Tea Time with the Fabs

 

Safari Park

April 5, 1966 -- Ringo and John attend the opening of a Safari Park.  
 

Julian Lennon -- The Lennon Legacy (1984)

 Julian Lennon - The Lennon Legacy 

By Colin Irwin

Melody Maker

October 13, 1984

    Four years after a madman took out his father, Julian Lennon launches his own career in music. In his first major interview, he tells Colin Irwin all about the agony and ecstasy. 

    The tea is cold. It's that appalling, stewy, curdled kind of coldness, with layers of skin hatching on top, and rigor mortis setting in underneath. Tea that died of frostbite. Julian Lennon stares balefully at it for a second or two. Takes a purposeful, but apparently satisfying gulp, and eyes his interrogator --the merest hint of a sigh.

     "The chimney fell down into my bedroom that night. There wasn't a wind or anything. It just fell straight in. It was all very strange, one of those nights, y' know, when you have that feeling that something's happened?

     "I had a certain feeling that night. I came down at like, eight in the morning and saw all the press outside the window and thought, 'What the hell's going on here?'  I came downstairs, and the blinds were closed. I sat down, and my stepdad told me, I just said, 'Are you sure he's dead?' He said, 'Yeah.' I said, 'Yes, but are you sure?'"

     The same day, Julian was on a plane to New York to the Dakota Building, to the scene of his father's murder, it was, he says, now, pure instinct. He wasn't sure why, but he knew his place was with his young stepbrother [sic]and his father's widow, Yoko.  

    "She was a wreck. I went over there because, well, I felt sorry more for Sean than for Yoko, because he was so young. It's hard to tell a kid, y' know? And she didn't know how to tell him. She really didn't know. She asked me for advice. I said, 'Listen, tell him straight. It's the only thing you can do.' So we were sitting there, and she couldn't tell him. She was cracking up all the time. So I was there, edging her on, helping her out a little bit. And Sean wasn't quite sure what was going on. She couldn't explain it, so I was helping her along. 

    "The thing that bugged me --- well, it wasn't a big thing, but the next day in the New York Times, or whatever it was, she had a whole page on how 'I told Sean', you know, which is like, pathetic. You don't need to do things like that."

     Journalism being what it is, every time Julian Lennon sits down with a reporter and a cup of cold tea, he'll be asked the same questions. Which is why he won't be doing many interviews, which is why his first stab at making records will be greeted with abnormal curiosity and cynicism. Which is why, for all his outward bravado, he's as nervous as a kitten. 

    Today, Julian is nursing a mild hangover, still overcoming the remnants of jet lag, and is clearly apprehensive about his first encounter with a music paper. He talks in a strangely lethargic, yet hypnotic voice -- adenoidal and a hint of Liverpool -- and as he thaws, the anecdotes become more engaging and the wit more scathing.  He tries hard not to be bitchy about Yoko, but fails miserably, laconically referring to her as "Hokey Cokey", and maintains a wry, down-to-earth outlook on life that, given the reflected glare with which he's grown up, is astonishing. 

    He seems admirably equipped for the torrid upheaval that's about to occur in his life. At the age of 21, Julian Lennon is finally ready for His coming out ball. His debut single, "Too Late for Goodbyes", is just out and already helping keep the good people of Gallup going, and will be followed by an album, Valotte. Then there's the matter of getting a band together, then the World Tour, then writing some new material, then the second album that takes him well into 1986.

     He spent 10 years of his childhood without seeing or even hearing from his father, yet both on and off record, the resemblance is spectacular. Musically, he pitches in at the latter end of John's solo career, a long, long way from the man's artistic peak. It must be said, though Julian insists that Double Fantasy was one of his dad's greatest work (the stuff he did on it anyway).

    The voice in particular has that pungent edge always identified with Lennon senior, and the songs, all except one written by him, carry familiar echoes in the structure and phrasing. The more up-tempo material, including the single and the liveliest track, "I Don't Know Which Way to Turn", is undeniably Beatle-ish, yet he seems to favor the moodier ballad style of "Lonely", which could in fact be the long-lost twin brother of "How Do You Sleep" -- John's early '70s taunting at Paul McCartney.

 Produced by Phil Ramone, it is a curiously unfashionable album for a 21-year-old to make, and soft focus arrangements clearly aren't the order of the day in Britain. At least the music press certainly will crucify him. Sounds have already waded in ---hobnail boots flying, whacking out the predictable accusation that if it wasn't for blah blah, he'd be in the dole queue with all the other urchins.

