Martin was perched on the high, four-legged stool - John on his right, Paul on his left, and George just in front of him.[i] Ringo slumped behind his drums, waiting over against the wall. John wore his Gibson electric-acoustic; Paul, the Hofner bass, and George, his Gretsch Duo Jet. The Beatles were ready to demo, and Martin was set to listen.[ii]
Generally, just after lunch like this, the "drowsies" set in, and Martin only battled through with strong Earl Grey, but this afternoon, he was thoroughly alert. In fact, he was antsy; Martin was on pins and needles, wondering if the four boys in front of him were gifted musicians or lucky stiffs. Their follow-on song would tell the tale.
"All right." Martin licked his lips, rubbing them together - winter had brutalized them. "Whenever you're ready."
They waited while Paul - his starched white collar chafing his neck - finished tuning. Even John had his tie cinched and his vest buttoned completely. They were determined to be professional.
"Ready," Paul said, at last.
"Good." Martin gestured for them to begin.
Da-da dah, da-da dun, dun, dah, John played on his guitar. Da-da dah, da-da dun, dun, dah! "If there's anythin' that you want..." And the ingénue song was disclosed.
George Martin consciously sat with his right hand on his right knee and left, on his left knee - not moving, not revealing a trace of approval or disapproval.[iii] But inwardly, he heaved a tremendous sigh of relief. The song was...excellent! The Beatles weren't just one-hit wonders, happy mistakes. Instead, they were talented. Extremely talented. This number's almost as good as the last! Martin celebrated silently. Perhaps as good.
When less than two minutes later, the number ended, the boys paused - waiting for blessing and benediction. They stared at Martin with hungry eyes.
"Well," he said at last, "I believe you've another hit on your hands!" It was superlative news.
John took a deep breath and puffed it out in relief. "Written on the coach from Shrewsbury to Shropshire!" he offered.
"Only five days ago!" Paul had a right to brag.
"Well, it's certainly aged well since then," Martin grinned. "And you've another?"
"This one's twice as old," George Harrison droned in his syrupy Scouse, "so y'er sure to like it twice as much."
And nodding to one another, they began the second tune with a coy, "Ohhhhh, ohhhhh" that made George Martin smile. He shifted his weight forward, pulling his trouser legs up to reveal the silky white socks he preferred, even in dress shoes. One eyebrow lifted in undisguised interest and his knee twitched with the beat. The song was good.
"Ready to record?" he asked simply at song's end...the highest of compliments.
"I'm ready for somethin' over here," Ringo groused in his French cuffs and rings. He looked fantastic, but the drummer was bored rigid.
"Well, let's get to work then, eh Ringo!" And dragging his stool back to its corner, Martin hummed, climbing the steep stairs up to Studio Two's control room.When he greeted Engineer Norman Smith and Second Engineer, Richard Langham, Martin smiled broadly. "Well, one and all," he said, "I asked them for a song as good as 'Please Please Me,' and they've brought us 'From Me to You.'[iv] Brian Epstein might just have been right about these boys. There seems to be a bottomless well of songs."[v]
"So...they're tunesmiths after all, are they?" Smith was as relieved as Martin had been. "Tight writing, brilliant harmony, a plethora of get-up-and-go," Martin said. "It won't really matter to Sir Joseph where their photos were taken. From here on out, I've a feeling such things will be...insignificant."
"I'm not in a bad mood!" John snapped at Neil. The surge of energy he'd felt in the cold morning air had disappeared as swiftly as it had materialized. Once inside the studio, John was deflated again. "I'm just dead creased, y'know. I've forgotten what the back o'm'eyelids look like. I've forgotten what it's like to be human, as it were."
"But we're all tired, John," Neil dared to argue. He handed John a couple of extra plecs.
"Fook off! You've no idea! Where were you on the Helen Shapiro tour? I'll tell y'where you were! Back home in front of the radio - that's where!" John grabbed the plectrums without a "thank you."
"Yeah look, I realize..." Neil began.
