Oh My God It's John

Tony Bramwell on Brian:

- Brian dropped in at the Cavern and, spoiled for choice, fell in love at first sight with each of the Beatles in turn

- Brian almost promised to love, honour and obey them.

- He never publicly showed his embarrassment with poor deals, but one could tell something wasn’t right because inside, he anguished. Chewed his knuckles and grew pale.

- He was a fiercely loyal and honourable friend to those he loved, and ruthless toward those he despised

- He was shy to the point of blushing and stammering, and theatrical to the point of ranting and frothing at the mouth

- His biggest problem, perhaps his only real problem, was that he was homosexual in a still very unenlightened era. It kept getting in the way. Whenever he sat down for a meeting with heavyweights like Sir Joseph Lockwood at EMI, or whoever, he felt they all knew. “They’re talking behind my back, Tony,” Brian said. “They don’t respect me.”

- Paul was fond of Brian and thought he was the best possible manager: one who was courteous, who didn’t interfere with their private lives, but achieved all he said he would do. He never criticized him—none of us did. Brian was a god.  (It was only later that the façade cracked a bit, but even then we loved him. He was like family, and you accept your family for what they are and forgive them most anything.)

- his wonderfully fertile mind continuously thinking up innovative ideas and then worrying about them

- Brian was so different when around his beloved protégés. He became one of them. He was a friend, a chum, charming, trustworthy and kind. He set out to do what he promised and they all said it would never have happened without him.

- Brian bought an off-the-shelf company named Suba Films, which I virtually ran. It was way ahead of its time, the only independent company in England making music videos

- Whenever things got raunchy and out of hand around us, he would make his excuses and leave. At times, he almost ran.

- [on writing his biography]: “You don’t think John will think I’m raining on his parade, do you?” he asked hesitantly.

- I believe that Brian’s paranoia over the Beatles’ contract and his heavy use of drugs led him to think that it was only a matter of time before everything came tumbling down and he would be left standing in the ruins, with people pointing their fingers like kids in a playground.

- He was seriously ill and desperately sought to escape from the circus of his own creation.

- He was tormented by the idea of letting down his beloved Cilla and the Beatles, particularly John.

- He underwent deep sleep therapies at the Priory, being put under for days at a time with heavy drugs.

- Whether he managed the Beatles or not, he would still get 25 percent of their earnings from record sales for nine years. This subtlety had somehow escaped the Beatles, but it bothered Brian. It gnawed at his conscience because in his heart he knew he had conned them.

- [He] was abnormally distressed, convincing himself that they weren’t going to sign up again because they loathed him. Going through months of paranoia, he looked for reasons and forlornly asked the question, “Don’t they like me anymore?”

- It was so silly because it wasn’t like that at all. At different times, all of them commented to me that they would never have signed another contract as “Beatles” but they would have signed individually with Brian.

- “No, I think John hates me now. I don’t know what I’ll do if they don’t sign. What will people think? I can see the headlines now: EPSTEIN DUMPED BY BEATLES.”

- He was now seriously unhappy, not just troubled. His personality had radically changed.

- Brian had resident nurses, doctors who stayed, psychiatrists who lived in, all crowded into that little doll’s house, getting on each other’s nerves. At times he’d make an effort. He would sweet-talk everyone and then escape when they weren’t looking.

- [after Brian's death] Joanne was in shock. She had seen him first. The doors had been broken down and there he was, curled up on his side in bed with Saturday’s mail lying next to him. “We all knew at once that he was dead, but I heard myself say, ‘It’s all right, he’s just asleep. He’s fine,’ ” she said.

- It was unbelievable that the man who had got all this going—the vast money-making machine and the culture shock that had changed the world—was gone.

- The Summer of Love was over and autumn coming.

- I have been asked many times why it was that the Beatles didn’t just hire an office manager to handle their business affairs and pay him or her a salary. It would have made sense. But it never occurred to them. They just went blindly on, trying to find someone to replace Brian, like it was some kind of law. They seemed to think that they had to have a manager, to whom they had to give 25 percent of their gross income, or they’d be arrested or drummed out of the Brownies.