    In any case, he vigorously insists it's not true. The tapes were originally touted around his record label, Charisma, anonymously, and he never particularly wanted to make a record in the first place. He just wrote songs at home for his own amusement and never dreamt they would end up on a record. "Oh, I don't really care what people say about it. I love the record. It does seem to be unfashionable alongside what else is happening in Britain right now. But I think the British have a different attitude to music than everyone else anyway. They're more cynical."

     He was five when his parents split up. Paul McCartney drove to see him and his mother, Cynthia, to lend moral support just after it had happened. On the way, McCartney wrote a song for him designed to give him strength and courage. It started off as "Hey Julian," transmuted to "Hey Jules", and wound up as "Hey Jude". Julian never did get strength or courage from the song. He only found out a couple of years ago "Hey Jude" was about him, but nevertheless, he admits he gets a little thrill if he hears it now.

     In any case, those days are pretty much a blur to him. They tell him he was taken on the road with The Beatles a few times, but he doesn't recall. "All I can remember is just a little time when they were doing Magical Mystery Tour. You know the coach in it? I remember being on that coach. That's about it."

     Subsequent years were spent in a variety of homes in Liverpool, London, and Wales, with his mother and, a wicked exaggeration, "a succession of stepdads." He says he wasn't properly aware of his rather special pedigree until he was seven. "I didn't really get through; still doesn't, in a way. It's a weird feeling, sort of unexplainable. I suppose it really happened when I was 13 or 14, growing up, and people find out it's like, you go to a new school, and the headmaster would say, ' Here we have. ' And everybody go,' Boom!' And from that day, everybody knows. They point their finger and go,  'Ooh.' It's hard trying to make friends with someone who already knows you from being the son of someone else; you don't know what their interest is, friendship, or just up for grabs. 

    Meeting Julian is quite a revelation. His years at public school, along with constant media interest and his generous fondness for booze, suggest all sorts of nasty preconceptions. My own had been the soundtrack of a spoiled little brat trading on his father's name, his ego matched only by his wealth. It's an image fostered by a series of gossip column items following his father's death, which documented his progress around London nightclubs --stories about his supposed plans to form a band named the Lennon Drops, or even worse, Lennon Kittens, didn't help to deflect the image of a privileged layabout. 

    The reality, naturally, is somewhat different. "Listen, everybody goes out to clubs and everybody goes out to drink, and just because something happened that's related to me, I was someone to pick on. So even if I did go to a club four nights a week or whatever. So did a lot of other people, you know, it was like a 'let's pick on him' situation, because they had nothing better to do. I'd read all this 'Playboy Lennon out boozing again' stuff. I just thought, 'Fuck you. Everybody goes out drinking.' I was really pissed off about all that."

 The inference was that you were this poor, little rich kid, more money than sense. 

    "Oh, listen, it was a question of scraping the money together. I could get into places through my name or whatever, which is nice, y' know, take what you can within reason. It's great getting into places without paying. Which happens, but just because I was out. Well, it only takes a couple of beers to get pissed. You get into a nightclub free, and you pay five or 10 quid and you're ratted. It's not like spending hundreds every night, is it?"

 You're saying you don't have much money?

     "No, I didn't. Still haven't.  Never have had. I've had as much as anyone else."  An odd eyebrow raised at this.  "Really, even less than most people. At times when I was in Wales, if I wanted to go out for a drink, I'd go up to me mum and say, 'Look, it's Mike's birthday today. Can you lend us a fiver so we can go and have a drink?'  Used to do this about twice a week."

    Everyone imagines there's this bottomless fortune you dip into now and then.

    "Yeah? God knows where it is. Old 'Hokey Cokey'  over there has got something to do with it. I know that for sure. But I don't really care about that side of it. It's great if you've got money. And eventually something will come through to me, I imagine."

    But is it in a trust or something?

     "Oh, I don't know what she's doing. She's selling or making her own Foundations or ... I've no idea. Me?  I would have just liked to have had a guitar of his, or some clothes, y'know? Things that mean more to me than money. I think I got a jumper out of it. I had a guitar of my dad's, but she wanted it back, so she got a guy to come over and pick it up and take it back. It was a beautiful black Yamaha acoustic guitar with a gold inlaid dragon. A guy gave it to me and said, 'This is from Yoko.' And I said, 'Great. Thanks very much.'  But this guy had apparently been working for Yoko and stole it. I had no idea of this whatsoever, but she got it taken back anyway, and that's the last I've seen of it. 