"Ah, but you don't!" John gave no quarter. "So buggeroff and leave me fuggin' alone!"
Neil shot a warning look at the others. Paul shrugged lightly and ignored the confrontation. There was no use making an issue of it now. John had been browned off since Brian had had a word with him after the second photo shoot, and Paul was fairly sure that discussing the confrontation would only stir the hornet's nest.Neither Paul nor John had been particularly pleased with the modicum of attention that Brian had been giving the band lately, and here and there, words had been exchanged. Brian, busy building "a stable" of young talents for NEMS Enterprises - acts like Merseyside's Gerry and the Pacemakers, and Billy J. Kramer (whom Brian had paired with Manchester's Dakotas) - had more or less left The Beatles to their own devices in the past few weeks.[vi] Sending them off on the Shapiro tour only to be herded onto the Chris Montez/Tommy Roe tour next week had left John wondering if Brian's interest in The Beatles was waning. And John was having none of it. Paul was certain that John had spoken up for them earlier this morning. And now, Lennon was petulant.
His mouth set in a hard line, John scuffed to position and stared unblinkingly at the darkened, red light. Paul took his place as well, and George followed suit. Ringo lifted his drum sticks and waited. At long last, the light illuminated.
Da-da dah, da-da, dun, dun, dah! the guitar began. Da-da dah, da-da dun, dun dah!
They got as far as the third verse when a high-pitched squeal brought everything to an abrupt halt.
"What happened?" Paul looked around for a malfunction.[vii]
"You tell me," Martin replied from the control booth. "What happened?"[viii]
"I thought you were whistlin' us to wait one," George said.
"Yeah, we thought..." John began.
"It didn't originate up here," Martin insisted. "It sounded to me like George scraping his guitar strings."
"Me?" George pointed to himself. "I never scrape..."
"Let's just begin again," Martin suggested. And moments later, the red light flashed once more.
The second take reached its destination, but the charisma that Martin had hoped for was lacking. So far, 'From Me to You' was interesting, but not a compelling. And technically, it needed attention. Ringo, for one, had forgotten to play the concluding drum fills, hitting only the final fill, almost as an afterthought.
"Ah, ha ha!" Paul pointed at the drummer as the last notes echoed. "You missed the ending, Bay-bee!"[ix]
Ringo lowered his chin and flashed the bass player a backhanded V. But Paul only chuckled and began conferring with John about the song's tempo.
"'From Me to You,' Take Three," Norman Smith announced
from above.
"No," John snapped at Paul, despite the fact that the tape was rolling, "the speed's all right![x] It's..." He noticed the red light and hurriedly swung around to play.
But Paul had been entirely correct. The tempo was too sluggish. And even at the slower, uninspired pace, Ringo still missed the drum fills over the coda. John flared.
"Y'didn't get the endin' there, Ring!"[xi] he pointed out to everyone, even those listening up in the control room. When John was unhappy, no one else was allowed to be happy either. He saw to it, personally.
"Really?" Ringo muttered gloomily and sighed just as the red light for Take Four ignited. Peeved at the world, John rasped, "We can't get any...much closer, y'know."[xii] But he set his jaw and tried again.George Martin, pacing inside the control room window, squinted at the band and considered the number. "From Me to You" was a still long stroll from Number One, but Martin had several ideas that might provide a shortcut or two.
As Take Four played out, he came pattering down the stairs, his head high and his angular jaw set with determination.
"Oh no," Ringo winced, "I suppose I'm done for again."
But the producer had no such notion. Instead, he walked directly over to John. "John, I'm thinking that we should do the opening bit...the da-da dah, da-da dun, dun, dah...on your harmonica, as it were...to tie the tune into 'Love Me Do' and 'Please Please Me." To establish a signature sound, as it were."
"Yeah," John nodded. "Can do."
"And," Martin took a breath before plunging in, "I'd like you all to sing the opening as well...to actually vocalize the da-da dah, da-da, dun, dun, dah."
"What d'ya mean, sing it?" John was floored.
"Sing it. Sing those words."
