All language subtitles for The Beatles - Made on Merseyside BigJ0554

MUSIC: Twist And Shout
by The Isley Brothers

# Shake it up baby now

# Shake it up baby

# Twist and shout

# Twist and shout

# Come on baby now

# Come on baby

# Come on and work it on out

# Come on and work it on out

# Woo
Shake it shake it baby

# Shake it up baby

# Shake it shake it baby

# Shake it up baby

# Shake it shake it woo

# Shake it shake it baby

# Prr, shake it baby

# Shake it shake it baby. #

How highly would you rate your own
music?

We're not very good musicians,
you know, and we'd never claim

to be very good musicians.

We're adequate, but not very good.

Well, what's the reason, do you
think,

for the tremendous popularity?

Is it because people admire your
talent or...?

Well, I don't know - maybe they
admire adequate music.

LAUGHTER

MUSIC: Money (That's What I Want)
by The Beatles

# The best things in life are free

# But you can keep them for the
birds and the bees

# Now give me money
That's what I want... #

People tend to think they met and
then they were famous,

but of course, there were five years
of hard work.

Their early performances in
Liverpool were quite raw, really.

A lot of the gigs, they weren't
even paid for.

they were just given drinks and
things.

They were regarded as a nothing
group.

The Beatles were about third in the
running in Liverpool.

These other bands like Howie Casey,
and Rory Storm And The Hurricanes

were really big.

In Liverpool in '60 and '61, no-one
had really discovered us.

You know, the likes of the
Rolling Stones and...

..Gerry And The Pacemakers would
knock us into a cocked hat.

You know, they were the big stars
and we were just like, you know,

the lads on the ladder.

John Lennon said, "Do you know what,
Joe?

"If I don't make it with this band,"
he said,

"I'm going to get a ship and go up
that river

"and I'll skip that ship in New
York."

They were just like average lads
that you might meet

down the football club or something,
you know?

Paul wanted to be a window dresser.

He said, "Don't you tell me what I
want to be, Joe.

"I want to be a window dresser," he
said.

"Window dressing fascinates me."

Liverpool's always been a hotbed
of music but never

had the recognition for it.

You know, jazz, steel bands, you
name it, skiffle,

it's all emanated there.

Liverpool was a pretty bleak place.

Bleak and lonely.

The black buildings, you know, and
the soot...

Very melancholy, in a way.

It was kind of biblical bleak.

I mean, the storms and the light
shafts cutting through,

and the sea hitting up against that
sea wall.

Yeah, it was pretty grim up North.

The place was absolutely filthy.

All these wonderful buildings that
we see today

were nearly all black.

We had a lot of smoke coming from
ships all over the place.

You could go put a nice white shirt
on in Liverpool and you'd come home

and it'd have to be washed because
there would be black smut.

Towards the end of the
Second World War,

Liverpool was virtually flattened, I
mean, there wasn't much left of it.

If you stood by the
Victoria Monument

and looked around in an arc,

almost everything was flattened.

How they missed the
Victoria Monument,

God only knows!

Used to play in these fields.

George would be six, maybe seven.

We found lots of unexploded stuff.

Grenades or incendiary whatevers.

But we thought it would be fun to
blow it up cos it was just

there not doing anything.

So, he dug a hole and put these
incendiaries into it

and lit a fuse and ran away and it
just went...

..sss...kaboom!

And just made a little hole.

I was born on the 9th of October
1940, when I believe the Nasties

were still booming us, led by
Madolf Heatlum,

who only had one.

Anyway, they didn't get me!

Lennon, particularly, was a kind of
street urchin.

He persuaded himself that he was.

He wasn't, of course, he was far
more sophisticated

and intelligent than that.

If you go to Menlove Avenue, where
John Lennon spent his childhood,

you will see it's an absolutely
lovely area.

A long, long way away from a
working-class hero, really.

A beautiful neighbourhood with a
garden front and back,

a park opposite...

I mean, John probably was the...

..most privileged of the lot.

Menlove Avenue is a very nice road.
Living with his Auntie Mimi.

She was a cross between a
headmistress and a librarian.

In other words, intimidating.
She was.

Well, I didn't want him wasting his
time playing a guitar.

What was I going to do if I had a
boy of 21 thrown back

on my hands qualified for nothing?

Did you get sent round the back
door? Yeah.No, I...

"John's round the back, Len." "OK."
I always got in the front door,
that's my claim to fame.

Well, you probably dressed properly!
Well, I probably had a shirt and tie

on and a suit, cos I was working...

I looked like a scruff.

She let the cats in through the
front door!

But us, ruffians, "Round the back."

John was like a naughty brother who
you had to... You kept thinking,

"Oh, God, what's he going to do
next?" You know.

He said, "I'm not going to do as you
tell me,"

but he always did!

I don't think many parents
liked him, they used to refer to him
as "That Lennon".

He was a bit of a handful.

HE SIGHS

At the local youth club,

I think he was blamed for burning
it - setting fire to it.

Maybe he did, maybe he didn't but...

The rest of them came from sort of
council premises or terraced

streets, you know, where there were
outside loos

and you had to have a bath in a tin
tub.

Paul McCartney lived on an estate
about a mile away.

Yeah, we used to rehearse in Paul's
house but I only remember his dad

coming in and taking Mike out and
saying,

"Come on, leave them to it," you
know.

He was very strict with
Paul and Mike.

He sort of kept them in during the
week,

they were allowed out at the
weekends

cos he was left as a lone father to
bring them up.

Paul was law-abiding and studious,

did his homework on time.

I didn't meet his mum, apart from
the fact I think

she was the midwife who delivered
me.

George came from the Wavertree area.

It was one of those small terraced
houses.

I don't know where they fitted them
all in - there was, like,

mother and father, George, three
brothers, two brothers,

and everybody's all squeezed into
this little council house.

It was, the family was crowded
together but it was a quite

sort of warm and nice atmosphere.

The people, at those times, were
really good neighbours.

His dad worked on the buses, so if
he ever saw you waiting for a bus,

he'd just pick you up and let you
get home free.

And George also was our butcher's
delivery boy.

He used to stop at my house and my
mum would make him some beans

on toast and a cup of tea, and we'd
listen to records.

People say he was the quiet Beatle,
and he was in one way, cos he let

the other two do all the talking,
cos they did, you know.

But he wasn't quiet, you know?

He was very thoughtful, George.

Paul and George used to get on the
bus and go to school together,

and George started carrying his
guitar to school and singing

in the back of the bus.

Before rock and roll and before that
sort of mid '50s,

late-'50s period, it was dull.

It was grey.

It was monochrome in music, in
films, in everything.

There were no sort of British
heroes.

People in the earlier '50s, dressed
like their dads.

The first sports jacket that I
bought was something similar

to what my father had,
because you wanted to look like him.

The idea that you could dress the
way you want only happened

because of the late '50s, the start
of freedom for people,

and particularly students.

We wanted our own music, our own
clothes, our own style.

It started to be a bit Technicolor
and brighter, you know?

We were so elevated in our lifestyle

and our enjoyment, especially as
teenagers.

We started getting money. You
couldn't fail to be in work.

The wages weren't fantastic but we
could go on a holiday,

you could buy clothes, buy LPs.

In the 1950s,

it was very difficult to get
American rhythm and blues records.

Liverpool rock and roll fans were
very lucky

because they had the services of the
Cunard Yanks.

That was the name given to the men
who worked on the boats that went

back and forth between Liverpool and
New York.

They brought back the records either
as gifts for people back

here or it came back as ballast.

My elder brother was in the Merchant
Navy.

He was bringing all these great
records home.

Not the rock and roll stuff, earlier
than that,

Eddy Arnold, Johnny Cash, Billy Edd
Wheeler, all these people like that.

They would hear about these
sometimes not very well-known

rock stars like The Coasters or The
Drifters, the doo-wop boys,

which hadn't yet established
themselves.

They'd come out of a very stagnant,

post-1950s idea of pop music.

In America, you got the start of
soul, you got the start

of Motown, there's a lot happening
underneath the surface,

and those are the records that
The Beatles play.

It all really started off in the
mid '50s when rock and roll

and skiffle arrived pretty much at
the same time.

