Chapter 7 8 страница

Speculation about a cross-generational reunion of the Beatles was revived in July 1985, when the Live Aid concerts were staged to raise funds for the starving people of Ethiopia. McCartney was named as the headline act for the British event at Wembley Stadium, and like Harrison fourteen years earlier he was prepared to consider a Beatles reunion for a worthy cause. He recalled later that Live Aid's organiser Bob Geldof had pleaded with Harrison and Starkey to take part, 'but they declined. I don't know why. ' Harrison's memory was rather different.

I was away at the time, and I got back to England the day before, or two days before, the concert. When I arrived at Heathrow airport, the press said, 'Are you doing the concert, George? ' I said I didn't know anything about it. Then I read something in the papers saying, 'The Beatles are getting together. ' There were a few phone calls. I think Bob Geldof phoned my office and asked if I would like to sing 'Let It Be' with Paul. But that was literally the day before the concert. And I don't know. . . well, I was jet-lagged for a start. I saw that they had everybody in the world in on this concert, and I didn't see that it would make that much difference if I wasn't.

His explanation was strangely reminiscent of McCartney's in 1971. 'You know, I have a problem, I must admit, when people try to get the Beatles together. They're still suggesting it, even though John is dead. At the time of Live Aid I didn't particularly want to go back into some situation that looked like the past. I don't want to be set up, put in a situation where I'm tricked into being in the Beatles again. If I'm going to be in them, I'd like to know up front. ' So the Beatles were represented at Live Aid by McCartney (with malfunctioning microphone) and Elvis Costello, whose set consisted of 'an old Liverpool folk song' called 'All You Need Is Love'.

A similar situation arose three months later, when Carl Perkins invited all three Beatles to participate in a London TV special. Harrison and Starkey eagerly accepted, but McCartney prevaricated and then declined. He offered to make amends by filming an insert for the special, but as Perkins told him, 'Paul, it will look like it was put in there. ' Officially, he was on vacation during the filming, but backstage there was speculation that he did not feel comfortable about sharing a stage with his two ex-colleagues when they were still in legal dispute. He missed out on a night of nostalgia and genuine affection for one of the creators of rock 'n' roll, who had succeeded in enticing Harrison into his first live appearance for more than a decade. Wearing a suit and a haircut that might have been teleported from the mid-1950s, Harrison reeled off favourites from the Perkins catalogue with a swagger that suggested he had spent months preparing in front of his bathroom mirror. The TV special captured the essence of the show, although it didn't reflect Starkey's increasingly disruptive behaviour as his nightly ration of alcohol took hold.

The show offered Harrison the chance to escape from an era of solitude and morose introspection. Friends reported that he often showed signs of obsession with perceived slights from the Beatles era – complaints about the way he'd been treated by McCartney or the press, misgivings about the money he'd lost in business deals and unnecessary litigation. Now he slowly began to imagine a return to public life. 'I think in some ways he is just recovering from being a Beatle, ' reckoned his friend Michael Palin. 'I think he's deciding now that he can't live locked away all the time. ' In an ironic restaging of his past, Harrison found himself hosting a press conference for the singer Madonna in London a few months later. She was starring in the ill-fated HandMade Films production Shanghai Surprise, to which Harrison contributed his first new material for several years. He displayed a wry humour and an intelligent distance from the madness of the proceedings, as if he had handed down the torment of his fame to the next generation.

The same qualities were evident in his contributions to Fifty YearsAdrift, the autobiography of his friend and former employee Derek Taylor. A cornucopia of personal and Beatles anecdotes and memorabilia, including reproductions of letters and postcards from the group, Taylor's book was as warm, witty and wise as its author, and a worthy successor to As Time Goes By, penned in the aftermath of his departure from Apple in 1970. Sadly, Fifty Years Adrift only appeared in an extraordinarily expensive (albeit exquisitely bound) edition of just 2, 000 copies. Taylor had no qualms about Harrison's reaction to his text – the two men embarked on a promotional tour together in Australia – but anticipated a more ambivalent welcome from the other Beatles. 'My turn for some stick will come, ' he admitted, 'and from a surprising quarter (or half ), no doubt. '

