by Larry Kane
John had to be correct. Was Epstein oblivious to the buzz about the sexy boys with the amazing backbeat, or just indifferent?
The stories of Epstein’s “discovery” will no doubt persist. But one thing is certain. Brian Epstein first watched the Beatles at noontime in the Cavern on Mathew Street on November 9, 1961. He visited them backstage, enjoyed a lunch with his assistant, Alistair Taylor, and is quoted by Taylor as calling the Beatles “tremendous” that day. Taylor was not impressed, but Epstein didn’t care.
The contract offer for Epstein to manage the Beatles came in two months, but in the meantime, Epstein called Allan Williams to make sure they were, indeed, free to sign. Williams was frank. He told Epstein not to “touch them with a fucking barge pole.” Williams was angered that some money, earned in their performing dates in Hamburg, had been held back from him.
“I’ll tell you,” Williams says, looking at me with intense eyes and a flash of sarcastic anger, “we had a commission dispute. I was happy to be rid of them. Then and now, the Beatles were users, and once they used a person, they discarded them.”
It didn’t bother Epstein, who was leery of Williams’s attitude toward the group, that Williams claimed to have discovered them. One thing you have to give Williams: he did indeed give them their first break. He did take them to Hamburg. He did watch for their health, and he proudly, in a book and throughout the decades, has proclaimed that he was the man who gave them away. And Epstein seemed happy to take them off his hands. Like all of history, versions pile up quickly, especially in a town where one’s turf is sacred and protected ground.
In characteristic Liverpool fashion, where one rarely holds back one’s feelings, Sam Leach proclaims Williams less of a manager than a promoter.
“Brian Epstein was the first real manager,” Leach states. “Allan Williams was an agent. He was almost a manager. Allan got them to Hamburg. The six-hour shifts held the band together. Hamburg is what made them. But Brian Epstein was the first real manager. And although he could be unlikable, what he did for them . . . was . . . I would say . . . truly amazing.”
Leach looks across the St. Albert’s dock, as the waters from the Mersey, mere ripples, splash rhythmically. He sips his beer and wistfully says, “I taught Epstein a lot.”
“You did?” I ask.
“Yes.”
Then his expression changes from wistful to gloomy. He looks at me and adds,
I WAS THE ONE WHO GAVE THEM AWAY. TRULY, I KNEW. THEY PLAYED FOR ME IN 1961. MY ROLE WAS PROMOTING SHOWS. EVENTUALLY I WANTED TO MANAGE THEM . . . AND WAS TRYING TO. IT WAS CLOSE BETWEEN ME AND EPSTEIN. I TOOK THE BEATLES TO LONDON, TO THE ALDERSHOT. THE SHOW BOMBED, AND THAT DAY ONLY EIGHTEEN PEOPLE CAME IN BECAUSE THE ADVERT NEVER WENT IN THE PAPER. ON THEIR WAY BACK THE FOLLOWING DAY, I BELIEVE, IS WHAT MADE THEM DECIDE TO GO WITH BRIAN AS MANAGER. THEY FIGURED THAT WOULDN’T HAPPEN WITH HIM. I SHOULD HAVE SIGNED THEM. BUT BRIAN DID. FOR THAT, HE DESERVES THE CREDIT. BUT HE HAD SOME ASSETS THAT I DIDN’T HAVE.
“Assets?” I ask.
THE LIVERPOOL IRISH ACCENT IS WHAT I HAVE, WHICH DIDN’T GO TOO WELL IN LONDON. BRIAN HAS THE ACCENT OF MICHAEL YORK, THE ACTOR. IT WAS VERY DISTINCT, POLISHED. VERY CONTROLLED, VERY MEASURED, AND VERY SUAVE. HE WAS EDUCATED AND REFINED, ALL OF THAT. ALSO, HE WAS JEWISH AND GAY, AND THEY WERE TWO BIG INS IN LONDON. AT THAT TIME THERE WAS SO MUCH SNOBBERY IN LONDON AMONGST THE ASIANS, AND THAT’S WHAT GOT HIM IN. IT WORKED FOR HIM, WE’LL JUST SAY THAT. HE WOULD HAVE TO HIDE THE GAY THING IN LIVERPOOL.
As Epstein moved quickly on the Beatles, there were those who tried to talk him out of it.
Allan Williams, a newcomer to Epstein, had punctuated his bad review of the boys by calling them “poison.” But Epstein, trusting his own instincts, went into fast-forward with aggressive intensity.
