Yeah yeah yeah, p.10
Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!, page 10
Police holding back crowds of fans waiting to see the Beatles, July 1964. © MIRRORPIX
BEATLEMANIA! screamed the front page of the Daily Mirror. Headlines didn’t come any more eye-catching than that. Every paper carried photographs of a dark street scene, with a line of police struggling to hold off a mob of screaming girls. Where earlier there had been two hundred fans outside the Palladium, by show’s end there were two thousand. According to eyewitnesses, “Screaming girls launched themselves against the police—sending helmets flying and constables reeling.”
During the next few weeks, it was the same everywhere the Beatles went. Stampeding fans battled for tickets to their shows and crashed through police lines. Girls fainted. Reporters demanded interviews. There seemed no limit to the wild scenes.
BEATLEMANIA! When the boys returned from a weeklong tour of Sweden, thousands of screaming fans crowded Heathrow Airport to greet them. By coincidence, the commotion caught the attention of American TV host Ed Sullivan, who was arriving in London to scout talent for future shows. Intrigued, he cornered a few giggling fans and asked if they knew whether a celebrity was arriving. Was it a member of the royal family? he demanded. The girls just laughed and sashayed away. After an airport official told him it was the Beatles, Sullivan wrote down the name and instructed his producer to find out what he could about them.
Brian Epstein (standing, center) surrounded by his budding NEMS roster: the Beatles, Gerry and the Pacemakers, and Billy J. Kramer with the Dakotas, 1964. © MIRRORPIX
It didn’t take Ed Sullivan long to learn that a phenomenon called the Beatles was streaking through all of England. He wanted to scoop them up exclusively for America, before his competition got wind of them. That meant striking a quick deal with Brian Epstein. Wisely, the Beatles had refused to consider an American visit until they had a hit record in the States. But Brian Epstein had an instinct—a good instinct—that the time was right. Besides, Ed Sullivan’s show in America was as popular as Sunday Night at the London Palladium was in England. It would be the perfect US showcase for the Beatles.
Marsha Albert’s Gift to the Beatles
In mid-November 1963, a teenager named Marsha Albert was so intrigued by reports about the Beatles coming from England that she wrote a letter to her local deejay, at WWDC in Washington, DC, asking to hear something by the band. No one at the station had ever heard of them. But a disc jockey named Carroll James hunted down an import copy of “I Want to Hold Your Hand” and invited Marsha Albert to introduce it on the air.
On December 17, Marsha read a few lines of copy that James had scrawled on the back of a traffi c report, then launched the Beatles onto the American airwaves for the fi rst time ever. When the song was over, James invited the audience to pass on their opinion of it. As he recalled it, “The switchboard just totally went wild.” Every line lit up. He continued programming the song every night that week all the way through Christmas. As far as the Beatles were concerned, it was the best gift they could have asked for that holiday season—thanks to Marsha Albert.
Some American label just had to put their records out properly. To avoid an embarrassing situation, the head of Parlophone’s parent company flew to the States and told Capitol Records, “You must do it.” Capitol was surprised by the ultimatum. The company had already turned down the Beatles plenty of times. Now it was being forced to put them out.
Fortunately, this time Capitol was handed a lulu of a record that launched the Beatles—and the label—into the stratosphere. The record Brian gave them was “I Want to Hold Your Hand,” the Beatles’ most inspired song yet. It was part joyous rocker, part roller-coaster ride, and it came at the listener from every angle. No doubt about it, “I Want to Hold Your Hand” was like no record anyone at Capitol had ever heard before. If they were forced to release the Beatles, then this was a record they could get behind.
The Beatles pose in front of the Stars and Stripes, promoting their first American tour, which started in February 1964. © MIRRORPIX
While Capitol dawdled, Parlophone released the Beatles’ second album, With the Beatles, in England. Even the NEMS store in Liverpool was unprepared for the runaway demand. “I’d never seen anything like it,” recalled the man who managed NEMS in Brian’s absence. “There were hundreds of kids trying to get into the store. Police showed up to keep things under control. Our cashiers were so overwhelmed that everyone, myself included, worked the counter until the store closed.” In fact, all over Great Britain, teenagers mobbed record stores to get their hands on copies of With the Beatles. On that first day alone, an astounding 530,000 copies of the album were sold, along with another 200,000 more singles of “She Loves You.”