Taylor's work represented the most elegant response to the ongoing challenge of how to make money from the Beatles. Equally justified though more prosaic was Beatle, the first in a succession of memoirs by the group's one-time drummer Pete Best. As Beatles memorabilia began to be sold at the world's most prestigious auction houses, Paul McCartney and Yoko Ono began to build rival collections. McCartney was the first to venture into the market, buying back the letter he had sent to Melody Maker about a possible reunion in 1970. As his archive expanded, he leased a subterranean storeroom in central London, hinting that he might one day open a Beatles museum.

One essential collector's item eluded him, however. In the early 1980s McCartney had briefly collaborated with soul singer Michael Jackson, now the biggest-selling artist of the era. Adopting an avuncular role, McCartney advised Jackson to invest his vast earnings in music publishing, as he had done a decade earlier. 'As a joke, ' he recounted, '[Jackson] looked at me and said, " I'm going to buy your songs one day. " And I just said, " Great, good joke. " ' But in August 1985 his manager told him that Jackson had indeed bought the Northern Songs catalogue of Lennon/McCartney songs, pre-empting McCartney's attempts to lodge another joint bid with Ono. 'I haven't spoken to him since, ' McCartney said. 'I think he thinks it's just business. I think it's slightly dodgy to do things like that – to be someone's friend, and then to buy the rug they're standing on. ' His mood wasn't improved by the obvious rapport between Jackson and Ono, who let her nine-year-old son Sean play with the inveterately childlike singer. 'Paul probably suspects there was some sort of alliance between Michael and me, ' she reflected later, 'but there wasn't. I do think it's good that Michael bought the catalogue, because he's an artist rather than an ordinary businessman. ' The fact that McCartney might also consider himself an artist clearly escaped her.

Even before Jackson took control of Northern Songs, Lennon/ McCartney compositions had begun to appear on television commercials, Lincoln-Mercury selling their cars with 'Help! ' and Schweppes' Spanish subsidiary choosing 'She Loves You'. 'There seems to be some consternation among Beatles fans if Beatles music is used in commercials, ' a spokesman for ATV said, as computer company Hewlett- Packard paid £ 50, 000 for the rights to a re-recorded version of 'We Can Work It Out'. So far, none of the advertisements had used the original recordings, but on 27

March 1987 the Beatles' performance of 'Revolution' appeared on an advertisement for Nike. In response, McCartney, Harrison and Starkey were reunited in law as they launched another court case. EMI/Capitol called the suit 'totally groundless', not least because the advert had been approved by a director of Apple: Yoko Ono. She claimed that McCartney had been the first to agree to the ad: 'Paul's office had called me and said that they had no problem with it; and I thought that if they didn't, I wouldn't either. I think it's a good thing that John's song could be used in that way, so that a younger audience who hadn't heard it could. ' But McCartney rejected any commercial endorsements: 'The Beatles never did any of that. We were offered everything. We were offered Disney, Coca-Cola, the hugest deals in Christendom and beyond. And we never took them, because we thought, Nah, kind of cheapens it. '

Yet the Beatles weren't afraid to market themselves as a commodity. They were aware that they had lost millions through their manager Brian Epstein's naivety in the 1960s, and this time they were prepared. In May 1986 they signed a merchandising deal with Determined Productions Inc., who handled the image rights for Snoopy and Betty Boop. In effect the Fab Four had become little more than cartoon characters themselves, branded on T-shirts, calendars and posters. A month later Ono agreed a similar arrangement for her late husband's artwork. 'It was John's wish shortly before he died to stage an exhibition of his works, ' said Lynne Clifford, who headed Ono's Bag One company. 'Yoko has made a silent promise to John's fans to keep him in their hearts by releasing the drawings. ' Dozens of images were published, in books, on greetings cards and as limited-edition prints – many of them 'colorised' under Ono's supervision to make them more commercially attractive. The same ethos produced a documentary film, Imagine: John Lennon, which erased all unpleasantness from its subject's life. 'The John Lennon I knew was not in that movie, ' said his friend Steve Gebhardt. 'You can't excise John's use of certain substances out of his life and expect to tell his story. '

