In line with my daily FaceBook
series, LET IT BE ONLY A NORTHERN SONG, found on many Beatles & 60’s FB
Group Pages, the program currently features fun fact articles for the
tracks from the Beatles debut PLEASE PLEASE ME LP. So, I thought it only fitting this week’s blog may well suit
another opinionated angle. Enjoy!
The Beatles recorded the bulk of their debut album, 'Please Please
Me,' in a single daylong studio session. Read an hour-by-hour account.
By Jordan Runtagh
The last notes of "Please Please Me" still hung in the
stale air of EMI's Studio Two on November 26th, 1962, when George Martin's
disembodied voice crackled over the talkback from the control room above.
"Gentlemen," he addressed his young mop-topped
charges, "I think you've made your first Number One." The veteran
producer had a finely tuned ear for hits, but it would be several months before
the Beatles rode their second single to the top of the charts. Released on
January 11th, the song received an unexpected boost from Mother Nature the
following week. The winter of 1963 was one of the most brutal in England's
history, and the record-breaking cold forced many to spend their Saturday
nights at home in front of the television, just in time to catch the band
making one of its earliest national broadcast appearances on ITV's pop-music
program Thank Your Lucky Stars. As the band lip-synched
to its latest record, viewers were transfixed
by the instantly hummable melody, cascading harmonies, relentless beat and –
for early-Sixties Britain – ridiculously long hair. Almost overnight, the
single launched skyward.
With a smash on his hands, Martin knew that the next logical step
was getting a full-length LP into shops as rapidly as possible. He initially
considered a live recording at the band's Liverpool home base. "I had been
up to the Cavern, and I'd seen what they
could do – I knew their repertoire, knew what they were able to perform,"
he recalled for the Beatles' 1995 Anthology documentary. Cheap and practically
instantaneous to produce, the format had much to recommend itself. He'd achieved
great success two years earlier capturing the wildly popular Beyond the Fringe
satire revue (featuring a young Dudley Moore and Peter Cook) with a tape
recorder directly under the stage of London's Fortune Theater. But the
subterranean Cavern, with its concrete walls acting as a natural echo chamber,
was ill-suited for such a venture.
Instead, Martin would re-create the electricity of the Beatles' live shows
inside the recording studio: "I said, 'Let's record every song you've got.
Come down, and we'll whistle through them
in a day.'"
Recording a full album in such a short span didn't seem like an
unreasonable request in 1963. Songs were recorded live on a two-track BTR machine, leaving few opportunities for overdubs
or elaborate edits. Besides, "Please Please Me" and its B side,
"Ask Me Why," were already in the can, as well as the Beatles' first
single, "Love Me Do," backed by "P.S. I Love You." That
left ten more songs to fill out the
customary 14 tracks of a British LP. "It was a straightforward performance
of their stage repertoire – a broadcast, more or less," Martin said, not
unlike their regular sessions on the BBC radio. Their manager, Brian Epstein,
got them excused from their touring commitments the day before so that they would arrive fresh at EMI Studios at 10:00 on
the morning of February 11th, 1963.
That was the idea, at least. Instead,
they showed up late, with John Lennon
nursing a bad cold. "[His] voice was pretty shot," session engineer
Norman Smith recalled in Mark Lewisohn's The Complete Beatles Recording
Sessions. Tins of Zube's throat lozenges
lay strewn across the lid of the baby grand piano in a corner. Nearby, the
bandmates huddled on stools while they worked out the day's set list with
Martin. "We were permanently on edge,"
said George Harrison in the Anthology. "We ran through all the songs
before we recorded anything. We'd play a bit, and
George Martin would say, ‘Well, what else have you got?'" Paul McCartney
wanted to record the old Marlene Dietrich ballad "Falling in Love Again,"
but the number was vetoed by Martin, who
deemed it "corny." The same went for "Besame Mucho," made
famous by the Coasters, which had been a perennial Beatles favorite since 1960.
Instead, Martin insisted on "A Taste of Honey," a relatively new
addition to the set, which he believed would sound better on record.
They settled on four originals, rounded out by a selection of six
covers that they could tear through in short order. "We knew the songs
because that was the act we did all over the country," Ringo Starr said in
the Anthology. "That was why we could easily go into the studio and record
them. The mic situation wasn't complicated either: one in front of each amp,
two overheads for the drums, one for the singer and one for the bass drum."