Ken Colyer goes over to New
Orleans,

he jumps ship, he's working with the
Merchant Navy,

and when he's there, he hears all
this music, which is called

spasm music, which is basically
people playing in,

you know, houses with tin pans

and with, you know, washboards.

When he comes back and he's working
with Chris Barber,

he tells him about this form of
music that he's heard

about and they say, "What's it
called?" He says, "It's called spasm
music."

And everyone says, "You can't call
it spasm music, that's really rude."

And somebody, and it may well have
been Lonnie Donegan,

or maybe Chris Barber, somebody
comes up with

the name skiffle.

Teenagers form these groups with
cheap acoustic guitars.

You had a tea chest, a broom handle
attached to it,

somebody else would have a
washboard, and they would rub

something up and down on that.

Very primitive.

I had a skiffle group on the street
corner with all the lads,

they all had guitars.

Skiffle gave us the confidence to
get on stage with the bare

minimum of talent.

We needed three chords, we needed a
guitar,

no amplifiers, no PA system, and you
could at least pretend

to be entertainers.

The origin of The Beatles was a
group called The Quarrymen,

which John had formed at Quarry Bank
school.

Somebody suggested getting a band
together,

a group together, so John and Eric
decided to learn guitar.

They went to some guy in
Hunt's Cross

and they realised they were going to
take a year to learn to read dots,
so...

It was too complicated...they gave
up.

So, they went to John's mum, Julia,
and she taught them banjo chords.

Banjo chords, yeah.

Most people think of only John,
Paul, George and Ringo

but if you looked right through the
different line-ups

of The Beatles, starting with The
Quarrymen,

you'll find about 25, 26 people in
there.

Well, I joined the group because I
wanted to sing,

I wanted to be a singer.

I didn't particularly want to play a
tea chest bass but John says,

"Well, Bill Smith doesn't turn up
for rehearsals,

"do you want to come in on the tea
chest?"

That was 1955.

So, The Quarrymen, which John Lennon
formed,

was very much a makeshift group.

If somebody just said, you know,
"We're having a party,

"do you want to come and perform?"
We were there, weren't we?

Probably the competition. We wanted
a bit of competition.

No, we wanted to stand up and
impress the girls,

nothing to do with competition!

That's what it was all about!

"That girl's looking at me.

"Let's play louder, that girl's
looking at me!"

The Quarrymen weren't very good, as
far as I remember.

And then Paul McCartney joins.

So, we went to this village fete and
we were both there together

and I'd got to know John through
Ivan.

And normally, you know, you'd be
talking to people

in conversations saying, "What's
your hobbies?"

Or, "I like doing this." I like
cycling or I like swimming, or...

And I would say to people, "I like
songwriting,

"I've written a couple of songs."

And everyone would go, "Oh, yeah."
And ignore it.

But John went, "Oh, yeah, so have
I."

So that was like, "Oh.

"What, you've written a couple of
songs?"

"Yeah."

"Well, show me yours and I'll show
you mine, baby!"

John and Paul complemented each
other

because they were quite different.

John was the out-and-out rocker.

He thought rock and roll was
rebellion.

Paul was brought up on Broadway
musicals.

He loved Fred Astaire, you know, he
liked Peggy Lee records

and things like that.

Paul did sort of smarten us up,
didn't he?

Paul decided he was going to buy
a white jacket and wear that.

So John thought, "Well, I'm not
standing in shirt sleeves

"if Paul's wearing a white jacket."

So John had to go and get a white
jacket.

So, we're in white shirts with black
ties.

John was not going to be outdone or
outshone by Paul.

Once Paul McCartney got in the band

they knew they wanted to do
Twenty Flight Rock,

Eddie Cochran's song, for example.

They knew they wanted to do rock and
roll and that skiffle

was starting to sound a bit old hat.

They knew what they wanted and
they'd been turned on

by the American music of the time.

The whole thing about rock and roll,
about when it came out,

was told wrongly.

It was told by the tabloids as being
this outrageous thing

where teenagers went mad and were
uncontrolled.

It was all bollocks, it wasn't like
that.

I mean, Bill Haley was the first
rock and roll star but he really was

a bit like a company bank manager,
wasn't he?

Despite the fact that it was the big
rage and he got an incredible

reception, there was a slight
disappointment in that it wasn't

the kind of romantic thing that you
wanted out of rock and roll.

That came with Elvis.

MUSIC: Baby, Let's Play House
by Elvis Presley

# You may have a pink Cadillac

# But don't you be nobody's fool

# Now baby come back

# Come back baby I wanna play house
with you

# Come back to me little girl so we
can play some house... #

They all heard Elvis and thought,
"This is different,

"this is what we are."

Elvis Presley, Eddie Cochran, Jerry
Lee Lewis, Gene Vincent,

Buddy Holly and Little Richard,
those were the names

that The Beatles were really
influenced by.

# Oh, baby

# Having me some fun tonight

# Well, long tall Sally
she built for speed

# She got everything that uncle
John need, oh, baby

# Having me some fun tonight... #

On the 20th of March 1958, Buddy
Holly and The Crickets

are playing the Philharmonic Hall in
Liverpool.

So many of the people who later
played in Mersey beat groups went

along to the Philharmonic Hall and
they saw Buddy Holly

with a Fender Stratocaster guitar.

Nobody in Britain had seen a Fender
Stratocaster guitar,

and so they came out thinking, "We
want to go electric."

Manchester was regarded as the
capital of the North.

It had Granada television, the BBC
studios, and everything.

Nothing can happen unless it was
done in Manchester.

Liverpool was like a backwater.

The Cavern itself banned rock and
roll,

you weren't allowed to play it. It
was a jazz venue.

Skiffle was regarded as a form of
jazz, and it was a jazz club,

so that was acceptable.

Rock and roll was taboo.

John, Paul and Eric and myself were
improving quite a bit.

We were going on to much more rock
and roll kind of music.

And John wanted to play All Shook Up
and all these rock and roll

numbers, so we were mixing it on the
set list.

Alan Sytner, who was running
The Cavern,

he didn't want any rock and roll

at The Cavern, he didn't want John
Lennon doing Elvis songs.

Sure enough, halfway through the
song, a note was passed up,

"Can you cut out the rock, or else!"

We just kept on playing.

Nige Walley, who was acting as our,
sort of, manager,

he got us the gigs, and they used to
stand at the back

and, you know, judge reactions.

So, the more rock and roll stuff we
did, the emptier this centre area

became as people just got up and
were disappearing.

By the time we got offstage, the
centre thing was empty and John

was quite devastated, so...

Went into the little side room and
John said, "I can't believe that."

He said, "We ended up that nobody
was listening to us."

And Pete and Nige burst in and Pete
said, "That was fantastic,

"one of the best gigs you've ever
done."

And John said, "But they all left."

And Pete looked at him in puzzlement
and said, "No,

"no," he said, "everybody was
jiving."

He said, "Those central aisles,
everyone was up dancing.

John was almost myopic

and couldn't really see the audience

and so he used to pick a spot in the
middle distance

and just look at that spot and go
like that.

It used to get him into a lot of
trouble because he used to squint

at people and somebody would want to
smack him in the face,

so it caused a lot of fights, that.

The early gigs were quite
nerve-racking, you know.

As The Beatles, we had people
throwing pennies at us and stuff,

Teds, you know, big teddy boys, "Get
off!"

Chucking stuff at us. You know, "Oh!
Oh, dear."

All the jazz crowd booed them and
threw coins at them

and they were fined,
Ray McFall fined them.

But they picked the coins up from
the floor and there was more

money than they were getting paid
for the gig.

We picked the money up and said,
"Thank you."

They soon stopped throwing it.

And when George joined, it just
carried on as The Quarrymen

doing, pretty much, rock and roll
music.

George was...

..the talented one.

Nobody ever realises what a good
guitarist George was.

I mean, John was a hopeless
guitarist.

George started off at 100mph and,
before you knew it,

he was into... I just lost...

You lost him, you lost it!I
couldn't keep the beat,

it was just a disaster.You let him
carry on.

Just let him carry on.You're the
drummer.

