Raiding the mini fridge

 September 20, 1976 - Paris 

Hello Vienna

 

September 18, 1976 

Secret Service Ringo

 

September 18, 1976

Ringo is here being interviewed on French television -- but to me -- he looks like he is an undercover secret service agent.  It also amazes me how quickly he hair had grown out 

Can He --- And $50 Million -- Reunite the Beatles? (1976)

 

Can He -- and $50 Million -- Reunite the Beatles?

By John Scanlon

Gloucester County Times

September 12, 1976

    The demise of the Beatles in 1970 ended a string of hit records that had kept Alan Amron on a musical high for seven years. He immediately started going into withdrawal. Amron, a Long Island, New York resident who lists his occupation as an inventor, lived and died with each rumor of a Beatles reunion. 

    He was a walking almanac of Beatles facts who spent his time listening to old Beatles records. Then, in May, a light bulb went "poof" in Alan Amron's head. "As an inventor," he reasoned, "I don't want to live and die. I want to live, do something for mankind, and then die."

     So on May 31, 1976, Amron walked into the offices of the Village Voice, a weekly New York newspaper, and paid $800 for a big advertisement. The ad announced the birth of the International Committee to Reunite the Beatles, and a part of that ad, which also appeared in Rolling Stone magazine, explains what Amron's brainstorm is all about. 

    "Sure, promoters can offer lots of money, but we, unified, can offer more money and support. There are countless millions of us, the people who love the Beatles, and just $1 contribution from every fan will help us in our effort to reunite the Beatles." Countless millions of people means that Amron stands to gather countless 1000s of dollars. The local reaction is that Amron has invented a ploy to exploit John, Paul, George, and Ringo, leading their fans down the long, winding road that leads to his door.

     Such a suggestion makes him bristle. "It's all legitimate," he says. He vows that he's not getting a salary. His 35 volunteers, who have been dispatched around the world and urge fans to send money to Amron's Long Island office, are unpaid. 

    He claims that by June 1977, Amron hopes to give the Beatles a $50 million check. If the campaign fails, he intends to donate the money to cancer research or to charities in other countries from where donations originated. "The reason I picked June 1977," Amron explained, "is because it's the 10th anniversary of the Sgt. Pepper album."

     Amron is offering the Beatles instant prosperity. In return, he just wants something for posterity. He'd even settle for a one-night stand, a two-hour concert at a site of their choice, as long as it's televised for the world to see and filmed so future generations can see the reunion of the century. He says, "You're talking about billions to be made, not for me, for them. Think about it: albums, movies, ticket sales. They can have the rights to everything. People ask me if I think they're worth it. Darn right, I think they're worth it," he says.

     Amron hasn't discussed the campaign with any of the Beatles or their agents. About four weeks ago, he thought it would be nice to get a statement from one of the musicians, just to see what the reaction might be to his fund drive. He gathered some publicity material, hopped in his car, and drove to John Lennon's New York City apartment. 

    John was at the curb opening the door of his limousine, and Amron, you might say, suffered a bad case of lockjaw, a disease commonly caused by hero worship. "I gave him the kit and didn't say a word," Amron said, becoming unnerved again at the thought. "I mean, I was so freaked out at seeing him, you know, John Lennon right there, and I was, oh, he looked, it was so unbelievable. For five seconds, we just stared at each other. I smiled, gave him the kit, and left."

     Since then, Amram has called Lennon's office. An agent told him the former Beatle was aware of the widely publicized campaign, but was not ready to make a statement. "I think the chances of a reunion are very good," Amron declared. "I think the Beatles have decided not to say anything yet and are just watching us very closely to see what happens."

    Meanwhile, the mailman keeps dumping stacks of checks and money orders on Amron's desk. Contributions have streamed in from Germany, from Belgium, the Turks went to see the Beatles reunited, and so do the Australians. Not to mention the folks in London, San Francisco, and a brandious university professor who contributed $200. 

    Amron has been receiving about $500 a day since last week. He plans to check with his accountant to find out how much has been raised during the three-month campaign. Based on an average day of receipts, it seems like a half million dollars might be in the fund, meaning that he has a short amount of time to raise a large amount of money. Amran isn't worried. He is planning a week of Beatles nostalgia, one in New York, probably at Madison Square Garden, and the other at a yet-undetermined site in California. He figures they'll be big money raisers. "It would be phenomenal to get the Beatles back together, you know. I've idolized them from the moment I saw them on Ed Sullivan," Amron said. Yes, it would be something.

