: John Lennon and Yoko Ono conducting a press conference from a hotel bed in 1969 to advertise peace.

Tempers ran high in a virtually unheated movie studio in January 1969, in what would later become known as the “Let It Be” sessions. Few really good songs came out of those weeks, though the show the band gave on the rooftop of the Apple HQ in London had a rough-and-ready charm. Depressed by the whole experience, the Beatles could not bear to review the hours of movie footage and recording tape—plus there was a more immediate crisis to contend with.

Apple Corps was in chaos, as were all the Beatles’ complex business affairs. Enter Allen Klein, a canny and aggressive music-business accountant from New Jersey who, with some justification, claimed to be able to screw back every cent the record companies had originally screwed out of the artists. He’d done it for the Beatles’ buddies the Rolling Stones, and now he could do it for the biggest band on the planet. Paul, on the verge of marrying New Yorker Linda Eastman, had been warned by his future in-laws that Klein was not to be trusted, but John was seduced by Klein’s approach, which blended no-bullshit abrasiveness with flattery of John’s artistry and personal empathy (Klein had lost his mother at a young age). John impulsively appointed Klein to look after his business affairs. At John’s urging, George and Ringo followed suit. Paul had been lobbying for his future in-laws to take care of the Beatles’ business, but the other three, already resentful of the way Paul had treated them in the studio, refused. Suddenly, John and Paul were at war over who was to run the show; though George and Ringo sided with John, Paul held out.

It is a measure of the enduring Lennon-McCartney partnership that, on John’s first Beatles’ A-side in two years, a bouncy song all about him and Yoko, Paul was happy to play drums, piano, and bass during George and Ringo’s absence on other business.

“The Ballad of John and Yoko” tells the story of the first modern rock ’n’ roll celebrity event: how the newly married couple cheerfully exploited their fame and controversy (Yoko was widely seen as an inscrutable Oriental home-wrecker) to stage oddball happenings—sitting enigmatically in a giant bag, conducting press conferences from a hotel bed—to attract the world’s media and, in John’s words, to “advertise peace.”

John’s publicity campaign for peace (even as tensions with Paul escalated) gave him a sense of a mission—that he was taking his biggest step out of the comfort zone the Beatles had afforded him. Even though he was still officially a Beatle and in the midst of recording sessions for their final masterpiece, Abbey Road, that big step would be the first statement of his solo musical career: the worldwide anthem “Give Peace a Chance.”

John and Paul were at war with who was going to run the show . . .

Above: John Lennon doodled a self-portrait of Bed Peace.

HIN

GE

HIN

GE

PRINTER TO

CHECK SPINE

HIN

GE

HIN

GE

Chapter1Meet Hari Georgeson

Left: An autographed promotional photo of George Harrison taken in 1963, during the Beatlemania years.

“Thank God that’s over!”

—George Harrison

Chapter1Meet Hari Georgeson

Left: An autographed promotional photo of George Harrison taken in 1963, during the Beatlemania years.

“Thank God that’s over!”

—George Harrison

98

January 10, 1969 was another cold day in the cavernous Twickenham Film Studios, west of London. That lunchtime in the studio canteen, after yet another morning of bickering and bad vibes during the so-called Get Back sessions/live rehearsals that were being filmed for a potential TV documentary, George Harrison

could take no more. The Quiet One got up, quietly said to each of the other three Beatles, “See you ’round the clubs,” and walked out.

“Got up went to Twickenham rehearsed until lunchtime,” as he wrote in his diary, “left the Beatles . . . had chips later at Klaus and Christines went home.”

Five days later, George agreed to rejoin on two conditions. There would be no Beatles concert before a paying audience (Paul’s idea, on which George was never sold, having insisted three years earlier that the Beatles cease the touring that was so destructive to their music-making), and the group would quit the film studios to resume work at their Apple HQ. Paul aside, George was pushing at an open door, but no one doubted his determination to get his way or walk.

A Kid No LongerThe previous year had done wonders for George’s self-confidence as a musician. Despite having only one song accepted for inclusion on 1967’s Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (compared to three on its 1966 predecessor, Revolver), that one song, “Within You Without You,” was for millions of young Westerners a hugely influential introduction to the sounds and spirituality of Hindu India. When filmmaker Joe Massot (who years later directed The Song Remains the Same for Led Zeppelin) approached George at the end of 1967 to create the soundtrack for his new movie Wonderwall starring Jane Birkin, George leaped at the chance. He was excited to further explore the fusion of rock and traditional Indian music under his own name, rather than as a Beatle ranked third in the pecking order.

Above: A tense-looking George Harrison rehearsing in December 1969—the same year the Beatles broke up.

Above: The album cover for Wonderwall Music. It was designed by American Bob Gill, and Harrison reportedly asked for a brick to be removed from the wall in the illustration so the gentleman at least stood a shot at seeing the ladies bathing!

Left: An Apple promotional poster for Wonderwall Music. It is a fusion of images from the album cover with the photo of Harrison (taken by John Kelly) from The White Album.

98

January 10, 1969 was another cold day in the cavernous Twickenham Film Studios, west of London. That lunchtime in the studio canteen, after yet another morning of bickering and bad vibes during the so-called Get Back sessions/live rehearsals that were being filmed for a potential TV documentary, George Harrison

could take no more. The Quiet One got up, quietly said to each of the other three Beatles, “See you ’round the clubs,” and walked out.

“Got up went to Twickenham rehearsed until lunchtime,” as he wrote in his diary, “left the Beatles . . . had chips later at Klaus and Christines went home.”

Five days later, George agreed to rejoin on two conditions. There would be no Beatles concert before a paying audience (Paul’s idea, on which George was never sold, having insisted three years earlier that the Beatles cease the touring that was so destructive to their music-making), and the group would quit the film studios to resume work at their Apple HQ. Paul aside, George was pushing at an open door, but no one doubted his determination to get his way or walk.

A Kid No LongerThe previous year had done wonders for George’s self-confidence as a musician. Despite having only one song accepted for inclusion on 1967’s Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (compared to three on its 1966 predecessor, Revolver), that one song, “Within You Without You,” was for millions of young Westerners a hugely influential introduction to the sounds and spirituality of Hindu India. When filmmaker Joe Massot (who years later directed The Song Remains the Same for Led Zeppelin) approached George at the end of 1967 to create the soundtrack for his new movie Wonderwall starring Jane Birkin, George leaped at the chance. He was excited to further explore the fusion of rock and traditional Indian music under his own name, rather than as a Beatle ranked third in the pecking order.

Above: A tense-looking George Harrison rehearsing in December 1969—the same year the Beatles broke up.

Above: The album cover for Wonderwall Music. It was designed by American Bob Gill, and Harrison reportedly asked for a brick to be removed from the wall in the illustration so the gentleman at least stood a shot at seeing the ladies bathing!

Left: An Apple promotional poster for Wonderwall Music. It is a fusion of images from the album cover with the photo of Harrison (taken by John Kelly) from The White Album.

10

Above: Harrison (far left) is mesmerized by Bob Dylan's performance here at the Isle of Wight Festival in 1969. Pattie Boyd is next to him, Maureen Starkey and Ringo Starr are in front of Pattie, and a bearded John Lennon and face-painted Yoko Ono are behind them in the crowd.

