Sunday, December 7, 2025

Movie Role Bug Beatles (1965)


 Movie Role Bug Beatles

By Robert Musel (UPI)

Oakland Tribune

December 20, 1965


    The fog was so thick, the four young millionaires took an hour to drive two miles, and when they reached their hotel, they were able to slip swiftly inside, unseen, while girl fans groped blindly in the cotton wool mist outside, uttering despairing cries of, "Where are you, John? Or "Paul?" Or "Ringo?" or "George?"

     But there was sterner business on hand for the Beatles than their usual broken field run through teenage tacklers. Until dawn broke over Manchester with the sun like a hazy gray egg yolk, they talked about the most critical decision of their film career thus far. To wit, what kind of film do we do next?

     Although it is fashionable and has been for months to talk about the end of the Beatle era, the present concert tour of the hairy foursome is a hysterical sell out everywhere, and their latest single record, "Day Tripper", went right to the top of almost every British charts The advanced sale on their new album, Rubber Soul is over half a million. So it was not their image as musicians and songwriters that concerned them this vital night.

     After three years, the troubadour tycoons considered themselves firmly established. Not so in films, however, and their producer, Walter Shenson, called the session to order by asking the boys for ideas.

     This much quickly emerged according to Shenson's first-come, first-served principle. "The problem is that the boys quite rightly want to break away from making films about the Beatles, and it's a decision for which they deserve a lot of credit. A Hard Day's Night was a kind of documentary about the daily life of the Beatles, and a worldwide hit.

     "Help! was, you might say, a cartoon strip involving the Beatles. And it is also providing very successfully. But neither of these require a great deal of acting."  In Help!, they were moved around more or less like puppets by  American New Wave director Dick Lester; everything happened around them, not to them. 

    These films serve the purpose of providing the fantastic pulling power of the Beatles at the box office. Now they must move on. Shenson, a San Franciscan, has frank respect for the talent and mentality of the Beatles. "I try to guide them, but I don't force them," he says. "I know what they want and what they would like to do is what the Marx Brothers used to do. The films always starred the Marx Brothers, but they were always shown playing their roles inside a well-defined plot-- at an opera, for instance, or in a South American Revolution."

     Questions from the floor from John Lennon: "What about a cowboy movie?" This was kicked around for a while. "One advantage," Lennon said, "is that there were no Beatles 100 years or so ago, and that's a good reason for thinking about it."

     "Maybe a Three Musketeers idea?"

     "What about songs? From Shenson

    " Oh, we'll get the songs in, all right."

     Another suggestion has the boys acting as would-be burglars bungling a job. Paul McCartney is very partial to this one. 

    "I asked them," Shenson said later, "whether in the next film, we would be able to develop relationships. For example, they might have girlfriends, and would this affect their image? They said they didn't think their fans would worry about it for more than five seconds."

     As Shenson departed from London after A Hard Day's Night of conferring with the stars, he said, "We've gotten this far. We are looking for a good story. The background doesn't matter, nor does the location, but it must provide opportunities for the boys as actors.

     "The Beatles will not be the first to have become film stars before they establish a reputation as actors."

     Friends of the Beatles believe, incidentally, that the long romance of McCartney and pretty redhead actress Jane Asher may soon make him the third married Beatle. Both Lennon and Ringo Starr are fathers, but George Harrison steadily claims he is only good friends with everybody.

A Hard Day's Night in a Jam (Manchester 1965)

 




A Hard Day's Night in a Jam

By Elaine Crossley

The Bolton News

December 8, 1965


    I was two miles from the Beatles last night, but I might as well have been 200, for I was trapped in the middle of a traffic jam in Manchester. A fog came down. It was a traffic jam to beat all jams. No one moved; dim light shone in the gloom from shop windows and frantic, shrouded figures deserted buses, which had been crawling and stopping for hours.

     I wasn't frantic to get home, but I was frustrated at missing my date with The Beatles. A photographer and I had set out from Bolton at 4pm for a rendezvous with the Beatles at the ABC Ardwick at 5pm.