Party for Denny's New Single

 September 9, 1976

The First Buddy Holly Party

 

Pa

September 7, 1976 

Concerts Today are Just Spectacals (1976)

Paul and Linda performing in Cincinnati in 1976 -- not knowing that some people were having a terrible experience. 

 I hear a lot of people complaining about the concert experience today, and I agree with most of what they're saying (ticket prices are out of control for most shows these days), so I found this article about the concert experience 50 years ago really interesting.   I, for one, am glad that "festival seating" for the most part is in the past.  I can't imagine the nightmare that must have been for a big concert, and how disappointing it must have been to get there early and find yourself way in the back, unable to see over the heads of everyone standing.  Anyhow I thought this writer had an interesting comentary. 

Concerts Today are Just Spectacals

By Terry Lawson

The Journal Herald

September 2, 1976

     I don't go to concerts anymore, and I feel pretty guilty about it. A good portion of my life revolves around music, and even the best-produced record albums are no substitute for experiencing music live. Communication is, of course, what music is all about, and presumably musicians should communicate best in an environment where they can receive as well as give.

     But I find it hard to fathom that most music fans are getting much out of the vaudeville spectacles that pass for concerts these days. They seem increasingly to have less and less to do with music. My last foray into the arena was to attend the summer's Paul McCartney and Wings concert at Riverfront Coliseum in Cincinnati. The first disappointment came when it was discovered that the Cincy appearance was one of two on the tour that called for "festival seating." To the uninitiated, festival seating is a red herring word for "no reserved seats"; it generally means that the promoter of the concert did not want to go to the trouble and expense of having tickets numbered and ushers hired to guide patrons to seats. Also, with this arrangement, more bodies can be packed into a limited space since there are no seats set up on the floor. 

    To counter this, I and about 4000 others arrived at Riverfront an hour or so early to attempt to get a decent seat. Most of the gathered crowd amused themselves by indulging in the great American pastime, boozing. By the time the appointed door-opening hour had come and gone, the crowd was surly, screaming and smashing empty glass containers against the walls of the arena. When the crowd began pushing against the glass door, the security people panicked and threw all the doors open at once, allowing the 20,000 or so who gathered behind the early birds to swarm in ahead of the mob in front. The promoters also abandoned the idea of collecting tickets, prompting the wheeler-dealers attending the concert to return outside and sell their tickets to the unsuspecting, hoping to score a scalper's ticket at the arena. 

    By the time my friends and I made it inside, the only seats left were behind the stage. $9.50 bought me a beautiful view of McCartney's back. Oh yes, the music was terrific. That is-- the part of it you could hear between the constant barrage of firecrackers being lit and pitched all around the arena. One firecracker sailed perilously close to McCartney's right ear. He hardly blinked, causing an observer to deduce this was sort of de rigurer. 

    Leaving the scene was as revolting as the rest. Vomit and broken glass were everywhere you stepped. The feeling was that of a prisoner leaving Devil's Island. The papers reported the next morning that one concertgoer left the Coliseum and walked directly into the Ohio River, drowning.

     Now this may be somebody's idea of a good time, but not mine. When I related this experience to a friend, he chided me, saying I was just "too old to enjoy myself." The same friend returned to Riverfront the following week to see Yes, his favorite band, and came away with an almost identical reaction. "Maybe I'm too old too," he grumbled. 

    Of course, not all concerts are as poorly produced and managed as the McCartney fiasco. There are some promoters, Bill Graham of Fillmore fame, who come immediately to mind, who are professional enough to avoid the pratfalls and attempt to bring the music-hungry hordes an enjoyable experience. But concerts do not function as purely musical experiences anymore. More and more, they have become excuses for a gathering of the tribes, for young people to assemble, to smoke grass, booze, and revel in their sameness. The music is secondary. Pity, I sure do love to hear live music.

The 33 1/3 days

 

George goes down on one knee

 

August 1976 

10 Years Ago the Beatles Last Show (1976)

 10 Years Ago the Beatles Last Show

By Phillip Elwood

The San Francisco Examiner

August 30, 1976

    Beatlemania seems to be sweeping the pop music world again, as it did a decade ago. Capitol Records is repackaging the original issues of Beatles singles and albums, and an International organization has been formed to encourage the Beatles to get together once again in public performance.

     10 years ago, the Beatles concluded their U.S. tour, which included 19 shows in 14 cities, with a performance at Candlestick Park. The concert, on the evening of Monday, August 29, 1966, lasted 30 minutes, included 11 tunes, and ended at 9:50 p.m. That was the last time the Beatles appeared together in public performance. 

    The Beatles had played San Francisco twice before, 1964 and in 1965, at the Cow Palace. The evening show in '65 set a record there, which still stands, for over 18,000 customers for a reserved-seat concert. 