Young tape operator Richard Langham was one of the battalions of technicians who helped set up the equipment. While mic'ing up their amps, the very same they used
on the road, he found the speaker cabinets stuffed with bits of paper.
"They were notes from the girls from the dance floor who threw them up on
the stage," Langham said. "They said, 'Please play this, please play
that, this is my phone number.' I guess they just read them and then threw them
in the back of the amplifier."
Soon they were ready, armed with their weapons of choice:
McCartney with his distinctive violin-shaped 1961 500/1 Hofner bass, Starr his
Premier kit, Harrison his cherished 1957 Gretsch Duo-Jet and 1962 J-160E Gibson
"Jumbo" acoustic-electric, Lennon with his matching Jumbo and 1958
Rickenbacker 325. "[It] was, 'Let's get this up and let's get on the
road,' because by this time it was half past 10 [or] 11," Langham said in
a 2013 BBC documentary. EMI in the early Sixties was more an institutional
research facility than a creative space, and as such operated under rigid
recording schedules. Sessions ran "strictly
to time," beginning in the morning between 10 a.m. and 1 p.m. (with a
90-minute break for lunch), then an afternoon slot from 2:30 to 6 p.m. (with a
90-minute break for dinner), and finally an evening period from 7:30 until the
studio closed at 10. With the clock already running, the Beatles got to
work. "They just put their heads down and played," Epstein later said
to a friend.
Years of grueling
late-night jam sessions and punishing tour itineraries prepared them well for
this music marathon. Now they relied on muscle memory, transforming the
fluorescent-lit Studio 2 into another seedy club or tweedy dance hall. As
Lennon recalled a decade later with no small degree of pride, the band's debut
album "was the nearest thing to what we might have sounded like to the
audiences in Hamburg and Liverpool. Still, you don't get that live atmosphere
of the crowd stomping on the beat with you, but it's the nearest you can get to
knowing what we sounded like before we
became the 'clever' Beatles." As Martin once noted, the "live"
nature of the recording was born more out of necessity – and the band's naiveté
– rather than from a conscious minimalist choice. "The Beatles didn't really have much say in recording
operations," he said later. "It was only after the first year that
they started getting really interested in
studio techniques. But they always wanted to get the thing right, so it wasn't
a one-take operation. They would listen to it, and then do two or three takes
until they got it."
The sessions wrapped just after 10:45 p.m., and the following
night the Beatles were back out on the road. The venture had cost the record
label just £400 (about $11,000 in 2018). "There wasn't a lot of money at
Parlophone," Martin admitted. "I was working to an annual budget of £55,000." It took the band just under
10 hours of studio time to record the bulk of the first album, released on
March 22nd, 1963, as Please Please Me. As Harrison wryly observed decades
later, "The second one took even longer."
What follows is an hour-by-hour record of what happened during
this extraordinary day in the life of the Fab Four.
10:45–11:30 a.m.: "There's a Place"
The Beatles clearly had high
hopes for this relatively new composition, giving it pride of place as the
first song tackled that day. It had been written several months earlier in the
living room of the McCartney family home, where a copy of the West Side Story
soundtrack played a direct role in the song's creation. "There's a
Place" borrowed its title from the opening line of "Somewhere,"
and expanded on the theatrical standout's youthful yearning for a peaceful
space away from the prying eyes of adults. "In our case, the place was in the mind, rather than round the back of the stairs for a kiss and a
cuddle," McCartney recalled in his authorized biography, Many Years From
Now. "This was the difference with what we were writing. We were getting a
bit more cerebral." Given that it was the first song intentionally recorded
for the Beatles' debut, its maturity was a portent of good things to come.
Conceived, in Lennon's words, as "a sort of Motown black
thing," the song showed strong promise as a potential highlight, or
possibly even a single. The initial take was a complete run-through, nearly
identical to the final version except for the absence of Lennon's harmonica on
the intro. Instead, Harrison takes up the phrase on guitar, but the octave
figure proves tricky to master, and he fumbles it on most of the first few
versions. He can be heard practicing between takes, loosening up his fingers by
playing the similar introduction to "Please Please Me." The vocals
also prove to be a sticking point, with Lennon's voice already showing the
effects of his sore throat even this early in the day. Just before the fifth
take, he can be heard giving McCartney some advice on the elongated
"There-e-e-e-ere" a cappella line: "It works better if you do it
on the beat somehow – you know, think the beat in your head." McCartney,
meanwhile, halted the song after just a few bars. "It was bad, that
beginning," he proclaimed bluntly. They nearly had it by Take 9, but McCartney's voice began to waver on
the high harmonies. Clearly frustrated,
the bassist was heard to sarcastically mutter "Take 15 ..." before
the actual take, number 10.