Finally, America took notice. In mid-November 1963, all three US television networks sent film crews to England to report on Beatlemania. An American teenager who saw them on TV wrote a letter to her local disc jockey asking to hear something by the Beatles. After he played “I Want to Hold Your Hand”—the first time the band was played on any American station—every telephone line lit up. So he played it again the next hour and the next, then played it every night that week, which sounded an alarm at Capitol Records.
With all the airplay, Capitol decided to move up the American release of “I Want to Hold Your Hand” to December 27. It would not arrive in time for Christmas, but the Beatles didn’t care.
At long last, they were going to America.
Chapter 7
THE BRITISH INVASION
The Beatles were nervous en route to America—nervous about all the reporters accompanying them on the plane, nervous about what they’d find in New York, nervous about their chances with American audiences. During the long flight on February 7, 1964, John sat rigidly behind the others, holding Cynthia’s hand and staring at the back of the seat in front of him. All he could focus on was not being embarrassed. What if they arrived and no one knew who they were? Even the usually confident Paul was relaying to a fellow passenger his own misgivings, when he was interrupted by word from the cockpit. As he remembered it: “The pilot had rang ahead and said, ‘Tell the boys there’s a big crowd waiting for them.’”
As the plane taxied toward the gate at Kennedy Airport in New York City, the Beatles scrambled over one another to get a better view of the scene unfolding outside at the terminal. Everywhere they looked it was wall-to-wall kids. Shouts—whoops and cheers—erupted inside the plane. Close to three thousand American fans had been gathering there since early morning, spurred on by New York’s most famous radio deejays broadcasting live from the airport. The Beatles were beside themselves with joy. As they stood by the aircraft door, grinning and gaping at the crowd, a radio commentator breathlessly struggled to describe the scene. “No one,” he said, “I mean no one, has ever seen or even remotely suspected anything like this before!”
But that was only the warm-up. During a hastily arranged press conference at the airport, the hard-core New York reporters got a dose of Beatles magic.
“Will you sing for us?” a reporter shouted over the racket.
“No!” all four Beatles replied in unison.
“We need money first,” John shot back, sending snickers through the crowd.
“What about you, Ringo? What do you think of Beethoven?”
“I love him,” Ringo said. “Especially his poems.”
“Are you for real?”
“Come and have a feel.”
Afterward, due to the large crowds, the Beatles were forced to escape. As it was reported in the newspaper, “The Beatles were lifted bodily by two policemen each, and each young man was placed…in his own Cadillac limousine.” A handful of girls actually threw themselves at the cars, then the Beatles sped off toward the city. “It was like a dream,” Paul recalled. “The greatest fantasy ever.”
But the fantasy didn’t end there. Outside the Plaza Hotel, where the Beatles shared a fabulous ten-room suite during their stay, hundreds of fans gathered, causing gridlock. A throng of girls clogged the street and swarmed over the fountain and tiny statue in the arcade on Fifth Avenue. Police held them back as best they could, but it grew hard as the day grew long. The hotel doors had to be secured; fans who got inside were soon ejected. Exhausted from the flight, the Beatles camped out on the hotel sofa, watching themselves on television and listening to music.
Unlike in England, where there was only one radio station, New York had dozens of them, which amazed the Beatles no end. All those songs they had been dying to hear by their American music heroes were right there within earshot. And American deejays, they discovered, took requests. “We phoned every radio station in town,” John explained, “saying, ‘Will you play the Ronettes’” or Marvin Gaye or Smokey Robinson or the Shirelles? They stayed up all night, talking to deejays and listening to the radio.
