A meeting with three Capitol Records executives (in suits, with their backs to the camera) during the Apple days.

We are now well embarked on our journey exploring, excavating, and sometimes explaining the Beatles from A to Zed. And so we find ourselves at the letter C.

Rather than kick things off with something bouncy and jolly, for some reason I feel inclined to talk about a song that is painful. When I was thinking about Beatles songs that start with the letter C, this one came to mind. It’s actually a John Lennon song, not a Beatles song—a very intense and moving song called “Cold Turkey.” John Lennon was accompanied on this track by the truly excellent band of Eric Clapton, Klaus Voormann, and Ringo Starr.

So much has been written about the relationship between society and drugs, between music and drugs—and especially between music on the jazz/R&B/rock and roll spectrum and drugs, in particular. Yet even those of us who believe that blanket condemnation of psychoactive substances of all kinds is silly, that “just say no” is an impractical prescription, and that the legal “war on drugs” is absurd have to admit that the evidence is very clear that taking heroin is never a productive plan and that any imagined benefit is vastly outweighed by the giant disadvantages. In particular, by the dual problems of how dangerous it is—and how extremely difficult and painful it is to stop. The Beatles (and other artists) may have, on occasion, credited some other drugs with some possible creative boosts or inspirational moments, but I do not think heroin has ever been thanked for anything!

“Cold Turkey” is a grim song about the hell that quitting heroin cold turkey can apparently be. I guess both John and Yoko at one point were experimenting with heroin, and that never has a happy ending, and it did not in their case.

But of course the important thing is that they survived. They came out the other end sadder and wiser but no longer strung out.

So now we move on to another, more famous John Lennon composition—one of the Beatles’ very best songs, best arrangements, and best productions, “Come Together.”

“Come Together” was written for Timothy Leary’s campaign against Ronald Reagan in the election for governor of California. Leary and his wife Rosemary had traveled to Montreal for John and Yoko’s bed-in for peace, in June 1969. The Learys asked for a campaign song based on the phrase “Come Together,” but John could not come up with one. In the process, though, he came up with the song we know from Abbey Road, which clearly was unsuitable for the original purpose. “You wouldn’t have a campaign song like that, right?” John said. For his part, Leary was not pleased at having been passed over, though he recognized that the new song was better than any campaign song could be. He sent a note to John, who replied (Leary said) “with typical Lennon charm and wit that he was a tailor and I was a customer who had ordered a suit and never returned. So he sold it to someone else.”

After the bed-in and the release of John and Yoko’s “Give Peace a Chance,” I noticed that the song made a reference to Timothy Leary and his wife Rosemary. I knew Timothy quite well; he was a very interesting (if confusing) man. But when I knew him, his wife was called Barbara, and I realized that they must be consecutive wives. Indeed they were, so I looked him up, and Timothy Leary actually achieved something most of us havn’t come close to. He had five wives, which is quite impressive, and Rosemary was number four and Barbara (the one I knew) was number five. Rosemary is the wife referenced in “Give Peace a Chance.” There’s that bit, “Everybody’s talking about John and Yoko, Timmy Leary, Rosemary, Tommy Smothers, Bobby Dylan, Tommy Cooper, Derek Taylor, Norman Mailer, Allen Ginsberg, Hare Krishna.”

I bet you know who everyone is on that list with the possible exception of Tommy Cooper, who was a legendary British magician and comedian; you must see him if you get a chance. Look on YouTube and check out some Tommy Cooper clips. He’s great. The Beatles loved him. We loved him. He was a star. And thus Tommy Cooper well deserved his shout-out on “Give Peace a Chance.”