This attempt provided the basis for the version heard on the
record. Lennon's harmonica would be added later in the day, but with noon fast
approaching, the group decided to move on to another promising original.
11:30 a.m.–1:00 p.m.: "I Saw Her Standing There"
Even before recording engineer Norman Smith announced the song as
"Seventeen" – as it was known
during its time as an early Cavern-era staple – a disapproving Martin can be
heard grumbling from the control room: "I think it ought to have a
different title." It would be known forevermore
as "I Saw Her Standing There," a masterful blend of formative band
favorites, melded into something completely fresh.
Lyrically the song pays homage to the Coasters'
"Young Blood" ("I saw her standing on the corner ..."),
Chuck Berry's "Little Queenie" ("She's too cute to be a minute
over 17") and even the golden oldie "When the Saints Go Marching
In" ("I want to be in that number/When the saints go marching
in" having the same meter as "How could I dance with another/Since I
saw her standing there"), which the Beatles often performed as a rocked-up
piss-take. In later years, McCartney revealed that he "nicked" the
bass line from another Berry tune, 1961's "I'm Talking About You,"
which was part of the setlist around the
same period. "I played exactly the same
notes as he did and it fitted our number perfectly," he said in Many Years
From Now.
The Beatles essentially captured the final version on the first
take, playing and singing live, and preserving on record the first of their
famous falsetto "oooohs," which
would become an early trademark when coupled with a mop-topped head shake. Martin, however, pushed for another go
around just to be safe. Take 2 would
prove less successful, as McCartney and Lennon have difficulty remembering the
order of "how could I dance," "she wouldn't dance," and
"I'll never dance" in the chorus. Though the take had plenty of
vigor, McCartney ended it with a despondent descending bass slide, and a dispirited Lennon muttered,
"Dreadful." Martin tried to salvage the situation by having the band
record edit pieces for the botched lines (Take 3), and more run-throughs of
Harrison's solo on Takes 4 and 5. The tension began to show as Take 6 broke down
midway through. "Too fast," copped McCartney. "No, you had a
wrong word, didn't you?" a voice from the control room pointed out.
"Yeah, but, I mean, it's too fast anyway," McCartney countered.
McCartney himself stopped Take 7 with a frantic cry of "Too
fast!" before apologetically showing his perfectionist streak. "And
again, I'm sorry, you know, but . .
.," he said while demonstrating the song's appropriate tempo. The drummer
had been going strong all morning, but it was Starr's turn for a mistake on Take 8. A missed high-hat hit caused the song
to sputter to a stop, with McCartney moaning, "What happened?!" With
his patience growing thin, he threw extra oomph into the count-in for Take 9, spitting out a raucous
"one-two-three-FAW."
The effect was so invigorating that Martin later edited it onto
the front of Take 1, creating one of
rock's greatest intros since Elvis Presley crooned, "Well, it's one for
the money, two for the show . . .,"
on his debut seven years earlier.
1:00–2:30 p.m.: Lunchtime
Typically, after morning sessions at the studio concluded, the
next 90 minutes were reserved for artists and staff to take their lunch. But,
distraught by their slow progress, the Beatles had other plans. "We told
them we were having a break, but they said they would like to stay on and
rehearse," Langham said in The Complete Beatles Recording Sessions.
"So while George [Martin], Norman and I went round the corner to the Heroes of Alma for a pie and pint, they
stayed, drinking milk. When we came back,
they'd been playing right through. We couldn't believe it. We had never seen a
group work right through their lunch break before."
2:30–3:15 p.m.: "A Taste of Honey"
Eager to make headway, the bandmates decided to focus on a more
familiar number from the stage set. For their first cover of the day, they went
with "A Taste of Honey," a pop standard that had been given an
R&B remake by Lenny Welch the year before. Both Epstein and Martin saw the
value of including a sophisticated adult-contemporary ballad alongside rock
stompers to showcase the band's versatility. So did McCartney, who was vocal
about his love for pre-war melodies. "I thought those were good
tunes," he reflected. "The fact that we weren't ashamed of those
leanings meant that the band could be a bit more varied."
