Elvis.

If we are going to start off with a really great Beatles E song, there is one that cannot be beat—even though I suppose in a way it’s slightly cheating, because it is not only an E song; it is also a number. And that song is “Eight Days a Week.”

“Eight Days a Week” was a genuine co-write, to which both John and Paul contributed. Once they had the title, the song apparently fell into place quite quickly. John has gone on record as not thinking much of it, actually describing it as “lousy” in one interview. But if the Beatles are even capable of writing a lousy song, this is not it. And not only is it an excellent song but (as always) the arrangement and production are highly imaginative. The startlingly original novelty of the fade-in at the beginning of the record—and fading in on that lovely guitar figure George played on his Rickenbacker twelve-string, which we do not hear again until the very end of the record. Paul’s walking bass part sets off the shuffle groove of the whole track (Ringo’s shuffle feel is unique as always), and the handclaps, mixed very loud against the band and which include the great double handclaps after “Hold me” and “Love me” which almost compel the listener to clap along. A lot of brilliant ideas.

I love it, I must say.

There are a couple of different stories as to where the title came from. I had always heard that it was Ringo’s invention. But then I also read that it might have come through an overworked chauffeur to whom John was talking who said that he had been working too hard. He had been working eight days a week. Who knows? It is also of course the title of Ron Howard’s brilliant documentary about the Beatles’ touring years, and if you haven’t seen it, I urge you to do so. It is excellent. I had the pleasure of speaking to Ron quite a lot during the research phase of his project, and he did an extraordinary job. The movie conveys accurately how incredibly different the touring world was back in those days—slapdash and amateurish. Not only was the technology primitive but so was the organization. The only sound systems used were whatever was already built into the arena or stadium—better suited for making an announcement than trying to get music across to thousands of people. And as for monitors (speakers which enable the performers to hear themselves), they had not been invented! Whole categories of staff did not exist. No stage designer, no lighting designer, no front of house mixer, no monitor mixer, no stage manager, no production manager, and so on and so on. It was another world.

One of the oddest scenes to watch in the movie, from a modern perspective, is when we see Ringo walk onstage in front of a giant audience only to discover that some rickety circular drum riser (with his kit on it) is facing in the wrong direction and wobbling like crazy—and we get to watch him single-handedly try to tug it into position before climbing aboard!

When Gordon and I toured back in that era, we took one all-purpose tour manager with us—and when we got to tour with the Beatles, I was very impressed that they had two people on staff, Mal Evans and Neil Aspinall. If the Beatles were touring today, they would have a team of hundreds and multiple trucks and busses carrying sets and equipment, and each department would be fully staffed. They would be able to hear each other, and we would all hear them perfectly. One can but dream! The miracle is that when one does hear a live recording of the Beatles back then (as one can in Ron’s movie—they have worked wonders with the audio), they are playing so stupendously well under such conditions.

The Beatles’ E catalogue also features a song that none of them wrote. It was one of the covers they did so well: “Everybody’s Trying to Be My Baby.” We should all have such problems. This is an excellent Carl Perkins song from 1957 that the Beatles apparently recorded in only one take because they did it live so often. George Harrison, who sang the lead vocal, was a huge Carl Perkins fan, and in fact all four Beatles had the greatest respect for him. Ringo recorded “Matchbox” during his time with the Beatles, and Paul invited Carl to sing with him on the song “Get It” from the Tug of War album. It’s a really cool duet. Carl has such an excellent voice, and he and Paul sound good together.

I would guess that Carl Perkins’s most famous song is “Blue Suede Shoes.” It’s such an offbeat sentiment and instruction, such a great lyric, such a brilliant concept, and no one has ever worn blue suede shoes without loving the song and making reference to it. It was his friend Johnny Cash who pointed out to Carl that blue suede shoes were becoming the cool footwear in the South. And then a few days later, Carl looked out from the stage during a show and saw a very beautiful woman being fiercely berated by her dancing partner about the importance of her not stepping on those very shoes. Carl apparently thought the guy was being an idiot but nonetheless woke up at 3 a.m. with the words to the song in his head and wrote them down on a potato sack, which was all he could find. The creative process never fails to amaze. Of course, “Blue Suede Shoes” brings me to another huge E influence on the Beatles that we cannot ignore. I’m talking about the king of influences, the great Elvis Presley.

Elvis’s importance cannot be overstated. The Beatles were huge Elvis fans. John Lennon actually said that without Elvis there would have been no Beatles. When they finally met him on August 27, 1965, they were extremely nervous and very excited. Elvis was the king. We all loved his records. We all admired him very much. Now to clarify that, let me explain something. The first time all of us in England heard Elvis, at least the first time I did, and I think the same is true of the Beatles (George Harrison has spoken about this) was when we heard “Heartbreak Hotel.” It wasn’t Elvis’s first record, but it was the first record that was released in the UK or indeed anywhere overseas because it was his first record for a major label. He had been on a small U.S.-only label, Sun Records. Then he was on RCA, and they went for a worldwide promotional push.