"Sing, 'da-da dah...'?" Paul took a step forward, his eyes questioning.
"Yes, as far as I know, no other rock'n'roll artist in
history has ever sung the notes in an intro. It would set you
apart, make you unique, you understand. George would play it on
guitar; John, on the harmonica, and you'd sing it...all together."
They nodded, not knowing quite what to say.[xiii]
"Furthermore," Martin added, "I also think the song's a bit too brief as is."
"Right, yeah," Paul agreed, "we thought so as well." "So we'll add a guitar bit[xiv]...an extra verse of guitar/vocal call and response... a hearkening back to the technique established in 'Please Please Me' and a reminder of the previous hit, as it were."
"Why not?" George was agreeable. "Just give me an idea of what you'd like, and I'll ..."
And for the next ten minutes, the two Georges ran options - culling, amending, practising, and blending the new bars in with the rest of the song.
While they were occupied, John went in quest of an harmonica, one that produced a sound unlike his Hofner. He wanted something warmer and richer this time, something blusier. And someone had told him that disc-cutter, Malcolm Davies, had one in his workroom. John rapped on the cutting room door, swinging in, breathless.
"Hello there!" he greeted the near-stranger with a Lennon grin.
"Hello, how are you?" Davies, distant and curious, was unsure what the vest-and-tie-clad musician was doing in the disc-cutting realm.
"Might I borrow yer harmonica for an hour or so?" John was as polite as he'd ever been in his life. Borrowing someone's harmonica was a bit like borrowing a toothbrush. It wasn't generally done. John wouldn't have considered it normally, but that one sound was vital to the song's reception. It was the hook.
"Well, I um..."
"I'm John....Lennon...with The Beatles...Liverpool," John needed to become Davies' friend swiftly. "We're down there in Studio Two...recordin' a new single, a follow-on to our LP, 'Please Please Me.'"
Davies smiled for the first time. "Please pleeeeeese me, oh yeah, like I please you!" he sang.
"Right. That's the one." John smiled back.
"Well, you do have yer own harmonica, Lennon, don't you?" Davies was reticent. "I mean, I heard it on that record, and it sounded just fine."
"Yeah, on that record." John gave him that much. "But on this record, we need a singular a variation...a deviation...and all those other 'ations.'"
Malcolm chuckled. So the boy's a Liverpool comic, eh? They have the knack, don't they? Jimmy Tarbuck, Mitch Murray...
John saw a ray of hope in the laughter, and despite a dull throb at the base of his neck - a throb that cautioned migraine - he plunged forward, using humour as barter. "Look, I'll trade ya a gag for the hour's use of yer harmonica - how's that, eh?"
"All right...go on." Davies was still reserved and wary.
"All right, how does a Scouser make an omelet?" John had known this one since grammar school. Davies grinned and shrugged. "First of all," John paused, "he steals five eggs..."[xv]
Davies laughed silently, shaking his head. Then he reached in his desk drawer and handed a tiny, chrome instrument to the persistent Beatle. "Here, take it," he surrendered. "But if you're not back within the hour, I'm coming looking for you, John Lennon, Liverpool."
"Right," John pocketed the instrument and Cheshire grinned, "of course, by then I'll be well across the border, won't I?" And with a quick wave and a "ta!" he was off.
Once they were all comfortable with the additions and alterations to the song, George Martin slipped quickly back upstairs, and Ringo - who'd been chatting with Neil - resumed his post behind the Premier drum kit. He adjusted the cymbals a mite and waited.
Up in the control room, Norman Smith worked to get a better balance on both mikes. Then, the red light came to life, just as John was presenting George with a final admonition. "Yeah, do the first bit, not the second bit..."[xvi] he said. "Are you with us?"[xvii] George Martin's voice called down, corralling the lads.
"Nah, we'd like to know," John ignored the rolling tape to clarify, "if George should play the first bit of the instrumental or the..."
"I think I should play the..." George began.
"Get it worked out, please," George Martin directed, and the red light disappeared momentarily.