Five takes of the song were
recorded, two of them incomplete breakdowns, with the band playing and
singing live. The fifth was temporarily labeled
as the final.
3:15–3:45 p.m.: "Do You Want to Know a Secret"
"'Do You Want to Know a Secret' was 'my song' on the
album," Harrison complained in the Anthology. "I didn't like my vocal
on it. I didn't know how to sing. Nobody told me how to." Lennon wrote the
bulk of the song, drawing on a childhood memory of his late mother. "She was
a comedienne and a singer," he remembered in Playboy shortly before his
death in 1980. "Not professional, but she used to get up in pubs and
things like that. She had a good voice. . . .
She used to do this little tune when I was just one or two years old. . . . The
tune was from the Disney movie – 'Want to know a secret? Promise not to tell.
You are standing by a wishing well. . .
.'" (The song, called "I'm Wishing," was featured in Walt
Disney's debut feature film, 1937's Snow White.) Lennon included a slow,
minor-key introduction on his composition, perhaps as a nod to its vintage
inspiration – or maybe he took his cue from tunesmiths like Carole King and
Gerry Goffin, who had recently employed a similar technique on several of their
hits.
Discounting two false starts, the Beatles performed four complete
takes of the song, with Take 6 marked as
the best. At Martin's insistence, the Beatles took two attempts at overdubbing
Lennon and McCartney's "doo-dah-doo" backing harmonies on the verses,
and Starr's stick taps during the bridge. Take 8 was the finished version.
3:45–4:15 p.m.: "A Taste of Honey" vocal overdubs
The overdubs on "Do You Want to Know a Secret"
apparently triggered something with Martin and the boys because the next hour and a quarter was spent polishing off
songs that were already in the can. McCartney's bandmates had a break while he
was tasked with "double-tracking" his vocals at two points in "A
Taste of Honey," resulting in a richer, fuller sound during the dramatic
"I will return" verses. The Beatles would utilize this recording
technique again and again throughout their career.
4:15–4:30 p.m.: "There's a Place" harmonica overdubs
Fearing that Harrison's guitar lacked impact, Martin suggested
that Lennon perform the introductory riff of "There's a Place" on
harmonica. The trick had been used to great effect on the band's first two
singles, "Love Me Do" and "Please Please Me," and Lennon
duly obliged. He required three passes over the previously recorded Take 10,
effectively burying Harrison's guitar work on the final version, Take 13.
4:45–5:00 p.m.: "I Saw Her Standing There" hand-clap
overdubs
In an effort to echo the
excitement of a crowd stomping and banging along in unison, Martin requested
that the Beatles add hand claps to what would become the album's opener. The
band gathered around a microphone while tape ops cued up Take 1, the strongest
version from earlier in the day, but the first
attempt at a clapping overdub was marred by volume problems. This sends the boys into joyful hysterics, faux
applause and other goofy humor (McCartney can be heard urging the others to
"keep Britain tidy," a non sequitur joke that would crop up in A Hard
Day's Night). They got the job done the next time around, completing the song
with Take 12.
5:00–6:00 p.m.: "Misery."
Seeking to cement their reputation as songwriters for hire, Lennon
and McCartney penned "Misery" with the aim of presenting it to the
headliner of their package tour, a young singer named Helen Shapiro.
Unfortunately, her manager, British record impresario Norrie Paramor, felt the
rather dour subject matter was ill-suited
for a teenage chanteuse. "She turned it down," recalled McCartney.
"It may not have been that successful for her because it's a rather
downbeat song. It was quite pessimistic." Eventually,
the track went to another of their tourmates, Kenny Lynch, making him the first
artist to cover a Lennon-McCartney number on record.
The Beatles' version came first, requiring 11 takes in all to
complete. The first was in many ways the best, with a few extra drum flourishes
from Starr (which were eventually dropped)
and some extra spirited "ooohs"
and "la-la-las" on the outro. Unfortunately, Harrison's guitar run
was slightly out of time on the bridge, requiring another go. Take 2 was nearly as good, but Martin stopped the
song after noticing that Harrison's guitar was coming through distorted.
"Clean it up a bit, and a little less volume, George," he instructed.
A handful of false starts followed, with Lennon having trouble keeping the words
and the chords straight. "I won't see her no more," McCartney guided.