     I had met the Beatles once before at Wigan. The bally-hoo had been sickening, but the group themselves had charmed me. I wanted to see them again. Of course, Paul McCartney wouldn't remember me, but I would ask him if he would give me my pen back. I asked him for his autograph last time, and I was so fascinated that I left him with my precious Parker 51.

     At 6:30pm yesterday, we were still on the outskirts of the city centre. The fog and the traffic jam were among the worst in the city's history. The journey was hopeless. We hadn't a hope of meeting the Beatles. And the group were probably as hopelessly lost and stranded as we were. 

    Instead of a set of drinks and a chat with The Beatles, I got a dismal meal in some strange cafe in Manchester. The journey back home took us until midnight. It was one of the hardest days nights I'd ever done.

Pair of Hits


 December 7, 1970 

To the Beatles (Manchester 1965)



 

To the Beatles

By Margarot Willcock

Manchester Evening News

December 10, 1965


    I ran my daughter and her friend to the Beatles show in Manchester on Tuesday. The fog and black ice were so bad that it took me two hours to get there. I did not feel like going home and then running to pick them up after the show. So when the opportunity arose to purchase a ticket in the foyer, I snapped it up. 

    What an experience! I thoroughly enjoyed myself. The only song they sang I did not care for was "Yesterday." The tune was good, but the words-- why should the Beatles sing about yesterday with such a glorious future in front of them? Are they cheesed off with fame and success? 

    They certainly deserve the MBE, but that night's audience should get the OBE for getting there! 

Saturday, December 6, 2025

Decorum and Delight on the Beatles' Return (Liverpool 1965)

 



Decorum and Delight on the Beatles' Return

By a "Daily Post" Reporter

Liverpool Daily Post

December 6, 1965


    Liverpool welcomed the Beatles home again last night with a mixture of decorum and delight. Outside the Empire Theatre, a strong force of police reported no trouble as 5,000 teenagers queued in orderly fashion for the two packed houses. 

    But inside, Beatlemania was in full scream. As the MBE group went through their half-hour act, said Ringo of the reception, "You heard them. You saw them. That's the answer to the knockers who say we are on the way out."

    When the Beatles appeared on stage, the noise was deafening. A chorus of high-pitched ecstatic acclaim, enough to pierce the eardrums. Row upon row of girls jumped up and down in their seats, waving scarves, programs, and pictures of the famous Four.

     The Beatles program included numbers from their new LP and single records, but the reception was such that almost everything about their performance was lost. "Can you hear me?" Paul McCartney shouted into the mic, trying desperately to say a few words of introduction to a number, but his words were drowned out by screams and shouts. 

    It was a Yeah, yeah, yeah welcome. As Ringo said, the answer to the knockers, but the 23 members of the St John Ambulance brigade dealt with only 17 cases in the two performances. "The second house was a bit rougher", said a spokesman, "but generally, they all behaved themselves. It was a picnic compared to the Rolling Stones and the previous Beatles shows."

     He described it as a "record quiet night."

     At the end of the show, there were only a few sightseers. The Beatles were smuggled out of the theater and driven to the homes of their relatives on Merseyside.

Threat to Close the Cavern (1965)

 


Threat to Close the Cavern:  Little We Can Do Says Beatles

No Writer Listed

Liverpool Echo and Evening Express

December 6, 1965


    Teenage girls last night presented the Beatles with a letter asking them to save the Cavern from closure. The famous beat center based in a Liverpool warehouse cellar is threatened with shut down by the city council because owner, Mr. Ray McFall cannot afford the new £3000 drainage system the council says must be installed.

     Before the Beatles, who started their climb to stardom at the Cavern, went on stage at the city's Empire Theater yesterday, 15-year-old Josephine McQuaid of College Road, Crosby, and Susan Hall of nearby Myers Road West, were allowed to see them.

     After receiving the letter, the Beatles held an impromptu press conference backstage and said they were all sorry to hear of the threat to close the Cavern, but there was little they could do. Paul McCartney said, "If the city council looked upon it as a tourist attraction instead of just an old warehouse, I'm sure that something could be done about it. It could be developed by the council into something like a coffee bar, which would be a great attraction to visitors."