The song that Timothy Leary requested/commissioned and John Lennon turned into a Beatles masterpiece, “Come Together,” is brilliant, with an amazing arrangement. Great drum part. Great bass part. Great weird sounds on it. Simply one of the best things they ever did. It is such a great song that it has been covered quite often but (like so many Beatles covers) is not easy at all. To my mind, the best cover of “Come Together” was recorded by Aerosmith. I confess that I usually prefer cover versions which take a radically different approach, but this one pretty much sticks to the Beatles’ arrangement—same key, a little bit faster. That said, Steven Tyler spits out the lyrics with supreme conviction, as only he can, and Joe Perry adds some fascinating new guitar lines—I think the song just suits that band in particular. I am even more certain that the weirdest cover of “Come Together” was recorded by Robin Williams and Bobby McFerrin and produced by George Martin. It is fascinating in its sheer oddness and unpredictability. It starts with Bobby McFerrin singing the instrumental intro alone but in multiple overdubs, adding a rock rhythm section, then a big orchestra, allowing Robin to sing/recite the lyrics in various accents, Bobby to do some scat vocals, and so on. All very curious and well worth a listen. And a joy to see George Martin return to some degree to the comedy production he did so well at the beginning of his career (and for which we all admired him so much), when he worked with performers like Peter Sellers and Spike Milligan.

Now, C, of course, is also for Chuck Berry, whom I discussed properly under the letter B, but he plays an important role regarding this song in particular. John Lennon wrote some of “Come Together” inspired by, or as a homage to, a great Chuck Berry song, “You Can’t Catch Me.” Both songs contain the lyric, “Here come old flat top.” And that shared lyric led to a lawsuit from Morris Levy, who was a notorious crook, legendary music business hustler, mob guy, whatever, who owned Chuck Berry’s publishing rights at the time. Levy sued for that “stolen” lyric (as he saw it), and after various suits and countersuits, John agreed to record several songs to which Morris Levy held the rights. The songs appeared on John’s Rock ’n’ Roll album. There’s a lot written about Morris Levy; he was a fascinating character but evidently not someone you particularly wanted to know back then. He was a dangerous man.

Artists often borrow from one another and are certainly inspired by one another, and when there is a dispute, it usually ends up later on that the publishers all sue each other and sort it out. I’m sure John copied bits of the Chuck Berry song just because he loved it. And I’m sure that Chuck Berry, even though he may have profited from the lawsuit, was also very flattered by John’s attention and the fact that John obviously was a big fan, which all of us and all of the Beatles certainly were.

Moving on from the masterful Mr. Lennon to the still sometimes underrated brilliance of George Harrison and a favourite track of mine, “Crackerbox Palace.” Recorded with a top flight all-American rhythm section (including legends like pianist Richard Tee, whose work many of you may know from all the great Paul Simon records he played on and many others), it is only George’s distinctive and memorable guitar work that gives the arrangement of the track a Beatles connection at all. Alvin Taylor’s drums and Willie Weeks’s bass parts are excellent in their own way and very different from what Paul and Ringo would have come up with. George sounds as if he is enjoying his artistic freedom, and the track has a joyous air to it.

Crackerbox Palace was George’s nickname for his very remarkable new home, Friar Park, a huge (120-room) mansion in Henley-on-Thames. When George bought it, the house was in a state of almost total disrepair and heading towards inevitable demolition. George saved the house, wrote an excellent song about it, and even the video he made for “Crackerbox Palace” has that same sense of fun and excitement that seems to have pervaded the whole project. Directed by the brilliant Eric Idle and filmed on the grounds of Friar Park, it featured (among many other people) George’s future wife Olivia, who is the current mistress of Friar Park and under whose care and painstaking commitment the house and grounds—and lake and grotto and underground passages!—have grown more stunningly beautiful than ever. On a recent visit, I was overwhelmed all over again by the attention to detail and impeccable love and determination that have suffused and inspired such a great house, from the day George acquired it to its present-day perfection.

The actual name Crackerbox Palace, however, was not George’s invention. It was the name of the house of a certain Lord Buckley, of whom we all (and George in particular) were big fans. That might be someone worth looking up if you have a spare minute. Lord Buckley was an American comedian, stage performer, and monologist, who was very widely admired. He was described by the New York Times as possessing an unlikely persona, part English royalty, part Dizzy Gillespie. If you do look him up online, look for the recording “God’s Own Drunk.” That was his most successful routine and one that we all admired back in the day. George wasn’t his only fan, by the way. Bob Dylan, in his book Chronicles, described Buckley as the hipster bebop preacher who defied all labels. So check it out if you get a minute.