Sections of Ticket To Ride, by Larry Kane, which address anti-Semitism:

Early in the '64 tour:

About an hour into the flight, a word reached my ears that I couldn't ignore. In everyone's life, there are certain words that spark instant revulsion. I raised my head from my book and my mind raced quickly, along with the beat of my heart, when I heard the word kike. Worse yet, the ethnic slur came from the rear, where the Beatles and Derek Taylor were sitting. I didn't race to conclusions. After all, I could have misunderstood what was being said. I bit my lip and hoped I was wrong. Then I heard the word again, this time in part of a sentence, "The kike did---" I heard, though I couldn't be sure whose voice had said it. Although it's hardly part of the current hate vernacular, the word was used generously by bigots in the 1960s.

Irritated, disappointed and agitated, I got up from my seat and approached the rear, about five rows back. My growing-up years, especially those I had spent in suburban Miami, had sensitised me to words that hurt. And this hurt, especially at the time and place.

I approached the opening to the Beatles' small compartment, stuck my head in, and blurted out "Listen, I just want to say that I heard a word that really pisses me off. I'm Jewish, and I won't stand for that crap. I mean, whoever said it, can't you think before you talk?"

The beatles, Derek Taylor and Malcolm Evans looked startled. Sheepishly, without the courage to wait for an answer, I returned to my seat, figuring that the outburst would end my travels with the band, or at the least would rupture the rapport I had established in just a few days.

Minutes passed. The Derek Taylor came forward and knelt alongside my aisle seat. He said "Look, I'm really sorry. It came from me. It's just a word that is used quite casually in English life and I didn't mean anything." I replied, "But you didn't say it." I knew the voice hadn't been his. "What do you mean?" "I mean you didn't say it." Derek smiled. "Doesn't matter. It was said nonetheless. I'm sorry."

At that point I felt foolish about the whole thing. But I also knew that if I had let it go and ignored the slight, I could not have lived with myself the rest of the tour.

Minutes later, Lennon came over and sat down. I don't remember our exact words, but we had a relaxed and compassionate conversation about the roots of prejudice in Liverpool. It was a good talk. As we spoke, Ringo and George walked by. Ringo gave a wink, and George just said, "How you doing, Larry." Paul didn't make a special trip. He did pass by on the way to the bathroom and said "Great working with you, Larry." It was, I interpreted, his way of smoothing the episode over.

I felt good, but still self-conscious that I had responded so aggressively. Whatever the roots of the prejudice and whatever the reasons someone had spoken that word, I knew I would never hear it again for the remainder of the tour. And this incident did something else; it showed me that the Beatles possessed genuine compassion and feeling.

Two years later Derek [...] brought up the subject. I had long forgotten, but Derek had not. He confirmed that he wasn't the one who had said the word and that the boys had been embarrassed. When I asked him who'd said it, he changed the subject.

_____

Towards the end of the '65 tour Brian Epstein invited Larry for drinks in his rented cottage:

As the conversation progressed, I realised that I was serving as a depository for some pent up, constrained feelings. I listened intently as he expressed concern that he was losing his grip on John and maybe the whole group and described his fear that, without his presence, the Beatles' unity would divide into four separate camps. His words would be prophetic, but he didn't imagine that his own death would be a catalyst in realising those predictions.

I was surprised as Epstein described a growing paranoia. He looked pained when he described an awareness of the boys talking behind his back. He assumed that they were laughing at him. I told him I had never heard or seen anything like that. I could imagine that happening, but I was hardly an expert on their private behaviour and of course didn't make any guesses with him. [...]

And then, much to my astonishment, he addressed a subject close to my heart - anti-Semitism. This scourge was commonplace in industrial Liverpool in the forties and fifties, he said, creating a cloud of resentment that he unmistakably felt, even around entertainers. "Are the Beatles anti-Semitic?" I inquired.