     Said Ringo Starr, "I think the ball is in Ray McFall's court. In a way, I'll be sorry if the Cavern goes, because for two years or more, it was the greatest club in whole of Britain."

     John Lennon added, "We don't feel we owe the Cavern anything physical. All we owe it is allegiance."

     And George Harrison observed, "We don't want to commit ourselves too much."

     The Beatles today continue the British tour. This year, they'll be spending their first Christmas at home for five years.

Thursday, December 4, 2025

Close Up: Paul McCartney as a songwriter (1965)

Photo by Robert Freeman

 

Close Up:  Paul McCartney as a Songwriter

By Francis Wyndham

London Life

December 4, 1965


    Their separate personalities are as clearly defined as characters in a fairy tale: John the clever one, Paul the sweet one, George the quiet one, and Ringo the holy fool. As these public images are rooted in a private reality, there seems little point in meeting the Beatles. Social confrontation can only confirm the known and simple truth. 

    Yet I was curious to talk to John Lennon and Paul McCartney, because it is as songwriters, rather than as performers, that The Beatles interest me most. When I met them both together, however, they gave me an impenetrable performance, a double act, with John facetiously punning on cliches and Paul obligingly feeding him. The jokes are good, but no better than Beatle jokes on the cinema or television screens.

     Later, I had a chance to spend two hours with Paul at Brian Epstein's office. He was ready to talk about his music, and did so with the minimum of suspicion or self-consciousness. The sweet and their desire to please can be even more articulate than the clever.

     "John and I don't work on the Roger and Hart pattern, one doing music and one doing lyrics. He writes a whole song on his own, or I write a whole song on my own. Or if we do a song together, either he might do the words and I the music, or the other way around. John wrote "I Feel Fine" on his own, and "Please, Please Me," and a lot more. What did I write on my own? Oh, "World Without Love," "Yesterday", "Can't Buy Me Love," "All My Loving," and quite a few others.  Mine are normally a bit soppier than John's. That's because I am a bit soppier than John. 

    "When I first met John, he'd written the words to a skiffle song. It still had a skiffly sound, but he changed the words to "Come and go with me down at the penitentiary" or something like that. Then I did one "When I Lost My Little Girl" with the three chords I knew at the time. John was playing left-handed banjo. Then we got out of that stage and worked out chords together. We used to play truant (tut, tut, what a bad example to the younger generation) and go to his house or to mine and mess about all afternoon. It was a great feeling of escape. We'd smoke, you see, and if we didn't have cigarettes, we'd smoke tea in my dad's pipe. It tasted terrible, but we felt manly doing it.

     "I wrote a couple of songs. One was "Love Me Do"; it wasn't good, but it was only a little bit worse than the kind of thing on the hit parade. Then, at that time, all the people we really liked were American. Buddy Holly was the main one, and Elvis in those days. We were fantastic fans, but he's gone off a lot since, and we don't like his later stuff (We took him up on that matter when we met him and in Los Angeles). Then we started latching onto most of the American hits of the time. Chuck Berry was a ridiculous favorite. 

    "Liverpool has always been a great place for the folksy thing. Ringo is ridiculously keen on Country and Western. Somebody you should say was Country and Western gone pop was Carl Perkins, who we really loved. 

    "Well, this big batch of songs --the summer holidays and truant batch-- was our first. Then we started to write better songs instead of, "Love me do I'll always be true,"  we started on lyrics like "lock me away."  But everything we've done, we get sick of. We got some comedy songs on our new LP. There's one called "Norwegian Wood". It goes, "She showed me a room, isn't it good Norwegian Wood? I sat on a rug, biding my time, drinking her wine, and then she said, It's time for bed, so I lit a fire. Isn't it good, Norwegian Wood?" It's something new for us. It's just we're a bit sick, so we thought we'd write something funny. 