George, Paul, and John huddled to debate...ideas pouring on top of ideas, conflict stirring. John removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Only ginger ale and Aspero could vanquish the kind of headache that was brewing. "So, we're doin' the responses live, right now," Paul questioned, "and then, we're comin' back later to record the calls. Is that it?"
"Yeah, right." John motioned to Neil that he needed chewing gum from his case, or someone's case.
"Okay, but I'm a bit worried, actually," Paul confessed. "All these changes...I'm afraid I'll forget to harmonize on the second bridge, y'know."
"Well, keep right in with your harmony bits," John insisted.[xviii] "Just don't not do it. That's all. It's harmony all the way, all right?"
But when Take Five commenced, Paul forgot the second harmony bit, just as he'd feared.
"Y'brought that on yerself, didn't you?" John snapped afterwards. "Y'talked yerself into it, son!"
Ignoring the rebuke, Paul ran a couple of tricky bass lines as distraction, and John popped a stick of sugary gum into his mouth, hoping the sweet would ward off the blistering pain.
"'From Me to You,' Take Six," came the overhead announcement. But before the band had both feet firmly inside the intro, Martin whistled them to a halt.
"You can do better," he reproved the four.
"I thought it was great,"[xix] Paul mumbled, softly, tapping out the intro beat on the side of his guitar. Da-da dah, da-da, dun, dun dah! Da-da dah, da-da dun, dun dah! "Oh yeah, I wanna swing! I wanna swing! I wanna swing!"[xx] Paul began chanting to the beat, employing a "Cool Cat" persona as he pounded away.
John stared at him, stunned. The red light flashed.
"Go on!" John shouted, clearly perturbed, and Paul turned, focusing once again as Take Seven commenced.
This time, everything was butter. The song was smooth and mellow. The recent variations blended with the basic song line as if they'd always been there. Ringo hit every drum fill dead on, and the response portions of the call-and-response were performed without flaw.
"There! That's how y'do it!" John crowed at song's end.
"Right! We showed'em, yeah!" Paul held up a fist.
"Excellent work, lads," George Martin gave the word. "We'll simply try to edit pieces from here on out. The hard work's done."
Take Eight was dedicated to John's harmonica - the opening lines and the coda; Paul and George were directed to join in, filling out the body of the song. And it all worked, better than any of them could have anticipated.Then Take Nine supplied the calls that had not yet been recorded. Piece by piece, the tune was snapping together - fitting precisely and elegantly.
It was during Take Ten - John's harmonica overdub for the coda - that the headache blossomed, full of power and swag. John set Davies's instrument on one of the Vox amps and wandered inconspicuously over to Neil.
"How about a cold ginger and some Aspero?" he whispered.
"Y'know, y'er ill every time y'er here..." Neil observed. "I think it's the pressure..."
"Yeah? Well, I think it's people who won't get me a ginger and Aspero when I fuggin' ask for it!" John was edgy.
"And I think it's people with lousy attitudes." Neil shot back, moving to do John's bidding anyway. These are the times that try men's souls! Neil adapted Patrick Henry to his own needs. John's a sod when he wants to be. But he knows that.
"All right, this time," Norman Smith repeated Martin's directions over the intercom, "we'd like to have John and Paul simply hum the intro this time, as background fill."
"Sure, yeah." Paul gave the control room a "thumbs up" while John meandered back to his place. But the pain made it hard to concentrate. He stared at the floor and tried to wait out the medication.
"'From Me to You,' Take Eleven," Smith stated as the red light glowed again.
"Go on!" Paul barked, giving as good as he'd got, earlier. John cut his eyes menacingly and raised his closed lips to the mic. The duo hummed.
Two more takes were completed, two more excruciating tasks accomplished - and just as John was about to request a break, Neil returned - a glass of ginger in one hand and the other, a closed fist bearing Aspero.
"Here," he handed both to John. "Be well."
"Ta." John eked out a smile. In a forgiving instant, they were friends again.