And it didn't help because Nige was
standing down the front

of the stage. He shouted out,
"Col's lost the beat!"

People didn't realise how big the
musical scene

was because they were all in their
own areas.

I mean, you'd have in the Dingle
area people like Billy Fury

and Billy Hatton of The Fourmost and
Gerry Marsden,

Gerry And The Pacemakers.

I began to make notes and I thought,
"This is absolutely incredible."

The Iron Door came, then
St Luke's, Blair Hall, Holyoake,

Litherland Town Hall, the Aintree
Institute...

All those venues were suddenly up
and running.

I wrote to The Daily Mail and
newspapers,

saying, "What's happening in
Liverpool is unique.

"It's like New Orleans at the turn
of the century

"but with rock and roll instead of
jazz."

But of course, nobody took any
notice, so that's why I created

the newspaper Mersey Beat to promote
the groups.

Len disappeared...

Well... Disappeared? I was ill.

Well, you were ill, and then, in
1958, we went to a recording studio

in Kensington and we recorded two
songs.

One was Buddy Holly's That'll Be The
Day

and, on the other side, one that
Paul had written

called In Spite Of All The Danger,
and paid for it, I mean,

it wasn't, you know, nobody had
hired us to do it,

it was a small recording studio
where you could go and pay a small
fee.

Suddenly, we were walking round with
a record that we could actually

take home and play.

One of The Quarrymen,

I think it was, they were recording

as in those days, took that record,

and The Beatles never saw it again

and then Paul had to buy it back at
a hugely inflated rate

25 years later!

When that came out on the anthology,
I got my three shillings

and sixpence back, plus a bit extra.

But then they stopped performing
completely.

They'd more or less packed in, given
up.

I'd had enough after a while,
because there was no...

We didn't have cars, I was carrying
them drums

on and off buses all the time.

Basically, they weren't going
anywhere, so eventually,

I just gave up.

Some people might say, "Well, the
first place The Beatles played

"and became famous was the Cavern
Club."

But you've got to be honest and say,

"no, they played the Casbah
first."

Mona Best had a little club in the
basement of her house,

called the Casbah.

John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George
Harrison, Stuart Sutcliffe,

obviously Pete Best,

since our mother owned the house

where the Casbah was started,

the Casbah Club, but the boys

had to get involved in decorating
the club,

getting it ready for opening night.

John Lennon had three attempts at
this ceiling.

His first attempt he did three-toed,

potbellied, scrawny-legged figures
on it.

Mo hated them.

His second attempt was to paint it
green,

which Mo also hated, and his third
attempt,

which was acceptable, was John's
interpretation

of Aztec Mexican artwork, hence the
ceiling being known

as the Aztec ceiling.

My mother was looking for a band to
open the club.

She said, "Do you know anyone who
might be interested?"

George basically turned round and
said,

"I happen to know a couple of guys

"who aren't doing anything at the
moment"

And Mo said, you know, "Bring them
down," you know,

"let's have a look at them."

And they came down the next day and,
lo and behold,

they turned out to be John Lennon
and Paul McCartney.

My mother put the deal to them, she
said, "You know,

"we want a residency, the band can
play every Saturday."

She gave them the price, which was
�3, you know,

which was a lot of money in those
days.

This is the original stage area.

This is where the lads started on
the 29th of August 1959.

The line-up that night was John
Lennon, Paul McCartney,

George Harrison and Ken Brown, who
were the re-formed Quarrymen.

That line-up, with The Quarrymen,
opened the Casbah for us.

No drummer, just four guitarists.
Yeah, incredible.

And the Casbah is always one place

that people want to go

because it's still like a museum.

Paul McCartney painted the rainbow
ceiling

and these colours, for some of you,
may be recognisable

from the Magical Mystery Tour.

Paul still uses these colours today
on one of his touring pianos,

the one he refers to as the
Magic Box.

But this really is where it all
started.

Mother and Mersey Beat wanted to
bring music to the kids

of Liverpool and, my goodness me,
she did.

The Casbah became the catalyst
for what the world knows today

as the Mersey beat sound.

The stage area, here...

This is where The Beatles first

played in this country, in the UK.

Their first show in Liverpool as
The Beatles

was on the 17th of December 1960,
here at the Casbah Coffee Club

and this was the stage that they
played on.

Why are you called The Beatles?

That's the name John thought of.

Ringo, did you think of it?

No, John thought of it.John thought
of it? John thought of it.

There are a huge number of different
versions of how The Beatles

got their name.

Most groups had a lead singer,

so you had groups like Cliff Richard

And The Shadows,

but they never wanted to be like
that, really.

They were, sort of, Johnny And The
Moondogs

and Long John Silver

and then Long John And The Silver
Beetles, for a time.

One venue advertised them

as the Silver Beats,

but they didn't even turn up,

even though he'd put them as top
of the bill.

I suspect they were thinking of The
Crickets,

which was their favourite group,

Buddy Holly and The Crickets,

and so you can imagine crickets,
insects, beetles.

John insisted the name had
originally been inspired

by seeing Marlon Brando in
The Wild One.

Lee Marvin's rival motorcycle gang
band were allegedly called

the Silver Beetles, but John said it
wasn't

the Silver Beetles at all.

It was the girls who were with the
motorcycle gang that were called

the Beetles, because they clung to
the back of the motorcyclists.

John introduced the substitution of
the second E to an A,

making it Beat...les, and he thought
it had a French, kind of,

feel to it, Les Beatles, Les Beats.

But this was just having fun,
really, and, once they'd got

a recording contract, they really
wanted to be The Beatles.

I think he got a bit of fun

out of laying deliberate false

information about it, and seeing it
reproduced

in the papers as fact, you know.

I first met him in 1958 at Liverpool
College of Art

and I saw this guy come striding
past, he looked like a teddy boy,

and I thought, "That guy, he's
different, you know?

"He's a bit of a rebel, I must get
to know him."

John was a rebel, an individual,
and very enigmatic.

I just couldn't resist him.

I knew there were easier men in the
world.

In fact, I was going out with a very
easy,

boring man at the time.

But I mean, John just lifted me
away from all this,

and he was just the most outrageous
character I'd ever come across,

and I loved him for it.

John was a great character.

People wanted to, sort of, be around
him,

but not get on the wrong side

of his tongue, you know?

He had a cutting sense of humour,

almost on the verge of being nasty.

And the girls in the college used to
be dead afraid of John.

If they'd be talking in the
corridors, and he came along,

they all kept quiet, afraid of what
he might say to them.

When he came into here in the pub,
he'd sort of make sarcastic jokes

about some of the old people that
were in here,

maybe an old guy with a pipe or
something,

and he'd start making funny, what he
thought were funny, remarks

about him, you know, "That's a bad
tooth you've got, Vicar."

You know, indicating that the pipe
was a tooth.

It was pretty good-natured.

Trouble is, one person's
good-natured remark can be taken

as an insult.

He was like Marmite.

Some people liked him, some people
didn't like him.

He could be moody, like us all, you
know,

got out the wrong side of the bed
one day,

and you never knew what mood John
was in until you started

talking to him.

They think your haircuts are
un-American.

Well, it was very observant of them,

because we aren't American,
actually.

John was a strange character.

His mum was run over, quite early
on, when he was at college.

He didn't mention it to anybody.

Well, there were two sides with
John. There was the side

that the public saw, which was the
caustic,

abrasive, devil-may-care, you know,
and the other side,

which was a very tender and a very
loving person.

John was somewhat anxious to get
away from the home environment,

where he was treated more like a
little boy.

This old building to the left is the
one that we all went

to as an art school in the 50's.

A long time since I've been here.

3 Gambier Terrace, this is where we
all shared a flat.

We used to be in number 3, and
it was called Hilary Mansions

then, and John, Stuart and myself,
Des and Duckie had the first floor,

which was one continuous big flat.

Wonderful flat, �3 a week, bargain.

Number 9, Percy Street.

Where Stuart... We spent most

of our time, when we were students,
along with John, Cynthia

and everybody else that wanted to
come to a party.

First of all, we lived in the back
room on the first floor.

Eventually, of course, we had to
move because we'd been

caught burning bits of furniture
that were in the basement.