    "When I was there, I saw a hat, and I picked it up and looked at it, and it's 'Put it back. Leave it alone. Don't touch anything.' Now it's all locked away in cupboards. God knows what's going to happen to it."

 So you're still scraping a living?

     "Well, my manager has been loaning me a couple of tenors every week, so I'm lucky in that respect. And there's a trust that dad set up years ago for his sons, which will be split between me and Sean. So I'll get half of that. It's about £200,000 at the moment, and I'm not supposed to get it until I'm 26 and my mom's a trustee.

     "But we've been scraping around in flats ever since the word go, and it's like hell having to move every six months. So finally, I had a word and said, 'Mum, I need to settle down.' So hopefully I can use that money, some of it anyway. We're trying to get this flat in Kensington. So at least then I'll have my own home. Not that I'm ever home, because the bloody company keeps sending me all over the world. It sounds stupid, but I can't wait to sit back and watch BBC One or Coronation Street with a girl, a cup of tea, and a dog by my side. I'm a homely sort of person."

     There was always a piano around the house. Julian dabbled a bit, flirted with the idea of becoming a drummer and learned the rudiments of the guitar. Far from being inevitable, the thought of turning to music as a career was a long way from his mind. Initially, he wanted to be an actor and then a recording engineer. "But you need O levels for that one. And I was never around a school to have O levels. I was always out with the lads downtown, boozing. 

    "Y' know, family connections made schooling a little unusual. Anyway, I was in a public school, and there was a comprehensive across the road, and I used to get flak from them. When I tried walking into town late at night to try and get some fish and chips, I get chased. And there'd be a couple of little fights here and there. It's a real pain in the arse sometimes. 

    "One time we were in one of the pubs in the town and one of the local yabos, he was a mechanic and six foot tall, and Welsh yakki da and all that. And he said, 'Do you know how Julian Lennon, he sticks £10 notes around his wall with pins?' So that got around town because, you know, rich little bastard. It's hard sometimes just having a drink, relaxing, because you have to keep looking over your shoulder. I was at a party once, and this guy came up to me, and he was massive, as big as big could be. And he said, 'Julian Lennon, you insulted my little brother at school.' And he went to take a swipe at me. This poor woman comes in front of me to try and stop him, and he hit her. It got very heavy at times."

     When he was 14, his mother rang John Lennon in New York and suggested he might like to make the acquaintance of his son. John said, "Come on over." So they did.  Their revived relationship was awkward at first, but they got on well enough, and the visits had started to become regular, and the relationship close at the time of his death. 

    "I still think about it all the time. There was one interview I heard the other day. He was commenting on death, and the thing he said was, 'It's like getting out of one car and into another', which I thought was wonderful. He wasn't scared of it. I think he's either resting away somewhere, or he's having a bloody good time with the lads up there, with ole Jimi Hendrix and lot of others jamming away or down the pub. I bet he's having a wonderful time."

    A couple of years ago, Julian grew his hair long and became a heavy metal freak chasing round after Rush and AC/DC. Now he says he's been so busy he's lost touch a bit, but still listens in awe to Sgt. Pepper and his father's Plastic Ono Band work.

     He also affectionately relates a story about going into a toilet and finding Eddie Van Halen in there swigging a bottle of scotch. The pair of them settled down with the Scotch still in the loo and got on famously.

     He admits he's nervous about putting his own talents against some of the artists he hears on the radio and then full of admiration for Trevor Horn's production work with Frankie, but mourns the current obsession with dance rhythms.

    "I still listen to my dad's stuff from time to time. I always felt proud of everything he did. I always had something against him, but I never knew what it was apart from him, leaving home and all that. It was because I went to visit him, but he never came to visit me. That's the only thing that got me."

     He has no illusions about the business he's entering. He already come into the clutches of some sharks within no time at all, found he owed £6000 after signing some ludicrous contract. He had no money to pay it, but his present manager, Dean, bailed him out, and he's confident he won't get fooled again. 

