A Beatle, a book, a ballroom.

Rip It Up, Issue 89, 1 December 1984, Page 12

A Beatle, a book, a ballroom.

PHOTO BY CHRIS KNOX

“Well, it costs me $550 now ; but I’ll hold onto it. We’re going to England in 1986 and it should be worth maybe 900 quid by then. I don’t want to read the bloody thing so I’ll leave it wrapped up and put it somewhere safe until then.” Words to this effect ooze from a mustachioed mouth three feet behind me on the steps outside Auckland’s Hyatt-Kingsgate hotel. I’m in the company of the big media, the booklovers, the speculators and the hard core Beatle freaks who make up the rather curious bunch of humans congregating in a rather tacky ballroom to see and hear the editor of Fifty Years Adrift (George Harrison) and associates launch the afore-mentioned book at a sixty buck a head lunch. I got in free but still couldn't afford the book. I wish I could’ve because it’s an impressive tome, with every page gilt-edged (closed, it makes a passable mirror) and hand sewn into the skin of several dead calves. Scattered among hundreds of scrupulously and lovingly executed drawings p/usfacsimiles of 50 years of memorabilia, plus never before seen photos of the Beatles and other fab chums, plus bits (in italics) by George, lie 250,000 words describing the life so far of one Derek Taylor, who is most famous for having been very closely associated with the most earthshaking phenomenon in recent history. Bigger than Boy! Fabber than Frankie? Dynamicker than Duran? Magnificenterthan Michael?! It’s... the everloving BEATLES?

But let’s leave them for a moment and backtrack two days, 100 metres to the right and 10

storeys up, where I meet Derek Taylor in his ugly little Hyatt hotel room. I don’t wanna bore you, but any who harbour secret visions of a superstar lifestyle spent in elegant hotel rooms should check out a few. Anyway, this one is all rounded off and flesh-coloured, like the inside of an earlobe and Derek is very tired. Exhausted ... However, when I promise not to talk about the Fab Four he brightens visibly and I wonder what the hell we are going to chat about. But he’s a lovely man, who apparently alters his performance to suit the interviewer, so we settle down to an amiably rambling chat about areas of mutual interest.

A bit of background: He was a freelance press agent for several years after being booted off Brian Epstein’s bandwagon and represented a fascinating bunch of musically unique talents like Van Dyke Parks, Harry Nilsson and ... “Captain Beefheart, yes, I haven’t seen him for a couple of years, I’m sure he’s all right. He wasan odd one. They were all very nice though, all that crowd. All good fun and no trouble to work for, but it was very difficult to get them into fan magazines, which is where I was in 65, 66. But, you know, record labels were very good after Monterey, very willing to take on all sorts of oddballs. There was virtually nothing they wouldn't tackle, nothingtoo bizarre or expensive Can small groups still make it, weird groups?”

I smother the urge to rant uncontrollably about the insanely safe world of the music "industry" and meekly mention Frankie Goes To Hollywood as a weirdo success story. “Brilliant young people,” he murmurs with the real enthusiasm which is so much a part of him, in person and in his book.

Fifty Years Adrift may be a limited edition of 2000 world-wide (250 for New Zealand, courte-

sy of Hedley’s, Masterton) but it’s not a dry, scholarly look at its time period, rather a charmingly verbose, evocative and funny chronology of one man’s trip from obscure suburbia to the nub of the universe and the attendant progression from pints of warm English ale to the finest acid and back to sobriety.

An extraordinary quantity of booze, pills and other chemicals are imbibed in the 540 pages. It’s also extraordinary how necessary they were to actually live through days that must have been 48 hours long to accomodate all that was achieved.

“It sort of escalates, doesnt it, from a few beers till there was no limit to the brandy I could put down, only how many hours I’d got... It’s a relief to be out of that world and into the daylight... But if I hadn’t been such a piss-artist I might not have got into this lark, I might’ve stayed in West Kirby and been shy.”

He has fewer regrets about the psychedelic years.

“Yes, the incredible din of gravel falling off your feet. I wouldn’t take it now but I liked that period very much. It was wonderful and\t was also a sort of naughty thing to be doing, which appealed to me because we’d been quite conformist up till then."

Which leads on to mention of the high guru of LSD, Timothy Leary ...