But we had a good time here, and
this is where they wanted a bass

guitarist and we were practising in
one of the rooms with the tape

recorder and both Stuart and I
offered to be bass guitarist.

So, I thought, "I'll make a bass
guitar." Carving it out of wood,

and I didn't have any money to get
the strings

but I thought, "Well, one day, after
I'd done a bit

"more scaffolding work."

Stuart Sutcliffe got some money
through a painting being purchased

by the John Moores family and so he
got a bass guitar.

He got the job, I didn't.

Stuart Sutcliffe was certainly a
very, very gifted artist

but he was also John Lennon's best
mate

and John wanted him in the group.

I don't think anybody ever really
saw him play

with The Beatles in Liverpool.

I know the person who showed him how
to play,

Dave May of The Madisons, and he
said that Stuart was a pretty

competent bass player.

He could get by, certainly.

He wasn't as bad as some people say
he was,

but his heart wasn't really in it.

We were all going to become famous,
of course, we were quite

sure of that.

John would do it with his music,
Stuart and Rod would do

it with the painting, and I'd do it
with my writing.

We were a family, you know?

We lived together for four or more
years.

That seemed to go quite well, until
The Beatles started rehearsing

in the back room, and we started
getting complaints from the agents,

saying that there's too much noise,
and...

"Noise? Beatles? Noise? Ridiculous."

They went and auditioned for
Larry Barnes.

Tommy Moore was their regular
drummer at that time,

and they did a tour

for Larry Parnes in Scotland,

backing Johnny Gentle.

It was a bummer, you know,

it didn't happen.

Tommy Moore came back from that,
he said, "I've had enough playing

"drums, I'm going back to being a
forklift truck driver

"at Garston Bottle Works." and off
he pottered.

So that left a berth for drums.

Howie Casey And The Seniors were the
very first Liverpool group

to go to Hamburg, via Allan
Williams, a local promoter.

I came down to the club one night

and there was no steel band,

and the waitress, Audrey,

said, "Didn't you know

"they've gone to Hamburg?"

Well, it could have been
Outer Mongolia for...

You know, and so they wrote to me,
saying, "You should come

"over to Hamburg." And we went to
this club called

the Kaiserkeller and there was an
awful German band playing,

with no rhythm, just singing, I can
still hear

the guy singing, "Tutti frutti, oh
Rudy", and the kids were bored.

So I found out where the manager,
who he was, and I sold him

the idea of having, you know, bands
from Liverpool.

It's a little bit quieter in here.

The second invasion of Germany

started about four years ago.

This wasn't a military invasion,

but more of a pop invasion

of British beat artists.

The club owners over here in Hamburg
had been looking for a long time

for something new to offer to the
Hamburg youngsters.

All they had here was television and
German television programmes

are usually aimed at the adults,
anyway.

They heard from young seamen who had
been in Hull,

Southampton, Liverpool, such ports
in Britain,

on coast-to-coast cargo vessels,

that an American style of rock

and roll music was being played

over in Britain by British artists.

Of course, it was too expensive

to bring American artists

from the States, so these club
owners,

people like
Peter Eckhorn, Bruno Koschmider,

decided to import British artists.

Bruno Koschmider asked for another
Liverpool band,

so Allan Williams asked Rory Storm
And The Hurricanes,

the most obvious ones, but they were
booked to go

for a summer season at Butlins,
so they couldn't do it.

Then he asked Gerry And The
Pacemakers,

but Gerry Marsden was working on the
railway and he wouldn't give up

his job, so in desperation, he
turned to The Beatles.

The Beatles had got a booking in
Hamburg

but the contract stipulated that
they had to have a drummer.

I got a phone call from Paul.

I wasn't expecting it and he turned
round and said,

"We've had the offer to go to
Germany, Pete,

"how would you be fixed about
joining the band and playing drums?"

Pete was a very good-looking lad.

People say that Pete had the
James Dean look, you know?

A smashing guy. Good, solid, thumpy
loud drummer.

And then, lo and behold,

which was the funniest thing of all,

they'd seen me playing, he said,

"Well, you've got to audition,
Pete."

So I landed up at the Blue Angel
Club, they were all there,

blasted off about six numbers, which
everyone knew.

They went away in a corner for about
ten minutes.

Allan Williams, who was the manager
who was taking us out to Hamburg

at that time, came in.

John and Paul shouted out, "This is
the new drummer, Allan." You know?

So Allan said,

"They made you audition in case you
asked for more money."

So I said, "Well, it's nice to know,
but whatever they're

"getting suits me."

Next thing was to check it out with
Mum and Dad.

When they asked Peter to join them,

they weren't really known.

Though I had used them
in my club before,

they weren't really known.

So anyway, Peter joined them,

and Peter being with them,

as one of The Beatles,

automatically I took a more personal

interest in the boys.

They said, "If it's what you want to
do, go with our blessings."

So that's how I ended up, and a
couple of days after that,

we were on our way to Hamburg.

And imagine an old Dormobile van,

there must have been about 11 or 12
people in it.

You know, there's more equipment on
top of the van than

what there was inside!

We had sing-alongs, we nearly froze
to death

on the ferry going over, but that's
another story altogether!

When we saw the Reeperbahn, it was
just absolutely incredible,

it was just this maze of neon
lights, you know,

absolutely spellbinding, we'd never
seen anything like it before.

The red-light district was pretty

notorious at that time,

and they were in some pretty seedy
areas of Hamburg.

Especially in the St Pauli area, it
was gangster-controlled.

It was, you know, the red-light
district of the world, at that time,

but it was very violent

and it took us a while to actually
recognise that.

When we're from Liverpool, without
blowing our own trumpets,

we have a reputation of being able
to look after ourselves.

We thought we were going to be
playing the Kaiserkeller.

Bruno Koschmider, who was the
manager,

he basically turned round and said,

"No, no, no, no, no, no, you're not
playing here,

"Derry's playing here." You know,
"You're playing at a club further

"down the road."

They were told, "Oh, you're not at
the Kaiserkeller,

"you're at this other little club,
former strip club,

"called the Indra."

So we said, "OK, let's go and have a
look at it."

So we walked down the Grosse
Freiheit

and away from the neon lights and
the colour and the crowd

and we came to the Indra.

And we dashed in.

Two people in there, you know,
arguing over the price of a beer,

and he turned round and said, "You
have got to make

"this into another Kaiserkeller."

That was the challenge.

And then we said, "OK, where are we
sleeping?"

So he said, "Over the road."

First response was, "Great, close to
the club!" You know?

So we looked over the road, and
there was a cinema,

the Bambi Kino, and there was a
back door to it

and we went through the back door
and we went into this alleyway

at the back of the cinema.

Paul and I ran past what we
nicknamed the Black Holes

of Calcutta, which became our
bedrooms, which were two dungeons.

And Bruno Koschmider turned round
and said,

"These are your quarters." You know?

So we kicked up a big fuss about
that and he turned round

and said, "Oh, it's only going to be
temporary."

You know, "We'll change in a couple
of weeks."

Four months later, we were still
there.

It was that great big myth, it was
rock and roll, you know.

You know, we were in the Sin City.

So, you know, we were lads, let's
just get on and enjoy ourselves.

When we went out to Germany, I'll be
quite honest,

we were average, you know, compared
with other bands in Liverpool.

But we went out to captivate the
German audiences,

six, seven hours a night, six, seven
nights a week.

The Beatles were very irreverent,
really, and I like to look back now

and think that they were the first
punk group.

A few times we got warned, you know?

A couple of the waiters came up and,
you know,

the managers came up, sort of turned
round and said,

"It's getting a little bit too
risque, lads."

We all decided in the break that
we'd all get dressed up,

and John decided that he was going
to go on in

swimming trunks and, as the crowd's
going wild,

our antics are getting wilder and
wilder and wilder

and one of us turned round and went,
"You won't show your backside

"to the German audience, right?"

Famous last words!

Middle of a number, guitar strung
around his neck,

John turned round and he just
flashed his backside

to the audience.

But he just didn't flash it,

he just left it up there until the
end of the song.