    So far, he's got just two members for his band, both guitar players, one of them Justin Clayton, who he was at school with, wrote one of the best tracks on the album, "Jesse." While the other is Carlton Morales, the son of a preacher from North Carolina. 

    "The guitarists hate each other, but they complement one another when they play, so I'll just have to keep them apart until it's time to go on stage."  Fights in the band before they're even started. Can't be bad. 

    Julian is whisked away into the sunset. His face is plastered on posters all over London. His single is getting as much airplay as the Culture Club's "War Song", and he's just successfully negotiated his first interview. His tea is still cold.

Its the socks!

 You know I love to discuss Paul McCartney's socks.  We have seen him in a wide variety of colors of the years, but here is the first time we have seen him wearing Yellow Submarine socks!  

Working With Paul (1971)

Photo by Linda McCartney 

 Working With Paul

By Vicki Wickham

Hit Parader

November 1971

    "All I remember is getting a phone call from Linda McCartney, addressing herself as 'Mrs. McCartney'. And I said, 'Who?' She said, 'My husband would like to meet you.' And I said,' Did I ever work for your husband before?' And she said, 'This is Linda McCartney, and my husband is Paul McCartney', like I was supposed to know Paul McCartney was calling my house, that kind of thing. She didn't make it clear what they wanted me for. I thought it was a meeting or a recording session, but it turned out to be an audition. "

     "Paul pays attention to every detail. When he records it all comes out Paul McCartney," says one session musician.  That was the start of David Spinozza's association with Paul McCartney in New York when they recorded Paul and Linda's album, Ram. 

    David, age 21, is a studio musician. He's been a session musician since he was 17. In an average week without even trying, he can make $1,500 and a lot more if he does more sessions. The union rate for a musician in New York is $90 per three-hour session. 

    He's rated as the top session guy. But not only that, he's rated as being the most original, exciting, imaginative, and broadest guitarist in the business, alongside Hendrix, BB King, Clapton, and every heavy you can think of. He can play anything, but whatever it is, it's David Spinozza. He started out in the Black scene, learning from an upright bass player who taught guitar in music stores. He had a guitar when he was six, playing through school, and is now studying the classical guitar. He is a guitarist on Freda Payne's "Band of Gold."  In fact, he's on just about everyone's record.

     When he and Linda got it together on the phone, he took down an address. "So I went to this place on 45th Street, some dirty loft, and they must have been there for three days auditioning people. I'd heard that some of the studio guys had given them a hard time, which I really didn't want to do, because I wanted to work with him.

     "So when I got there, there were three guitar players, but you had to be called, like you couldn't walk in off the street with your guitar. He introduced himself to me with a three-day-old beard, and we're alone in this gigantic room, and there's nothing but amplifiers, piano, drums, and Linda. He wanted me to play something. He played a blues, a solo, and some folk, and said he wanted me to do that. I played it. And then he just said,  'Sorry, I couldn't spend more time, but I have a lot of people to see, blah blah.' So I said, 'Fine.'

    " As soon as I got home, the phone rang, and Linda wanted me to do the sessions the following week. The dates started out going really smoothly, but then what was happening was that although originally they had told me they wanted me for four whole weeks, days were getting called out, and they weren't booking definite dates. So I had to keep asking, not to be a drag, but to keep my book straight and to know what other work I could take.

     "I kept asking, but I wasn't getting a straight answer. Finally, after I hadn't heard from them, Linda rang me up on, I guess, a Sunday night, and wanted me to do all the following week just like that. I couldn't because I'd asked if we'd be working, and they had said probably not. So I had taken other dates. I told them that I couldn't keep every week open, because when McCartney goes back to England, there are other people that call me all year and they're going to keep me eating, not him, although I'd love to do his sessions. So she called me the Sunday evening, and I said I could make two of the days, but not all five. And she got very indignant. I guess that's the vibrations I got. I got vibrations like 'it's a Paul McCartney session. You're supposed to keep your life open indefinitely.'

     "Now, evidently, they're not hip to the New York scene. Maybe in England, it's a looser kind of studio scene. In NY, you take dates, you do them, and you don't cancel out on other people, and you don't keep weeks open, not knowing. It's a business as well as an art. 

    "So finally, I just did those two days, and the next week, I still couldn't get a straight answer, and it seemed I was dealing with Linda, not with Paul. She just really speaks for him and handles the business and wouldn't let me talk directly to him to sort out what he wanted. Then she called me one day, having told me the night before we'd be working, and just canceled out the day after I had turned down work. She said they were going to do overdubs. So I guess they got bugged at me trying to find out how I stood.