Other reincarnations were better received. Many of Lennon's half-finished recordings from 1980 were issued on the 1984 album Milk & Honey, while subsequent records were devoted to out-takes from 1973/4, and the One To One concert. Yoko Ono's most generous gesture, however, was her decision to open the Lennon vaults to the radio network Westwood One, as the basis of a long-running, sometimes infuriating but often rewarding series entitled The Lost Lennon Tapes.

The Beatles' willingness to consider marketing opportunities did not extend to EMI. In 1986 the record company agreed a co-promotion with the brewers Whitbread, whereby purchasers of Heineken beer could buy a Beatles tape. 'I personally don't want to be on a beer can, or any other kind of can, ' Richard Starkey complained, as Apple fired off yet another lawsuit. The Whitbread cassette was hastily withdrawn and the case added to the bulging pot of Apple–EMI litigation. Amidst this turmoil EMI began to release the Beatles' albums on compact disc in February 1987. They sold in huge quantities but inevitably provoked a court case. Ono, Harrison, Starkey and Apple sued EMI/Capitol for $40 million in July, alleging that the company had unnecessarily delayed the release of the CDs, and were underpaying them royalties on the sales.

Under the circumstances it was not surprising that McCartney was the only representative of the Beatles at a celebratory party on 1 June 1987 to mark the 20th anniversary of Sgt Pepper and the album's long-awaited appearance on CD. This was, quite blatantly, an Event. EMI proclaimed Pepper 'the most important record ever issued on compact disc' and 'the Beatles' first great album', something with which the group might not have agreed. In 1967 a simple advert in the pop papers had sufficed to announce the album's arrival. Twenty years on there was a multimedia promotional circus which involved a TV documentary and tie-in book, the latter ably assembled by Derek Taylor, and generous coverage in newspapers that would not have deigned to acknowledge the original release.

Later that week the Prince of Wales invited all three Beatles to partici pate in charity concerts for his Prince's Trust. McCartney had appeared a year earlier, reprising three Beatles-era songs in ebullient style alongside an array of celebrities 'by royal appointment'. The 1987 events followed a similar pattern, with stars old and new offering a tame facsimile of rock's rebellious spirit in front of an over-exuberant crowd. The fear of unpredictability that was apparent when the Beatles first appeared before a royal audience in 1963 had gone. But there was still nervousness: this would be George Harrison's first major concert appearance since 1974. Richard Starkey agreed to accompany him for a timely revival of his Sgt Pepper showcase 'With a Little Help From My Friends'. But McCartney was absent, openly admitting that he was retaliating for his former colleagues' non-appearance at Live Aid. 'It was all too convenient for me to pop up, ' he said, suggesting that some inconvenience on their part might be required before he would agree to appear alongside Harrison and Starkey. But he conceded, 'You never know, the Beatles might feel like getting back together. But we'd do it very privately. . . If things loosen up, we might play together again. I'm in no hurry, but I'd like it. They're good guys, you know. I like them. '

McCartney now seemed increasingly preoccupied with how history would perceive his role in the Beatles. Since his death Lennon had effectively been canonised as an apostle of peace; exposé s of his less attractive behaviour had scarcely tarnished his reputation. McCartney suffered by comparison: he was inconveniently alive and fallible. He could not be blamed for wanting to defend himself when he read repeated claims that the Beatles had been built entirely on Lennon's genius, with the others mere craftsmen in his shadow.