    "I feel as though it's an interesting time just now, because something's got to happen. There's got to be some kind of change. It probably won't be drastic, but I think it's a good thing about us that we keep contradicting ourselves. I saw someone on TV asked what he wanted out of life, and he said, 'a cozy rut, to be in a cozy rut'. It's about the sickest thing ever. I think you can enjoy it, but what's the point of living in a cozy rut? We could stay in one now forever, repeating our early hits, and if we did come up with something exciting, we'd have to scrap it. 

    "Then we played at the Cavern. We wore leather jackets, and we were rockers, and it was good. Then we got a manager and did melodic songs and put suits on. When we came back from Germany with suits on, people said, 'Oh, you've gone posh'. And we lost a lot of people, but we gained more than we lost. The others didn't realize they would have got very sick of us. We'd never had lasted. You can't be singing 15-year-old songs at 20, because you don't think 15-year-old thoughts at 20. The fact that escapes a lot of people. Then we get sick of suits and changed again. 

    "Oh, I don't mean this week, the Beatles with the Philharmonic Orchestra. It won't happen. We'll never be that big. Basically, we're the same. Whatever happens, we just get influenced outwardly. I'm a great believer in influencability (Is that a word? Better look it up.) For example, John and I would like to do songs with just one note. The hardest thing of all to write. You know what people used to say about abstract paintings? That it was done by chimpanzees? Well, we used to think that about songs that weren't melodic, but melodic songs are, in fact, quite easy to write. To write a good song with just one note in it, like "Long Tall Sally", is really very hard. It's the kind of thing we wanted to do for some time. 

    "We get near it in "The Word." That's a number on our new LP, another example of being bored by doing the same thing. It could be a Salvation Army song. The word is 'love', but it could be 'Jesus' (it isn't mind you, but it could be.) 'It's so fine. It's sunshine. It's the word.' It's about nothing, really, but it's about love. It's much more original than our old stuff, less obvious. 'Give the word a chance to say that the word is just the way...' and the organ comes in, just like the Sally Army. 

    "We use an organ too on the B side of our new single, "We Can Work It Out". The middle eight is the best. It changes the beat to a waltz in the middle. The original arrangement was terrible, very skiffly. Then, at the session, George had the idea of splitting the beat completely. The words go on at double speed against the slow waltz music. You've got to excuse me, because I haven't heard these new songs enough yet, and they're still knocking me out. It sounds big-headed, but I don't care. 

    "Listen to this one, "Girl". John's been reading a book about pain and pleasure, about the idea behind Christianity that to have pleasure, you have to have pain. The book says that's all rubbish. It often happens that pain leads to pleasure, but you don't have to have it all. That's a drag. So we've written a song about it with, I suppose, a little bit of protest, though, really, we don't protest. Listen to John's breath on the word 'girl'. We asked the engineer to put it on treble so you get this huge intake of breath, and it sounds just like a percussion instrument. 

    "We had to write 14 Songs for this new LP, plus two for the single. It's a question of value for money more than anything else. We want to do what we would have liked when we were record buyers ourselves. A 14-track LP and a separate single is unheard of in the States; there, you'd have 12 tracks, and the single would just be two numbers from the LP. They're not the same as English record people. It's not quite that they're unscrupulous, but they'll put the singles on the LP just to fill up. It's cheating anyhow, but the scene is different. There, the kids in America can afford to buy an LP just for a few new tracks. But here, they're more choosy. 

    "Did you see Robert Graves and Malcolm Muggeridge on TV? Graves said this thing about his poetry. He said 'he has to write it'. In fact, he said it's a drag, but he has to. And I know what he means, but John and I want to go on writing songs. Writing a song which you think is great, is a great satisfaction. It's one of the principles of life. I think doing something that you think satisfying. We started writing songs as a hobby, and we still do it as a hobby. It's become a very lucrative one, I know, but a hobby.

    "We'd be up at John's house. We'd just sit down, and if we'd done a song, it was a fantastic feeling, just like a day's work, like you'd been to the office for a bit. This is why John and I want to get ourselves a bit more organized. If we wrote a song a day, our rate of development would be so much more. If we have a day off now, we only do it if we've got to.