Though somewhat fragmentary and oblique, in keeping with the movie footage, George’s Wonderwall music held its own when compared with Paul’s 1966 soundtrack for The Family Way. This made the fight to get even a single B-side (“The Inner Light” on the flip of “Lady Madonna”) and just one song per side on the Beatles’ 1968 double The White Album all the more galling for George.

Yet George’s “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” featuring his friend Eric Clapton on lead guitar (uncredited for contractual reasons), was for many fans the brightest White Album highlight. Likewise uncredited, George cowrote the hit single “Badge” for Eric’s group Cream.

Those U.K. recording sessions completed, in the fall of 1968 George flew to the United States, where he worked on the production of Is This What You Want?, the Apple album by Jackie Lomax. George’s old Merseybeat compadre had already recorded a George-produced flop single for the label, “Sour Milk Sea,” a White Album reject George had written in India that spring.

On that same trip, in California, George met the electronic music pioneer Bernie Krause, who introduced him to the newly invented Moog synthesizer, which was to feature on the Beatles’ Abbey Road the following summer. George couldn’t wait to play with this new technology and recorded a twenty-five-minute piece then and there called “No Time or Space.” In February 1969, with his newly purchased Moog back home in his Esher bungalow, southwest of London, he would complete an album titled Electronic Sound that was released by Apple that May. If ever George stood condemned out of his own mouth with his curmudgeonly aphorism “Avant garde? ’Aven’t got a clue!” this album was it. All the same, Beatle George was on a bold journey of musical exploration without the three older Beatle brothers to hold his hand.

But the biggest boost to George came at Thanksgiving of 1968 when Bob Dylan invited him to Bearsville in upstate New York, also home of The Band, whose down-home, self-titled debut album George revered. The guitars were broken out on the third day of George’s stay, and he and Dylan cowrote “I’d Have You Anytime,” which would be recorded for the first album of George’s solo career after the Beatles. Always able to add harmonic richness and dextrous guitar to the work of the finest songwriters, George found in Dylan a musician of giant stature who, unlike John and Paul, did not look down on him as a kid.

Extreme PersonalityIn the Harrison family, George was the youngest of three boys, a situation he found replicated in the Beatles (the oldest Beatle, Ringo, joined years after George), leaving him forever shuttling between deference to his elders and rebellion. George embodied opposites: on one side the spiritual dimension of the Krishna sect of Hinduism, which he came to via his discovery of traditional Indian music in 1965, and on the other side his cocksure Scouse wit and love of comedy.

10

Above: Harrison (far left) is mesmerized by Bob Dylan's performance here at the Isle of Wight Festival in 1969. Pattie Boyd is next to him, Maureen Starkey and Ringo Starr are in front of Pattie, and a bearded John Lennon and face-painted Yoko Ono are behind them in the crowd.

Though somewhat fragmentary and oblique, in keeping with the movie footage, George’s Wonderwall music held its own when compared with Paul’s 1966 soundtrack for The Family Way. This made the fight to get even a single B-side (“The Inner Light” on the flip of “Lady Madonna”) and just one song per side on the Beatles’ 1968 double The White Album all the more galling for George.

Yet George’s “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” featuring his friend Eric Clapton on lead guitar (uncredited for contractual reasons), was for many fans the brightest White Album highlight. Likewise uncredited, George cowrote the hit single “Badge” for Eric’s group Cream.

Those U.K. recording sessions completed, in the fall of 1968 George flew to the United States, where he worked on the production of Is This What You Want?, the Apple album by Jackie Lomax. George’s old Merseybeat compadre had already recorded a George-produced flop single for the label, “Sour Milk Sea,” a White Album reject George had written in India that spring.

On that same trip, in California, George met the electronic music pioneer Bernie Krause, who introduced him to the newly invented Moog synthesizer, which was to feature on the Beatles’ Abbey Road the following summer. George couldn’t wait to play with this new technology and recorded a twenty-five-minute piece then and there called “No Time or Space.” In February 1969, with his newly purchased Moog back home in his Esher bungalow, southwest of London, he would complete an album titled Electronic Sound that was released by Apple that May. If ever George stood condemned out of his own mouth with his curmudgeonly aphorism “Avant garde? ’Aven’t got a clue!” this album was it. All the same, Beatle George was on a bold journey of musical exploration without the three older Beatle brothers to hold his hand.

But the biggest boost to George came at Thanksgiving of 1968 when Bob Dylan invited him to Bearsville in upstate New York, also home of The Band, whose down-home, self-titled debut album George revered. The guitars were broken out on the third day of George’s stay, and he and Dylan cowrote “I’d Have You Anytime,” which would be recorded for the first album of George’s solo career after the Beatles. Always able to add harmonic richness and dextrous guitar to the work of the finest songwriters, George found in Dylan a musician of giant stature who, unlike John and Paul, did not look down on him as a kid.

Extreme PersonalityIn the Harrison family, George was the youngest of three boys, a situation he found replicated in the Beatles (the oldest Beatle, Ringo, joined years after George), leaving him forever shuttling between deference to his elders and rebellion. George embodied opposites: on one side the spiritual dimension of the Krishna sect of Hinduism, which he came to via his discovery of traditional Indian music in 1965, and on the other side his cocksure Scouse wit and love of comedy.

13

Above: (left to right) Eric Clapton, Bonnie Bramlett, Delaney Bramlett, and George Harrison relaxing at a Delaney & Bonnie & Friends concert at Birmingham Town Hall on December 4, 1969.

Left: George Harrison and Eric Clapton performing on stage with Delaney & Bonnie in Copenhagen, Denmark in December 1969.

“�The great thing about Delaney & Bonnie was that ability to get spontaneous.”—Bonnie Bramlett

Right: An autographed poster for the original Delaney & Bonnie & Friends (with Eric Clapton) in Bristol, signed by George Harrison, Eric Clapton, and Bonnie & Delaney.

13

Above: (left to right) Eric Clapton, Bonnie Bramlett, Delaney Bramlett, and George Harrison relaxing at a Delaney & Bonnie & Friends concert at Birmingham Town Hall on December 4, 1969.

Left: George Harrison and Eric Clapton performing on stage with Delaney & Bonnie in Copenhagen, Denmark in December 1969.

“�The great thing about Delaney & Bonnie was that ability to get spontaneous.”—Bonnie Bramlett

Right: An autographed poster for the original Delaney & Bonnie & Friends (with Eric Clapton) in Bristol, signed by George Harrison, Eric Clapton, and Bonnie & Delaney.

14

“I find myself torn between those two extremes,” he admitted years later. “It must have something to do with being a Pisces. They draw a Pisces as two fish swimming in opposite directions, and I do have those two sides. I’m very, very serious about things which I personally feel are serious. But most worldly things I’m very unserious about—I take it all with a pinch of salt. I like craziness. I had to, in order to be in the Beatles.”

George felt very much at home combining seemingly mismatched styles and attitudes, and that summer of 1969, when everything seemed possible, George produced a three-minute single for release on Apple of the ancient “Hare Krishna Mantra” among a

set of tracks released by the London Radha-Krishna Temple. The single, with the mounting intensity of its chant, bells, and percussive contributions by Paul and Linda McCartney, charted in twenty countries.