You can just imagine his pink

derriere staring at you in the face,

like that, not far from me, and they
were hysterical, you know?

We were hysterical, John po-faced,
just basically

pulled his trunks up again,
continued the next number

until the next break.

But the funny thing that happened
after that,

the following night, they wanted
that to be done again.

They thought that that was going to
be part of the show.

So we had to explain to them, "No,
it was just a one-off."

As far as The Beatles were
concerned, I had heard

about them when I first went there.

Everyone was talking about them,
you saw their picture up there,

so you thought, "Maybe there's
something special."

The crowd was growing, you know, we
got the crowd to the Indra

and we ended up playing in the
Kaiserkeller on a regular basis.

The German audience, more so than
the British audience,

like hard, driving beat music.

Pete created what was called the
Atom Beat,

a way of pounding, pounding sound.

You used to have to turn everything
up full blast and,

you know, I used to have to develop
a beat which would keep everything

locked together so it was a lot of
bass drum work,

a lot of tom-tom work.

He sort of created The Beatles'
sound.

He played the drums so loud to cover
up for the, sort of,

turned down bass sound of Stuart.

It was sort of a bit of an
affectation that he was playing

with his back to the audience and
with sunglasses on,

and it was largely so that he could
see the strings and play!

I don't think this went down
terribly well with Paul,

who wanted professional bass
players.

Everyone was jealous of Stu,

I'll be quite honest, because, you
know,

Astrid was this gorgeous German
girl.

One of the first letters I got from
him mentioned meeting this girl,

who was a photographer, and he was
really taken with her.

She walked in and she was dressed in
leather,

and she was a beautiful-looking girl
anyway,

but we were spellbound.

"Leather?!" You know?

And then, of course, when Stu fell
in love with her,

he started wearing leather, but this
was a very expensive leather.

Rivalry, I suppose, you know, people
could be dwelling on the fact

that Stu punched Paul because he had
a few silly things

to say about Astrid one night.

You know, normally Stu would just
laugh it off,

you know, and Astrid would just
sit there

and it went over her head.

But this particular night, Stu put
his bass guitar down and turned

round and punched Paul in the teeth

and that was the end of it, you
know?

Paul was wanting real, professional
musicians

and Stuart wasn't and Stuart knew
that.

Stuart wanted to be an artist.

That's why he went to Hamburg, and
studied at

Paolozzi's art academy.

And we went to the Top Ten Club

and started playing there with
Tony Sheridan.

We went and told Bruno Koschmider,
who threatened us

and turned round and said, "You'll
never play Germany again."

To which we laughed and put two
fingers up and went to the Top Ten.

But all of a sudden, George was
alleged to be underage.

Because there used to be an ausweis
over there,

which meant that after nine or ten
o'clock at night

you couldn't perform if you were
under 18,

and then Paul and I were framed

for trying to burn the Bambi Kino

down and we got sent home.

We were deported as well.

Stu by this time had decided he was
going to stay with Astrid,

and John, after playing with Tony
Sheridan for a couple of weeks,

decided, you know, he missed the
boys and he made his

own way back home again.

The Beatles had an image that they
brought back with them,

which wasn't fully formed

but it had begun.

They'd got the leather jackets,

which were still, sort of, old hat,

in a way, I mean, old rock and roll
style.

We all dashed out and got leather
jackets because our stage clothes

were basically falling to bits, OK?

And it was also the idea...
Leather's cheap, we can wear leather

onstage, offstage, basically live in
it.

Paul was the last.

He eventually got one but it took
him quite a while afterwards

and that, for some unknown reason,
became our trademark.

And even when we came back to
Liverpool,

that was the image we brought back.

The first time I saw The Beatles was
at the Litherland Town Hall.

They'd just come back from Hamburg
after being there for about

six months perhaps,

and they exploded onto the stage.

Suddenly, they had stage presence,

they had a show, they knew

how to entertain, they knew how to

engage with the audience.

You know, people were flabbergasted.

They didn't know how to take us.

The first time we played with them,

at St John's Hall, Bootle,

I came home from work and

I'd bought the Echo to see

who was on with us tonight, and it
was - From Hamburg,

The Silver Beatles.

I thought, "Who the hell are they?!"
You know?

And I watched them and they were
fantastic.

Other groups were, sort of...came
on, wearing suits and played,

and didn't communicate with the
audience as much as they did.

In Britain at that time, it was
pretty pop stars in shiny

suits, choreographed Shadows
walking, and nice bright guitars.

They were just actually smoking on
stage,

they had their amps on chairs...

At one point, they were talking
German onstage

because they could speak fluent
German.

People thought they were a German

band, direct from Hamburg,

and thought, "Oh, they don't half
speak good English

"for Germans." You know?

Just their clothes convinced us
that they were German.

We were wearing leather jackets, we
were wearing polo necks,

we had cowboy boots, our hair had
grown long.

We were wearing, at that time, you
may laugh,

red V-neck jumpers!

So we thought, "Oh, I think we'd
better look at ourselves,

"here." And we did, we just took
note of The Beatles.

Never seen so many kids start to
dress in leather jackets

in Liverpool after that!

Of course, the music we were
playing, as well, behind it,

you know, the two and two went
hand in hand together.

Raw energy, savage band that we

were, great rock and roll band.

And the audience that were dancing,
I just stopped and walked

towards the stage and watched
them and thought,

"This is something special, here."

The Beatles suddenly appeared in
Liverpool and I thought,

"I'll go and see them."

I get on the bus and there's George
sitting with a guitar.

He's doing the gigs.

So, "Can I carry your guitar to...?"

Suddenly turns out he's in this new
group, The Beatles.

So, I just carried on carrying his
guitar until John and Paul said,

"You can carry ours, as well."

And then, one day, Brian Epstein had
become their manager.

I said, "Will you pay me to do it?"

He said, "We'll pay you."

And then I'd be paid to go and see
The Beatles for free.

We flew over to Germany, we were
opening The Star-Club,

and we were met

when we were coming off the plane,

on the tarmac, by Astrid.

And we all turned around and said,
"Where's Stu?"

And she turned round and said,
"Don't you know?"

And we said, "No."

And she said, "Stu died of a brain
haemorrhage."

That was the first time I've ever
seen John cry in public.

Broke down, tears cascaded down his
face, and... You know...

I think that was how everyone
felt, you know?

It was such a shock, we weren't
expecting it

because, you know, he was no longer
part of the band

but he was still with us in spirit.
Every time we played over there,

he'd turn up, he'd watch us, he
still loved being part of it,

being associated with it.

So, his demise, you know, was a big
shock to everyone.

I don't think John and I ever spoke

about the fact that Stuart had died.

I think it was a closed book to
John,

he just didn't want to think about
it

because they really were very close.

Anyone who didn't enjoy their stuff
at Hamburg...

..must have missed something!

We were earning what was a small
fortune in Britain.

And I bought my very first car from
my first month's

stay at the Star-Club, that's how
good it was.

You'd mix with all the musos,

so you played with Gene Vincent,
Jerry Lee,

Ray Charles, Fats Domino, the
Everlys, Joey Dee.

You played with all these people, so
you're learning all the time.

It was a great school.

No-one in Great Britain, outside of
Liverpool,

knew who The Beatles, Kingsize
Taylor,

The Undertakers, The Big Three, one
of the best bands,

or Gerry And The Pacemakers...
Completely unknown.

Suddenly, we realised there was a
force there.

All together, from Liverpool, it was
manic.

Depending on where your line-up was
in the routine of the club,

you could do two hours, three hours.

Or, if you went on very early in the
afternoon,

you would find yourself doing a
very-early-morning spot as well.

So, you could do four hours in a
night there.

John and I were the ones who, you
know, propped the bars

up and we'd talk about home and all
the other bits and pieces.

Normally, you'd be walking home in
daylight, early hours

of the morning, and you'd either go
down to the Seaman's Mission

by the port, and get your chips and
egg, or your steak,

and then you'd go home to bed, sleep
most of the afternoon.

Bert Kaempfert, who was one of the
biggest impresarios

in the German record industry,

came in under the radar,
very low profile.

But we got tipped-off when he was
there and we put on the show

of our lives.

