Beatles (8 page)

They knew he was homosexual, but that was all. John was the only one I discussed it with, as he was quite interested, but
Paul I think was upset by it. Brian realized this and was always especially concerned about pleasing Paul, giving him the biggest presents. Brian’s staff told me that he worried most about keeping in with Paul and always answered his calls first.

John told me he had had a one-night stand with Brian, on a holiday with him in Spain, when Brian had invited him out, a few days after the birth of Julian in 1963, leaving Cyn alone. I mentioned this brief holiday in the book, but not what John had alleged had taken place. Partly, I didn’t really believe it, though John was daft enough to try almost anything once. John was certainly not homosexual, and this boast, or lie, would have given the wrong impression. It was also not fair on Cynthia, his then wife.

But by 1967, even John did not seem to have much connection with Brian. When I began to realize the extent of Brian’s tragic private life, I assumed it was partly the Beatles’ fault, edging him out of their lives, discarding him, leaving him without much purpose in life, perhaps helping to cause his terrible depressions. I probably hinted as much in the book. Now, with hindsight, I think the fault was in Brian. I underplayed the fact that he had been discharged from the army on medical and emotional grounds, after being referred to a psychiatrist. He had presented it to me rather as a joke, almost as if he had done it to get out of the army, which was how I reported it (see
Chapter 15
). It seems clear to me now that he should have had proper psychiatric help from a very early stage. In Liverpool, I did hear stories of certain incidents, but I could never get details.

It could be argued that the Beatles
saved
him from himself, prolonging his life, at least for those six years or so in which he threw himself into their career, using up all his energies and talents and emotions for their good. By 1967, he was back on his own again, and finding himself very difficult to live with.

The official report of his death in September 1967 said it was an accidental overdose, which I believe, though others have since tried to prove it was suicide, and some irresponsible writers have even hinted at murder, as there are still some missing facts about
the days before his death. Emotionally, it was suicide, even though I do not think he meant to do it at that time in that way. But I feel it would have happened, sooner rather than later.

I was with the Beatles in Bangor, North Wales, when they heard about Brian’s death. The whole weekend had been rather bizarre. Michael McCartney, Paul’s brother, had rung me the night before to tell me that they planned to go to somewhere in Wales to meet someone called the Maharishi. It had all begun with George, and his interest in Indian things, and he had persuaded the others to join him. Michael told me to be on the platform at Euston at a certain time for the Bangor train. It was bound to be a happening. Remember happenings? Very 1960s. I realized it would be the first time they had all gone anywhere as a group since their touring days. So that at least would be interesting to observe.

I travelled with them in their carriage, on Friday, 25 August 1967 – the four Beatles, plus Mick Jagger, Marianne Faithfull, all in their flower-power clothes. It was very revealing to see Jagger and Lennon together. They seemed wary of each other, careful and respectful, with very little contact.

I knew, from having discussed it previously with John, that John felt jealous of Jagger. Certainly not of his music, or his success, or his fame, but of the fact that Jagger always had a rebel image, right from the beginning, which John felt he should have had as well. I argued that it was the Beatles, breaking so many rules, that allowed the Stones to come along later and build on what the Beatles had done. John at that stage still resented the cleaning-up operation Brian had performed on them, ashamed in a way that he had gone along with it, which was why later, I suppose, he overcompensated by dishing out the dirt about himself, making himself worse, if anything, than he had been.

On the train, there was very little conversation between them all, though after they had been ushered into the Maharishi’s compartment, further along the train, they all laughed and joked
about what he had said to each of them, but at the same time obviously taking it very seriously.

The trip had been meant to be secret, and was arranged at the last moment, but the news leaked out and at various stations along the line crowds of fans gathered. It was almost like Beatlemania days again. Fans rushed to the train when we stopped and shoved autograph books through the windows and doors; quite a killing for the fans, getting such a batch of heroes, all in the same spot at the same time. Most of them dutifully signed, except John, who soon said he was fed up. So now and again I signed his name in their little books, if they looked particularly disappointed. I do hope Sotheby’s have found a way of checking the real signatures from the false.

That evening, in Bangor, we all went into the town for something to eat. It was late at night, in a very small provincial town, and we could find only a Chinese restaurant open. When the bill finally came, I realized I had not enough money, nor had anyone else. The Beatles never carried money, just like the royal family, and this time they were without their normal aides and assistants who carried the purse for them.

The Chinese waiter was becoming very upset, thinking we were all going to walk out without paying, when George suddenly put his bare foot on the table. He had taken off his sandals and was examining the sole of the shoes. There was a slit at the front and from it he withdrew £20, more than enough to settle the bill. He had put the money there for such emergencies, months if not years previously, and forgotten about it until that evening.

The news of Brian’s death came through on the Sunday, after they had a long session with the Maharishi. They appeared at the time to be rather callous in their reaction, which hurt Brian’s family, but it was partly the result of being with the Maharishi, who told them that death meant very little. It was typical of their reaction to such things. Years before, Paul had once made a silly joke about his mother’s death, out of fear
rather than cruelty. John had appeared to be uncaring after his own mother had been killed.

The death of Brian Epstein was a watershed, the end of an era, the final chapter of those Beatlemania years, although we did not realize at the time how near it was to the end of the Beatles as an active group. Everyone wondered, though, what the next era would bring. I remember George Martin telling me that he thought they would not manage in the future without some sort of organizer, some figure to lean on. They would always need some sort of help.

As for interviewing the Beatles themselves, I described in great detail in Part Three of the book (see
Chapters 28–34
) what exactly they were doing and thinking in 1967, so there is not much need to add to that. I knew at the time that the minute I wrote anything down it was out of date. They moved on so quickly, changing their minds, changing their clothes, their interests, always into something new.

