Chapters (91)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Prologue
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- —
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- —
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- —
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- —
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- —
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- —
- Chapter 44
- —
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Chapter 47
- Chapter 48
- Chapter 49
- Chapter 50
- Chapter 51
- —
- Chapter 52
- Chapter 53
- Chapter 54
- Chapter 55
- Chapter 56
- Chapter 57
- Chapter 58
- Chapter 59
- —
- Chapter 60
- —
- Chapter 61
- —
- Chapter 62
- —
- Chapter 63
- Chapter 64
- Chapter 65
- Chapter 66
- Chapter 67
- —
- Chapter 68
- —
- Notes
- —
- ABOUT THE AUTHORS
- Photos
- Coming Soon
Twenty-two-year-old freelance music writer Richard Goldstein has the harshest words of all. His review, headlined WE STILL NEED THE BEATLES, BUT…, suggests the album is derivative of the artistry of Beatles’ rivals. “There is a touch of the Jefferson Airplane, a dab of Beach Boys vibrations, and a generous pat of gymnastics from The Who.”
“The music critic of the New York Times hated Sgt. Pepper,” Paul says. “And we had to sit through that.”
That being a mockery of John and Paul’s greatest songwriting achievements. “There is nothing beautiful on Sergeant Pepper. Nothing is real and there is nothing to get hung about. The Lennon raunchiness has become mere caprice…Paul McCartney’s soaring pop magnificats have become merely politely profound.”
The BBC piles on, banning airplay of “A Day in the Life” over the suggestive lyric “I’d love to turn you on.” British politicians disassemble the song line by line in search of hidden meaning. They seize on the line “four thousand holes in Blackburn, Lancashire,” as Lennon’s ode to needle marks.
“I’d like to meet the man who banned this song of ours,” John says. “If they want to read drugs into our stuff, they will. But it’s them that’s reading it, them!”
The band’s next project will premiere not on an album (though the band recorded the title track of their upcoming Magical Mystery Tour in April) but on the Our World television program.
“It will be the first worldwide satellite broadcast ever,” Ringo tells the others.
The air date is June 25, 1967.
“Oh, God, is it that close?” John says, “I supposed we’d better write something.”
John and Paul each scramble to write a song for the global broadcast. Paul comes up with “Your Mother Should Know.” John presents “All You Need Is Love.” John wins.
Engineer Geoff Emerick is struck by the sharp contrast between the way Paul and John work yet how easily the two musicians seem able to write together. “Paul was meticulous and organized: he always carried a notebook around with him, in which he methodically wrote down lyrics and chord changes in his neat handwriting. In contrast, John seemed to live in chaos: he was constantly searching for scraps of paper that he’d hurriedly scribbled ideas on. Paul was a natural communicator; John couldn’t articulate his ideas well. Paul was the diplomat; John was the agitator. Paul was soft-spoken and almost unfailingly polite; John could be a right loudmouth and quite rude. Paul was willing to put in long hours to get a part right; John was impatient, always ready to move on to the next thing.”
On June 14, in Studio Two, the band does thirty-three takes of John’s new song. “Keep it simple so viewers across the globe will understand,” the television producers have instructed.