The Beatles (142 page)

Yellow Submarine
had its premiere at the London Pavilion on July 17, 1968, with the fans’ reception around Piccadilly Circus exploding into a scene reminiscent of Beatlemania. Thousands of people flooded the garishly lit esplanade, shrieking as the Beatles and their guests arrived in a whirlwind of old-fashioned excitement. With few exceptions, the critical reception was equally enthusiastic. The
Daily Telegraph
hailed the film as “
brilliantly inventive
” and urged audiences of all ages to give it a whirl,
seconded by the
Christian Science Monitor,
which praised its
strong “visual imagination
” and “romantic emotion.” “
The film packs more
stimulation, sly art-references and pure joy into ninety minutes than a mile of exhibitions of op and pop and all the mod cons,” rhapsodized the
Observer
. Even the Beatles had to admit it was loaded with charm.
Ringo, who crooned the main theme, naturally “loved
Yellow Submarine,
” while George, normally the slowest of the four to warm to such a contrivance, flat-out “liked the film,” and said, “
I think it’s a classic
.”

The strongest reaction to it came from the
Daily Mail.
Trudi Pacter, the paper’s crackerjack entertainment columnist, reproached the Beatles for blowing so far off course. “
The Beatles stubbornly continue
to experiment,” Pacter complained, which seemed the real focus of her displeasure. There was a commingling of too many new elements, too many deviations from the simple, happy formula that had amused the world for so long through the Beatles’ clever wit and joyous songs. Every week, every
day,
seemed to bring a new announcement from the Beatles of another fabulous project outside of their traditional province. The fans needed to know that they weren’t being patronized, they needed something familiar to grab onto, some validation of their faith. They needed to know that there was music in the mix.

On May 30 the Beatles met at George’s house to discuss the next album. Unlike their previous launches, there was a surplus of material to choose from—the luxurious outpouring of songs written in India, as well as several that had been completed in the intervening months. For most of the afternoon they demo’ed the songs, spitting them out like table talk, almost impressionistically, on a reel-to-reel tape recorder. There were twenty-three in all—seven by Paul, eleven by John, and five by George—with others in the hopper, waiting to be reshaped.

Listening to them played back convinced the Beatles they had something powerful to build on. The songs were bolder and more emotional, though less self-conscious, than
Revolver
and
Sgt. Pepper’s
. And yet, there was clearly something uneven in their collective tone, something that seemed to pit the songs
against
one another in rhythmic apposition, as if to keep the next phase of the recording process from turning into a rote exercise.
“
They have a different feel
about them,” John reflected in glorious understatement, perhaps mocking the jarring irregularity of the material.

The new repertoire, almost to a song, had lost its collaborative aspect. They were individual efforts—John’s songs, Paul’s songs, George’s songs, written alone—and bore few of the familiar qualities that identified them as
Beatles
songs. That wasn’t to say they were less accomplished or any less interesting; nor did it say they wouldn’t record them as a group, with the same kind of interplay vital to other sessions. But it was a clear indication that each of the writers had evolved in different, aggressively distinctive ways; they were more confident about their work and, therefore, were less willing to compromise.

It also meant that the writing process would forgo the critical feedback—the suggestion of a phrase, a few bars, or a middle eight—that helped shape a Lennon-McCartney song in the past. One of the key ingredients unique to John and Paul’s partnership was their reliance on and trust in each other to fine-tune, or, as John described it, “
just finish off the tail
ends” of each composition. Even with songs that were written almost entirely by one person, some last-minute advice would polish it to perfection. That give-and-take had been instrumental to their success from the very beginning. But now, as Paul pointed out, “
it meant that I’d hear
some of the songs for the first time when [John] came to the studio, whereas in the past we checked them with each other.”

Even though he no longer depended on it,
Paul regretted the loss
of John’s influence, blaming the intensifying emotional crisis in his partner’s life for the breach. Over a few weeks in May John’s affair with Yoko Ono had all but thrown his life into complete upheaval. After that first encounter John stumbled through the early days of summer in what he described as “
my love cloud
,” admitting, when it came to Yoko, he’d “
never known love like this
before.” It must have been as unnerving as it was exhilarating. He managed to fill those scattered weeks with mundane Apple business but became too distracted, too rocked by the constant clash of emotions. John later claimed that every time he was in Yoko’s company “
my head would go off
like I was on an acid trip.” One “sniff” of her potent mojo and he “was hooked,” he said, mixing drugs and metaphors in equal measure. “
She was the ultimate trip
.”