     "A famous painter has got to paint, but he's still knocking himself out doing it. We've reached that stage. We both want to do a million more things. You find out about a lot of instruments you didn't know already. A lot of people are doing it now, the Animals. Manfred Mann.  We could have done it. "Yesterday" with a philharmonic orchestra, and a lot of people would have come with us. Say we did a song a day. Then we'd have too many. If we had more than we could handle. We could put 14 of our best songs on one LP. We could go in any direction. Then George Martin has done an orchestral arrangement of our songs. Some of them definitely grow by being played on different instruments. The best recording of one of our songs was Esther Phillips singing, "And I Love Him."  Do you like colored voices? Well, listen to that. She sings it. You see, that's the difference. I tried to sing that on the LP, and I couldn't for the life of me. Eric Bergen of the Animals said he never realized this was a good song until he heard Esther Phillips sing it. John and I could do an LP, say, with other people, just an orchestra playing them new songs. I mean, all these ideas, which are just ideas at the moment, could be great when we can put them into practice. 

    "People like Donald Zec are stupid about our songs when they say they won't last. We've reached the point now that, whether people like it or not, they'll be played in 10 years' time. I always feel silly saying our songs will last. What I'm trying to say is that they may not be marvelous, but they're part of what's around at the moment. Zec belongs to the bigoted generation. The kind of person who'd have said to my dad, 'Don't play jazz. '

     "People like Leonard Bernstein have come up to us and said, 'Some of your songs are good. ' I would rather he liked them than Donald Zec, but it's no good trying to please everybody. Had we been frightened of what people said, we would never have put in something like that-- change a beat I mentioned. We've always followed our noses and things like that, and we do identify ourselves with our music. I don't mean exactly. Some of the tragic songs about love are written when we're at our happiest, but they're still us.

     "I'm sure Francis Bacon isn't like what his paintings look like. He'd been having a rough time if he was! It's generally what we feel that's gone into the song. It doesn't have to be the words; it could be the beat or the melody, but it's what's happening at the moment. 

    "We're the world's biggest pinchers, but when you look at people like Handle and see what he pinched, there's nothing wrong with that. We pinch a sound here, a rhythm there. One day, we wrote that Welsh song called "There's a Welcome in the Hillside." Actually wrote it. So we had to scrap that. For years, John has been trying to write "Moonlight in Vermont." On our first LP, there's a complete pinch from an American song. I'd better not tell you which one. And the riff of " I Feel Fine" is also a complete pinch from somewhere. Then people hear the original song and say, 'Oh, what a pinch from The Beatles.' This is what the Stones do a number of times. I don't see the harm in it. There's only a certain permutation of notes, and they've got to clash. We've got a sort of running game with the Stones. They spot where we've pinched things from.  But you get pinching everywhere, in paintings and writings.  You pinch things in your articles. Don't you even in business? Probably some fellow at an office will take a tip or two from the Plane Makers. 

    "Just because our records are played quite a lot, people think we started all these trends. We'd be the last to say we started the Dylan trend; we followed it. Like Beatle haircuts. We didn't start that. It just happened, and we were the first people to become well-known with that haircut. England exploded, didn't it? I don't know. When in the old days, pop stars didn't smoke or swear. They wore gold lame suits, and before John Osborne, nobody could say royalty was rubbish. Now it's all so down to earth. It's getting stupid. And fashion too, for a place like Woollands to do a great big exhibition, Made in England, it couldn't have happened. England started to change, and we were part of it, that's all. And the whole embarrassing thing about being a provincial is different. 

    "Now, we always felt funny when we first came to London, about the north country accent. In the old days, we might have learned to say 'funny', but we could go on saying 'foony.' It was the same with people like Albert Finney and Tim Courtenay. Now it has to happen in America. People in America are so like English people used to be. They liked us in America, but that's different. America has always been built up of phenomenons. Anyhow, anything that's a great success America has always taken to unless it's Russian. 