He fell in love with us and, of
course,

history portrays now, you know,

He signed us up and Tony Sheridan.

The Beatles' first chart entry

was a record they made,

with Tony Sheridan, of My Bonnie.

And they made that in Hamburg in
1961 and that got to number 31

on the German charts.

So, that was The Beatles' first hit
single.

Germany allowed them to express
themselves.

They did do the most outrageous
things on stage,

I mean, John Lennon making Nazi
salutes and swearing all the time.

Partly because there was a language
problem.

And he thought it was quite funny to
do, you know,

call them Nazis and the heil Hitler
sign

and all the other bits and pieces.

They loved it.

You know, half of them didn't know
what he was talking about anyway.

John could have been a stand-up
comedian.

He was funny.

People forget this about John, he
was a funny guy.

John, despite all his bravado and
all his bluff,

was as insecure as anyone else.

And his way of dealing with that was
to get the boot in

first before anyone else could.

I was going into the Star-Club, John
Lennon was coming out,

we hadn't met at that point, so I
introduced myself and said,

"I really enjoyed the show last
night."

So, he, kind of, "Yeah, yeah, Frank,
isn't it?"

He looked at me, like, I suppose,
a snake before it eats a rabbit.

And he said, "Yeah, I enjoyed your
show as well.

"I've been talking to people in the
club and it seems

"that, next to Cliff in the band,

"you're the most popular member.

"I can't think why, your harmonies
are bloody ridiculous."

And he didn't say "bloody".

So, I stood there, thinking, "I
don't know if I've been insulted

"here or whether this is some kind
of joke and I'm not quite

"getting the humour."

A bit snide, a bit cruel, sometimes.

Cos he couldn't walk away from a
good joke.

If he saw something funny to say,
he'd say it.

You know, then, "Maybe I shouldn't
have said that." You know?

I admired him as a person, I admired
him as a musician,

I had such great times with him,
great memories of him.

He was my hero, yeah, I suppose
that's the best way

of putting it.

The Beatles had a very strong
following that they engineered

in Hamburg.

When they came back, they played to
that audience.

I mean, The Cavern Club was pretty
notorious,

for having a very strong female
contingent there.

It was girls with curlers in their
hair, and a scarf

over the top, you know.

It was very small-time.

I lived in The Cavern. Every time
they were on, I was there.

It was the only club in Liverpool
that done lunchtime sessions.

You could go to hear music in your
dinner hour.

The Cavern was a strange place.

You've been there, it's a filthy
hovel.

It was a black door in the street
and a bouncer leaning

against the door, Paddy.

And you went down one flight of
stone stairs into this cellar.

To these little vaulted rooms, where
people stood like sheep

in a cattle train, you know?

Getting your gear down The Cavern
when it's packed, it's...

It was hard, but we were young and
we enjoyed it.

Health and safety wouldn't have even

allowed people to go into it,
nowadays.

Hot, sweaty, smelly.

There was water running down the
walls, at least we hoped

it was water.

There was clouds of smoke mingling

with the perspiration on the walls.

It smelt.

Smelt of death.

Couldn't deny that you'd been

to The Cavern because

you'd have a smell on your clothes

and it was a unique smell.

I know some people say it was, you
know, because of

urine and things like that.

If it wasn't smelling of cabbages,
it was smelling of some disgusting

Dettol that they were throwing
around the toilets at the time.

Paints a nice picture.

Yeah, paints a nice picture.

It was blended in with...

Because there was a fruit market
opposite,

so, you know, you had the smell of
orange.

And, erm...

..I'm sure if I could bottle it, I
could make a fortune.

Of course, it was the showplace for
a lot of Liverpool bands.

The atmosphere in there when it was
packed was electric.

Everybody was standing in the same
few square yards,

right in front of the stage, just
looking up at them.

If you have a look at any of the old
photos.

Wasn't the best of equipment!

You know, apart from the drum kit,
that was great.

They only had two microphones.

So, George would be on this side of
the mic, and Paul on the other

side of the mic, sharing the
microphone.

Not because they thought that was a
clever thing to do.

They couldn't afford another
microphone.

When you talk to people who went to
The Cavern,

Freda Kelly, for instance,

she'd say that, "It was great
because you could talk to them

"and shout at them and shout out
requests." You know?

"Sing Money, John!" You know?

"Taste Of Honey, Paul."

They were so funny with each other.

Oh, it was just magic.

And they'd shout back, "Like your
hair,

"take the curlers out next time."

I defy anybody that went down and
saw The Beatles

at The Cavern and come out saying,
"I don't like The Beatles."

You couldn't possibly say that.

They were all popular, but Pete was
the one.

The girls used to just stand and
look at Pete

and even chant, you know,

after the end of songs.

Fans would sleep outside Mona Best's
home to just be near Pete Best.

I mean, he had that kind of
following early on, which really

none of the other Beatles had

quite to that degree.

At the time, on the Mersey beat
scene, bands weren't doing

their own songs.

If you were on last, all the other
groups had probably

done all your best songs.

Paul said to John, "John, we've got
to have our own stuff,

"otherwise we'll never get
anywhere."

They would take a song that they
loved and then write

a song that was somewhat similar to
it.

I mean, if you listen to an early
B-side like This Boy,

the song itself isn't very far
removed from

what The Shirelles were doing.

A song like Soldier Boy, for
example.

They were churning out songs every
20 minutes,

you know, like machines.

If they didn't finish it in under
20 minutes,

they threw it away and started
another one.

You'd be on the coach on tour and
they would write,

you know, songs for an album in
between Sunderland and Doncaster.

When The Beatles started performing
their own songs,

like One After 909, in live
situations,

no other groups had written their
own songs.

They would do a Chuck Berry thing,
or whatever, and then suddenly say,

"We're going to do one of our own,
now."

You know, people were sort of, "Oh,
well, do you have to sing that one?

"Why can't you do another Chuck
Berry?"

John would lie on the carpet,

in front of the fire,

on his stomach,

with his legs like that at the back,

beating out whatever it was in his
mind,

and he'd write maybe three or four
lines,

he'd go "Ah!" Crumple it up, throw
it on the floor.

There was about 30 or 40 pieces of
paper all crumpled up

and I threw them on the back of the
fire.

And then 20 years into his death,

I was sitting here,

and on the television news, six
o'clock, it said,

"Today in London, at Sotheby's, a
piece of paper with part

"of a John Lennon lyric, sold for
�40,000."

And I went, "Oh, my God, how many
pieces of paper did I

"throw on that fire?"

The Beatles were getting a bit fed
up, they wanted to break

out of Liverpool.
They were still playing

at The Cavern to crowds but

a bit static, nothing was happening.

And then Brian Epstein came on the
scene.

Well, everybody knew who he was
because he was the manager

of the biggest record shop.

He had very good ears for a hit
single.

Of course, he had that ability to
listen to a record

that was being plugged by buyers
when they came into the shop.

He'd say, "That one's a hit, that
isn't a hit."

Brian was telling me he was
interested in this band

that was playing at The Cavern.

And he did ask me to go and listen
to them.

And I sat on the steps, halfway
down,

I listened to them playing Hey Babe,

and I went back and he said,
"What do you think?"

I said, "If you don't take them,
somebody will come along

"and take them."

And he looked at me and said,
"Such as yourself?"

I said, "Possible."

I said, "They're very good."

Brian was mesmerised by us when he
first saw us on stage.

You know, whether it was the
leathers, our attributes, whatever,

you know, that he fell in love with.

Brian came from an
upper-middle-class

Liverpool, Jewish background.

They were respectability in
Liverpool personified.

A very gentle man, a very clever
man.

Middle-class, probably, and he was,
like, coming down to all

these working-class lads.

The Beatles always came to my house
because Brian's mum wouldn't agree

to four lads in denims and told us,
"No Beatles allowed in that home."

What you've got to give Brian credit
for was that he was the one

that took the gamble.

With these five uncut diamonds.

After Brian's death, when I talked
to his mother,

Queenie, it was clear that she still
couldn't reconcile

herself with the fact that their son
had slummed it with these people!

Brian said, "Joe, I can't go around
pubs and clubs and ask

"for bookings for a band, can I?"