On his lacklustre 1986 album Press to Play McCartney made a deliberate attempt to rekindle the spontaneous spirit behind Beatles tracks such as 'I Am the Walrus'. The results were embarrassingly self-conscious, but they did allow McCartney to introduce a theme that would become little short of an obsession. He raised the subject gently: 'The funny thing is, there was a time when I was the avant-garde one in the Beatles. . . I was trying to get everyone in the group to be sort of farther out, and do this far-out album. . . I was the one who introduced John, originally, to a lot of that stuff. ' For too many years he had been caricatured as the 'straight' Beatle (not least by Lennon), alongside the freewheeling, daredevil brilliance of his songwriting partner. The evidence supported him: he had been the instigator of the Beatles' forays into experimental music and the early champion of the psychedelic underground. But he had always lacked Lennon's casual genius for transforming novelty into enduring art; he was too much of a populist to throw himself into anything as confrontational as Lennon's late-1960s exploits with Ono. Moreover, the further he pursued this theme, the more graceless he appeared.

Another Beatle was turning gracelessness into a vocation. Bloated with alcohol, Richard Starkey had stumbled into an ill-fated project with veteran R & B/country producer Chips Moman, to which George Harrison had also agreed to contribute. Meanwhile Harrison had recruited his own catalyst, Jeff Lynne. Besides fashioning Beatle-inspired records with ELO, Lynne had become a trusted midwife for vintage acts who wanted to deliver something appropriate for the late 1980s. Harrison was reluctant to embrace modernity, but Lynne enabled him to remain true to his creative instincts within a contemporary context. So relaxed was Harrison that he was even comfortable offering a sly pastiche of Sgt Pepper on 'When We Was Fab'. An accompanying video featured Harrison and Starkey in Beatle garb plus – so Harrison suggested during a drunken radio appearance – McCartney in disguise. 'George wanted me to be in it, ' McCartney revealed later, 'but I wasn't available. So I suggested he put someone else in a walrus costume and tell everyone that it was me. We don't lay many false trails, but the walrus has always been one of them. '

Ten days before Harrison's Cloud Nine album was released, the three Beatles gathered at McCartney's London residence. 'He'll always be my friend, ' said Harrison of Starkey, while he was prepared to admit that the icy surface of his relationship with McCartney was gradually melting.

Yeah, Paul and I are friends now. There was a period when we weren't very friendly. . . but all that past stuff is buried, and everybody's cool. I also think he's changed. I think that although it mightn't have been a good experience for Paul, that the Give My Regards to Broad Street experience made him better. I think maybe it's good sometimes to have something that doesn't succeed like you would hope, in order to bring you back down a little bit and make you a better person. He's been much more humble and pleasant, at least to me, during the past few years.

Though many of its charms soon dated, Cloud Nine was received more favourably than any Harrison album since All Things Must Pass. In mid-January 1988 a computerised revival of an early 1960s R & B tune called 'Got My Mind Set on You' became his first US No. 1 single since 1973. Harrison even agreed to publicise his work for the first time in almost a decade. For one interviewer he showed off an unheralded talent for forgery, scribbling perfect facsimiles of all four Beatles autographs. 'We'll see that one in Sotheby's next year, ' he quipped.

The week after his single topped the charts, the Beatles were due to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame – not so much an honour as an excuse for hip millionaires to don tuxedos and celebrate their own success. The three Beatles, plus Lennon's widow and sons, were invited to accept the award. With Harrison and McCartney reconciled, Starkey happy to drink with them both and Ono keen to celebrate her late husband's achievements, it seemed inevitable that the gala occasion would provide the closest possible approximation to a reunion – and might even see the three musicians joining the jam session that would provide the evening's finale.

'It didn't mean anything to me until I got there, ' Harrison admitted later. 'It was just some idea that someone had. ' But a friend advised him to go, telling him, 'It's history, and you'll enjoy it. ' That afternoon, however, McCartney sent a terse message to the organisers: 'I was keen to go and pick up my award, but after twenty years, the Beatles still have some business differences, which I hoped would be settled by now. Unfortunately, they haven't been, so I would feel a complete hypocrite waving and smiling with them at a fake reunion. ' It was the action of a petulant child who had suddenly found himself in a situation that he could not control. He portrayed himself as the victim, and came across as the villain – exactly the same mistake he had made in 1970. Eighteen years had passed, but McCartney seemed to have learned nothing about the art of personal relations.