"That'll take care of what we need for the A-Side, gentlemen," George Martin pronounced from the control room. "Good work thus far."
Ringo ran a brisk drum roll, and George did a little dance step. They were getting good at this. It wasn't half as harrowing as last time.
"Now," Martin barely gave them time to breathe, "we'll move right on to the B. It's..."
"'Thank You Little Girl,'" Paul supplied as John sipped the champagne-coloured liquid.
"'Thank You Little Girl.'" Norman Smith officially announced the working title.[xxi]
B-sides, according to tradition were "throw-away songs," half-baked fillers that occupied the flip sides of smart hits. B's were inferior songs that generally ended up forgotten. They were penned by producers for the sole purpose of garnering royalties. But "Thank You Little Girl" was far from a derelict, mercenary by-product. It had unique appeal.
George Martin, who'd recently purchased a guitar so that he could converse more readily with the boys, found the number intriguing. The song's third line soared into wildly unanticipated notes; in fact, the whole song sounded off-the-cuff and spontaneous.[xxii] But unplanned it was not. The harmony was close and spot-on...and Ringo's stop-and-start work on the snare was exceptional.[xxiii] Even the number's introduction - a couple of charming "ohhhhh, ohhhhh's" was clever - carefully honed to woo the listener.
"When you lead in with those 'oh's,'" Martin lectured them from above, "make each one of them distinct. Close your lips completely and then begin again. Try it."
As the red light shone, they practiced the technique several times.[xxiv]
"All right, yeah. We've got it now." Paul spoke for the group. "Ready when you are."
"'Thank You Little Girl,' Take One." Norman Smith gave the okay.
But concentrating on the "ohhhhh's" and the instrumentation, the lyrics somehow became jumbled. Paul said, "And all I wanna do," while John opted for "and all I gotta do," and the error was too obvious to leave it at that. The premier take was a mish-mash; even a two-bar guitar vamp was noticeably missing.[xxv] The boys turned to one another, blaming and explaining.
When the red light flashed for Take Two, John and Ringo were still in a heated discussion about an optional ending for the song.
"Just fill it how you can, Ringo!"[xxvi] John's headache pressed him further towards dictatorial.
"Oh, ta very much," Ringo sneered. "Great to have yer say-so."
Paul, practicing the coda and ignoring the red light entirely, alternated between a D and G, D and G, D and G until John's frayed nerves pushed him to strum the D emphatically with a scowl that chastised."Yeah, I know," Paul began, "but are we keepin..."[xxvii]
And the recording light shut off. The control room was tired of waiting and wasting valuable tape. The boys put their heads together and worked out the bugs. Then the light shone again, insistent.
"'Thank You Little Girl,' Take Two," Norman said with a bit of urgency in his voice.
But Take Two disintegrated almost instantly, as Paul waved them off, insisting to someone, "Hang on! You were out!"[xxviii]
"I wasn't out!" John snapped. "Were you out?" he asked George.
"Nah, he imagined it."
"Someone was out!" Paul persisted.
"Maybe it was you," John said.
"'Thank You Little Girl,' Take Three." Norman gave them the cue.
They began with good intentions, but John forgot to repeat the first two bars, moving to the D chord too hastily.[xxix] He swung around furiously and began to swear, but Paul - eyes wide - pointed to the control booth. John bit his lip and reached for the glass of ginger. The red light immediately extinguished.
Take Four, far from being an improvement, was the worst iteration yet. The whole "wanna do" versus "gotta do" clash re-emerged, and Paul forgot his response on "way that you do, way that you do." John and he, furthermore, butted heads on "seems too good to be true" versus "is too good to be true," and Paul jumped in far too early with his vocals in the final verse.[xxx] But Ringo, ignoring the many imperfections of his comrades, persisted; he hit every drum fill, all the way to the bitter end.
"We'll um...need to do that again," came the curt evaluation from above.
"And just when I had it right," Ringo teased, hitting the cymbals for emphasis.
"Just when they had it wrong," George took the opportunity to heap a few coals on John and Paul. It was usually the other way around.