“A bit of an extremist and a dear friend who said you should take it every day ... and, like, Julio Iglesias says he’s had sexual intercourse everyday for the last 15 years which is an extraordinary imposition to place on yourself if you think how quickly a day passes and this going on day after day for 15 years, the mind absolutely boggles! I mean, you think he might’ve taken a fortnight off every year or so ... anyway, so maybe some people cantake acid every day.”

And its effect on the music business?

"It didn’t seem to have done people a lot of harm in commercial terms. People who were notoriously into broadening their minds or raising their consciousnesses were still commercially viable and the record companies were led by decent folk, like Elektra and Warners, took on trust that there must be something in this lark and they gave people their head. There were some imaginative signings ...” There certainly were, until, inevitably: “It settled down again, didn’t it, and the budgets got bigger but the large companies could absorb it and people like Rod Stewart who were paid vast sums of money have certainly returned that. But when the production got smoother and smoother the backlash got more and more severe and we had the big explosion in the late 705.” At which point we nattered on about the causes of that particular upheaval, but try as I might, I couldn't get him to say anything nasty

about anyone, not even Leif Garrett or Peter Frampton. But, as he puts it: "It’s hard, though, being a man of benevolent instincts, youcan name names, /can’t do it. It’s not in my nature... except when a//the tapes are off and only the family are in the room and then I become the worst, filthiest misanthrope the world has ever known!”

Okay. Before this extremely pleasant and urbane Dr Jekyll transforms before our bulging eyeballs into some writhing, disease-ridden Mr Hyde, lets ...

Cross back to the Hyatt ballroom, where I’m now at table six, with intrepid Shake! snoop Wayne Washington, an Aussie radio whizz on loan to an ailing local station, a record magnate with a price on his head, a few dribs and drabs (no offence if you’re reading this, I just dont know who you were) and Alan and Linda. Alan is a real oddity, but only, I hasten to add, because he is one of that small minority here today who have actually shelled out the 550 bucks for the book. Not only that, but he bought it because he loves the Beatles and he’s going to read it. No wrapping in oilcloth and bricking up in a false wall for his copy and more power to him. He’s extremely excited about the prospect of being in the same room as George Harrison and ... There he is! A real live ex-Beatle. (Must admit, I went all clammy for a second there.) He looks sort of fragile and old from a distance, but that impression seems to dissipate as his obvious nervousness wanes. Christ, how’d you feel with 300 pairs of eyes on you as you sit down to a lunch that’s still 10 minutes in the future? He hasn’t done anything like this for quite some years. Nobody really seems to know quite what to do so lots of bread rolls get toyed with, gutted, buttered and laid to one side in favour of lovely fresh bottles of Kiwi wine. Coolly surreptitious glances at the top table reveal George, Derek, English publisher Brian Roylance, NZ publisher David Hedley and some other nobility making vain attempts at blase concern. They’re better at it than we are.

Anyway, lunch and speeches are consumed, the former being adequate but far short of 60 bucks worth and the latter being, in turn, endearingly gauche and warm (Mr Hedley being blatantly thrilled to bits), professional and full of skillful laffs (Mr Taylor a born raconteur) short but magic (Mr Harrison the quiet Beatle speaks!). Special mention must go to Derek for his enthusiastic endorsement of Labour’s nuclear stance at the end of an otherwise lighthearted spiel. Without wishing to sidestep into politics, it just shows that we are making an impression. Somewhere amongst all this a lone autograph hunter threads his way timidly through tables bristling with Phillip Schofields and Kevin Blacks

