George enters the control room and listens to the group play “Love Me Do.”

Smith’s concern is their rubbish equipment. “I got nothing out of the Beatles’ equipment except for a load of noise, hum, and goodness-knows-what.”

George is only nominally interested in pop, but as a classically trained musician himself, he quickly pinpoints the main issue with “Love Me Do”: the arrangement.

*  *  *

The four young men from Liverpool stop playing and nearly stand at attention when they see a tall and dapper man in his thirties, wearing a black tie with a red horse motif, approach them. He introduces himself as George Martin, the head of Parlophone. George’s crisp accent alone is enough to prove intimidating—as intended—though in truth he isn’t upper class at all.

After they exchange hellos, Mr. Martin tells them he’s got a few issues with “Love Me Do.” For example, John can’t both sing the title line and play the harmonica.

“Someone else has got to sing ‘love me do’ because you’re going to have a song called Love Me Waahhh. So, Paul, will you sing ‘love me do’?”

George Harrison puts aside his electric guitar and picks up an acoustic.

The producer returns to the control room.

The Beatles start “Love Me Do” from the beginning.

Paul’s big moment arrives. Everything stopped, no backing. The spotlight is going to be on me, he thinks, leaning toward the microphone.

*  *  *

George Martin watches. Listens.

Paul McCartney’s voice won’t stop shaking.

Take after take after take.

“Well that was twenty minutes of torture,” says Norman Smith with a sigh.

But the real problem is the subpar drumming.

“He’s useless,” producer Ron Richards says of Pete. “We’ve got to change this drummer.”

George nods in agreement. “Tell them to come up to the control room.”

The Beatles shuffle inside the small room and find places to stand. The space is tight, the air thick with a haze of cigarette smoke. The boys from Liverpool openly gawk at all the unfamiliar pieces of equipment.

George has them listen to the playback of the recordings. When it ends, the room is silent. Then Pete pipes up: “I think they’re good.”

George Martin shakes his head and delves into all the issues he’s seeing and hearing.

“He was giving them a good talking to,” engineer Ken Townsend remembers of George’s lecture, but Smith recalls, “They didn’t say a word back, not a word.”

“Look,” George finally says. “I’ve laid into you for quite a time, and you haven’t responded. Is there anything you don’t like?”

After an uncomfortably long pause, George Harrison drawls, “Well, for a start, I don’t like your tie.”

George Martin stiffens at the insult. The tension seems to draw on for hours…

And then the Beatles laugh.

George Martin does, too.