We all went crazy when we heard “Heartbreak Hotel.” We loved the sound of it. We loved the reverb. We loved the way Elvis sang. We loved everything about it. I remember hearing it on the radio and just thinking, Oh my God, what an incredibly great record. And then, of course, we all became aware of Elvis, and the furor he was creating in America, and “Elvis the Pelvis” and all that stuff they used to call him, and the outrageous influence he was going to have on young people, and how rock and roll was going to destroy our youth—which of course it did, and I’m happy to be a victim of that destruction. And then we went back and discovered all the great records he’d made before. We went back and listened to the Sun records. I especially loved “Mystery Train,” which remains my favourite Elvis track of all time.

You may notice an interesting parallel between the discovery of Elvis in the UK and the subsequent discovery of the Beatles in the U.S. We heard “Heartbreak Hotel” courtesy of the efforts of a big international label, fell in love with Elvis, and then went back to his earlier recordings to discover “That’s All Right (Mama),” “Blue Moon of Kentucky,” “Mystery Train,” and many more. America fell in love with “I Want to Hold Your Hand” in a similar fashion and then discovered “Love Me Do,” “From Me to You,” and “Please Please Me.”

The Beatles made all the same Elvis discoveries, and they used to do a number of those songs in their live performances and in the BBC sessions, including “That’s All Right (Mama),” the Arthur Crudup song covered by Elvis, which is how the Beatles heard it, and then they covered it themselves. They never made a record of it, though, and that’s too bad.

Ringo was also an Elvis fan, and he covered one of Elvis’s songs himself in his solo career, recording a very creditable version of “Don’t Be Cruel”—a song the Beatles apparently sang live from time to time in their early days, but of which no recordings exist. I don’t think anyone can top Elvis, to be honest, but Ringo’s version is very good, sticking close to the original arrangement, with all the Jordanaires-style background vocals added in as well for good measure.

“Don’t Be Cruel” was written by Otis Blackwell, who wrote a lot of great songs, for a lot of singers. He wrote “Return to Sender” and “All Shook Up” (Elvis), “Great Balls of Fire” (Jerry Lee Lewis), “Fever” (Peggy Lee), and many others. He played a role in my life as well. One day when I was working on the JT album with James Taylor, during a break, Danny Kortchmar and James were fooling around with the guitar lick from an Otis Blackwell song called “Handy Man.” They started playing it much slower than the Jimmy Jones original record, just for the fun of it. And I said, “Hang on, gentlemen, that sounds really cool. Let me record a bit of that, just so we have it. You know, as an idea.” I put up a couple of mics by the two acoustic guitars. We had Russ Kunkel, the genius drummer, playing a pair of conga drums, and that was about it. We did a couple of takes, maybe four or five at the most. I ended up adding some drums, some strings, some background vocals, and that became our record of “Handy Man,” which turned out to be a big hit for James. So I owe a debt of gratitude to Otis Blackwell.

Now, on to a song written not by Otis Blackwell but by a major fan of his, Paul McCartney. And in fact it’s a Paul McCartney track that is also a duet, as well as an E song and one of Paul’s biggest hits. It was a huge No. 1 record: “Ebony and Ivory.”

I have heard that the title is actually a quote from Spike Milligan. You may or may not be familiar with him. He was a brilliant British comedian, who created and wrote The Goon Show, of which the Beatles (and I) were all great fans. And apparently, Spike Milligan had said something to Paul about the black notes and the white notes on the piano and the fact that you needed both of them to make harmony. And Paul took that point and ran with it and wrote the song. I hope that’s true because I am a great admirer of Spike Milligan.

And for the duet Paul invited Stevie Wonder—a supreme talent in his own right, of course, and a marvelous performer—to join him on the recording. Supposedly, Stevie showed up three or four days late for the video shoot, which is why a lot of this record and a lot of the video was constructed without Paul and Stevie in the same room at the same time. But they put it all together and came up with a very big hit record.

Now, if we were to take a vote as to the most loved E song that the Beatles ever wrote, my guess is that “Eleanor Rigby” would win. It is my favourite E song and could well be yours, too.

Incredibly, “Eleanor Rigby” was the B-side of “Yellow Submarine” and also appeared on the Revolver album. But it was much more than just a B-side. It was one of the Beatles’ finest and most interesting, radical, and remarkable records, and one of Paul’s most perfect songs. A beautiful melody, a brilliant lyric, an extraordinarily good arrangement by George Martin, and a wonderful sound and mix.