and things to get George’s imprint on his copy of Gone Troppo(the last of a series of embarrassingly ignorable albums from our George over the latter decade) only to be politely rebuffed by the great man. All that way back to his seat... poor sod! Andhe tries again an hour later. Wooo, Beatle freaks are notoriously stubborn. Alan (remember?) has the insert from Harrison's very listenable Wonderwall album that he wants signed. It’s a relatively obscure record but he’s on his third copy, much to the derision of our Aussie radio whizz. Well, a little later as George goes for a walk across the room, Alan gets his autograph ancfchats to a Beatle (opening with “You’ve been a fan of mine for years!" in his state of nervous shock), so he did okay. The media personalities at the “do" curdle my pious blood but the Beatle freaks are great. George knows this, after all, he was the one who wrote Apple Scruffs’ in loving appreciation of the fans who clustered outside Apple for nothing more than the chance to be close. But all of a sudden mingling is over and the guests of honour are heading for another room. This must be the press conference! Yikes, you’ve gotta have an official card pinned to ya and I dunno where to get 'em. God, I’ve gotta take photos too ... follow the tape recorders in mild panic ... ah, there they are and I’m in. TV lights, video camera, film camera, dozens of still cameras, all the mics and walkmen you’d expect and row after row of real reporters with shorthand pads and familiar faces. This is a whole different atmosphere, with George totally on the spot, unprotected and... enjoying himself. You can almost see the other moptops grinning and quipping along every time he smiles. What a fucking great smile! He looks just like the guy in Hard Day 's Night When he grins, close up, it's almost spooky. And he handles the agression and chaos of this press conference thingy with ease, he looks pleased with himself as the skills flow back. Q: Do you still have an interest in the movie business? “Yeah, at the moment I’m negotiating to buy the rights to Fifty Years Adriftanb make it into a movie with Robert De Niro playing Derek Taylor" Who’d play George Harrison? “He’s not in the book is he? Oh yeah, he’s just a minor part; we’ll get one of the Rutles, or some’un like that.” What about music, where is that in your life today? “Well, I don’t hafta make records any longer, which is a relief, because I’m not really of a competitive nature, yknow. I don't wanna hafta go out there promoting and doing all this stuff which is necessary now, I mean, let’s face it, it’s a cut-

throat business and I’m not really into that. But havin’ said that, I’ve found that since I don’t have a committment to the music industryl’ve been writing much more music than I’ve done in the past, I mean, f’rinstance, the last coupla months I’ve written about 28 songs. An’ I, like, make demos which are better ’cause they can be ...” (At this point the doors behind George and Derek shudder apart and an elderly gent totters through with a “How are ya, George?” and proceeds to trip over the carpet, causing momentary hilarity and confusion) ”... the Flying Trellinis! Um ... there’s something good about demos because they don’t, uh ... yknow, when ya get makin’ a record it gets serious and ...” Will you perform live again?

"Well, whadya think this is? I dunno, I doubt it, it’s too much trouble. Y’know it really is a lot of trouble.” (Then, very quietly.) “I’m not sure that anyone wants to see me.” Ahh ... I like this man. Then the subject changes to The Book and the occasion. Did you have reservations about coming this far away from home? “No, not really... it’s a funny thing to come and do come all the way to New Zealand for lunch." And on the subject of his presence just being a hype:

“Well, it’s true, because I mean, how many of you people would be here if Derek was on his own? I dunno, youcan answer that, but you’re all subject to the same sort of hype. yknow, if that’s the word you wanna use, but it’s really up to us to be as honest as possible and for you to try’n see if there is any honesty there." It brings back the original impact the Beatles had on the press with their disquieting inability to bullshit in the manner expected of such sideshow attractions. I’m enjoying this. I’m disarmed. And then it’s back to the Beatles.

How did they get their name? ‘Well there’s always been stories on who invented the name and the versions about how we wanted it to be like the Crickets an’ that sorta thing but Stuart Sutcliffe, who was an art student with John at the Liverpool College of art was very much into Marlon Brando, in particular that movie, The Wild One l always got the impression that John and Stu were together, like that night an' the nex’ morning when it came out: We've gorra good name!’ And then in years following it was always taken that John thought of the name. But I came across a video of The Wild One an I couldn’t believe it when I saw that... Lee Mar vin saying to wozzisname .. to Marlon Brando, yeah, saying, y’know, i forget what the words were, but some’ing like 'We think yer a schmuck johnny and the Beetles think yer a schmuck, John.' An’ I said. 'Wait a minute, back that up, did hear that? The Beatles!?’ So I would say, based

on that, that Stuart Sutcliffe had a lot to do with it although this is a bit like Trivial Pursuit...” Was there ever any chance of the Beatles getting back together? “No ... I doubted it, I mean, y’know it was just a joke of people offering $100,000,000... If we’d done it, it wouldn’t have been in a spectacular way. I think it was best left the way it was.” How important are the movies to yoU?