The next morning, George came down with a flu, and when his temperature nudged past 102, he was ordered to bed. A friend had to stand in for him at rehearsals for The Ed Sullivan Show.
The other Beatles went sightseeing in New York and fell in love with the city—while New York fell in love with the Beatles. They posed for photographers in Central Park, then took an impromptu tour of Harlem. Record shops beckoned from every corner. The three boys pressed their faces against the car windows, staring at the fabulous scenery. There were more places they wanted to visit, but because of all the fans, they had to stay locked in their suite. As one friend later described it, “The Beatles were really like prisoners.”
The Beatles took New York by storm in February 1964, initiated by their rousing press conference moments after arriving at JFK Airport. © MIRRORPIX
It was almost a relief to get down to work. On Sunday afternoon, just before The Ed Sullivan Show broadcast, the Beatles arrived at the television studio, along with George, who was still feeling nauseous and unsteady. The boys got comfortable backstage. A stack of telegrams lay on a ledge by the mirror. One, marked URGENT, caught Paul’s attention, and as he read it his face corkscrewed into a mad grin.
It said: CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR APPEARANCE ON THE ED SULLIVAN SHOW AND YOUR VISIT TO AMERICA. WE HOPE YOUR ENGAGEMENT WILL BE A SUCCESSFUL ONE AND YOUR VISIT PLEASANT. GIVE OUR BEST TO ED SULLIVAN. Paul looked up beaming: “Signed, Elvis.”
John, in a customary display of wit, shot back, “Elvis who?” The show itself went off beautifully. Ed Sullivan was a big, stiff man with very little personality, who sauntered onto the stage to introduce the acts. “Now, yesterday and today our theater’s been jammed with newsmen and press from all over the world,” he said, “and these veterans agree with me that the city’s never witnessed the excitement stirred by these youngsters from Liverpool who call themselves the Beatles.” As he said their name, screams rippled through the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen—the Beatles!”
Few viewers had known what to expect. Until that moment, all that most Americans had really seen of the Beatles was scattered newspaper photographs. A Beatles performance was something else entirely, and the power of it, the charge they sent through the audience, moved teenagers in ways they’d never been moved before. For starters, there was that boyish charm, which the Beatles (especially Paul) had perfected. Hearts melted in an instant when the boys looked directly at the camera and projected those gorgeous smiles.
The Beatles with Ed Sullivan for The Ed Sullivan Show in New York, February 1964. © MIRRORPIX
What’s more, rock ’n roll bands didn’t usually perform on television. And when they did, in most cases they lip-synched to their records. Therefore, seeing the Beatles playing live was a fairly eye-opening experience. And how those boys could play! As they hit the ooooos during “She Loves You,” Paul and John exaggerated the shake of their long-haired heads, which triggered shrieks of delirium from the new fans. Later, they played “I Saw Her Standing There” and “I Want to Hold Your Hand,” thrilling the crowd.
Girls especially were caught up in the performance. During the last song, viewers at home were given a special introduction to the band, with the name of each Beatle superimposed over a lingering close-up; John came last, and below his name was an unexpected postscript: “Sorry girls, he’s married”—at last a formal acknowledgment of the Beatles’ heartthrob status.
The Beatles rehearsing for The Ed Sullivan Show during their tour of the USA, February 1964. © MIRRORPIX
The cat was out of the bag. Until now, Brian had demanded that the Beatles keep Cynthia a secret from the press, fearing that fans, especially teenage girls, would lose interest if they knew John was married. Rules had been established: she was never to be mentioned by the lads, nor could she come to the Beatles’ performances, which angered Cynthia and John. Fans had always been fascinated by the rumor that one of the Beatles had a wife; now it was a relief to John that everybody knew. Meanwhile, it would be safe to say that American girls didn’t lose a drop of interest. John was still securely in their hearts.