Take 6 was perhaps the most interesting
of all, with bold drum fills and some guitar embroidery from Harrison that
didn't make the final cut. But it was a little too busy for Martin, who
requested a more streamlined approach on Take
7.
The descending guitar line was proving too difficult to perfect,
so the producer asked Harrison to lay out (he would overdub the phrase himself
on piano nine days later, on February 20th, without the involvement of the
band). Take 8 crashed to a stop soon
after the count-in with McCartney merrily pointing the finger at Lennon:
"Stop it, he said the wrong words!" Take 9 would be the final attempt that day before the clock read 6:00
and it was time for dinner. Martin would splice together the beginning of Take 7 and the end of Take 9 to create the version on record. (The edit can be heard on
the first word of the third verse when
Lennon sang what sounds like "shend.")
6:00–7:30 p.m.: Dinner break.
Having wrapped the afternoon session, the presumably famished
Beatles likely took a quick meal in the decidedly unglamorous EMI canteen. If
they were anxious, they had good reason.
The bandmates were two-thirds through their allotted recording time, and they
had produced only half of the required songs. They would need to bang out a
further five tunes in two and a half hours in
order to complete the album on time. Luckily the remaining songs, mostly
covers, were mainstays in their repertoire. They could play these numbers
backward, forward and sometimes – as could be the case during their long
Hamburg club nights – in their sleep. With their eyes on the prize (as well as
the clock), they trooped back into Studio 2 determined to let it rip.
7:30–8:15 p.m.: "Hold Me Tight."
Unfortunately, the beginning of their evening session proved to be
a colossal waste of time, as the Beatles ran through 13 takes of an original
tune that would not make the album at all. "Hold Me Tight" was an
uptempo rocker written mostly by McCartney several years earlier. It had been integrated into their stage show, but they
never counted it among their best work. Even its composer dismissed it in
retrospect as "a failed attempt at a single which then became an
acceptable album filler." Lennon was equally blunt in his assessment of
the number toward the end of his life. "That was Paul's," he said in
1980. "It was a pretty poor song, and I was never really interested in
it."
Perhaps it's for this reason that "Hold Me Tight" never
got off the ground during the Please Please Me session. Tapes of the song from
that day have since been destroyed, but
the session notes paint a maddening portrait of false starts, breakdowns and
edit pieces to patch up errors. Although the band eventually got a serviceable
version (Take 9 spliced with an edit
piece, Take 13), the song was abandoned
for the day. A rerecorded incarnation would surface on the band's next album,
With the Beatles, later that year.
8:15 p.m.–8:45 p.m.: "Anna (Go to Him)"
The frustrating experience of "Hold Me Tight" was now
behind them, leaving them free to plow through their beloved covers. "A
Taste of Honey" aside, which was more of a request from Martin and
Epstein, these were the songs that truly inspired them. It's telling that all
the non-original songs on Please Please Me had been performed (or at least
popularized) by black soul artists, bearing out McCartney's assertion that the
Beatles saw themselves as "a little R&B combo."
The first Lennon-led cover of the night, "Anna (Go to
Him)," paid tribute to one of his great heroes, Alabama country-soul
pioneer Arthur Alexander. The arrangement had been
honed through constant performance, so recording was a relatively simple
matter of getting a good live take. Floyd Cramer's introductory piano figure
was played on guitar by Harrison, who was also an enormous fan of Alexander.
"I remember having several records by him, and John sang three or four of
his songs," he said in the Anthology. "Arthur Alexander used a
peculiar drum pattern, which we tried to copy, but we couldn't quite do it, so
in the end, we invented something quite
bizarre but equally original." By Take 3, the song was complete.
8:45–9:00 p.m.: "Boys."
The prevailing industry ethos of the time dictated that every pop
group had to have a frontman, but Martin, to the foursome's everlasting
gratitude, refused to make it First Name and the Beatles. In doing so, he
cemented the idea of the band as a unified collective, and not merely hired
backing. The group took this democratic notion even further by giving each
member his own lead vocal spot on the
album. For Starr's turn, they chose "Boys," a Shirelles B side he'd
been performing since his pre-Beatles days in Rory Storm and the Hurricanes.
According to McCartney, the number "was a fan favorite with the crowd. And
it was great – though if you think about it, here's us doing a song and it was really a girls' song. 'I talk about boys now!'
Or it was a gay song. But we never even listened. It's just a great song."
