Sausage factories make for dreadful tours, but there’s this inexcusable myth of the lone author, and it’s worth debunking every time.
Let me start with some oversights: Steve Christopher was my first music teacher in Boulder, Colorado, on the snare drum one summer at Boulder High. Later, he led my Base Line Junior High School stage band, where I met guitarist Eric Shreve, John Lovell, and bassist Seth Geltman. We learned most of the Beatle catalog together as teenagers. Mrs. Eddy taught me piano when we lived across the street on Bluebell Avenue; her son, the superb cellist Timothy Eddy, taught my Eastman buddy, Mark Stewart, many, many years later. I’ve mentioned my Fairview High School choir director Ron Revier before, but his work ethic and powers of self-actualization continue to inspire. At the University of Colorado, I worshipped composer Cecil Effinger, and he gave me far too much latitude.
Several primary piano teachers deserve mention here: Doris Pridonoff Lehnert and Eloise Ristad (author of A Soprano on Her Head) in Boulder, Colorado; Eugene Pridonoff at the Eastern Music Festival in Greensboro, North Carolina, and later at Arizona State University in Tempe; Joseph Schwartz at the Oberlin Conservatory; Claude Frank, Charles Wood, and Lee Luvisi at the Aspen Music Festival; and Rebecca Penneys at the Eastman School of Music. Alongside all these pianists and composers came captains of thought like James Hepokoski, whose Oberlin Mahler course has had lasting effects; Richard Gollin, who taught Film Comedy at the University of Rochester; the Juilliard String Quartet cellist Joel Selznick, who gave a riveting lesson on William Schuman’s String Quintet at Tanglewood; and Sergiu Luca at Aspen, a baroque violinist who’s worth every effort it takes to track down his elegant recordings.
In the congress of Beatle scholars, there are few minds more enjoyable to pick than Jonathan Gould’s and Walter Everett’s. Gordon Thompson, a new sucker to this whole book racket, brought us all together one weekend at Skidmore in autumn 2008 to talk about the White Album, a major gust to this project’s sails. We reunited in the fall of 2010 for more. McCartney biographer Peter Carlin shared stories and favorite myths hanging out in Las Vegas, and has remained a constant support and source of solid, reliable contacts.
There are many, many others, mostly critics and editors, who agreed to talk, and helped more than they might imagine, including Kit Rachlis and Bob Merlis in Los Angeles; Jimmy Guterman and Milo Miles in Boston; Joyce Millman in San Francisco; and filmmaker David Leaf (The U.S. vs. John Lennon).
In Liverpool, the still active Quarrymen Colin Hanton, Rod Davis, and Len Garry were extremely helpful in the amount of details and song references they brought to the fore. Davis had especially helpful dates to pore over, and vivid memories about Julia Stanley Lennon’s grabbing his banjo at rehearsals (“Didn’t she have her own banjo?”). Davis also contributed a great lost Lennon photo. Spencer Leigh at Merseyside BBC extended a very generous hand with his address book at several crucial points, as did The Beatles author Bob Spitz. All the curators at the National Trust homes in Liverpool extended the warmest courtesies. Derry and Seniors saxophonist, Howie Casey, happily recounted many Hamburg scrapes. And several long talks with Quarry Bank classmate Michael Hill helped illustrate a first-person account of Lennon hearing Little Richard for the first time.
Paul Du Noyer met up with me several times and shared important contacts that led to important finds. All critics should have such thoughtful colleagues. Colin Fallows, Liverpool John Moores University, gave a tour of his pop culture archives, and offered lively debate over the merits of Albert Goldman’s approach. (Curiously, the British tend to forgive this American author where the Yanks hold their noses.) Finally, the hospitality and embrace of locals like Terry Heaton made repeated visits to Liverpool not just warm but treasured.
In London, McCartney and Joe Strummer biographer Chris Salewicz always offered helpful feedback, and he put me in touch with his friends, Zapple’s Barry Miles and photographer Bob Gruen, both of whom sat for lengthy interviews. The 2006 launch party for Recording the Beatles with authors Kevin Ryan and Brian Kehew led to illuminating talks with the venerable EMI engineers Ken Townsend, Richard Lush, and Chris Thomas. EMI house “historian,” Lester Smith, spent several hours with me discussing the company’s history. Independent producer Joe Boyd provided deep, extensive background on the period, the scene around his UFO club, and many details about recording practice, the appearance of Dylan’s Basement Tapes, and EMI lore.
Glenn Gass invited me to teach his Indiana University Beatle course in London during the summer term in 2008, and the students in that group proved earnest beyond all reckoning. Quarryman Rod Davis and Merseybeat publisher Bill Harry both spoke to the class. Chris Hutchins, who introduced the Beatles to both Little Richard and Elvis Presley, recounted Hamburg’s scene vividly, and posed intriguing insights about Brian Epstein. Billy J. Kramer told me the story about Lennon’s “P.S. I Love You” demo tape.