But resolving their differences was quick and easy, and the boys shook off the debacle.
"So remember, it's 'all I gotta do,'" John stated, one final time.
"Right." Paul rubbed his chin, annoyed. He still preferred "wanna do," but there was no arguing with John, once his mind was set.
"'Thank You Little Girl,' Take Four." Norman said to them. One more time. Another chance to get it right.
And they did. The lyrics were letter-perfect this time. The vamps were all exactly where they should be. And the harmony was exceptional. But on the fourth chorus, Paul - encouraged by success - began to improvise on the melody, drifting off the established lead line into a jazzier rendition that no one had ever heard or sanctioned. John stopped singing and glared him. And Ringo's drum fill in the coda completely fell apart.
As the light faded and the music subsided, Ringo turned to John before John turned to him. "All right, listen John," he said, preemptively, "exactly where d'ya want the drum fills? Map it out." He waggled a drumstick to accentuate every word he said. "Tell me where the last ones are!"[xxxi]
John and he began to thrash it out, but the control room was ready to move on. "'Thank You Little Girl,' Take Five...Take Six," Norman Smith corrected himself.
"Take Five, Take Six," Paul mimicked Norman's blunder. "Take Five, Take Six."[xxxii]
"One, two...one, two, three" George counted the song in. And Take Six began with George and Paul smiling at one another.
For the first minute or so, "Take Five/Take Six" was the strongest offering yet. But in the second verse, John sang, "would doubt our love," while Paul crooned, "could doubt our love." They looked at one another and threw their eyes to the ceiling in frustration. Ringo, determined to get his drum fills right this time, kept right on playing as the others fell away, one by one, into silence. He persisted in solo until George turned around and waved both arms madly above his head. Everyone, except John, laughed.
The headache had abated only a little, and John knew time was his enemy. They needed to finish the number before he became nauseated. "What else've y'got for torture?" he asked Neil, on the sly.
"Not a thing, really. I was lucky to find those Aspero in the canteen drawer. D'ya want me to go out on reconnaissance?"
"Nah. Hopefully, it's just takin' time to kick in." John rubbed his eyes. "Hopefully, it'll do somethin' soon."
It was hard not to think about Stu and the headaches that had plagued his final years. John couldn't imagine enduring this much pain, day after day, for months. The fact that Stu had continued to paint, to create images that were unequaled by his peers still astounded John. The cruelty of the universe was almost unfathomable.
The red light beckoning him back to the mundane, John sloughed to his place, spitting out, "All right, three times, remember?"[xxxiii] And Paul, understanding the vague reference, nodded. They launched into the song - hopeful that this would be their final attempt at the song.
But John's "three times" cue failed to remedy their problems, and Paul kept playing the A when G was clearly called for.
"What're y'doin?!" John exploded. [xxxiv] His voice was ragged.
"Look, John, yer aggravation doesn't help!" Paul barked back.
They fired invisible bullets at one another, dispersed to separate corners, and simmered before reconvening. They'd been working since 2:30, and it was now 6:20; the band that never slept was frazzled - "all-in" from the early morning photo call and the late night show in St. Helens the evening before.
Visually, The Beatles appeared spruce: crisp, white shirts with French cuffs and smart cufflinks; dark ties; buttoned vests (except for Paul, who'd removed his about an hour ago). From the control room, the boys looked as if they hadn't a care in the world. But they were drained, and John was getting a jagged line across his eyes that signaled the advent of tunnel vision. He wanted to get this last song "in the can" before he became too ill to work.
"'Thank You Little Girl, Take Nine,'" Norman Smith said. And without complaint, the boys stepped up to their mics, resolute in the effort to get it right.
Unfortunately, it wasn't to be - not this time. At the very top of the song, Ringo dropped the first drum fill, and the music tapered into silence. John hung his head. There has to be some way to cue the effin' fills so they work - every time.
"How about this?" John said aloud to the others. "How about if we play what Ring's doin'...to keep him on the beat?"[xxxv]
But just then, the red light shone, so no one answered him, and Take Ten started - with Ringo out of sync yet again.