As the Beatles drew to a close with Abbey Road taking residency at the top of charts all over the world, and John’s announcement to the other three in September 1969 that he was quitting the group (a decision kept from the world while their business manager Allen Klein negotiated a new deal with Capitol Records in America), George was on a high. His two songs on Abbey Road, “Here Comes the Sun” and “Something” (written in tribute to his wife Pattie, and quoting from Apple artist James Taylor’s 1968 song “Something in the Way She Moves”) were widely acclaimed as perhaps its two best numbers, with no less an arbiter than Frank Sinatra, who recorded “Something” twice, calling it “the greatest love song ever written.” George’s first and last Beatles single A-side was a worldwide number one.

Typically perverse, now that he finally had the spotlight, George’s next move was to retreat into the shade of a bigger set of musical personalities, wishing no more than to play second fiddle. Like him, George’s friend Eric Clapton was inspired by The Band to explore a rootsier, less ego-driven way of making music, putting the song ahead of the guitar solo. So he broke up the blues-rock power trio Cream and founded a new group called Blind Faith, comprising fellow British fans of The Band, including Steve Winwood. When Blind Faith toured the United States in the summer of 1969, among their support acts was Delaney & Bonnie & Friends, a blue-eyed soul and rock ’n’ roll revue fronted by husband-and-wife singer-

Top: George Harrison and his wife, Pattie Boyd Harrison. They are leaving a courthouse after pleading guilty to a drug offense.They were convicted in 1969.

songwriters Delaney and Bonnie Bramlett. Eric increasingly joined them on stage, having lost interest in his own group.

When Delaney & Bonnie & Friends toured Europe, Eric stayed with them as a guitarist in the shadows. Inspired by his friend’s Quixotic adventure making music as a humble sideman, George impulsively overcame his reluctance to play before live audiences and joined in the fun. “Would you mind if I joined the band?” he asked Delaney. “Would there be too many guitars?”

The tour was turning into a circus, but that was the way the free-and-easy musicians liked it. Picking up George at his bungalow in Esher, they all set off for the next date in Bristol.

Among the touring party was the Texan gospel-soul organist and singer Billy Preston, who George had first met in 1962 and then hooked up with again in early 1969 when Preston was playing a London date in Ray Charles’s band. Always a soul music fan and now further spurred by his Krishna faith, George was keen to delve into soul’s gospel roots. Having reintroduced Billy to the other Beatles, on whose spring smash-hit single “Get Back” the Texan played electric piano, George produced Billy’s 1969 album for Apple, recruiting heavyweight rock buddies Eric Clapton and Rolling Stone Keith Richards. The title track to That’s the Way God Planned It became a hit single. George also signed and coproduced the self-titled 1970 album by soul diva Doris Troy, whom he met while she sang backing vocals on the Preston album.

One night when the Delaney & Bonnie & Friends tour reached Copenhagen, George fell into a musical conversation with Billy Preston and Delaney Bramlett: If you were going to write a gospel song—and he was thinking of “Oh Happy Day” by the Edwin Hawkins Singers, which was a huge worldwide hit single that summer of 1969—how would you do it?

The answer would spark George’s greatest yet most burdensome hit.

“�Would you mind if l joined the band?”

Right: George Harrison sitting among members of the International Society for Krishna Consciousness on August 29, 1969.

14

“I find myself torn between those two extremes,” he admitted years later. “It must have something to do with being a Pisces. They draw a Pisces as two fish swimming in opposite directions, and I do have those two sides. I’m very, very serious about things which I personally feel are serious. But most worldly things I’m very unserious about—I take it all with a pinch of salt. I like craziness. I had to, in order to be in the Beatles.”

George felt very much at home combining seemingly mismatched styles and attitudes, and that summer of 1969, when everything seemed possible, George produced a three-minute single for release on Apple of the ancient “Hare Krishna Mantra” among a

set of tracks released by the London Radha-Krishna Temple. The single, with the mounting intensity of its chant, bells, and percussive contributions by Paul and Linda McCartney, charted in twenty countries.

As the Beatles drew to a close with Abbey Road taking residency at the top of charts all over the world, and John’s announcement to the other three in September 1969 that he was quitting the group (a decision kept from the world while their business manager Allen Klein negotiated a new deal with Capitol Records in America), George was on a high. His two songs on Abbey Road, “Here Comes the Sun” and “Something” (written in tribute to his wife Pattie, and quoting from Apple artist James Taylor’s 1968 song “Something in the Way She Moves”) were widely acclaimed as perhaps its two best numbers, with no less an arbiter than Frank Sinatra, who recorded “Something” twice, calling it “the greatest love song ever written.” George’s first and last Beatles single A-side was a worldwide number one.

Typically perverse, now that he finally had the spotlight, George’s next move was to retreat into the shade of a bigger set of musical personalities, wishing no more than to play second fiddle. Like him, George’s friend Eric Clapton was inspired by The Band to explore a rootsier, less ego-driven way of making music, putting the song ahead of the guitar solo. So he broke up the blues-rock power trio Cream and founded a new group called Blind Faith, comprising fellow British fans of The Band, including Steve Winwood. When Blind Faith toured the United States in the summer of 1969, among their support acts was Delaney & Bonnie & Friends, a blue-eyed soul and rock ’n’ roll revue fronted by husband-and-wife singer-

Top: George Harrison and his wife, Pattie Boyd Harrison. They are leaving a courthouse after pleading guilty to a drug offense.They were convicted in 1969.

songwriters Delaney and Bonnie Bramlett. Eric increasingly joined them on stage, having lost interest in his own group.

When Delaney & Bonnie & Friends toured Europe, Eric stayed with them as a guitarist in the shadows. Inspired by his friend’s Quixotic adventure making music as a humble sideman, George impulsively overcame his reluctance to play before live audiences and joined in the fun. “Would you mind if I joined the band?” he asked Delaney. “Would there be too many guitars?”

The tour was turning into a circus, but that was the way the free-and-easy musicians liked it. Picking up George at his bungalow in Esher, they all set off for the next date in Bristol.

Among the touring party was the Texan gospel-soul organist and singer Billy Preston, who George had first met in 1962 and then hooked up with again in early 1969 when Preston was playing a London date in Ray Charles’s band. Always a soul music fan and now further spurred by his Krishna faith, George was keen to delve into soul’s gospel roots. Having reintroduced Billy to the other Beatles, on whose spring smash-hit single “Get Back” the Texan played electric piano, George produced Billy’s 1969 album for Apple, recruiting heavyweight rock buddies Eric Clapton and Rolling Stone Keith Richards. The title track to That’s the Way God Planned It became a hit single. George also signed and coproduced the self-titled 1970 album by soul diva Doris Troy, whom he met while she sang backing vocals on the Preston album.

One night when the Delaney & Bonnie & Friends tour reached Copenhagen, George fell into a musical conversation with Billy Preston and Delaney Bramlett: If you were going to write a gospel song—and he was thinking of “Oh Happy Day” by the Edwin Hawkins Singers, which was a huge worldwide hit single that summer of 1969—how would you do it?

The answer would spark George’s greatest yet most burdensome hit.