He said, "Would you stand in,

"come with me and be their booking
manager?"

Big difference with Brian Epstein

is that he was someone with vision.

Brian was the only person who could
see over the Mersey.

Brian was a fantastic promoter.

Not a great businessman, didn't do
great deals.

But he gave them his soul.

His strength, as well as his
weakness, was his adulation

for the band.

It was almost obsessive.

The Beatles fulfilled a need in him.

I think he was very restless, he had
a low boredom threshold.

They provided an outlet for his
showbiz theatrical ambitions.

Because he wanted to be a star
himself.

He was like a frustrated star, or an
actor.

"An ac-tor," he used to say.

"These boys are going to be bigger
than Elvis!"

That was his classic line. All the
time he used it,

before they'd even had a record out,
you know?

And he believed it, he sincerely
believed it.

The simple fact was, his vision was
very clear.

They were going to be big and he was
going to help them.

London controlled the entire music
industry.

Apart from Mersey Beat,

every major music paper was down
there.

All the national press was down
there. All the agents, managers,

and, up to then, you had to go down
to London to make it.

The Beatles were very ambitious.

They wanted to make it, whatever it
took.

John knew it was a game.

He was prepared to do anything
within limits in order

to become successful.

He knew that Brian knew how the game
was played.

He had to change The Beatles into a
group that would be acceptable

to the people in the media, to the
radio and TV people.

The establishment were
cigar-smoking,

successful, usually Jewish,
businessmen.

And they were not going to put up
with a bunch of long-haired louts

coming into their office, smoking,
swearing,

wearing leather jackets.

He put them in mohair suits by his
own tailor, Beno Dorn.

He took them to Horne Brothers to
have their hair cut.

Epstein wasn't a totally controlling
manager,

you know, he talked to them about
it.

I've never directed that the boys
should do anything,

either, sort of, song-wise,
artistically-wise,

or speech-wise.

We all make up our minds.

I contribute, I suppose, a fifth.

I understand where Brian Epstein was
coming from.

Wrong word, but he probably cleaned
them up because they didn't smoke,

on stage, they had to be on time,
and they had to bow

if it was a theatre.

You know, Brian liked the wildness,
you know?

It was a foot in the door method to
get across to people

that these were not just roughnecks
but talented individuals.

And that's what Epstein did for
them, otherwise,

they'd have never have got the stage
in the first place.

Brian worked hard to promote
The Beatles,

to get the deal.

You know, he trundled around
London, people ignoring him.

People said to me, "They'll make
mincemeat of him

"in London, they won't get
anything."

He needed a record, a record was
everything,

it was like the Holy Grail.

Get a record.

Brian hawked the tapes around
London.

Basically every record studio.

He went to Philips, he went to
Polydor,

he went to everybody, nobody wanted
them.

In desperation, Brian had taken
tapes to Tony Meehan,

who was The Shadows' drummer

who at that time was working as an
A&R man for Dick Rowe.

I recall Brian collared him at some
press reception.

He said, "Tony, have you had a
chance to listen to those tapes yet,

"by The Beatles?"

And Tony Meehan said, "I'm a very
busy man, Mr Epstein."

I think Tony Meehan was about 19 at
the time, but anyway.

The biggest turn down was Decca.

Poor old Dick Rowe always gets it in
the neck for being the man

who turned down The Beatles at
Decca Records.

Dick Rowe recorded The Beatles down
in London and Epstein chose

which songs to sing.

Things like The Sheik Of Araby,
which was totally wrong.

Hello Little Girl was OK but, you
know, Besame Mucho.

If you listen to the demos,

a lot of them aren't particularly
good.

It's New Year's Day, everybody's a
bit hungover.

They've had a horrendous drive.

It's a bit flat.

As John would say later,

"He was right to turn us down, we
were awful."

I might have turned those tapes
down, myself.

We thought we were going to get
signed by Decca but we didn't.

Brian Poole And The Tremeloes did.

History has judged Dick Rowe very
harshly,

but he did sign the Rolling Stones.

So, he recouped fairly quickly!

It wasn't just Dick Rowe, it was
right across the board.

EMI, Pye, they all turned down those
tapes and it was only

by sheer luck that Brian Epstein

persisted and took those tapes back

to EMI when he heard that

George Martin had been away

on holiday when he'd made his rounds

previously, and he was somebody he
hadn't tackled.

To be quite honest about it,

most probably, EMI was one of the
last studios

that he managed to get a deal with.

They went down for an audition

and it was Ron Richards, who was
from Parlophone Records,

the A&R man, who was recording them.

The engineer thought it was good and
he went

down to the canteen and brought
George Martin

up and then George Martin took over.

We were very blase about it, you
know?

It was the first time we'd really
been in a proper recording studio.

In Hamburg, we'd recorded on stage
and in a school hall, and all the

other bits and pieces, so seeing a
proper recording studio, EMI...

People that were there were quite
clinical.

George Martin never appeared without
a collar and a tie, and a rather

dapper suit and spoke in a

frightfully posh voice.

And you know, they thought

he was the bee's knees.

We decided on what we were going to
play, and after that, it was

in the lap of the gods, whether we
got signed or we didn't.

George Martin, who was skating on
thin ice at the time,

likely to have left the company
anyway,

decided he'd take a chance.

The way in which they were signed to
EMI was quite tortuous

and George Martin had his doubts.

In June 1962, The Beatles went down
to Parlophone and were recorded

by George Martin, and did a version
of Love Me Do and, if you hear

that version of Love Me Do, for
whatever reason,

Pete Best sounds like he's banging a
couple of bin lids on that record.

He just had an off day.

And George Martin said, "We've got
to use a session drummer

"when we do this song again."

They could only think about, "We've
got one chance with a record deal

"in London, that's it." You know?

And so, I think that made the
others think,

"Well, this is time for him to go."

My departure from the band, though,
there was no inkling

at all, whatsoever.

You know, that's still a mystery
today.

It was terrible what happened to
him. You know?

Poor Pete, to be told

on the brink of the first recording

that you're out.

There have been so many excuses,

but we've had no actual reason

as to why Peter should leave.

As I say, success is hard to come by

and these things do happen

but it's just the way that it was

done that has annoyed us.

What did they say, mainly?

Well, you know, the drummer wasn't
too good,

the beat wasn't so hot, you know?

The reason I was given, I wasn't a
good enough drummer.

People who saw me play then and
people who've seen me play

since then, have turned round and
said, "No,

"that wasn't the decision."

If you listen to his early drumming,
or hear any of his stuff,

he's just as adequate a drummer as
Ringo, if not better.

That opens up the enclave into what
the decision

was and then we get all the other
bits,

jealousy and blah, blah, blah.

It goes on.

So, I suppose the biggest myth is,

right, they're not influencing it,

it's a public decision, that's why
I turn around and say, "Right,

"I'm not a bad drummer, OK?

"Let the people make their own mind
up about that."

I think maybe the drumming was used

as an excuse to get rid of him.

Unfairly.

A clash of personalities?
Well, probably that may be it

because Peter did have a terrific
fan club,

you know? Compared to the others,
girls...

Too good-looking, perhaps?

Well, I'll leave that for the
other people to say,

but it could have been done a bit
more straightforward,

would have been more to the mark.

We had a lot of trouble with Pete's
mother,

Mona Best.

She was constantly ringing up
Brian Epstein and saying,

"What are you going to do for Pete's
band?"

And Brian Epstein didn't like that
at all.

Brian phoned me and said, "I'm going
to have to let the band go."

He said, "Maybe you would be
interested?"

I said, "Why?"

He said, "I can't get over
Mrs Best."

He said, "She's just, you know,
overpowering."

So, we had to discuss that it might
be better to get rid

of Mrs Best by getting rid of Pete.

It's a bit like that Agatha Christie
book, Murder On The Orient Express,

where all these people have

different grudges against this
person.

All the people involved around
Pete Best had a reason

for wanting Pete Best to leave the
band.

He looked great and he was a great
drummer, a lovely man.

But he just was not...

He didn't have the same humour as
the other three, or the same...

..way of life.

You can't change your personality.

Pete's very quiet.