"Look, I've thought of a way we can do it," John insisted once more, the moment the red light faded.[xxxvi] "If we play what he's doin..."[xxxvii]
"Nah," Ringo shook his head, "I think only the bass should play along. That's the other percussion, isn't it?"
"Right," John nodded, "but the bass'll be drowned out by the drums. You'll never hear it."
"So, we're all to play" Paul was confused. "Stayin'...not goin' on to G, in other words?'[xxxviii]
"Just on D?"[xxxix] George was perplexed.
"D yeah, D...that's it! That's right!" John shouted, raising both hands in annoyance.
But when Take Eleven evolved, George played D-G-D-G anyway. And John, scowling fiercely, stopped strumming altogether and exploded, "You shouldn't have gone D-G-D-G! Just play this!"[xl] He strummed the D chord with every ounce of frustration in him. "It's...even that's hard!"
George stared to protest, but George Martin had had enough of the bickering below. "I don't think it'll help Ringo at all, John,"[xli] he said over the loudspeaker. "I think Ringo just has to keep that himself."[xlii]
"Yeah, just keep the beat to yourself," Paul repeated to Ringo.
It was all John could do to harness the anger bubbling beneath the migraine's tight lid. He took a long swallow of the watered-down Ginger Ale. Then he slammed the glass down, sloshing the last of the liquid.
"All right, which chords d'ya want me to play, Johnny?" George had glimpsed John's flared nostrils. He didn't want to be the one to set John off.
"Do the G one now," John said in a pinched voice. Then he strummed D-G-D-G slowly to make sure they were all on the same track.
"'Thank You Little Girl,' Take Twelve,'" Norman Smith pronounced without emotion. And this time, they made it all the way through to the end without error, though Ringo knew - they all knew - that the last fill wasn't the drummer's best effort.
"Well, we're certainly earnin' our seven pounds tonight, aren't we?" Paul tried to lift the mood. It was the meager amount doled out to them by the Musician's Union for an evening's studio work.
"Johnny's earned his," George tried to smooth things over. "His part's been right all along."
"And the harmony's great!" Paul was still cheerleading.
"I'm partial to the woooooo's," Ringo smiled.
John cut his eyes at three of them. They're fuggin' tryin', he thought. And it's not their fault I'm bein' bludgeoned half to death over here.
"'Thank You Little Girl,' Take Thirteen," Smith was ever demanding.
And with agitations diminished, The Beatles placed a flawless
rendition of "Thank You Little Girl" on the tape from
the first drum fill to the last, from the first chord to final
chord, from the opening "Ohhhh" to the closing "gerl."
*********
"Well," George Martin sat on his stool, just as he had
at the beginning of the session, hours earlier, "Your work
today was nothing short of...laudable. Before the session, I was
concerned...we all were...that you'd happily stumbled onto success
with 'Please Please Me..."
John raised his nose in indignation, but Martin overlooked it.
"...but that wasn't the case, was it?" He smiled at the four boys in front of him. "A tune, you know, is a one-fingered thing, something you can whistle in the street. It doesn't depend on great harmonies.[xliii] It depends on genius." He paused. "The ability to create it is a gift.[xliv] And you have that gift."
The room was perfectly motionless. For once, none of The Beatles mickey-talked or fidgeted. Even John, whose head was now lacerated by pain, sat perfectly still.
"When you arrived here weeks ago, you four were idols in Liverpool, no doubt about that." Martin chuckled to himself, remembering his first evening in the maniacal Cavern Club, "But Liverpool is a long, long way away from London...and the world. Now however," he gestured widely, "the increasing sophistication of your music[xlv] is astounding. You're...dynamic."
He let it sink in, looking each one of them in the eye.
"For this moment and for a few more moments to come," he smiled "I'm the master and you're the pupils,"[xlvi] but that won't last long, will it? I'm the specialist for introductions and endings, for instrumental passages in the middle of your songs, for making sure that you present a concise, commercial statement.[xlvii] But before long, you'll surpass me. And do know why?"