“�Would you mind if l joined the band?”

Right: George Harrison sitting among members of the International Society for Krishna Consciousness on August 29, 1969.

HIN

GE

HIN

GE

PRINTER TO

CHECK SPINE

HIN

GE

HIN

GE

Chapter 1Exit the

One-Man Band

Left: Paul McCartney in 1967 being interviewed after the BBC televised the Beatles’ new movie, Magical Mystery Tour. Critics had been harsh in their criticism of the movie, and McCartney defends it, claiming that the title should have informed people that there would be no plot or form.

“I like to work. Sit me down

with a guitar and let me go.”

—Paul McCartney

Chapter 1Exit the

One-Man Band

Left: Paul McCartney in 1967 being interviewed after the BBC televised the Beatles’ new movie, Magical Mystery Tour. Critics had been harsh in their criticism of the movie, and McCartney defends it, claiming that the title should have informed people that there would be no plot or form.

“I like to work. Sit me down

with a guitar and let me go.”

—Paul McCartney

98

If ever the world of music gave proof for the maxims “you always hurt the one you love” and “the road to hell is paved with good intentions,” it would be Paul McCartney and the Beatles.Though John was the Fab Four’s leader and founder, from 1966 it was Paul whose ambition, focus, and creativity increasingly drove and shaped the group. When John surrendered to

his 1966–1967 LSD reverie, it was Paul whose songs filled the gaps left by John’s falling productivity. When the group, urged by George, stopped touring in 1966, it was Paul who came up with Sgt. Pepper as a project to give them a new world to conquer. When the Beatles’ manager, Brian Epstein, took his own life in August of 1967, it was Paul who insisted that making an unscripted road movie, Magical Mystery Tour, would cure them of the blues and confirm that the Beatles were still very much in business. When John fell headlong in love with Yoko Ono, installed her in the hitherto sacred space of the recording studio, and yet remained open to what the Beatles could do for his songs, it was Paul who asserted himself even more forcefully to have McCartney compositions performed the way he wanted in order to push the group to even greater heights.

This was Paul’s great mistake. Though there is no greater lover of harmony in music, Paul, paradoxically, had little gift for fostering harmony among his fellow musicians in the sessions for the so-called White Album. And despite the fact that the Beatles emerged with a masterpiece from those tense months in 1968, Paul was hardly wise to pressure the other three into the even more ambitious “Get Back” project, the back-to-basics movie/recording/live-show rehearsals, where his perfectionism became even more overbearing to the other three as their doubts grew about Paul’s plans.

“After Brian died . . . Paul took over and supposedly led us. But what is leading us, when we went round in circles?” John said in 1970.

A very capable guitarist and drummer himself, Paul bruised the feelings of both Ringo and George in the way that he demanded adjustments to their playing, as if suddenly they were no longer quite good enough. (“We got fed up of being sidemen for Paul,” John added.) Paul, in short, was a control freak and, in another paradox for a musician with such a perfect ear, was surprisingly poor at listening to his friends.

Just as John had Yoko, Paul had another New York bohemian black sheep of a wealthy family, Linda Eastman. Whereas Linda never interfered in Paul’s music or his commitment to the Beatles, her family connections unwittingly created the circumstances by which the background tensions between Paul and the other three escalated into an acrimonious split.

New Jersey music-business accountant Allen Klein had flattered and seduced John Lennon into making him his business manager, with promises of vastly increasing the Beatles’ revenues. George and Ringo followed suit. They also voted to have him take charge of the running of their business, Apple Corps, which was out of control and hemorrhaging funds. Linda’s father and brother, John and Lee Eastman, were wealthy New York businessmen who had heard on the grapevine that Klein was not all that he seemed, and they counseled Paul to steer clear. Paul opposed the involvement of Klein in the Beatles’ affairs and urged the other three to let his new in-laws, the Eastmans, take charge instead. Seeing this suggestion as no more than a move by Paul to control every aspect of the group, they refused and got even more solidly behind their man Klein.

Paul's perfectionism became even more overbearing to the other three as their doubts grew about his plans . . .

Opposite: A PR photo for the Beatles’ Magical Mystery Tour movie in 1967. Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr are on the left.

Right: A groovy Paul McCartney posed by the coast at Newquay, U.K.,on the Magical Mystery Tour, on September 14, 1967.

98

If ever the world of music gave proof for the maxims “you always hurt the one you love” and “the road to hell is paved with good intentions,” it would be Paul McCartney and the Beatles.Though John was the Fab Four’s leader and founder, from 1966 it was Paul whose ambition, focus, and creativity increasingly drove and shaped the group. When John surrendered to

his 1966–1967 LSD reverie, it was Paul whose songs filled the gaps left by John’s falling productivity. When the group, urged by George, stopped touring in 1966, it was Paul who came up with Sgt. Pepper as a project to give them a new world to conquer. When the Beatles’ manager, Brian Epstein, took his own life in August of 1967, it was Paul who insisted that making an unscripted road movie, Magical Mystery Tour, would cure them of the blues and confirm that the Beatles were still very much in business. When John fell headlong in love with Yoko Ono, installed her in the hitherto sacred space of the recording studio, and yet remained open to what the Beatles could do for his songs, it was Paul who asserted himself even more forcefully to have McCartney compositions performed the way he wanted in order to push the group to even greater heights.

This was Paul’s great mistake. Though there is no greater lover of harmony in music, Paul, paradoxically, had little gift for fostering harmony among his fellow musicians in the sessions for the so-called White Album. And despite the fact that the Beatles emerged with a masterpiece from those tense months in 1968, Paul was hardly wise to pressure the other three into the even more ambitious “Get Back” project, the back-to-basics movie/recording/live-show rehearsals, where his perfectionism became even more overbearing to the other three as their doubts grew about Paul’s plans.

“After Brian died . . . Paul took over and supposedly led us. But what is leading us, when we went round in circles?” John said in 1970.

A very capable guitarist and drummer himself, Paul bruised the feelings of both Ringo and George in the way that he demanded adjustments to their playing, as if suddenly they were no longer quite good enough. (“We got fed up of being sidemen for Paul,” John added.) Paul, in short, was a control freak and, in another paradox for a musician with such a perfect ear, was surprisingly poor at listening to his friends.

Just as John had Yoko, Paul had another New York bohemian black sheep of a wealthy family, Linda Eastman. Whereas Linda never interfered in Paul’s music or his commitment to the Beatles, her family connections unwittingly created the circumstances by which the background tensions between Paul and the other three escalated into an acrimonious split.

New Jersey music-business accountant Allen Klein had flattered and seduced John Lennon into making him his business manager, with promises of vastly increasing the Beatles’ revenues. George and Ringo followed suit. They also voted to have him take charge of the running of their business, Apple Corps, which was out of control and hemorrhaging funds. Linda’s father and brother, John and Lee Eastman, were wealthy New York businessmen who had heard on the grapevine that Klein was not all that he seemed, and they counseled Paul to steer clear. Paul opposed the involvement of Klein in the Beatles’ affairs and urged the other three to let his new in-laws, the Eastmans, take charge instead. Seeing this suggestion as no more than a move by Paul to control every aspect of the group, they refused and got even more solidly behind their man Klein.