George got to visit the original “Crackerbox Palace” in Los Angeles when he met Buckley’s former manager George Greif—and passing references to all of this can be found in the song.

Let’s move on to our next Beatle under the letter C, where we find Paul McCartney. One of Paul’s catchiest songs from his solo career was “Coming Up,” from 1980. It was a No. 1 record. In some ways this track could be said to summarize Paul’s genius and the breadth of his achievements. It was part of an album (McCartney II) which was a totally solo effort—Paul in one or more of his home studios experimenting sonically and musically, looking for interesting sounds and new arrangements, playing every instrument and doing so with great skill and inventiveness—and at the very same time, it is an example of Paul’s stunning ability to (with seemingly little effort) come up with incredibly catchy pop songs that are such a pleasure to hear, to learn, and to sing along with. “Coming Up” could be said to be the best of both worlds. Some odd pitch changing, an experimental vocal sound, a cool stereo guitar riff all combine to create the kind of “earworm” hit record that makes every other producer and songwriter jealous. Paul the sonic explorer and Paul the hit maker combined their efforts to create a track that has become a frequent part of his live repertoire.

Now we have one Beatle left to introduce. When I was thinking about Ringo and the letter C, I landed on a slightly obscure song that Ringo wrote as well as recorded—“Cryin’,” from the cool Ringo’s Rotogravure album. It was produced by my dearly missed friend Arif Mardin, who was a brilliant producer, and also, by the way, an amazing arranger. He wrote the horns and strings on many of the great Aretha Franklin records that we love so much and even arranged the strings on the James Taylor version of “Up on the Roof,” which I produced. He was a legend in the music business and a highly skilled musician. I know Arif had a great time making that record. I have had the pleasure of working with Ringo myself in the studio, and it is an exciting and rewarding experience. Sometimes it can be dangerous or disappointing to meet and work with one’s musical heroes, but Ringo’s extraordinary and profoundly creative playing (and his personal charm and wit) exceed expectations.

“Cryin’” is an interesting track, an odd track. And if you have a musical bent, you’ll notice that it’s got some odd bars in it. It’s got some 2/4 bars. It’s got some extra beats making 5/4 bars, but it all works, and Ringo plays through it all on the drums brilliantly. It also, by the way, has some great pedal steel work. Ringo is a country fan, and you can definitely hear his country influence on this song.

Now enough talk of all these solo Beatles tracks. Time to turn our attention to some old good-time Beatles music. One C song that was recorded while Paul was still living at my house back in the old days remains a classic: the great “Can’t Buy Me Love.” The youth and energy and enthusiasm and commitment in that song is what pop music is all about. It’s just brilliant.

“Can’t Buy Me Love” was on the soundtrack of the classic movie A Hard Day’s Night. It is always a pleasure to see that movie; it stands up to repeated viewings, and it is an extraordinary achievement for a first film. It was directed by a man called Dick Lester, as you probably know. To the best of my knowledge, the Beatles discovered Dick Lester’s work the same way I did, from watching a short film called The Running Jumping & Standing Still Film, starring Peter Sellers. It’s a film in which all that happens is that the actors run around, jump, and stand still, hence its charmingly accurate title! It’s only about nine minutes long, and it’s very funny. If you get a chance to watch it, and I am sure it is on YouTube or somewhere these days, you will see that a lot of the nifty stuff that the Beatles do at Dick Lester’s direction in A Hard Day’s Night was presaged by what happens in The Running Jumping & Standing Still Film. So, interestingly, it means that it is through Peter Sellers, in a way, that the Beatles not only became aware of (and then met) the director of their first film, but the same could be said of the producer of their records, George Martin. As you may know, the moment the Beatles realized how much they already admired George Martin was when they found out that he had produced Peter Sellers’s records. We were all Peter Sellers fans, big fans of The Goon Show and stuff, so a Peter Sellers connection for us was golden. It meant somebody was incredibly cool, and George Martin certainly was incredibly cool. So was Dick Lester.