There were barriers. More than three sources, who wish to remain anonymous for obvious reasons, have quoted Jim McCartney telling his older son about his concern for doing business with a Jewish businessman. That would be so unlike Jim McCartney that it remains unbelievable to many who knew him. But the mood of the day and the times suggested that a blatant anti-Semitism was part of Liverpool society, as much as the bitter and sometimes emotional divide of Catholics and Protestants in Liverpool.
Paul McCartney, for his part, was uncharacteristically subdued at the boys’ meeting with Epstein that sealed the deal. But in subsequent years, his admiration and respect for the boss was clear and vocal. His assertion that Epstein was the “fifth Beatle” was repeated on many occasions.
The deal meeting was on December 3, 1961. Paul was taking a bath and arrived seventy minutes late—his nonchalance about that first business meeting was never explained. But after calling Paul at home, and Paul telling Epstein he was in the bath, the sometimes intensely serious businessman replied, “He is quite late.”
George responded, “Yes, but he is clean.”
George’s humor, in my time with him, and throughout his career, was always a relief in tense situations.
That meeting and two subsequent sessions—on December 6 and 10—sealed it. And it was the leader, John Lennon, who nodded in favor of Epstein and said, “Give me the contract. I will sign it.”
So three years and six months after the rendezvous at Woolton, the first real Lennon-McCartney connection, Brian Epstein inherited the rough-and-tumble foursome. Epstein’s prediction that the children of the millennium would be enjoying the Beatles came true. He never lived to see that, but the time he spent with the boys, a mere five and a half years, would pave their road with gold and glory. No, he never witnessed the blessing of the Beatles to cultural immortality. But the failed actor, nervous soldier, socially conflicted young businessman, and delightful fantasist would find his date with destiny, his true calling: the twenty-three-month race that would propel them to the top.
And how did Epstein succeed? The once-shy, introverted young man had somehow developed a talent that is, for the most part, difficult to define—a sense of understanding of what people want. Maybe it was the experience on the stage, or the contact with music fans at NEMS. But he was, in the words of early and lifelong Beatles friend and world-class record promoter Tony Bramwell, a master, by the age of twenty-seven, of personal communication.
Bramwell’s mother was so impressed with Epstein that she looked the other way when her mid-teen son traveled with the band, at Epstein’s request, in a van for hours, returning from concerts a hundred miles away in the middle of the night. She admired Epstein, and so did he.
“He was classy, well dressed, knowledgeable, and educated. Brian would talk to you like you had something to contribute,” Bramwell remembers. “He didn’t belittle you. He had a way about him.
“He was very intelligent in dealing with people—a consummate businessman. People paid attention when he walked into the room. But they liked him, respected him. He didn’t evoke fear, just respect.”
Epstein had the respect of the boys and their faithful, but his management prowess, never challenged in those special early days, was tested by flawed contracts and inadequate security that led to great dangers on the American tours. But in the first flush of success, his leadership was incalculable. And more than any one factor, his belief in their potential was a driving force.
That absolute belief was always part of Epstein’s message, which, while sitting next to me on that awkward evening at the Beverly Hills Hotel, he made very clear.
“Although I had never had anything to do with pop artists, and this was a new world to me, I never thought that they would be anything less than the greatest stars of the world.”
Epstein’s business acumen mirrored his view that, in the young Beatles, he was managing the best of the best. But in hindsight, he may have made some errors. In the early years, he asked the record label for 10 percent of all merchandise; in later years, business experts would say his cut of merchandise was far too low. He did scrimp on security down the road, putting the boys close to unnecessary danger. His personal
life was at times a mess, threatening to blow wide open. But despite these issues, Brian Epstein had one thing going for him in those years of unthinkable success: a belief in the boys, an unshakable love for them as individuals, and a personal adoration.
Even Allan Williams understands the meaning of mutual respect. When I ask Williams about the importance of Brian Epstein to the boys’ career, he says, “Dedication really comes into it. If you are going to manage a group, you’ve really got to believe that you have the faith and you’ve got to pass it on to the group and never let them down. Your main object is the group and you must promote them and look after them as best as you can.”