For John, the very heat of this relationship only underscored his disaffection for Cynthia. Finally, on the afternoon of May 22, a situation developed that would speed things toward the end. Cynthia decided to
return from her vacation in Greece a day earlier than anticipated and, during a stopover in Rome, attempted to call John so that he would expect her. It did not faze her that no one answered at Kenwood; John could be any number of places, possibly asleep or possibly stoned. But when Cynthia arrived at the house about four in the afternoon, she was surprised to find the lights ablaze and the door open. That was odd, she thought. Someone should have been around to greet her—the housekeeper or the gardener—but the place seemed deserted and “
eerily silent
.” With Jenny Boyd and Magic Alex trailing noisily behind, Cynthia wandered through the warren of neglected downstairs rooms, calling to John. Receiving no reply, she bounded into the sun-drenched breakfast room and stopped dead in the doorway. “
John and Yoko, wearing nothing
but matching purple dressing gowns, turned to look at me,” she recalled.
^*
Curled comfortably into a scarlet-cushioned settee, John didn’t so much as bat an eye at his wife’s unexpected appearance. He calmly put down a mug of tea, stubbed out a cigarette, and said, “Oh, hi.”

Struggling to maintain her composure, Cynthia began to babble uncontrollably about the trip back to England. “I had this great idea,” she rattled on. “We had breakfast in Greece, lunch in Rome, and Jenny and Alex thought it would be great if we all went out to dinner in London to carry on the whole holiday. Are you coming?”

John, staring expressionlessly at her, replied: “No, thanks.”

Panic-stricken, Cynthia held her ground, holding out hope for a last-minute compromise, something that might at least temporarily salvage their marriage. She’d always been willing in the past to ignore his infidelities. It was the ultimate act of love. For John, however, there was no going back. Finally a line had been drawn.
“You bastard!”
Cynthia cried, and darted out of the room.

Cynthia spent the next few days “
in complete shock
,” camped out at Jenny Boyd’s flat.
But one night in that desperate
, wounded span, either out of anger or revenge, she slept with Magic Alex. “
She knew it was a mistake
the moment it happened,” says Peter Brown, “especially with Alex, whom she’d never trusted, nor even liked.” If Cynthia believed there was any chance of a reconciliation with John, this indiscretion ended it forever. Alex had John’s ear, and Cynthia knew it.

Whatever her reasoning, Cynthia remained determined to see the
marriage through. Convinced that John still needed her, she returned to Kenwood, mollified by his apparent denial that anything improper had occurred. “
For a while, everything
was wonderful,” she recalled. “We could speak more openly and honestly with each other, and there really was a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.”

But the tunnel was short, and the light soon faded. Within weeks their life together had disintegrated into a revolving state of solicitude and withdrawal, resignation and despondence. Following a stretch when John became disturbingly incommunicative, Cynthia packed once again, escaping on still another vacation to Pesaro, Italy, with her mother, Julian, and a favorite aunt and uncle. It was there, returning at dawn after an uninhibited night “on the town,” that she encountered “
a very agitated” Magic Alex
, pacing along the sidewalk outside the Cruiser Hotel. Over breakfast, Alex confessed that he was there as John’s emissary, to demand a divorce on grounds of adultery. Embarrassed but unfaltering, Alex admitted that he’d agreed to be named corespondent and to testify in any proceedings.

Cynthia may have been “
absolutely devastated
” by the slimy tactic, but she could not have been entirely unprepared for it. A few days earlier, while recuperating from a bout of tonsillitis, she’d opened an Italian newspaper to a picture of John and Yoko, arm in arm, attending the June 18 premiere of
In His Own Write
at London’s Old Vic. “
I knew when I saw the picture
that that was
it,
” Cynthia told Ray Coleman. John would never have taken Yoko public, she concluded, if he wasn’t ready to file for divorce. He knew the press would pounce all over their appearance together—and he was obviously prepared for the consequences. But he wasn’t prepared for the outcry.