Clowning with Cassius Clay, whom they met in Miami, following their performance on The Ed Sullivan Show. © CURTIS/CAMERA PRESS LONDON
It was estimated that 74 million viewers tuned in to watch the Beatles’ US television debut—a record for America. But over breakfast the next morning, with newspapers spread across the table, the Beatles were disappointed by the tone of the reviews. They were called “a fad” and even “a nightmare.” One magazine said, “Their lyrics (punctuated by nutty shouts of yeah, yeah, yeah!) are a catastrophe.”
If the negative reviews bothered the Beatles, they refused to let it show. “If everybody really liked us, it would be a bore,” John said during a press conference that lasted almost three hours. The Beatles, for their part, never lost their poise. When someone asked about the review that said they couldn’t carry a tune, John said, “We’re gonna see a doctor about that.” The Beatles seemed able to handle anything thrown at them, and they were delighted when the president of Capitol Records stepped forward to present them with two gold records.
Everywhere they went, it was the same. In Washington, DC, huge crowds—a mob scene—greeted them at the train station. And the Washington Coliseum was the biggest place they’d ever played, a crusty old 18,000-seat arena that catered to ice hockey and boxing matches. Brian hadn’t quite prepared them for the size of the place, or mentioned that they’d be performing on a platform in the middle of the crowd. But, again, it was love at first sight between the Beatles and their fans. The audience of mostly teenagers went berserk when the boys appeared; the crowd jumped to its feet, screaming uncontrollably in a sustained roar that lasted through the band’s twenty-eight-minute set.
Afterward, the Beatles were dizzy from exhaustion—and exhilaration. Ringo, especially, was over the moon about the fans. “They could have ripped me apart and I wouldn’t have cared,” he cried backstage. “What an audience! I could have played for them all night.”
If that weren’t enough, the Beatles continued their American visit by playing two sold-out shows at New York’s prestigious Carnegie Hall, where, until that night, no rock ’n roll band had ever set foot. Then they appeared on another Ed Sullivan Show, broadcast live from Miami, which drew the largest TV audience in history. While in Florida, they sparred with the celebrated young boxer Cassius Clay, who would eventually change his name to Muhammad Ali.
In all, the Beatles accomplished what their British forefathers had been unable to do: they conquered America and came home to England as heroes.
• • • • •
Two days after returning to London, the Beatles headed back into Abbey Road studio to work on songs for a new album. They could hardly wait to get started. Since the beginning of the year, they had barely played a note that wasn’t drowned out by screams, and as musicians, they had become frustrated. John and Paul had written steadily over the past few months and had a ton of songs to choose from. A version of “Can’t Buy Me Love” had been recorded earlier, but they quickly laid down the tracks for “You Can’t Do That,” “And I Love Her,” “I Should Have Known Better,” “Tell Me Why,” and “If I Fell.” John and Paul usually switched off singing the lead vocals, but they also wrote “I’m Happy Just to Dance with You” for George to sing.
A Mob at Penn Station
On February 12, 1964, there was the usual mob scene at Pennsylvania Station when the Beatles’ train arrived back in New York from Washington, DC. Thousands of fans jammed the upper waiting area, with the overfl ow milling through the lower concourse and scattered along the platforms. In no time, it became a perilous scene. The transit police force was unprepared to handle such an enormous crowd and panicked when a mad rush of teenagers broke through a line of barricades to greet the arriving train.
Unbeknownst to the fans, however, the Beatles’ car had been detached from the train and diverted to an isolated platform at the opposite end of the station, where security guards planned to evacuate the boys by a private elevator. But some resourceful kids had already anticipated that, and in the end the boys merely charged up the stairs and jumped into a taxi idling on Seventh Avenue.
The Beatles were delighted to be recording again, but they were also about to become movie stars. While they were in America, Brian had negotiated a deal for them to star in their first full-length film, a comedy, which was being written especially to showcase their wacky personalities. The boys seemed perfectly comfortable performing music onstage, but no one— especially the Beatles—knew if they could act. It was a gamble from the start, but, as the movie’s producer recalled after the first day on the set, “The Beatles fell right into it; they were naturals.”