     "The studio was fine. Paul knew what he wanted. I think the whole album was done in the same form as the McCartney album, only we played the parts for him. It was done in a way. There was no freedom. We were told exactly what to play. He knew what he wanted, and he just used us to do it. He just sang us the parts he wanted, and the tune developed as we went along. We added things, we made suggestions. But I would say that two out of 10 times he took one of our suggestions, or at least if he did, he modified it and made it into a Paul McCartney-sounding thing. It always came out Paul McCartney, regardless of the suggestion. 

     "Linda didn't have much to do in the studio. She just took care of the kids. You know, the kids were there all the time. Every day. They brought the whole family every day to the studio, and they just stayed, no matter how long Paul stayed. If he was there until four o'clock in the morning, everybody stayed. I thought, to a certain degree. It was distracting. It was a nice, loose atmosphere, but distracting.

    "Linda? I really don't know what she did in the studio, aside from sit there and make her comments on what she thought was good and what she thought was bad. My personal opinion is that everybody, especially in the music business, when they finally find an old lady that they really dig, they try to get her into everything, which I don't believe in. I just didn't. It just didn't make sense to me.

     "She sang all right. I heard some of the things she sang on the album. She can sing fine, like any girl who worked in a high school glee club; she can hold a note and sing background. So Paul gives her the note and says, 'Here, Linda, sing this, and I'm going to sing this.' And she does it, but it's all McCartney. Paul McCartney, I mean.

     "I played acoustic. There's one track which is a cute thing, a blues tune, which I think has a pretty unique sound on it, and I had fun doing it. It's called "3 Legs."  Paul likes to double-track a lot of things. We both played acoustic on some tracks and then tripled. Denny Seiwell was on drums, Paul and I on guitars. Sometimes Paul played piano, but he never played bass while we were there. He overdubbed the bass. It was a little weird because bass drums and guitar would have been more comfortable, but that's the way he works.

     "It seemed weird for him to come to town and audition the heaviest musicians in the business, cats who've been playing in music for 15 years and played with just about everyone, and who, as musicians, The Beatles just couldn't stand next to as instrumentalists. You don't have to audition these cats. They can play anything under the sun. We asked him once, and he said he was only in town for two days to check out the musicians. And it turned out that he couldn't go out and buy all the different albums to find out which cats were into what music, and so he just called an audition to try to hear everyone. I can understand his point, because people sound good on records and then their attitudes are bad or something, so you have to meet them and get involved personally. 

    "Paul doesn't like to have to, and I think he personally liked us. He doesn't like having to say, 'Well, I don't like this playing because of this.' He's just going to tell you he doesn't like it and change it. He really doesn't want to have to argue with you because he knows what he wants. The Beatles, as writers, are definitely innovators, but as players, there's just a minimum amount of playing on their albums. Their music at that time was bad. It was juvenile. I was listening to James Brown, Muddy Waters, people like that. 

    "Working with Paul was fun inasmuch as it was good to see how he works and where he's coming from, but as a musician, it wasn't fun because it wasn't challenging or anything like that, but it was good. McCartney is definitely a songwriter, not a musician, but he writes beautiful songs. In the studio, he's incredibly prompt and businesslike, no smoking pot, no drinking or carrying on, nothing, just straight ahead. He came in at 9am in the morning. We were all there and would listen to what we'd done the day before, so that it would get us psyched, ready to do the day's work. Then we went into the studio, and it was eight hours of just playing. He's not a very loose cat, not eccentric in any way at all, very much of a family man. He just wants to make good music.

The great and powerful Ringo

 

Take Two

 April 2, 1966 

Injury Clips Wings (1976)

 Injury Clips Wings: McCartney Tour Delayed

No author listed

The News of Cumberland County

April 2, 1976

    Paul McCartney and Wings have postponed their American tour because of an injury to one of the group's members. Guitarist Jimmy McCulloch suffered a broken hand when he slipped in a bathroom. The injury came following the conclusion of the group's European tour.

     The American tour, entitled "Wings Over America", was to have encompassed 20 cities and 31 performances. The tour will be herland the debut of Wings in America, and also be McCartney's first personal appearance on a US concert stage in almost 10 years. 