You know, I liked Pete, but, erm...

He was different and that probably
didn't work too well

when you're away a long time
together, stuck together.

We'd drive back from Newcastle and
he'd go home

while we'd still finish the night
off somewhere.

The other three were so outgoing and
I think

they needed somebody outgoing.

I see The Beatles as being
essentially pragmatic.

Once they'd been grounded and
focused by Epstein,

they had a collective ambition, and
anything that stood in the way

of that ambition would be
sacrificed.

And I'm afraid I think Pete Best
was.

The way I look at it, you know, just
let it lie, now.

Except for the reports in the
papers,

it gets me a bit niggled at times.

I mean, what is interesting is that
the Mersey Beat that comes out

following Pete Best's sacking, says
that Pete left the band

by mutual agreement.

I think Bill Harry was fed that by
Brian Epstein as a press release,

and it was obviously
completely wrong.

When Pete was fired, I mean, there
was a huge outcry amongst

the fan club.

It was taboo, it was really
upsetting people,

nobody wanted Pete to leave
The Beatles.

The reaction from people in
Liverpool was

absolutely incredible.

There was demonstrations, a march
through the city,

"Bring back Pete."

There were riots in Mathew Street,
posters with,

"Ringo never, Pete forever."

George got punched in the face.

There was lots of trouble, even
Ringo Starr was threatened.

I used to be good mates with Ringo,

you know, before the replacement.

We're still mates now but I haven't

seen him to have a chat with him

or anything like that.

It was very heart-warming for
myself,

seeing the support I had,

but deep down inside, I knew that
the decision had been made.

You know? Regardless of what
happened, the door wasn't going

to be opened again.

Ringo had played with The Beatles on
occasions, when Pete Best

had been ill, so they knew they
could get on well with him.

He fitted into the band more
perfectly as a personality.

He tried to fit in.

He'd be sitting chatting and having
a toasted cheese sandwich

and a Scotch and coke, and everyone
became very fond of him.

I would class Ringo as the happy
Beatle.

You know, he was always dancing and
singing along with different

songs or humming a song, you know?

I've always said Ringo was a very
lucky person,

and I was sitting here in this room
one night with Paul McCartney

and I said, "There's one lucky
person, isn't there, Paul?"

And he said, "Don't go down there,
Joe."

He said, "Leave him alone."

Ringo had a pretty sad childhood.

In the early 1990s, he was back in
Liverpool and he was remembering

the places that he knew in
Liverpool, and invariably he goes to
hospitals.

Did you enjoy your stay in hospital?

Oh, it was nice, thanks. I had a
good time.

How did you get on with the nurses?

Not so bad, you know? Very nice
nurses.

Were you a model patient, do you
think?

You'd better ask the nurses about
that.

What did you dislike about being in
hospital?

Nothing, really, because I had to go
in, so,

you know, I just sort of settled
down and read and played records

and got used to it again.

He was in hospital so many times and
not at school that the kids used

to call him Lazarus.

At the end of school, you had to
have a signed report

saying, you know, you'd been a
student at the school,

and the teachers didn't even know
who he was.

I knew his mum and his stepdad.

Elsie was lovely, she'd always give
you a cup of tea.

Mrs Gleave-Starkey, does Ringo want
to move house?

I don't really think so, he's asked

us to have another house

but we're quite happy here.

Has Ringo suggested you should stop
work

as a Liverpool Corporation painter?

He certainly has, but I don't want
to move.

I like my job and I like the people
I work with.

Ringo, he was like the final piece
in the jigsaw,

you know, of Beatledom.

It's that indefinable element.

You just know when something works,

when something doesn't, and, in
particular with music,

where it is so much to do with feel
and instinct,

that's very important.

They eventually got a recording
contract to make the first record.

Brian came home to Lime Street and
we were all waiting

there for him and it was like the
Prime Minister

who was waving the paper at the
beginning of the war.

He said, "Success, success!"

George Martin didn't think they were
going to be this fantastic band,

he gave them a tiny royalty and he
thought, "We'll try them."

Eventually, they came out with the
number Love Me Do,

but it didn't have much impact in
the music paper charts.

In those days, you could buy your

way into the charts and Love Me Do

wasn't doing too well, so we ordered

10,000 to help it along.

Brian bought them, stocked the shops
and sold them all.

He was a record retailer, first and
foremost.

Of course, it went to number one in
Mersey Beat,

we were the only people to have that
record

as a number-one record.

People didn't believe that Liverpool
was selling all these records,

but they were.

The impact it had on kids around the
country was, sort of, tremendous.

It was something different,
something new.

I got shivers down my spine when I
heard them singing

on the radio and I thought, "This is
ridiculous,

"I've seen these guys playing so
many times and now

"they're on the wireless."

I could see that something was going
to happen when Please Please Me

went to number one. The second one.

And you knew something was going to
happen.

Suddenly, there's John, Paul and
George and I thought,

"What the bloody hell are they doing
on the telly?!"

And that was it and, after that, you
couldn't pick up a newspaper

without them having a haircut.

Now, Ringo, I hear you were
manhandled at the embassy ball.

What happened, exactly?I don't
know.

I was just talking, like I am now,

I was talking away and then...

I just looked round

and you just saw all the faces.

Well, you got the usual, didn't you?

"Oh, can I have pieces of hair?"

Which, in the beginning, I thought
was a bit odd.

So, in the end, I thought, "You know
what? I can do this."

So, I went over to the hairdressers,
cos it was only over the road

from where we worked, and I just
picked the hair up,

put in an envelope, and I would
write on the envelope whose hair it

was, so I didn't get it mixed up.

So, there's a lot of hair out there.

I phoned Brian and said, "Can we
have The Beatles

"for a photo session?"

And Brian's answer was,
"Yes, if you send a limo

"to the Westmorland Hotel."

I said, "We don't send limos for
Cliff Richard!"

Rather prissily.

And Brian said, "These boys are
going to be bigger

than Elvis Presley, never mind
Cliff Richard."

So, we sent a limo.

I could not believe that The Beatles
that I was seeing in The Cavern

were actually on our biggest theatre
in Liverpool.

To me, that was it. They were
famous.

And I think that was the point when
I thought,

"Oh, dear. I think that I should
have finished that guitar.

"I've missed out, here!"

Do you deliberately try and create
this, sort of, screaming reaction?

No, we just, you know, arrive at the
theatre

and they're always there waiting.

And whenever we're doing a show, the
police always come and say,

"Don't look out the window,
you know, because you excite them."

LAUGHTER

If you're going to be a star,
Liverpool wasn't big enough.

They had to move down to London, you
know, it was inevitable.

And people did feel left behind and
there was some animosity,

but it had to happen.

The Beatles were always very aware
of their roots.

They didn't, sort of, say, "We're
off, now."

They said, "Come with us, we want to
have pals all Around us."

Their pals would keep them real.

You use the word "joy"

about the best moments of it.

That's a very strong word, "joy",

was it that much fun?

Oh, yes.

It was just something that went on
and on and on, and got better

and better and bigger and bigger.

And being in the centre of it, you
just got swept along.

It was always like the idea,
"Oh, it's all going to stop

"tomorrow." You know?

It never did.

Anthology 1, when it was released in
1995,

had, I think, 12 tracks featuring

Pete Best, and the worldwide sales
of it were over 13 million.

Out of the blue, we got a phone call
from Paul McCartney.

Paul was honourable

and gave Pete what he was due.

My life since then has been
absolutely incredible, you know?

I've still got a great band, which
tours the world.

They do a lot of Beatles songs.

And I asked him why, he said, "Well,
because they're bloody

"good songs, why wouldn't you?"

I'm still alive, still healthy,
still go for a pint,

still enjoy myself, got a great
family.

You know, wife who I've been
married to for 50-odd years.

Daughters, grandchildren.

I've had a wonderful life, I hope it
continues.

You remember being part of a huge
revolution that changed the music

of the world.

The Beatles turned the whole
recording scene upside down.

They were, as Brian Epstein
memorably said,

"Bigger than Elvis."

They were four Elvises.

They were that big.

Every day with The Beatles was a
joy...

..a laugh, and an adventure.