    "Here, you have to prove yourself more first. I'll be glad when it does level out completely. In a small way, this kind of thing is almost as good as the Industrial Revolution. Things are probably a bit better for the industrial revolution in the long run, but this has been a bloodless revolution, a painless change. Nobody seems to have got hurt, except for the woman who wants to keep TV clean, and she's got to go. Anyhow, if it's bad, it will stop. At least it's happened. If it's wrong, I believe it never could have happened. Of course, you get people now saying it's gone too far. They don't know where to go from here. But people who don't know what to do now are the ones who never did so when there was a big sort of orgasm with one lot of people who wanted to get out of the rut. They went along with them.

     "Then, when the people who know what's happening (what a terrible expression, but you know what I mean)have a period of inactivity. They all do, but it's all still happening. Dylan has started so much, and the Who, they are, the two greatest influence of 1965.  They definitely started us thinking again, Dylan about lyrics, and the Who about backings, bigger feedback, that sort of thing. We had that feedback idea, and I feel fine, but the Who went further and made all kinds of weird new sounds, I suppose Donald Zec would say, what 'would they do without amplifiers?' But that's as silly as asking, if God wanted us to smoke, he'd have given us chimneys. We haven't got chimneys, but we smoke. So what? What would the theater be without a stage and makeup, or movies without a camera? 

    "We enjoyed making Help! more than A Hard Day's Night, but looking back at the two, I think A Hard Day's Night was the better film. We knew we couldn't have another Hard Day's Night, and with the next one, we want to do something even more different. Help! was great, but it wasn't our film. We were sort of guest stars. I think everybody thought a little bit too grandly about Help!,  all these glamorous locations. It was fun, but basically, as an idea for a film, it was a bit wrong.

    " I don't read as much as John does. My main thing is I've got to be settled to read. The times I would read are on a holiday or in bed at night. The other day, I took John to the Times Book Shop. I'd been there before and bought a copy of The Emperor Jones signed by Eugene O'Neill, which really knocked me out. And the fellow there showed me the original manuscript of Under Milk Wood. The great thing about the Times Book Shop is that nobody's going to bother about who you are. Well, John spent an hour there  and £150 . It was a good day for the Times Book \Shop and a good day for John. 

    "And painting too. I keep meaning to get hold of someone good and commission them. It's the obvious thing to do at this stage, but there are a lot of things in life I want to sort out first, and then, when I've got something different going on, I'd like to do something like that. 

    "Writing songs and performing are equally rewarding. That is when it goes well, but the songwriting thing looks like being the only thing you could do at 60. I wouldn't mind being a white haired old man writing songs, but I'd hate to be a white haired old Beatle at the Empress Stadium playing for people.

Lennon Remembers




 December 4, 1970 

Murrary the K with the Beatles


 

The Beatles Fans were So Genteel (Newcastle 1965)

 




The Beatles Fans Were So Genteel

By  A Sunday Sun Reporter

Sunday Sun

December 5, 1965


     50 policemen stood outside the City Hall, Newcastle, last night. Inside the hall, two dozen ushers waited for girls to make a rush for the stage, and St John Ambulance men waited to carry off unconscious girls. But it never happened. 

    The 2,500 fans who packed into the hall to see the first Beatles concert in Newcastle in two years screamed themselves hoarse, but the expected chaos didn't come. 

    The concertgoers dutifully showed their tickets to policemen, thus gaining entry to Northumberland Road; the queues filed quietly into the hall. 

    Excitement and impatience grew during the supporting acts, and here and there, choruses of "We want the Beatles" hit the air. There were screams every time a door opened. The stage seemed set for pandemonium, but only the screaming brought back memories of the old Beatlemania. 

    The Beatles sang for 30 minutes, often losing out to the bigger noise in the auditorium, but the ushers and ambulance men just looked bored. One earned his pay by telling a girl who was hanging precariously over the gallery rail to sit down. Another by telling a girl not to hang banners over the rail. But otherwise it was the most ordinary, big star concert at the hall for several months, a Sunday school party compared to the last Rolling Stones concert. 

     Mr. Tony Barrow, publicity officer, said afterwards, "It's obvious, the fans are starting to listen to the songs instead of just wanting to grab the boys and scream. That's just spontaneous."  But a policeman, shivering on a futile guard duty, had another opinion on it. "The big hysteria is over, man," he said, "The Beatles are popular, but it's not as mad as it used to be."