John had been planning for some time to step out in public with Yoko.
The groundwork for it
had already been laid at the Apple Tailoring launch party on May 22, at which she was introduced as his date. “
They were like two nervous
lovebirds,” says Alistair Taylor, recalling how Yoko clung coyly to John’s arm that evening as they paraded through the shop, “but it upset those of us who had known Cynthia from the beginning.” Most of the old Liverpool contingent avoided them out of embarrassment. If the other Beatles experienced any uneasiness with this development, they kept it to themselves; nothing, as far as it is known, was ever said about it for the record. What John did in his personal life, especially with other women, was John’s business; none of the Beatles made those kind of judgments about one another. Only Derek Taylor, whose “
loyalty to and affection for Cynthia
Lennon” were unconditional, had the courage to confront John about Yoko. A few days after the party, the two men had lunch at a Japanese restaurant in London, where Taylor, fearful of an imminent media backlash, was barely able to contain his outrage.
Do you have any idea what you are doing?
he wondered. “
As your friend and press officer
, it is my duty to inform you that despite
my
sealed lips anything you say will be taken down and blown up and broadcast to a waiting world. Not to mention Cyn, Julian, Mrs. Powell, and other loved ones.” John warned Derek to mind his own business, indicating that from now on things were going to be different in his life. “So that
is
it—you and Yoko?” Taylor wondered. “Yes,” John replied coolly. “That’s it.”

The turning point occurred a month later at the Old Vic, where the press was lying in ambush. “
Word had circulated
through the channels that John’s marriage was over,” recalls Don Short, “and everyone was waiting for the chance to uncover it. This was it.” When John got out of his limo, clutching Yoko’s tiny hand, flashbulbs lit up the sky and an indignant outcry erupted, the hostility of which caught him by surprise.
“Where’s your wife?
Where’s Cynthia?”
reporters shouted over one another. A look of panic crossed John’s face as he fought his way through the crowd. “
Who is this?
” they demanded. “
What happened to your wife
, John?”

“I don’t know!” he blurted angrily, but it did nothing to staunch the controversy.

If the press and fans were predictably outraged by Yoko’s appearance, public opinion was nothing compared with the difficulties it stirred at Apple. The Beatles were days away from beginning work on an important new album, and suddenly domestic issues, not music, had become the group’s primary focus. Naturally, everyone’s concern was for John’s immediate welfare. He had become homeless in the ensuing uproar, having moved out of Kenwood in order to be with Yoko, and needed a place to crash. But where? Hotels were out of the question because of the swarming press. Ringo’s old flat at Montagu Square, once the hideaway of Jimi Hendrix, was currently occupied by Cynthia’s hostile mother. Brian’s place in Chapel Street, as well as the country estate, had been sold. The prospects for a superstar were surprisingly small. Not surprisingly, Paul McCartney rushed in to provide John with instant refuge.

“
Paul, in his usual way
, tried to be the nice guy and was open-minded about John’s weird choice,” says Brown. “He invited them to stay at [his house in] Cavendish Avenue for a while.” The day after Cynthia’s return,
they moved into the second-floor guest bedroom and made themselves at home. “But the problem was that Yoko wasn’t a very warm person—not even able to say thank you in response to anything Paul did for them. And he went miles out of his way to make them feel welcome, being a nice guy. So that didn’t last very long.”

Feeling unwanted—and fed up with what they perceived as Paul’s insincerity—John and Yoko moved into Peter Brown’s flat, which was in the midst of being repainted, then stayed with Neil Aspinall for a week until they brokered a solution: Cynthia could remain in Kenwood for the time being, as long as she agreed to take her mother with her. John and Yoko wanted the basement flat in Montagu Square for themselves. The place was perfect—centrally located, with a nifty escape hatch (
Ringo had installed a rear window
over the kitchen sink, which led into an unseen alleyway), and dark. The latter condition, as it happened, was most essential to their needs: wearied by itinerancy and the accumulation of tension around them, John and Yoko had begun a chilling dependence on heroin.