Stan Bronstein, Tex Gabriel, and Gary Van Scyoc of the Elephant’s Memory band, came up with fresh scenes and quotes from their work with John and Yoko. Rosanne Cash talked about her father’s sending signed photographs of the Beatles from the road, and Marshall Crenshaw talked about how humbling it felt to portray Lennon in Beatlemania (the only man in show business cast as both Lennon and Buddy Holly?). The Mike Douglas Show producer Michael Krauss was both candid and circumspect. Elliot Mintz, the deejay who became a confidant, extended his already generous writings on his time with the Lennons and provided a vivid account of how it felt to greet Ringo Starr and his wife at the Dakota on December 9, 1980.
Cheap Trick drummer Bun E. Carlos had total recall of nearly every moment he spent in Lennon’s Double Fantasy sessions, including work on tracks that haven’t been released. Producer and longtime friend Jack Douglas shared many stories about how it felt to be tapped as the board man for the big comeback project. My sister-in-law, Ann Laschever, lent me her apartment in the fall of 2008 for some hardcore cramming as Wall Street imploded.
In London, one of the best conversations I ever had about the band took place with Ray Connolly, who reported on and befriended Lennon as the Beatles fell apart. I regret that I came to this project too late to converse in depth with the wonderful British critic Ian MacDonald, author of Revolution in the Head, but I treasure his book. Devin McKinney’s Magic Circles remains a towering piece of inspiration, and one of the best extended arguments about how the Beatles’ legacy transcends its era.
Larry Kane gave me several long interviews concerning his books, and put me in touch with Pauline Sutcliffe. Pauline spoke patiently with me and cleared up many misconceptions. Tony Barrow gave me a lengthy interview after his book was published, and then again in Liverpool during Beatle Days at the Adelphi Hotel. Stu Sutcliffe’s fiancée, Astrid Kirchherr, spoke with great tenderness about her romance with Sutcliffe, and about how he and Lennon loved to spend the day roaming Hamburg’s museums. She still sleeps with his picture at her bedside. Victor Spinetti told me wild stories about producing In His Own Write and Spaniard in the Works for the London stage, including backstage rants about Laurence Olivier, and followed up with a signed photo of himself as Albert Einstein.
Mark Lapidos and “Fest for Beatle Fans,” where I enjoyed Alistair Taylor’s friendship in the late 1980s, has provided many provocative forums for discussions with Beatle fans. Other sources from that venue include Wings drummer Denny Seiwell, Neil Innes (songwriter for the Rutles), Robert Freeman, and Peter Asher.
Dave Marsh propped up his book about The Beatles’ Second Album with far too many quotes from Tell Me Why, and my lawyers will be in touch. Robert Christgau and Greil Marcus have turned in sustaining work for a continuous stream of insights and ideas, as has movie critic David Thomson.
For over ten years, Jason Kruppa has become far more than a colleague in the wilds of Beatle scholarship. In many, many phone calls and e-mails, he shamed me out of weak ideas and prodded me toward more and better ones. As photo editor for this project, he yielded his considerable graphic taste and standards over a huge swath of material and returned with choices that reached beyond what my words aimed at. To him I say, “Someday, all this will be yours.”
John Winn, Mark Easter, and Chip Madinger eagerly devoured the manuscript for errors and did their jobs a bit too well for this author’s pride. Mark Lewisohn’s status among Beatle researchers rests on both his scholarship and genial nature. No books are more eagerly anticipated than his three-volume epic. I cannot thank him enough for his gratis photograph, and this book owes a great debt to his prodigious research.
Jon Baldo, University of Rochester, Eastman School, was among the very first to edit my first manuscript, Tell Me Why, back in 1984–5, and he pored over an embarrassingly early draft of this book with infinite patience and forgiveness. I cannot thank him enough for his steady encouragements. Another editor who left a huge imprint on my prose has been Fresh Air’s Milo Miles, and I’ll always feel lucky that I came to Boston in time to meet Mark Moses and hang out with movie critics Charles Taylor and Stephanie Zacharek. Musicians like Clint Conley and Mark Leccese deserve special mention as colleagues of indomitable redoubt.
At Emerson College, I thank the steadfast support of my Journalism department chair, Ted Gup, and dean, Janis Andersen, who make teaching such a pleasant pursuit.
At Hyperion, I thank Gretchen Young for her sensitive and gracious edit, and Elizabeth Sabo for favors both large and small. Cover designer GTC Art and Design, production editor Kevin MacDonald, and copyeditor Rick Willett weeded out many an error with awesome humility and patience.
In Ike Williams, I have an agent whose diligence under abject circumstances is downright miraculous, and whose talent cannot be overstated. His Kneerim and Williams team, with Hope Denekamp and Katherine Flynn, always make me feel a bit spoiled.
There are many, many others—librarians, reporters, Oberlin interns, tour guides—who assisted along the way; let my poor memory sit in grand contrast to their contributions.
Finally, there is simply no chance this project would have ever seen completion without my wife Sara Laschever’s Olympian endurance. There were so many times when our discussions sharpened my ideas that her influence echoes through every sentence. If I could coax all the chocolate in the world to sing, I would have it sing her virtues to the highest rafters.
As for Moses and Adam, dittos with confetti: this part’s all in claymation.—TR