    The ex-Beatle and his group were to have played Spectrum on May 12 and 14th. A spokesman for the group said Tuesday that the tour was being rescheduled to begin in May, but could not say whether the Spectrum dates for the group would be changed.

     Wings over America is the culmination of many months of planning and is the fourth and final leg of the Wings World Tour, which began in England in late 1975 and proceeded to Australia and Europe. Wings will be performing a set lasting between two and two and one half hours with no intermission. New sound and light apparatus, as well as special staging, have been designed especially for the tour.

     Wings will be arriving in the United States directly from Paris, where the group concluded its triumphant European tour on March 26. During the third leg of the World Tour, Wings performed to sold-out houses in Denmark, Holland, and Berlin, Germany. Wings consists of Paul McCartney, Linda McCartney, Danny Laine, Jimmy McCulloch, and Joe English. The four-member brass section that accompanied Wings in the United Kingdom, Australia, and the European segment of the Wings World Tour will perform on the American tour.

     The band will be performing material from all prior Paul McCartney and Wings albums, as well as songs that have been associated with Paul McCartney throughout his career. Also included will be selections from Wings' latest release, Wings at the Speed of Sound, the album, which has recently been released on the Capitol label, includes songs written by Paul and Linda McCartney as well as Jimmy McCulloch and Denny Laine, who will also perform their compositions during the course of the concert tour. 

    The album was certified gold immediately upon its release in the US. The brass section on the tour consists of leader, Tony Dorsey (trombone), who also arranged the horn section on Wings at the Speed of Sound, Steve Howard (trumpet, and fuglehorn), who has been featured on albums with Labelle, and has worked with Alan Tossant. Thaddeus, Richard (flute, sax) has worked with Johnny Taylor and Tony Dorsey over the last few years, and Liverpudlian  Howie Casey (Tenor sax) has backed such music luminaries as Chuck Berry, Carl Perkins, Wilson Pickett, T Rex, and John Entwistle.

Laid Back Ringo Starr Comes Out in Caveman Movie (1981)

Laid Back Ringo Starr Comes Out in Caveman Movie

By Lou Cedrone

The Evening Sun

April 2, 1981

    When Ringo Starr goes from place to place, now, he gets into a limo, but he has been doing that all the time. He says, "I was never much of a walker. I don't do any less than I did before. I always get into cars in New York. I don't just walk around. I never did."

     He does admit, however, that he gives more thought to security these days. "It wasn't a question of increasing security, because we never had any before John's death. Now we all have it," he said.

 He was speaking about John Lennon, the Beatle gunned down outside a hotel [sic] in New York. It was inevitable that the conversation turned to Lennon, and Starr spoke of the tragedy with no trace of weariness. "I can't really add to it," he said. "There's nothing more I can say. I lost a good friend. He was like a brother to me. We were all like brothers. He was a fine musician and a great human being. And when I think about it, it still blows me away."

     He was in New York to talk about a movie he has done with Barbara Bach, the current love of his life. She was with him when he talked to the press, her hand in his, his and hers, theirs entwined. I don't think they ever let go. She calls him Richard or Richie. She never once referred to him as Ringo. And when someone asked her how it felt to be so closely identified with one of the Beatles, she said that the big time in her life was when she did the James Bond film, The Spy Who Loved Me. "I was just a girl from Long Island, and there I was in a Bond movie. That was fantasy. When I fell in love with Richie, I was just falling in love with a man. I never felt I had to deal with the Beatles. They were just friends of Richie." She remembers that she was at the New York airport in 1964 when the Beatles first arrived in this country; she was there with her younger sister. She said her sister was the Beatles fan, Barbara just went along.

     Ringo Starr, the former Richard Starkey, is very laid-back. Answered all questions with admirable equanimity. His hair is jet black. He still wears black mostly, and wears two earrings on the left ear, a star, and a pendant. On his lapel is another star, twin to one Miss Bach wears on her lapel. They are mementos of the accident they had in London. The car turned over several times. She was thrown out. He stayed with it, and they wear those stars made from the windshield of the automobile to remind themselves of their brush with death, of their good fortune to be alive. 

    "Why the black?" someone asked. "I don't know," said Ringo. "It's just easy. Everything matches. I'm breaking out, though-- I bought a black and white shirt."