Paul's perfectionism became even more overbearing to the other three as their doubts grew about his plans . . .

Opposite: A PR photo for the Beatles’ Magical Mystery Tour movie in 1967. Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr are on the left.

Right: A groovy Paul McCartney posed by the coast at Newquay, U.K.,on the Magical Mystery Tour, on September 14, 1967.

11

Left: Paul McCartney, bearded and gruff, getting into a car in 1969.

Above: Paul McCartney marries Linda Eastman at the Marylebone Register Office on March 12, 1969. Linda’s daughter, Heather, attended the civil ceremony.

Below: A rare Beatles’ letter sent to Paul McCartney’s lawyer and father-in-law, Lee Eastman, on April 18, 1969. Signed by John Lennon, George Harrison, and Ringo Starr, it explained that Eastman would no longer represent the band. Allen Klein at ABKCO would represent the remaining three Beatles. It has been referred to as the “breakup” letter since the decision over who to manage the Beatles caused a major rift between the Fab Four.

11

Left: Paul McCartney, bearded and gruff, getting into a car in 1969.

Above: Paul McCartney marries Linda Eastman at the Marylebone Register Office on March 12, 1969. Linda’s daughter, Heather, attended the civil ceremony.

Below: A rare Beatles’ letter sent to Paul McCartney’s lawyer and father-in-law, Lee Eastman, on April 18, 1969. Signed by John Lennon, George Harrison, and Ringo Starr, it explained that Eastman would no longer represent the band. Allen Klein at ABKCO would represent the remaining three Beatles. It has been referred to as the “breakup” letter since the decision over who to manage the Beatles caused a major rift between the Fab Four.

13

perfectionist, now Paul was no longer trying to go bigger and better (and match the songs and productions of his friendly rival, Beach Boy Brian Wilson). Now, so roundly rejected by the other three Beatles, he would prove he didn’t need them. He would not only make a solo album, he would make it all by himself: writing, singing, playing, and recording every note. Only Linda would help him out with vocal harmonies—the controversial sound of things to come.

With no single, it would be an album of mostly casual, undercooked music making—just as Bob Dylan was also doing on the cusp between the 1960s and 1970s—entitled, in a stark declaration of self-sufficiency and independence, McCartney.

The fuss surrounding the album’s release upstaged the music itself. Paul wanted to release the album that spring of 1970, but the other three objected. Not only would it clash with the release of Ringo’s debut, Sentimental Journey, that March, but also with Let It Be, the Beatles album salvaged from the 1969 “Get Back” sessions by Wall of Sound producer Phil Spector, whose schmaltzy orchestration of his song “The Long and Winding Road” Paul loathed but could not veto. When John and George sent Ringo to Paul’s London home to ask him to delay the release of McCartney, Paul lost his temper and threw the drummer out.

It was all-out war now, which escalated when McCartney’s release was preceded by Paul’s wounded and coldly angry press release announcing to the world that he had left the Beatles, which made front-page news worldwide. Later, John remarked how smart Paul was to reveal the secret that the group was finished when he had a solo record to promote.

When the world heard the music behind the bombshell, they were underwhelmed—as were John and George, who voiced their disappointment

It turns out Paul’s judgment was right on target; however, his diplomacy was disastrous. Happily distracted by his marriage to the pregnant Linda in March of 1969, Paul could not finesse the feelings of his fellow Fabs. By that summer it was clear that, at the very least, the Beatles would be taking a break from each other while they tried to sort out their differences. In that spirit, the group recorded their final album proper, Abbey Road. Knowing that it may be their last for a while, the four pulled together one final time.

But no one, at that point, was saying that it was definitively over. Until two weeks before Abbey Road’s release, that is, when John announced to the other three that he was leaving. At that time, Klein was negotiating an enormous deal for the Beatles with Capitol Records, and he persuaded the four Beatles to keep John’s departure a secret until further notice.

Paul was distraught. At a draining time with the birth of his first child, Mary, that August, Paul found himself emotionally unprepared for the disintegration of the group he had poured himself into for years, as well as the fraying of friendships with all three, especially John, whom he continued to look up to even though he no longer understood what was going on in his old partner’s mind. Depressed and directionless, Paul later admitted that he hit the bottle at that time, and that only with Linda’s support did he recover the urge to make music. For years the studio

Right: Album cover for Thrillington, released in 1977 by Paul McCartney under the pseudonym Percy “Thrills” Thrillington

Above: Album cover for Ram

Depressed and directionless, Paul later admitted he hit the bottle at that time . . .

Above: The back cover of Paul McCartney’s first solo album, McCartney. At a quick glance, you might accidentally miss Paul’s baby daughter, Mary, peeking out of Paul’s leather jacket.

Left: A touching moment . . . Paul and Linda McCartney in a New York recording studio in 1971 polishing his singles “Another Day” and “Oh Woman, Oh Why.”

13

perfectionist, now Paul was no longer trying to go bigger and better (and match the songs and productions of his friendly rival, Beach Boy Brian Wilson). Now, so roundly rejected by the other three Beatles, he would prove he didn’t need them. He would not only make a solo album, he would make it all by himself: writing, singing, playing, and recording every note. Only Linda would help him out with vocal harmonies—the controversial sound of things to come.

With no single, it would be an album of mostly casual, undercooked music making—just as Bob Dylan was also doing on the cusp between the 1960s and 1970s—entitled, in a stark declaration of self-sufficiency and independence, McCartney.

The fuss surrounding the album’s release upstaged the music itself. Paul wanted to release the album that spring of 1970, but the other three objected. Not only would it clash with the release of Ringo’s debut, Sentimental Journey, that March, but also with Let It Be, the Beatles album salvaged from the 1969 “Get Back” sessions by Wall of Sound producer Phil Spector, whose schmaltzy orchestration of his song “The Long and Winding Road” Paul loathed but could not veto. When John and George sent Ringo to Paul’s London home to ask him to delay the release of McCartney, Paul lost his temper and threw the drummer out.

It was all-out war now, which escalated when McCartney’s release was preceded by Paul’s wounded and coldly angry press release announcing to the world that he had left the Beatles, which made front-page news worldwide. Later, John remarked how smart Paul was to reveal the secret that the group was finished when he had a solo record to promote.

When the world heard the music behind the bombshell, they were underwhelmed—as were John and George, who voiced their disappointment

It turns out Paul’s judgment was right on target; however, his diplomacy was disastrous. Happily distracted by his marriage to the pregnant Linda in March of 1969, Paul could not finesse the feelings of his fellow Fabs. By that summer it was clear that, at the very least, the Beatles would be taking a break from each other while they tried to sort out their differences. In that spirit, the group recorded their final album proper, Abbey Road. Knowing that it may be their last for a while, the four pulled together one final time.

But no one, at that point, was saying that it was definitively over. Until two weeks before Abbey Road’s release, that is, when John announced to the other three that he was leaving. At that time, Klein was negotiating an enormous deal for the Beatles with Capitol Records, and he persuaded the four Beatles to keep John’s departure a secret until further notice.