Williams becomes sad as he continues. “When he died, I think he was depressed that his boys may not have needed him anymore. I once was at some function—Jewish, King David’s in Liverpool—and I remember going to some sort of parents’ meeting, and his mother came over and thanked me profusely, and I said, ‘Why?’ and she said, ‘Because you always treated my son with respect.’ Which I said, ‘He deserved it.’ And she said, ‘Well, you know, most people knocked him because he was gay. He was a gentleman.’”
Whether the Beatles were tiring of him is a matter of controversy. John Lennon was devastated at the loss, and one thing was certain: Epstein’s 1967 death was a trigger that began the unraveling of the group, because he was more than just a manager; he was also a guardian and a protector.
The Beatles’ welfare and daily happiness were paramount to Epstein. He was dedicated, and he loved showing it. Several months after he became their manager, opportunity struck. With an advertised band calling out sick, Epstein managed to get the Beatles a fill-in gig, way down on the bill, at the Empire Theater in Liverpool. The meticulous Epstein decided to put on a show. With assistants Beryl Adams and Freda Kelly accompanying him, he sat down in an elevated box, stage right, to watch the boys. Kelly was all aflutter:
“The hired box was very private. Just the three of us. He stared at the boys, proud, his smile was so broad. He was ‘doing it up’ for them,” Kelly remembers. “I was looking down at the darkened stage with a light shining on Paul, as he sang ‘Besame Mucho.’ I had heard it at the Cavern, but that night, it was majestic. It gave me the chills, and Eppy was a delight to watch. I had never been in a box before. I was so excited. He was beaming.”
While “Eppy” was the consummate protector, he was also an unflinching boss, and somewhat of a micromanager. Kelly remembers a time when she left a comma out of a date on a letter. “He put a big circle around it. . . . I couldn’t fit the comma in . . . I would have to type the letter over. I looked at him with hatred in my eyes. . . . He got the message . . . and said, ‘You learn from your mistakes.’”
Although Epstein could be cold and hostile, Kelly knew very well that he was the right man for the boys. “I was beginning to believe that he believed he could take them anywhere. Anywhere.”
Beatles contemporary Tony Crane of the Merseybeats shared his private thoughts with our filmmaker friends, John Rose and Tony Guma, who have been working on a film on the life of Sam Leach: “Brian had no real experience in managing a band, the things you need to do . . . but he took to it like a duck in water. . . . It was amazing.”
Just as stargazers puzzle over infinity, one could think of the thousands of people with raw talent who never find their way, the hidden gems of music, art, and literature, people who are never discovered, who never find a break. Could that have happened to John, Paul, George, Pete, and Ringo? Could their genius have been marginalized? Perhaps. But raw talent may not have been enough. For the invisible artists of the world, quietly toiling, their talent and the beauty of their art, writing, and music rarely emerge without some individual or individuals who can “see” the art and transcend the natural barriers, helping them emerge from their quiet and lonely work. Epstein recognized the talent, loved the work, and had the determination, if not the guile, in the beginning, to fight for the boys.
There is no question that Brian Epstein believed that not even the sky was the limit for his boys. Gazing at them at the Empire Theater, watching them in the Cavern, drinking with them late at night, harnessing their behavior, and carefully dreaming of and plotting their future, the man of confusion and contradiction had finally met his calling. It was a spiritual and personal commitment. That was the difference between flesh-eating managers looking for a quick buck and the carefully plotting and visionary young Brian Epstein.
His was not an easy road. His relationship with John Lennon was erratic. His boyhood friend Joe Flannery remembers that Epstein was often distraught when John could be insulting, and even threatening, with questions about his plan for the group. “He would be in tears, and confess to me how troubled he was by John’s tirades and his wickedly nasty sense of humor. Brian was easily rattled, but he would overcome those moments by demanding order and consistency. I must say, though, that John did upset him.”
Nowhere was that demand for excellence challenged more than when Epstein began the incredible “makeover,” still ahead in this story. Once again, the young and mostly selfish boys would have a decision to make: listen to some wisdom, or perhaps fade into obscurity.
The fact remains that talent prospers among talent. Brian Epstein was an emotional but talented visionary. He may have feared John Lennon, but John had commitment. And so did Epstein.
On the verge of signing the boys, Epstein visited Tony Barrow in the “Sleeve Department” at Decca Records where he was writing his liner notes, and at the same time freelancing at the Liverpool Echo newspaper as “the Disker,” writing about recorded music. Epstein wanted him to write about the Beatles, but Barrow reminded him via letter that he wrote only about groups that had recorded music.