     The same reporter said it made him look almost sinister. "Sinister? Do I look sinister? That's probably because I dye my hair. I don't see myself as sinister or diabolic," he said, No, he does not intend to reunite with the remaining Beatles. "I am totally against it." He said he also objects to the continued sale of Beatles memorabilia. "I didn't mind it then because it was new, because it related to what we were doing.  Now  I'm against it."

     He can listen to the old Beatles songs and still enjoy them. He said, "I can listen to them now without thinking of the things that were going down at the time. I used to do that. I used to relate more to the time, to the memories. I don't do that anymore."

     He asked if any of the reporters had seen his new movie, Caveman, and what they thought of it. No one answered. Most had seen it that morning, but no one admitted to it. "Well, did you like it? We did. We enjoyed making it." He plays a caveman, and Miss Bach is the cavewoman he covets. It's a comedy with very little dialogue, and most of that is cave talk.

     Someone said it was a kid's movie. Why did Starr make it? What statement did the film make? "Statement? Well, if it makes a statement, it is that good triumphs over evil and brain wins out over brawn. It's a family movie. It's very light. I'm very big with kids and mothers," he said.  "My own kids were tired of seeing science fiction films, and we figured we would have a good chance with a prehistoric comedy. The fact that the film has no dialogue also interested me. Words can get in the way sometimes.

     He denies that the film is an attempt to put the Beatles behind him. "I just did the film as an actor," he said.

     Someone wanted to know how it feels to be 40. How did he think it would feel at 40? "I never thought about it, Starr said.  "As a teenager, I thought all people should be shot at 60, but that was teenage madness. I didn't give much thought to tomorrow, did you? "

    He said he thinks of himself now as a human being. "None of us is limited to one thing. We all play several roles. I'm a father, a musician, an actor, a furniture designer, all those things. I would like to be judged as an actor rather than an ex-Beatle. But everyone relates back to that. We can't escape it. "

    He said it wasn't painful breaking away from the Beatles. "It had to happen."  He said he wishes people would relate to him as he is now, rather than as he was. He looks back on the old Ringo as someone else. "When I watch one of our movies like Help!, it's like watching another person. It's the same for me as it is for you. "

    After almost one hour of this, the interview was ended, and Starr and Miss Bach walked out hand in hand; they're probably still holding hands. 
 

Fiery French Fans Make it a Fabulous Second Week! (1964)

 Fiery French Fans Make it a Fabulous Second Week

By Henry Kahn

Disc

February 1, 1964

    Fiery and enthusiastic fans and long queues--- this was the scene in Paris during the second week of the Beatles' fabulous season at the Olympia. In fact, the four Liverpool boys are doing even better than ever in the French capital.

     Things have changed since their tough first night audience, however, and it's now the young and enthusiastic Parisian fans who are storming the ramparts of the Olympia. The Beatles themselves have noticed the difference. Ringo told me, "This is not the same thing at all. We are getting a splendid reception. But of course, the audience is different. "

    Some French newspapers displayed hostility towards the Beatles' early concerts. This has made little difference. The hostility was not based upon the music or the talents of The Beatles, but on the fact that four young English boys had something that the French idols simply did not have. 

    Talk to the fans, and you will get the real feeling toward the Beatles. Everyone I spoke to thought they were terrific. The four Beatles have been spending their time mainly by sleeping late and stealing a few hours to see something of Paris itself. Whenever they go out, they are recognized, but they are never attacked, and they all agree with a statement made by one Beatle that "It was a pleasure not to have our ties snatched off."

     In fact, they have made such an impact on the French capital that they have been recognized in some most unlikely places. When they penetrated the Montemar jungle and climbed the famous hill to the place famous for its painters, I doubted whether the artist who wielded brushes and palettes would recognize the four idols of the pop world, but I was wrong. They were recognized. Within a few minutes, George and Paul were photographing the painters, and the painters were painting the Beatles

    Suddenly, one bright artist produced a canvas showing the Beatles in action, but they'd never have recognized it if the painting hadn't been marked with their names. The Beatles have also managed to visit the top of the world-famous Eiffel Tower and a late-night trip to the blues club where American blues artist Memphis Slim is performing. They created a sensation at the club, but declined all invitations to sing a number. 

    And perhaps the most unusual thing about the Beatles' visit is the tremendous success of Beatles wigs in Paris stores. They're selling at around 30s, and everyone is buying them, from the young people to elderly folk who insist they are for their grandchildren.