Paul was distraught. At a draining time with the birth of his first child, Mary, that August, Paul found himself emotionally unprepared for the disintegration of the group he had poured himself into for years, as well as the fraying of friendships with all three, especially John, whom he continued to look up to even though he no longer understood what was going on in his old partner’s mind. Depressed and directionless, Paul later admitted that he hit the bottle at that time, and that only with Linda’s support did he recover the urge to make music. For years the studio

Right: Album cover for Thrillington, released in 1977 by Paul McCartney under the pseudonym Percy “Thrills” Thrillington

Above: Album cover for Ram

Depressed and directionless, Paul later admitted he hit the bottle at that time . . .

Above: The back cover of Paul McCartney’s first solo album, McCartney. At a quick glance, you might accidentally miss Paul’s baby daughter, Mary, peeking out of Paul’s leather jacket.

Left: A touching moment . . . Paul and Linda McCartney in a New York recording studio in 1971 polishing his singles “Another Day” and “Oh Woman, Oh Why.”

14

Opposite: A detail from an advertisement in Billboard magazine hyping Paul McCartney’s solo album, McCartney.

Below: Front of the album cover for McCartney.

in public. To most fans, only one song, “Maybe I’m Amazed,” sounded finished and a worthy addition to Paul’s songbook; the rest remained home-made sketches, or perhaps superior demos, as if Paul felt they weren’t worth any further work. But “Every Night,” which moves from angst to fulfillment in love, and the sadly nostalgic “Junk” are fine songs, and the remaining numbers, which include lo-fi instrumentals, are charming.

Such was the power of the Beatles’ brand that McCartney, with its back-cover photo of Paul with baby Mary, topped the U.S. album charts. Paul had gotten back on the horse, but he had a long way to go to meet public expectations. He spent much of 1970 and 1971 in a legal dispute with Allen Klein and the other Beatles as he tried to leave the partnership, exposing their commercial affairs and mutual grievances to a dismayed public, with many fans seeing Paul as the villain by suing his fellow former Beatles. By way of escape from the London High Court and lawyers’ offices, Paul and his family loved to retreat to his remote High Park Farm on the Mull of Kintyre, where he wrote a brand-new batch of songs.

The bitterness of the Beatles’ fallout, his rejuvenation at his spartan Scottish idyll, and his determination to make a proper, polished record now that he’d gotten over his depression, took Paul and Linda to her old apartment in New York. There they recorded, in semi-secrecy, a new album and stand-alone single that reflected the mixed picture of Paul’s life at the start of the 1970s.

Cut with a handful of excellent session players, Ram is a wonderful suite of singable, hummable McCartney melodies and sumptuous chord progressions. Though none cohere into classic, self-contained songs to

Right: Paul McCartney singing with his new band, Wings, in 1972. Linda is pictured beside him.

14

Opposite: A detail from an advertisement in Billboard magazine hyping Paul McCartney’s solo album, McCartney.

Below: Front of the album cover for McCartney.

in public. To most fans, only one song, “Maybe I’m Amazed,” sounded finished and a worthy addition to Paul’s songbook; the rest remained home-made sketches, or perhaps superior demos, as if Paul felt they weren’t worth any further work. But “Every Night,” which moves from angst to fulfillment in love, and the sadly nostalgic “Junk” are fine songs, and the remaining numbers, which include lo-fi instrumentals, are charming.

Such was the power of the Beatles’ brand that McCartney, with its back-cover photo of Paul with baby Mary, topped the U.S. album charts. Paul had gotten back on the horse, but he had a long way to go to meet public expectations. He spent much of 1970 and 1971 in a legal dispute with Allen Klein and the other Beatles as he tried to leave the partnership, exposing their commercial affairs and mutual grievances to a dismayed public, with many fans seeing Paul as the villain by suing his fellow former Beatles. By way of escape from the London High Court and lawyers’ offices, Paul and his family loved to retreat to his remote High Park Farm on the Mull of Kintyre, where he wrote a brand-new batch of songs.

The bitterness of the Beatles’ fallout, his rejuvenation at his spartan Scottish idyll, and his determination to make a proper, polished record now that he’d gotten over his depression, took Paul and Linda to her old apartment in New York. There they recorded, in semi-secrecy, a new album and stand-alone single that reflected the mixed picture of Paul’s life at the start of the 1970s.

Cut with a handful of excellent session players, Ram is a wonderful suite of singable, hummable McCartney melodies and sumptuous chord progressions. Though none cohere into classic, self-contained songs to

Right: Paul McCartney singing with his new band, Wings, in 1972. Linda is pictured beside him.

1716

match “Maybe I’m Amazed,” never mind “Yesterday,” in mood and flow, Ram gets quite close to the bitty yet irresistible medley on the second side of Abbey Road.

Though a vast overall improvement on Paul’s solo debut, Ram disappointed in two respects. First, Linda, who was pushed into the job of harmony singer by Paul, was no John or George, and from then on her often shrill and unsupple singing offered a poor substitute for the harmonic richness Paul’s fans had come to expect from his Beatles’ songs. (Linda was also cocredited as a songwriter on Ram, a legal fiction devised to help Paul earn royalties on a better publishing deal than that which he was tied into with the Lennon–McCartney partnership.) Second, without the friendly competition with the verbally exacting John to push wordsmith Paul the to memorable heights of wit and pathos, Paul’s lyric writing settled for glibness, whimsy, dippiness, and an occasionally carping tone that infuriated John when he rightly detected a finger-wagging criticism within the words of the album’s opener, “Too Many People.” John reacted by overreacting on his Imagine song “How Do You Sleep?”, which, nasty though it was, was written in blood and acid in contrast to the vanilla essence that flowed through Paul’s writing. (And just in case anyone missed the point: whereas Paul was photographed on the sleeve of Ram shearing a sheep at his Scottish farm, John had himself pictured straddling a pig on Imagine.)

Paul had written more good songs than would fit in one album, so “Another Day” was released as a stand-alone single; it’s a slice of an everywoman’s life that Paul had felt able to express beautifully before in “Eleanor Rigby” and “She’s Leaving Home.” Like Ram, it was catchy and attractive; also like Ram, the single did not reach his highest standards—far more a “Your Mother Should Know” than a “Hey Jude.”

Commercially, Paul hit the jackpot with both records, but then he had come to expect that as a matter of course over the years. But for Paul, without John there to test how far the public could be pushed before they stopped buying your records, big sales meant that he was pleasing people, and he was always eager to please the people. Indeed, in June of 1971, just after Ram’s release, he secretly (and expensively) rerecorded its tunes back at Abbey Road in middle-of-the-road big band and choir arrangements of the kind Paul felt his dad would enjoy. Titled Thrillington and credited to a fictional Percy “Thrills” Thrillington, this album of enjoyably undemanding light music was shelved until a belated release in 1977. Why?

That summer of 1971 Paul had decided to form a new band.

Above: The cover of Life magazine on November 7, 1969, featuring Paul McCartney and his family in Scotland. The Life magazine correspondent, Dorothy Bacon, reportedly trudged through a Scottish bog to find Paul and put the “Paul is dead” rumors to rest.

Right: Paul McCartney, Linda, and dog Ringo at their farm near Campbeltown in Scotland on January 1, 1971

Paul secretly rerecorded the tunes on “Ram” at Abbey Road at great personal expense.