John was the hardest to talk to. I spent hours at his home in Weybridge in silence, swimming round his pool with him, eating a meal, sitting in his little living room, often without a sound, except for the rotten television set flickering away in the corner. In the end, if conversation seemed impossible, I would pack up and come again another day, when I hoped he would be more forthcoming. With Cyn, he could go on like that for weeks. He seemed to be in a permanent state of mental abstraction. I don’t think it was the effect of drugs, though he was smoking a lot, or even Maharishi’s meditations. For long spells, he just chose to cut off. Looking back, he was waiting for Yoko to come along, and spark him into life again.

John could still be the strongest personality in the group, if he wanted to, though not as dominant as in the past. He let Paul take control of most things and allowed him to steer the Beatles into new projects, such as
Magical Mystery Tour
, or George to steer them into Indian mysticism.

Even at the private party to celebrate
Magical Mystery Tour
, which was a very jolly affair, with their friends and relations and personal staff, John seemed so subdued. We all came in fancy dress. I went as a Boy Scout, and my wife as a Girl Guide, which was a bit pathetic and showed little imagination. John looked magnificent as a greasy rocker, just as he had been, ten years previously. He talked for a while to my wife about books, then sat in a daze.

At his home, and in his head, he had so many half songs, uncompleted bits of verse, which he would play with, before quickly tiring of them. For months I seem to remember he was mucking around with ‘Across the Universe’, or variations on it. He would play or sing me the same old bits every few weeks, having failed to make any progress with it since I’d last seen him.

Paul was the easiest to talk to. He had such energy and such keenness and, unlike John, enjoyed being liked, at least most of the time. I don’t see this as a criticism. John himself could be very cruel about Paul’s puppy-dog eagerness to please. The irony was, and still is, that John’s awfulness to people, his rudeness and cruelty, made people like him more, whereas Paul’s genuine niceness made many people suspicious, accusing him of being calculating. Paul does look ahead, seeing what might happen, working out the effect of certain actions, but he often ends up tying himself in knots, not necessarily getting what he thought he wanted. I think there is some insecurity in Paul’s nature, which makes him try so hard, work so hard. It also means he can be easily hurt by criticism, which was something that just washed over John.

George, at the time I was doing the book, was an obsessive, which could make it very hard to talk to him. He hated, even then, the Beatle days, and wanted to forget them completely and move on. They all felt that, but George felt it most of all. His development, during those years as a Beatle, was by far the most dramatic. It’s easy to forget just how young he was, a callow 17-year-old, when he joined them. For so many years, most people tended to dismiss him as a mere child. John was so dominant
and, at that stage in their career, being three years older, it made an enormous difference and he completely overshadowed George. Presumably John and Paul did see hidden things in George, right from the beginning, apart from his excellent guitar playing. They were proud of him, in a big-brotherly way, for being so good on the guitar, and by 1967 their pride had turned to admiration, not just for the excellent songs he had now composed, but for being so knowledgeable about Indian music and culture, going to such trouble to teach himself the sitar. For the first time in his life, he had become a leader, doing it by example, not in any bossy, domineering way.

Going to see Ringo was rather strange. He prowled around his own domain, restless and worried-looking. At home, he was very much an Andy Capp figure, as was John, whereas Paul had picked up more middle-class habits thanks to his friendship with Jane Asher.

I think Ringo worried about the future. The touring days were over and he knew that in the studio, especially with all the new synthesizer equipment then coming in, his drumming was not really as vital as it used to be. Many times Paul would take over the drums in the recording studio, to explain what was wanted. While George and John were fed up with being Beatles, and Paul wanted it to go on a bit longer because he could see there were things they had still not done, Ringo’s future seemed blank. Apart from a bit of acting, he couldn’t see what else there was for him to do.

Neil Aspinall and Mal Evans, their two road managers from the early days, and still then their constant companions and aides, were always being asked which Beatle they liked best. It was an impossible, but natural, question. There were so many facets to each of them. Paul and Ringo, as far as the general public were concerned, were the ‘nicest’, yet I often met people who worked with them closely who moaned about them all the time. Unlike John and George, they could turn nasty in private, suddenly deciding they were being taken advantage of, by some assistant
or tradesman, especially over money matters. When it came to money, John and George hardly seemed to care.

John was the most original, so I always thought, but Paul was the most naturally gifted. Music flows through him all the time, and he is also gifted with the aptitudes to make the most of his talents. George was a combination, both original and talented, yet in ways different from the other two. Ringo had no pretence, and was totally without intellectual aspirations, unlike the other three, nor did he have any illusions about his work or worth. He had a common-sense approach to everything, and could be very quick-witted and sharp.

I looked forward equally to my conversations with each of them, but perhaps enjoyed Paul’s and John’s company most. They were also interested in my world, life at large, discussing topics of the day, that’s if it wasn’t one of John’s days for not talking to anyone. They were both, surprisingly, starved of good chat, which is why, I suppose, some strange people with odd ideas did come into their life from time to time.

Their lives in the last ten years had been so extraordinary that I was interested in all their observations, however naive. They had so little idea of how the real world worked, having been sealed off from reality for so long. John, for example, could not use the telephone. People had made his calls for so long that he had forgotten how to do it.

They were like specimens, people from another planet, who saw things differently from the rest of us, uneducated, unformed minds, yet they had seen things and experienced events and emotions the rest of us can only imagine. They had no conceit, which I found surprising, neither about their music nor their fame. They honestly believed that everyone, if they put their mind to it, could achieve what they wanted to in life. They had done it, so they did not see why others could not. The whole philosophy of Apple, idiotic and crazy though it was, was based on helping others to help themselves. They believed that education and training of any sort were a waste of time. They had
broken all the rules, when people had told them they would never do it, coming from Liverpool, singing like that, so they believed others could do the same.