His refusal generated worldwide headlines, though it was soon overshadowed by the bizarre behaviour of Beach Boys vocalist Mike Love, who chose to attack the entire rock aristocracy for not being as hard-working as he was. In McCartney's absence, five people took the stage to represent the Beatles. 'There seem to be more of us than there used to be, ' Starkey said wryly. Yoko Ono was gifted a moral victory over McCartney: 'John would certainly have been here, ' she claimed. Harrison could have gloated or complained, but he chose to accept the award with dignity and humour. 'I don't have much to say, ' he began, 'because I'm the quiet Beatle. It's unfortunate Paul's not here, because he was the one with the speech in his pocket. We all know why John can't be here. I'm sure he would be. It's hard, really, to stand here supposedly representing the Beatles. But' – he glanced across the stage – 'it's all that's left, I'm afraid. But we all loved him so much, and we all love Paul so much. ' He added later, '[Paul] was just trying to use that situation for some personal motive. But we've gone past the squabbles now. '

That was an optimistic judgement. While McCartney retreated into silence, Harrison continued to land jabs on his undefended target. Two months after the Hall of Fame ceremony, he revealed, 'Paul has suggested that maybe he and me should write something again. I mean, it's pretty funny, really. I've only been there about thirty years in Paul's life, and now he wants to write with me. ' But he conceded, 'Maybe it would be quite interesting. ' During a live TV show he was asked about McCartney's plan to record several Lennon songs as a tribute to his friend. 'Maybe it's because he ran out of good ones of his own, ' he said. When his interviewer looked shocked, he continued, 'It's true! ' As the years passed, his rhetoric hardened. When McCartney's name was mentioned in November 1989, he said, 'We don't have a relationship. ' He let a long silence hang in the air. 'I think of him as a good friend, really, but a friend I don't have that much in common with any more. You wish the other person well, but life has taken you to other places. To friendlier climes. '

And why would Harrison care about McCartney when he was collaborating with the most influential songwriter in rock history? 'He wanted to be in a band, ' said musician Tom Petty. 'But he wanted to avoid all those pitfalls that a band has. He didn't want it to be so overtly serious that it became a chore. ' Asked by Warner Brothers to record a new song for a single, he recruited a bunch of friends: Petty, Jeff Lynne, Roy Orbison and his long-time hero Bob Dylan. Together, they became the Traveling Wilburys, one of those rare agglomerations of star performers that actually matched its potential. 'It was about as much fun as you can legally have, ' Petty said of the sessions for their debut album. 'Everyone was so up. I think everyone was grooving on the fact that the whole thing didn't lay on any one person's shoulders. ' But, Petty conceded, 'George was our leader and our manager. '

Twenty years earlier Harrison had dreamed of joining a collaborative, fully democratic unit like Bob Dylan's former backing crew The Band. Now his wish was fulfilled. 'We wanted it to be something that warmed the heart, ' Petty explained, and their album – apparently effortless, spontaneous, mischievous and instantly attractive – did exactly that. McCartney raised a dissenting voice: 'I don't really see the point, ' he said later, admitting, 'I'm not really in with a crowd like that. ' But he was out of sync with the widespread sense of joy that the Wilburys engendered – only tarnished by the death of Roy Orbison soon after their album was released. There was a second album in 1990, rougher and less tuneful than the first, and, as Petty recalled, 'There was always a lot of talk about the Wilburys doing a performance. You know, George often talked about it. Especially when we'd have a few drinks he'd get very keen on the idea. And then the next day he'd not be so keen on it. '

Faced with the choice between a partnership of equals and the renewal of a relationship that had no history of equality, Harrison's decision was easy. In November 1989 McCartney again raised the possibility of collaborating with his younger colleague. Harrison's response was rapid, and curt: there could be no reunion of the Beatles, he stated, 'as long as John Lennon remains dead'.