1716

match “Maybe I’m Amazed,” never mind “Yesterday,” in mood and flow, Ram gets quite close to the bitty yet irresistible medley on the second side of Abbey Road.

Though a vast overall improvement on Paul’s solo debut, Ram disappointed in two respects. First, Linda, who was pushed into the job of harmony singer by Paul, was no John or George, and from then on her often shrill and unsupple singing offered a poor substitute for the harmonic richness Paul’s fans had come to expect from his Beatles’ songs. (Linda was also cocredited as a songwriter on Ram, a legal fiction devised to help Paul earn royalties on a better publishing deal than that which he was tied into with the Lennon–McCartney partnership.) Second, without the friendly competition with the verbally exacting John to push wordsmith Paul the to memorable heights of wit and pathos, Paul’s lyric writing settled for glibness, whimsy, dippiness, and an occasionally carping tone that infuriated John when he rightly detected a finger-wagging criticism within the words of the album’s opener, “Too Many People.” John reacted by overreacting on his Imagine song “How Do You Sleep?”, which, nasty though it was, was written in blood and acid in contrast to the vanilla essence that flowed through Paul’s writing. (And just in case anyone missed the point: whereas Paul was photographed on the sleeve of Ram shearing a sheep at his Scottish farm, John had himself pictured straddling a pig on Imagine.)

Paul had written more good songs than would fit in one album, so “Another Day” was released as a stand-alone single; it’s a slice of an everywoman’s life that Paul had felt able to express beautifully before in “Eleanor Rigby” and “She’s Leaving Home.” Like Ram, it was catchy and attractive; also like Ram, the single did not reach his highest standards—far more a “Your Mother Should Know” than a “Hey Jude.”

Commercially, Paul hit the jackpot with both records, but then he had come to expect that as a matter of course over the years. But for Paul, without John there to test how far the public could be pushed before they stopped buying your records, big sales meant that he was pleasing people, and he was always eager to please the people. Indeed, in June of 1971, just after Ram’s release, he secretly (and expensively) rerecorded its tunes back at Abbey Road in middle-of-the-road big band and choir arrangements of the kind Paul felt his dad would enjoy. Titled Thrillington and credited to a fictional Percy “Thrills” Thrillington, this album of enjoyably undemanding light music was shelved until a belated release in 1977. Why?

That summer of 1971 Paul had decided to form a new band.

Above: The cover of Life magazine on November 7, 1969, featuring Paul McCartney and his family in Scotland. The Life magazine correspondent, Dorothy Bacon, reportedly trudged through a Scottish bog to find Paul and put the “Paul is dead” rumors to rest.

Right: Paul McCartney, Linda, and dog Ringo at their farm near Campbeltown in Scotland on January 1, 1971

Paul secretly rerecorded the tunes on “Ram” at Abbey Road at great personal expense.

HIN

GE

HIN

GE

PRINTER TO

CHECK SPINE

HIN

GE

HIN

GE

Chapter1From Octopus to Whale

Right: A solemn-looking Ringo Starr during the filming of the Magical

Mystery Tour on September 14, 1967.

“It was over, and I didn’t feel

qualified to do anything else.”

—Ringo Starr

Chapter1From Octopus to Whale

Right: A solemn-looking Ringo Starr during the filming of the Magical

Mystery Tour on September 14, 1967.

“It was over, and I didn’t feel

qualified to do anything else.”

—Ringo Starr

98

In more ways than one, drummers have time on their hands. Rare is the drummer who does anything else—either writes or sings. In the Beatles, Ringo Starr did a little bit of both . . . but not much. Most of his time was spent waiting for the others to come up with the songs and

then, once in the studio, waiting for the other three to do their bits so he could do his bit. It required patience, and Ringo was patient.

But in the increasingly toxic atmosphere of the summer of 1968, during the recording of what came to be called the White Album—with Yoko Oko a bizarre and irritating new presence on the scene, and Paul increasingly overbearing—Ringo’s patience snapped while the group was rehearsing “Back in the USSR” (at around 7 p.m. on Thursday, August 22, to be precise). Though already evening, the session had only just started. Ringo had been hanging around the studio all day, reading the newspaper, and waiting for the others to turn up.

“It was like madness in my head,” the legendary drummer, born Richard Starkey, told this author in 2008. “I said, ‘I’m leaving the band,’ because I felt that it wasn’t working. I knocked on John’s door, who was living in my apartment, and said, ‘You three are so close and I feel out of it.’ And he said, ‘I thought it was you three!’ And I went to Paul, I said the same thing, and he said, ‘I thought it was you three!’ So I said, ‘Fuck it, I’m off.’ I went to Sardinia.

“And then I came back”—to find his drum kit decorated with flowers—“and the atmosphere was great. I didn’t do it to clear the air—I just couldn’t stand it any more—but I think it did.”

Jet-Setting LifestyleIn Sardinia, Ringo had stayed on a yacht belonging to his friend, the British comic actor Peter Sellers, then one of the most bankable movie stars in the world. Apart from being inspired while onboard to write “Octopus’s Garden,” Ringo was developing a taste for a lifestyle and set of friendships that lay a world away from his working-class Liverpool roots. It was also a world apart from his own working life as one of the new monarchs of what was being exhalted as not only a cultural but a social revolution. Ringo was joining the international movie jet set.

The previous year, Ringo had killed some time playing a cameo role in a movie starring three of the leading lights of that set: Richard Burton, Marlon Brando, and James Coburn. Adapted from Terry Southern’s novel

Above: A very early shot of the Beatles in 1963 at Austin Reed, a men’s clothing store on Regent Street in London, England. Ringo confessed years later that he felt left out, believing the other three men were closer.

“�You three are so close, and l feel left out of it . . . ” —Ringo Starr

98

In more ways than one, drummers have time on their hands. Rare is the drummer who does anything else—either writes or sings. In the Beatles, Ringo Starr did a little bit of both . . . but not much. Most of his time was spent waiting for the others to come up with the songs and

then, once in the studio, waiting for the other three to do their bits so he could do his bit. It required patience, and Ringo was patient.

But in the increasingly toxic atmosphere of the summer of 1968, during the recording of what came to be called the White Album—with Yoko Oko a bizarre and irritating new presence on the scene, and Paul increasingly overbearing—Ringo’s patience snapped while the group was rehearsing “Back in the USSR” (at around 7 p.m. on Thursday, August 22, to be precise). Though already evening, the session had only just started. Ringo had been hanging around the studio all day, reading the newspaper, and waiting for the others to turn up.

“It was like madness in my head,” the legendary drummer, born Richard Starkey, told this author in 2008. “I said, ‘I’m leaving the band,’ because I felt that it wasn’t working. I knocked on John’s door, who was living in my apartment, and said, ‘You three are so close and I feel out of it.’ And he said, ‘I thought it was you three!’ And I went to Paul, I said the same thing, and he said, ‘I thought it was you three!’ So I said, ‘Fuck it, I’m off.’ I went to Sardinia.

“And then I came back”—to find his drum kit decorated with flowers—“and the atmosphere was great. I didn’t do it to clear the air—I just couldn’t stand it any more—but I think it did.”