    Early in June 1966, it was announced that promoter Tom Donahue, in conjunction with station KYA, and using DJ Johnny Holliday and Emperor Gene Nelson as MCs, would present the Beatles at Candlestick with tickets at $6, $5, and $4. A total of 30,000 seats were ticketed, but the event didn't sell out. About 25,000 customers paid a gross of some $130,000.

     The Beatles arrived by plane late in the afternoon. They were sealed up in an armored truck and driven to Candlestick, where they arrived at 5:45 p.m. The San Francisco police provided a station wagon and a couple of motorcycles for an escort. The caravan also included a bus and a few limousines for the supporting acts and equipment.

     After cruising around the stadium parking lot, waiting for an attendant to find the gate key, the caravan finally went through the right center field gate, and the Beatles disembarked and walked directly into the dressing room clubhouse area used by the San Francisco Giants. By 6o'clock, the fans were also arriving. They found most of the stadium lights illuminated, as they were for the whole show; spotlights were also used to pinpoint featured performers. The stage was built over second base. The closest any fans got was about 150 feet, and those in the second deck, the "cheap seats", could barely see the platform and often could not hear anything. 

    The Boston rock group The Remains opened the program with four numbers and was followed by Bobby Hebb, who also did four selections ending with "Sunny," his big hit for the summer of '66. Holiday was MC at the beginning, as I remember, filling the brief space between acts. The pace was fast. The performers were anxious to get the tour over with, and the crowd, very young and agitated, was there only for the Beatles. Two piles of loudspeakers flanked the stage. No one, except a few guards, was allowed on the stadium grass or infield. Artists came to the stage by walking from the Giants' dugout area across first base and eventually to the stage stairs. After Hebb, the Brian Epstein-managed group Cyrkle played five numbers, including "Red Rubber Ball," which had been a big hit in the spring of 1966, and "Turn Down Day," which soon became a hit. Following Cyrkle, with the crowd screaming every time any head stuck out of the dugout entrance, the Ronettes, a first-rate soul rock group, trudged through the grass (there was no plastic turf then) and onto the stage. 

    I remember thinking, with amusement, how strange the three black Ronettes seemed in shimmering nightclub gowns, singing "Be My Baby" and "Walking in the Rain" to 25,000 Beatles fans, most of whom were bubblegum teeny boppers about 14 years old. The gutsy, sensual Ronette's lyrics didn't have much effect, however, since the crowd noise, anticipating the Beatles, was horrendous by this time. 

    All 19 tunes performed by the opening four acts, plus the on-track comments by Holliday and his colleague Nelson, absorbed only 70 minutes. Without any intermission, and barely time enough for the Ronnetts to leave the field, the four Beatles raced across the turf and onto the stage. The crowd's response was deafening. It was as if Willie Mays had just homered into the left-field bleachers to win the World Series.

    The Beatles' performance began with "Rock and Roll Music," and then the tunes ground out one by one mechanically and with little distinction. I recall no informal comments from any of the Beatles during the program. Paul handled the introductions.

     Although the Revolver album had been issued three weeks earlier and was on top of the charts, the Beatles did none of the tunes from it. Even "Yellow Submarine", the hit single that week, was not played. "I Want to Hold Your Hand," "Eight Days a Week," "Day Tripper," "Paperback Writer," "Yesterday," and finally "Long Tall Sally" were included. So fast was the performance, and so brief the interval between tunes, the noisy reception given at the end of each number spilled into the roar, which obliterated the first 30 seconds of each new selection. As "Long Tall Sally" was ending, a young lady raced toward the stage front with guards in hot pursuit. As the fans watched her attempt to climb the platform, many didn't notice the armored truck, which had been sitting innocently at the rear of the stage, had thrown open its back doors.

     The four Beatles had hopped from instruments to stairs, to vehicle, and within one minute of concluding the song, the Beatles inside the truck were out of the center field gate onto a service field and heading toward the San Francisco airport. The Beatles were heading finally for England. Their last public concert appearance was over. 

    My review in the Examiner the next day was headed "Beatles Strike Out at Ballpark." Ralph Gleason's Chronicle column was headed "A Puppet Show for the Beatles." There was no press conference here, as there had been in Chicago, New York, and Los Angeles. Beatle John Lennon's comments about religion and the Vietnam War, and a sour attitude toward the Beatles by the U.S. entertainment establishment, had made relations with the press difficult.