The Beatles never assumed a question was rhetorical.
"No, why?" George answered.
"Because," Martin grinned, "you're not hampered by university degrees in music." They chuckled and muttered smart remarks. "When someone isn't fettered with the rules and regulations of harmony and counterpoint,[xlviii] he's free to try anything - to arrange lines and notes and phrases in a supremely unique way" Martin paused. "in a way that my musical training would prevent me from trying."[xlix]
"So, y'er sayin' we won't need you around much longer, then?" John sneered, a bit of mickey-talk still left in his bones.
Martin swatted at him. "Oh, I'll still make sure the key is right for your voices and that your songs are tidy with the right proportion and form.[l] And I'll make suggestions to improve your work.[li] But you're right...you'll soon be leading the way. You'll..."
He stopped, watching their sagging faces and heavy eyelids. Ringo yawned, and all of them looked miserably fatigued. They'd had enough for one evening.
"Well," he said, "we're finished with the record...early...and we can call it a night, of course. But we do have about an hour of studio time left, if you want to make use of it."
John and Paul looked at one another. Paul questioned, and John nodded once. Even impaired, he wanted to press on.
"We'd like to try recordin' an early song we did years ago," John said, "back when we were kids."
"Of course, you're quite ancient now," Martin teased.
"It's called, 'The One After 909,'" Paul smiled.
"And it's a train song," George beamed.
"They wrote it long before me, but I know it! I know it!" Ringo assured the producer.
"All right," Martin nodded, chuckling gently. "'The
One After 909' it is!" And five minutes later, the work began
again.
[ii] On p. 132 of All You Need is Ears, George Martin explains: "I would perch on a high stool, and John and Paul would stand around me with their acoustic guitars and sing it - usually without Ringo or George, unless George was necessary.
[iii] Lewisohn, The Complete Beatles Chronicle, p. 102. You can see a photo of this tradition. Martin sat in just this position every time that he "previewed" a song until The Beatles had scored several Number Ones. Then, he no longer felt the need to audition their new selections.
[iv] Martin, 131.
[v] Martin, 131.
[vi] Epstein, 76.
[vii] Winn, 35.
[viii] Winn, 35.
[ix] Winn, 35.
[x] Winn, 35.
[xi] Winn, 35.
[xii] Winn, 35.
[xiii] Spitz, 386. "They all thought [that singing the notes of the intro] was a bit odd, but they were in no position to question Martin, the authoritative figure."
[xiv] Spizer, The Beatles Are Coming! 23. "Take 5 was the first performance to incorporate an instrumental break, which was apparently added by George Martin to lengthen the song."
[xv] Stark, 40. This is a standard Scouser joke. There's no indication that John actually used it in this situation.
[xvi] Winn, 35.
[xvii] Winn, 35.
[xviii] Winn, 36.
[xix] Winn, 36.
[xx] Winn, 36.
[xxi] Winn, 36.
[xxii] Riley, 63.
[xxiii] Riley, 63.
[xxiv] Winn, 36.
[xxv] Winn, 36.
[xxvi] Winn, 36.
[xxvii] Winn, 36.
[xxviii] Winn, 36.
[xxix] Winn, 36.
[xxx] Winn, 36.
[xxxi] Winn, 37.
[xxxii] Winn, 37.
[xxxiii] Winn, 37.
[xxxiv] Winn, 37.
[xxxv] Winn, 37.
[xxxvi] Winn, 37.
[xxxvii] Winn, 37.
[xxxviii] Winn, 37.
[xxxix] Winn, 37.
[xl] Winn, 37.
[xli] Winn, 37.
[xlii] Winn, 37.
[xliii] Martin, 140.
[xliv] Martin, 140.
[xlv] Martin, 138.
[xlvi] Martin 138.
[xlvii] Martin, 132.
[xlviii] Martin 139.
[xlix] Martin, 139.
[l] Martin 132.
[li] Martin, 132.