Epstein decided to confront him in person. What Barrow saw resulted in one of the greatest descriptions I have ever read about Brian Epstein. No one has ever written or said anything close to Barrow’s account of what he saw on his first meeting.
I WAS MORE IMPRESSED BY THE MAN THAN THE MUSIC HE BROUGHT FOR ME TO HEAR. VISIBLY, HE MADE AN IMMEDIATELY FAVORABLE IMPRESSION. HE WAS EXPENSIVELY GROOMED, WITH CAREFULLY CUT, SLIGHTLY WAVY HAIR AND POLISHED AND MANICURED FINGERNAILS. HIS SUIT WAS HAND-MADE, HE HAD A COSTLY AND WELL-TAILORED CAMEL COAT WORN WITH A DARK BLUE SILK SCARF WITH WHITE POLKA DOTS, AND SHINING BLACK SHOES. . . . HE SPOKE LIKE A CONTEMPORARY BBC ANNOUNCER, REVEALING SCARCELY A HINT OF A LIVERPUDLIAN ACCENT. . . . AT THE TIME, MOST OF THESE [RECORD PEOPLE] I WORKED WITH WERE ROUGH DIAMONDS WHO TENDED TO CHEW ON WORN-OUT CIGARS AND STANK OF STALE TOBACCO. BRIAN EPSTEIN WAS THE FIRST FINELY CUT AND BEAUTIFULLY POLISHED DIAMOND I’D EVER MET IN THE MUSIC BUSINESS.
Barrow, who would play a role in two dramatic auditions, and in the boys’ career, was impressed as well by Epstein’s passion and belief in them. But as their working relationship continued, he was disturbed by Epstein’s private life, which seemed to diminish at the same time his Beatles were accelerating.
“Brian was so confident in public, but he is unfortunately the perfect example of the fact that money really can’t buy you love.”
Talking to Barrow is a pleasure, but reading what he writes is a lesson in profound journalistic wisdom. In his book, John, Paul, George, Ringo, and Me, Barrow gives the most incisive view of Brian Epstein’s adult life:
“His inability to form any lasting and loving relationship left him miserably unhappy. Instead, his lust for rough sex led him into brief sexual encounters with dangerous characters, heartless men and boys who took advantage of him, hurt him, robbed him and left him helpless.”
Like the other Tony, Tony Bramwell, Barrow revered Epstein as a friend and a good boss, but he regretted the path that Epstein’s life had taken. Make no mistake about it, his personal life was sad. But in five short years, he had helped transform four young men into a force for their era, and for decades to come.
That commitment, along with his professional style, allowed Brian to develop into an agent of change. In the two years following Brian Ep
stein’s first association with the boys, his delicate balancing act became a script that he created for decades of future managers. Without him, and despite the amazing talent, individually and collectively, of the Beatles, there is a good chance that the greatest band in history might never have been.
WHEN
THEY
WERE
BOYS
PART FIVE: TURNING POINTS
Drum beaters Richie and Pete—Pete was there first; Richie lasted. While Pete had the “atom” beat, Paul, George, and John sought the nuclear option, and Pete took a backstabbing for the team. Fate and timing won out, or was it fear and loathing? Back in London, the so-called musical elites tell Brian to pack it up. John gets the jitters. Eppy fights on. Decca loses, and Gentleman Tony the pressman lends a hand. Hello, George Martin. Goodbye to the old guard. Turning points? The points are turning. The boys snatch victory from the heartless jaws of defeat.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“MEAN, MOODY, MAGNIFICENT”—PETE BEST
“America had Elvis; Britain had Pete Best.”
—Tony Bramwell, on Pete’s popularity
“The original sound, the powerful sound of raw drumming, was really not there after the change was made.”
—Tony Crane, cofounder of the Merseybeats
IT IS ONE OF THE MOST INTRIGUING STORIES OF THEIR RAW BEGINNINGS, the story of a talented and extremely good-looking young man who helped the Beatles make it, and then was unceremoniously dropped. It’s a story with so many versions that it’s hard to tell who is telling the truth. Obviously someone is lying. Maybe more than just one someone.
When you meet Pete Best today, you encounter a warm man who has, after many decades, embraced his legacy as the first full-time drummer for John’s boys, and at the same time, a somewhat unlucky musician who sadly and for many years was reported as an afterthought—the man the Beatles left behind, the answer to a trivia question, the exiled “asterisk” of music history.