     The San Francisco City Treasury netted $17,500 from ticket sales, and the local musicians union was paid $1,072 for providing 25 standby musicians who sat in the stands and played the Star-Spangled Banner at 8p.m. At the time, the evening seemed just like another disappointing rock and roll concert. Certainly not as much fun as the earlier Beatles shows in town. Little did those 25,000 San Franciscoans realize they were seeing the most successful and influential pop music group in history perform together for the final time.

A Family Walk

 August 1976

Paul and the fam in Holland

 August 19, 1976 

Will You Be My Girl?

 August 8, 1976 

John and Yoko Live in Montauk (1976)

 John and Yoko Live in Montauk

By Craig Neidermeier

The Write Thing

September/October 1976

    John and Yoko live in Montauk, Long Island, right now. I had a friend show me his house. It's a secluded oceanside brick home. So, being a curious Beatles fan, one day my girlfriend and I wanted to go and swim on the beach, so we decided to walk through John's yard, not really knowing if he'd be there.

     I was really tense because I saw Yoko walking around in the house. Then we got to the backyard, and my girlfriend said, "Hello, John," And I looked to my left, and there he was, blue cut-offs and a T-shirt, and just looking out to sea. He seemed amazed that we were in his backyard with blankets, pillows, and our dog. 

    I asked him if we could possibly cut through his yard to get to the beach, and he said, "The beach is down the road. Bug off." He was upset that we were trespassing, and I said I was sorry, and he said "Yeah, sure", and then we left. 

    If I only knew he was home, I would have knocked on the door and did the whole scene more politely. But it was still a great high point in my Beatle life to be actually talking to him in the flesh. You can see him on any given day riding his bike through town. People just act cool, and he feels comfortable. Paul and Linda were in Montauk on September 2, eating in a high-class restaurant there.

Waiting for a cab

 

July 31, 1976DAko

Green Day

 July 27, 1976

John sighting at the Dakota

Photo taken by Robin Titone

 

July 26, 1976

(For those wondering-  I found the date for these photos from the July/August 1978 issue of Imagine fanzine.  Robin Titone had a lot of her photos printed in this fanzine and under the first one shared here is where I discoverd the date). 

A Starr is Shorn (1976)

 

A Starr is Shorn

By Record Reporter

Daily Record

July 20, 1976

    To put it baldly, Ringo Starr is a skinhead. Even actress Vivien Ventura can't help staring, and she's seen it all in her time.

     For Ringo has been shorn from head to chin, gone are his floppy locks, his mustache and beard, even his eyebrows. The new image is the result of bare-faced indulgence and a sudden whim. 

    The 36-year-old former Beatle explained in Monte Carlo, "I got sick of looking at all the fuzz on my face in the mirror, and decided to try something different." Now there's a smooth answer. 

    Ringo went on. "I went down to the local barber and told him to take everything off. You should have seen his face." You should see yours, Ringo. 

    He added,  "At first he didn't believe me, and he tried desperately to persuade me not to do it. Finally, he gave in. It was a long, long operation, but it's a great feeling to be hairless."

     Ever since the Beatles first hit the headlines, Ringo has been a top member of the Hair Suite set. Now he's not even on the fringe

Who would have guessed? (1976)

 

Who Would Have Guessed?

By Regina Vogel

The Write Thing

Jan/Feb 1977

    Who would ever believe that an NBC TV employee would stop me on the street and ask if I wanted to see George Harrison tape a television program? Well, that's exactly what happened on November 18, 1976. NBC had just disclosed that afternoon that George would not be appearing live on November 20th's  Saturday Night Live, but on a pre-recorded segment to be taped that night to a private audience from seven to 10 p.m. 

    We decided to go to NBC Studios at the end of the taping, but we arrived early. We started walking around when an employee told us where George was taping. The private audience was on the ground floor, filled with NBC personnel and friends. People were being picked up off the street to fill the balcony, which consisted of about 75 people. 

    We had missed a good deal of the show, but saw Paul Simon do "Homeward Bound" and George do "Here Comes the Sun " for at least four tapings, along with seeing George smile after someone screamed out "Dark Horse", as a request. And also the time when Paul Simon introduced one of George's films as "Cracker Jack Palace."

     About two hours after the taping, George came out and met a small crowd before he left in his limo. Not bad for an ordinary Thursday night.

Oh Ringo you're so fine....

 July 13, 1976

In the summer of 1976, Toni Basil was quite popular in Los Angeles, many years before she sang "Hey Mickey"   She sold out show at the Roxy.  Everything I read says these performances were in June of 1976 and this photo was labeled in a newspaper as from July 13, but maybe the photo was labeled wrong and this shot is from June.   But either way -- Ringo saw this popular performer and someone captured him there on film.