Jet-Setting LifestyleIn Sardinia, Ringo had stayed on a yacht belonging to his friend, the British comic actor Peter Sellers, then one of the most bankable movie stars in the world. Apart from being inspired while onboard to write “Octopus’s Garden,” Ringo was developing a taste for a lifestyle and set of friendships that lay a world away from his working-class Liverpool roots. It was also a world apart from his own working life as one of the new monarchs of what was being exhalted as not only a cultural but a social revolution. Ringo was joining the international movie jet set.

The previous year, Ringo had killed some time playing a cameo role in a movie starring three of the leading lights of that set: Richard Burton, Marlon Brando, and James Coburn. Adapted from Terry Southern’s novel

Above: A very early shot of the Beatles in 1963 at Austin Reed, a men’s clothing store on Regent Street in London, England. Ringo confessed years later that he felt left out, believing the other three men were closer.

“�You three are so close, and l feel left out of it . . . ” —Ringo Starr

10

Opposite: Ringo Starr and Ewa Aulin star in director Christian Marquand’s 1968 movie, Candy.

Right: Movie poster of the 1968 film Candy starring Ringo Starr.

Above: Ringo Starr cuddling with Peter Sellers in the 1969 movie, The Magic Christian.

10

Opposite: Ringo Starr and Ewa Aulin star in director Christian Marquand’s 1968 movie, Candy.

Right: Movie poster of the 1968 film Candy starring Ringo Starr.

Above: Ringo Starr cuddling with Peter Sellers in the 1969 movie, The Magic Christian.

1312

Above: A movie poster for The Magic Christian starring Ringo Starr and Peter Sellers, in 1969.

He’s hooked . . . Ringo Starr can’t seem to escape the clutches of a beautiful slave girl in this scene from The Magic Christian. He costarred with Peter Sellers, who played Sir Guy Grand, the richest man in the world. Grand adopts Youngman (played by Ringo), a homeless boy. The movie, based on Terry Southern’s novel, premiered at the Odeon Theatre in London, on December 11, 1969.

Candy was a movie of its period, newly unshackled from the conventions of old Hollywood to hurl at the screen a freewheeling farrago of unremitting zaniness, thumping anti-establishment satire, crazy set pieces, groovy music, and over-the-top performances. Ringo’s performance, as a Mexican gardener seduced into losing his virginity to the beauteous Candy of the title, reinforced his public image as the hangdog jester getting by on charm in a world he didn’t quite understand. For the movie’s producers, Ringo was the Beatle whose name everyone knew, the Beatle who, as their own movies showed, could act a bit. Basic ability and box-office appeal to the younger audience gave Ringo an option outside of music.

Ringo’s two weeks’ AWOL time from the Beatles was an aberration, and he returned when the others begged him to in a telegram. While the Beatles got back on track for the rest of 1968, in the new year the atmosphere plunged again. This time it was George who quit in exasperation, while recording the miserable “Get Back” sessions in a wintry movie studio outside London. Like Ringo, George returned to the fold, but the project was suspended. At this point, in the spring of 1969, Ringo took off for another movie break, as sidekick to his pal Peter Sellers in another movie adaptation of a Terry Southern novel, The Magic Christian. It was a far better movie than Candy, though still no masterpiece, and with a star-studded cast of cameos, including Raquel Welch, Yul Brynner (in drag), Roman Polanski, and future Monty Python star John Cleese. Ringo featured as the homeless drifter adopted by Sellers’ plutocrat, who proceeds to educate him (and the audience) throughout a series of set pieces that everyone has their price in life. The fact that the Beatles were trying in vain to sort out their own runaway finances at the time, inspiring Paul McCartney’s magnificently catchy “Come and Get It,” which, recorded by the Apple-signing band Badfinger, popped up throughout the movie’s soundtrack.

Though fellow Beatles’ pal Harry Nilsson later enjoyed a huge hit with a cover of their song, “Without You,” Badfinger remained in their patrons’ shadows, and tragedy was to blight them. By contrast, of all the acts to be signed to Apple, it was Ringo’s protegé, English avant-garde classical composer John Tavener, who, along with American singer-songwriter James Taylor, was to mature over the long term to greatest eminence, even though Tavener’s major Apple project, The Whale, was to lose money. Ringo was as capable of surprise as his more explicitly creative bandmates. His first two solo albums would be proof of that.

Ringo joined pal Peter Sellers in an adaptation of a Terry Southern novel . . .

1312

Above: A movie poster for The Magic Christian starring Ringo Starr and Peter Sellers, in 1969.

He’s hooked . . . Ringo Starr can’t seem to escape the clutches of a beautiful slave girl in this scene from The Magic Christian. He costarred with Peter Sellers, who played Sir Guy Grand, the richest man in the world. Grand adopts Youngman (played by Ringo), a homeless boy. The movie, based on Terry Southern’s novel, premiered at the Odeon Theatre in London, on December 11, 1969.

Candy was a movie of its period, newly unshackled from the conventions of old Hollywood to hurl at the screen a freewheeling farrago of unremitting zaniness, thumping anti-establishment satire, crazy set pieces, groovy music, and over-the-top performances. Ringo’s performance, as a Mexican gardener seduced into losing his virginity to the beauteous Candy of the title, reinforced his public image as the hangdog jester getting by on charm in a world he didn’t quite understand. For the movie’s producers, Ringo was the Beatle whose name everyone knew, the Beatle who, as their own movies showed, could act a bit. Basic ability and box-office appeal to the younger audience gave Ringo an option outside of music.

Ringo’s two weeks’ AWOL time from the Beatles was an aberration, and he returned when the others begged him to in a telegram. While the Beatles got back on track for the rest of 1968, in the new year the atmosphere plunged again. This time it was George who quit in exasperation, while recording the miserable “Get Back” sessions in a wintry movie studio outside London. Like Ringo, George returned to the fold, but the project was suspended. At this point, in the spring of 1969, Ringo took off for another movie break, as sidekick to his pal Peter Sellers in another movie adaptation of a Terry Southern novel, The Magic Christian. It was a far better movie than Candy, though still no masterpiece, and with a star-studded cast of cameos, including Raquel Welch, Yul Brynner (in drag), Roman Polanski, and future Monty Python star John Cleese. Ringo featured as the homeless drifter adopted by Sellers’ plutocrat, who proceeds to educate him (and the audience) throughout a series of set pieces that everyone has their price in life. The fact that the Beatles were trying in vain to sort out their own runaway finances at the time, inspiring Paul McCartney’s magnificently catchy “Come and Get It,” which, recorded by the Apple-signing band Badfinger, popped up throughout the movie’s soundtrack.

Though fellow Beatles’ pal Harry Nilsson later enjoyed a huge hit with a cover of their song, “Without You,” Badfinger remained in their patrons’ shadows, and tragedy was to blight them. By contrast, of all the acts to be signed to Apple, it was Ringo’s protegé, English avant-garde classical composer John Tavener, who, along with American singer-songwriter James Taylor, was to mature over the long term to greatest eminence, even though Tavener’s major Apple project, The Whale, was to lose money. Ringo was as capable of surprise as his more explicitly creative bandmates. His first two solo albums would be proof of that.

Ringo joined pal Peter Sellers in an adaptation of a Terry Southern novel . . .