It is a revolutionary song in several respects. Quite a brilliant piece of songwriting on its own, and you must understand that it is not a song with strings added to it, as is very common in pop music. The strings are the entire band. There are no other Beatles playing on that song, no other instruments on that record. It is Paul McCartney and a double string quartet, which would mean four violins, two violas, and two cellos. George Martin and Geoffrey Emerick, the engineer, miked them in a particular way, close and with a careful choice of microphone, to get extra grit and rosin out of the strings. George Martin wanted the arrangement to have the toughness and emphasis that, for example, a Bartók string quartet does when the musicians really attack the instruments. And that is certainly what he achieved. The song has almost a rock and roll intensity to its rhythm but derives that strength only from a brilliant string arrangement—and from the strings being played with no vibrato. George Martin, of course, was great at all of that. He was a wonderful arranger as well as a great producer, capable of working with Paul to bring Paul’s ideas to life and adding his own expertise on top.

I know for a fact that that song was written in our basement at 57 Wimpole Street because both John and Paul have mentioned that fact. Sadly, I was not there that day. I wish I could tell you an “Eleanor Rigby” story, but I cannot. What I can tell you is that Paul has said that Ray Charles’s version of “Eleanor Rigby” is one of his favourite versions of any Beatles song. A radical departure from the original, it starts (almost deceptively) with the same four string section quarter notes as does George Martin’s arrangement, but then it changes drastically—the strings doing all kinds of glissandos and slurs and other dramatic moves, an oboe playing some countermelodies, a horn section playing, too—and the glorious Raelettes adding responses. A whole new approach accompanying Ray’s soulful reinterpretation of the timing and attitude of the original vocal melody.

And if “Eleanor Rigby” did turn out to win everyone’s vote for favourite E song written by the Beatles, I guarantee you that a close runner-up would be “Every Little Thing.” It is a great song, recorded at EMI Studios with Ringo playing timpani in addition to drums. I remember that in Studio Two there would often be a set of timpani covered up in one of those kinds of padded eiderdown-looking things they put on top of them, sitting unattended in the corner of the studio.

So my guess is that it just occurred to someone to roll out the timpani, take the cover off, find the right notes, and overdub them. I think it is the first and could even be the only time Ringo played timpani on record.

Let’s travel next from a very early song to a very new song, from Paul McCartney’s album actually entitled New. And to complete the circle, the song is called “Early Days.” A touchingly nostalgic song with a kind of unassuming and unshowy but wholly convincing vocal performance from Paul. The executive producer of the album was Sir George Martin’s immensely talented son Giles. The track “Early Days” itself was produced by Ethan Johns, a brilliant engineer and producer and the son of Glyn Johns, who produced so many classic Rolling Stones records and other great stuff, including his work with the Beatles. Ethan has done excellent work with Ryan Adams, Tift Merritt, and many others, and for “Early Days” he created a beautiful sea of acoustic instruments, starting with just an acoustic guitar and skillfully adding other stringed instruments and some kind of drone to provide a vaguely Celtic and emotionally gripping backdrop for Paul’s reminiscences.

I’d like to turn next to another Beatles E song which one does not hear that often. With the weird title “Everybody’s Got Something to Hide Except Me and My Monkey,” it may not be some people’s favourite, but it’s really cool. It features a great George lead guitar lick repeated almost as if it were a loop (though he clearly played it live), insistent Ringo drums, and a lot of driving percussion. I think all four Beatles may have played some of the percussion—the cowbell part is particularly fine and alternates with a shaker to keep the excitement going. As for the unusual title, I know that everyone has a theory. My own guess is that “Everybody’s Got Something to Hide Except Me and My Monkey” is not a drug reference. Just a John kind of weird comedic reference and a song he wrote for Yoko.

From John we move to George and an excellent song from his E album, Extra Texture. I’m not quite sure why he chose that album title, but it has a lot of good music on it. One song in particular has really grown on me after listening to it a couple of times: “This Guitar (Can’t Keep from Crying).” I don’t know what George’s problem is with his lachrymose guitar. If it is not gently weeping, it is crying. But this song itself is underrated. Perhaps upset by some criticism he received during or after his 1974 tour, he successfully handed off some of his discomfort to his guitar in a well-crafted song with elegant chord changes, great slide guitar from George, and a fine additional lead from Jesse Ed Davis. What holds it all together and gives a real feeling of size and scope is the excellent orchestral arrangement from David Foster, a friend of mine and a truly brilliant arranger and producer—of Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You,” just for a start.

Ringo also gave us a good E song on his 2017 album Give More Love—“Electricity,” which he wrote with Glen Ballard. Ringo recorded this album in his home studio, and he produced it, too. Of course, many of the players on the sessions (like Dave Stewart, Glen Ballard, and Don Was) are terrific producers themselves, so there would have been a lot of great ideas floating about. Ringo’s brother-in-law, Joe Walsh, played guitar on “Electricity” as well, joined by the great keyboard player Benmont Tench, from Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.

I suggest we allow Ringo to bring us to the end of this examination of the letter E by remembering and admiring his only drum solo on a Beatles record: his indispensable contribution to “The End,” from Abbey Road, followed by Paul’s words of wisdom, “And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.”