"I don't think so," he said, "But it was always around them, so it may be in them." I never told him about the incident on the plane in 1964.

Int: It’s possible - you know this as well as anybody does. It’s possible that all of you will be best known not for your individual work but because you were Beatles. Does that trouble you at all?

George: No, not at all because who are we anyway, you know? I mean, even if they knew me as me - George Harrison - they don’t really know me. It doesn’t matter what they remember you for. It’s really what you attain for your own personal self that counts. 

“Y’know, it’s something that other people see us as The Beatles, and I try to see us as The Beatles, but I can’t.” - Scene and Heard (1967)  

“To be able to deal with these people thinking you were some wonderful thing - it was difficult to come to terms with. I was feeling, you know, like nothing. Even now I look back and see, relative to a lot of other groups, The Beatles did have something. But it’s a bit too much to accept that we’re supposedly the designers of this incredible change. In many ways we were just swept along with everybody else.” -  Rolling Stone (1987)

“I don’t mean to sound mysterious or try to baffle anyone, but when people come up to me expecting me to be just like what they thought a Beatle would be, they’re disappointed. I never was a Beatle, except musically. I don’t think any of us was. What is a Beatle anyway? I’m not a Beatle or an ex-Beatle or even the George Harrison. I’m just a man. Very ordinary.” - Men Only (1978)

“Like Chance, the main character in Being There (one of George’s favorite books), he wanted to just ‘be there’ in his garden, in his solitude, with his hands in the dirt. He didn’t want to ‘be’ anything but a man who loved music, the earth, women, and God.” - Chris O’Dell

“I first met John Lennon through Tony King, who had moved to LA to become Apple Records’ general manager in the US. In fact, the first time I met John Lennon, he was dancing with Tony King. Nothing unusual in that, other than the fact that they weren’t in a nightclub, there was no music playing and Tony was in full drag as Queen Elizabeth II. They were at Capitol Records in Hollywood, where Tony’s new office was, shooting a TV advert for John’s forthcoming album Mind Games, and, for reasons best known to John, this was the big concept. I took to him straight away. It wasn’t just that he was a Beatle and therefore one of my idols. He was a Beatle who thought it was a good idea to promote his new album by dancing around with a man dragged up as the Queen, for fuck’s sake. I thought: We’re going to get on like a house on fire. And I was right. As soon as we started talking, it felt like I’d known him my entire life. We began spending a lot of time together, whenever I was in America. He’d separated from Yoko and was living in Los Angeles with May Pang. I know that period in his life is supposed to have been really troubled and unpleasant and dark, but I’ve got to be honest, I never saw that in him at all. I heard stories occasionally – about some sessions he’d done with Phil Spector that went completely out of control, about him going crazy one night and smashing up the record producer Lou Adler’s house. I could see a darkness in some of the people he was hanging out with: Harry Nilsson was a sweet guy, an incredibly talented singer and songwriter, but one drink too many and he’d turn into someone else, someone you really had to watch yourself around. And John and I certainly took a lot of drugs together and had some berserk nights out, as poor old Dr John would tell you. We went to see him at the Troubadour and he invited John onstage to jam. John was so pissed he ended up playing the organ with his elbows. It somehow fell to me to get him offstage.”

— Elton John, Me. (2019) (Note: You can watch the Mind Games commercial of John and Tony King in drag dancing here. You can read the continuation of this quote here.)

some of my favs of john

George and Pattie.

Interviewer: When you look back on all of that now, how does it seem to you?

Pattie Boyd: It feels as if, I’m living, a second life now. That was such a- almost like a fantasy life.

Interviewer: Do you miss it?

Pattie Boyd: Sometimes I do. Yes.

the paper copy is even more ridiculous lmAO

John Lennon on the set of How I Won The War at the Desierto de Tabernas in Almería, Spain | September 1966

"their relationship is strictly platonic" "they're so in love" well, more importantly, they are fucking weird and abnormal about each other in an undeniable way