There is another C song that occurred to me, but the funny part is that I remember it as a B song, not the C song it actually is. I know that sounds weird, but you will understand what I mean as soon as I tell you the title. It is “The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill.” Written by John Lennon in Rishikesh, in India, to make fun of an American visitor who had headed out into the jungle to shoot tigers, it is John at his most sardonic and satirical and yet with his ability to write a catchy chorus clearly intact. A surprisingly but very effectively sloppy track with lots of little overdubs and interjections—mellotron samples, Yoko, other guests, and so on. John would, at other times, occasionally be critical of Paul’s music hall approach, but this song of John’s actually comes pretty close to that idiom itself.

Let us turn in a different direction, towards a very significant C in the Beatles lives, and that was Capitol Records.

Capitol Records was and is one of the biggest record companies in America. It had Frank Sinatra, the Beach Boys, and so many other major artists. It was owned by EMI Records, a British company, which gave Capitol the option to release in the U.S. anything that EMI had released in the UK. And most of you probably know that Capitol initially turned down the early Beatles records like “Please Please Me,” “From Me to You,” and “Love Me Do.” They essentially said, “No, thank you, we’re not sure if that’s going to make it in the American market.” The songs were released, but on smaller labels and achieved no success. Finally, and it was a roundabout process and story, but Capitol Records decided yes, they would release a Beatles record. The first one they agreed to release, the one that eventually led America into a giant fit of Beatlemania, was “I Want to Hold Your Hand.” And it turned out then that the song went to No. 1 in pretty much every country that existed at the time, including America, and changed the world forever.

Capitol Records was not only important in the Beatles’ lives; it was important in mine, too. Peter & Gordon were signed to EMI Records in London and that, of course, gave Capitol Records the right to put out our first record, “A World Without Love,” in America if they so chose. And I’m delighted to say they did choose to do so, and it, too, went to No. 1. Yet another debt I owe to the Beatles, of course—without their prior success, Capitol would not have been nearly as welcoming, I have no doubt!

In fact, Capitol Records’ huge success in the 1960s largely depended upon its involvement with the British Invasion and, most particularly and significantly, its involvement with the best and biggest rock and roll band of all time, the Beatles. Capitol’s business relationship with the Beatles continues to this very day and will probably continue forever. You are probably thinking, But what about Apple Records? Didn’t the Beatles start their own independent record company? Wasn’t Peter Asher the head of A&R there? Yes, but there’s a catch.

It is well known that the first Beatles record ever with an Apple label on it was “Hey Jude.” But in a business sense it wasn’t really an Apple record, to be quite honest. The Beatles had a record deal with EMI in the UK and thus with their subsidiaries in the rest of the world (including Capitol in America). Clearly, EMI had no interest in ending this relationship or giving the Beatles any kind of total release from the deal in any territory. Indeed, subject to numerous amendments and adjustments the relationship exists to this day. But what they did do as a courtesy was to stick Apple Records labels on the Beatles singles and albums, so that visibly, physically, and conceptually the Beatles were on their own label, Apple, but in the business realities of the hard, cold, tough music business, deep down they were really still signed to EMI (and thus to Capitol). The acts we signed up for Apple, like James Taylor, Mary Hopkin, and Badfinger, were signed directly to Apple, an independent company which made their records—though Apple did then have a promotion and distribution deal with EMI and Capitol.

Capitol Records itself has endured numerous and various changes of ownership, rights, and financial structure since those days, but in terms of public perception what makes Capitol Records legendarily famous will forever be the iconic tower and its studios, and the musical legacy of the Beach Boys, Frank Sinatra—and, of course, the Beatles.