“The movies? Not really that important, I mean the music business has a lotta nice people an’ so does the film industry, but it also has a lot of awful people and in a way the film industry has much more of a killer instinct than even the record business because, like, yer average expens/vealbum useta cost about SIOO,OOO and Hollywood spends on average sll million just for one movie, so, yknow, when you have a f10p... I mean, also the movie industry tends to be based on paranoia. Y’know, somebody’s afraid that they're gonna buy a flop or not buy a film that’s a hit so they’re not really operating on what they genuinely like. It’s all built upon fear We(Handmade Rims) go on the basis of we’re not looking to have an enormous hit or trying to beat Steven Spielberg and we do films sometimes that wouldn’t get made by other people. Like, Life Of Briarls a great example. It’s the one that got me involved this time around, ‘cause I did produce a movie around 69 or 70 with John Hurt and David warner, for Apple Films, called Little Malcolm and His Struggle Against the Eunuchs So I’ve sorta been hoverin’ around.”

You say you've written 28 songs. What do you do with them?

“I just make quick demos of ’em, mix ’em and I just have ’em lying on the studio floor while I write some new ones I dunno really, but it doesnt matter, it’s all there iike Derek’s bits of paper fer 'is book an’ eventually somebody’ll pick 'em up and play ’em " What's it like for you to come out in public? “It’s sort of strange, iike yknow... I dont do this very often so it’s ... I’ve forgotten how to act.” Will you be doing this sort of thing in England?

(Aghast l ) “I hope not!” Then the question gets back to hyping the book with Phillip Schofield trying manfully to make a rather obscure point that was being dealt with nicely by Derek when a large, booming voice interrupts with: "George, please, after years and years of trying, how do you piay the opening chord of A Hard Day’s Night?”

An amused Harrison restores order with a promise to tell all when Mr Taylor finishes, at which point he informs the grateful fan (he had to be a fan) that: “It’s F with a G on the first string ... it sounds better on a 12 string.” George, what do you think of the state of the music industry in 1984?

“I think it's sort of pickin’ up and gerrin’ a bit better. I don’t know what in your Top 20, it tends to be the same stuff in every country, but f’rinstance ya get a nice ol’ melody like Stevie Wonder’s an’ then ya get a bit of Madness... As soon as we can have programme planners an’ disc jockeys that don’t hafta bow down to the... um ... sponsors, ’cause that’s the problem. F’rinstance, 10 years ago when I was more actively involved in it, you’d get a playlist where the DJs were allowed to play maybe three new records a week. You’d have one record company puttin’ out 20 or 30, then you’ve got, like 50 record companies, so what they’ll do is knock anything over three minutes 30 an’ then it’s up to the programme planner with his own personal motives or whatever backhanders he’s gettin; or hew much ya go an’ bow an’ scrape to r im. They’re the records that’ll get played. Wegenuinely got popular by people just playin' ’em ’cause they liked ’em. I don’t see it settlin’ down. I think it’s gonna get more an’ more money, more an’ more greed an’ selfishness, and on that basis people have tin ears as far as I’m concerned. I hear some stuff that’s happ’n’n now that’s just people that’s tone deaf with 15 million-selling albums. But yknow, it takes all kinds ... I still prefer Bob Dylan.” What about Paul McCartney? "Musically he’s ... see, all the pens come out for this one ... I think ‘No More Lonely Nights’ is a lovely song, I like it a lot. I havent seen his movie but I’ve heard his new versions of ‘Eleanor Rigby’ and ‘For No One’. It’s okay, but I can’t understand whyhe did it. Must be because he got the publishing or something.” Is it sacrilegd? (Emphatically) “Nooo ... he wrote the songs. Like he sez, if I wanted to sing ‘Here Comes the Sun’ is that sacrilege? I mean, I wrote it! It’s the same, Paul wrote those songs an’ good on Im, he can do ’em. I think he would’ve been better off to’ve not done so many of them but he’s not doin’ so bad.” Then ... he’s gone. It’s over. (Well, there was lots of other stuff really, but there ain’t that much room.) Back into the real world, where tables are being carried out of the ballroom while the faithful Beatle freaks who didn’t have the official press card cluster round we privileged humans who got so close. “Hey, you’re Chris Knox aren't you? Did you get any photos? Is there any chance we could get some prints? Yeah? Ohh, that’s great, thanks a 10t... wow.” And Andrew, who was immortalised in the Auckland Staras the Gisborne law clerk with 40C Beatle records, manages to intercept George between conference home time.

Chris Knox