As he did onstage, Starr sang and played at the same time, which
any drummer can attest isn't the easiest thing to do. But instinct took hold, and he got it on the first try, making it the
only song of the day to be wrapped in a single take. "We didn't rehearse
for our first album," the drummer recalled. "In my head, it was done
‘live.' We did the songs through first, so
they could get some sort of sound on each
one. Then we had to just run, run, run
them down."
9:00– 9:30 p.m.: "Chains."
Originally recorded by the Cookies, an R&B girl group out of
New York City, "Chains" showcased the Beatles' formidable ability to
unearth deep-cut American pop gems, then a rarity in their British homeland.
"With our manager, Brian Epstein, having a record shop, NEMS, we did have
the opportunity to look around a bit more than the casual buyer,"
McCartney explained in the liner notes to On Air – Live at the BBC Volume 2.
Harrison was particularly taken with
"Chains," purchasing the record in December 1962 and claiming the
lead vocal as his own. The band recorded two complete versions of the song,
with the first deemed the best.
A look at the label on the Cookies' single, which the Beatles no
doubt inspected closely, would have revealed that "Chains" was written by Gerry Goffin and Carole King,
the husband-and-wife duo who were a huge
inspiration to the Beatles' own
songwriting partnership. Lennon famously expressed his desire to be "the
Goffin-King of England" with McCartney – as long as his name came first.
When the initial pressing of Please Please Me credited the originals to
"McCartney-Lennon," the rhythm guitarist quickly pulled some strings.
The move rankled his collaborator and became something of a sore spot in years
to come. "I wanted it to be McCartney-Lennon, but John had the stronger
personality, and I think he fixed things
with Brian before I got there," McCartney related in Many Years From Now.
"That was John's way. He was one and a half years older than me, and at
that age, it meant a little more
worldliness. I remember going to a meeting and being
told, 'We think you should credit the songs to Lennon-McCartney.' I
said, 'No, it can't be Lennon first, how about McCartney-Lennon?' They all said, 'Lennon-McCartney sounds better, it has
a better ring. . . .' I had to say, 'All right, sod it.'"
9:30–10:00 p.m.: "Baby It's You"
The next number the band attempted was
penned by Burt Bacharach and Mack David – elder brother of the
composer's better-known lyricist, Hal. The second Shirelles song the Beatles'
recorded that day, "Baby It's You" also featured contributions from
Luther Dixon (credited as Barney Williams), the co-writer of "Boys."
Three takes were recorded, one of which
was a false start, with the final one labeled as the best. The track would be
completed nine days later, on February 20th, when Martin tracked himself
playing celeste over Harrison's guitar solo.
Lennon's voice, which had been deteriorating all day, was
beginning to show major cracks, notably on the "Don't want nobody,
nobody" section. Fortunately, he had
only one song left to do, but it would take everything he had.
10:15–10:30 p.m.: "Twist and Shout."
It was now 10:00, the time when the studio officially closed for
the night. For all of their superhuman stamina that day, the Beatles
(discounting the aborted "Hold Me Tight") were still one song short.
The following morning, they were due to make the long trek to the north of
England for a booking in Oldham,
Lancashire. They had to get it now. Martin, as he often would for the Beatles,
decided to bend the rules slightly and sneak in one more session after hours.
But what would they play?
"At about 10 p.m., we all retired to the studio canteen for
coffee and biscuits, where we and George Martin
began an earnest discussion about a suitable number for the last
track," McCartney remembered. Also present was journalist Alan Smith, who
was reporting on the sessions for NME. "We all crowded in there, and I
think it was George who said, 'What are we gonna do for the last number?'"
Smith said in a BBC documentary. "I said, 'I think I heard you do "La
Bamba" on the radio a few weeks ago.' McCartney looked a bit blank, and
then he said, 'You mean "Twist and Shout"!' I said, 'Yeah,
"Twist and Shout."'" The idea was instantly accepted.
On visits to the Cavern, Martin had witnessed firsthand the song's
power to bring down the house. "John absolutely
screamed it," he recalled. "God alone knows what he did to his larynx
each time he performed it because he made
a sound rather like tearing flesh. That had to be right on the first take because I knew perfectly well that if we
had to do it a second time, it would
never be as good." Yet as they tuned
up one final time that night in Studio 2, there was a very real question of
whether he could manage it at all. "By this time all their throats were
tired and sore," Norman Smith told Mark Lewisohn. "It was 12 hours
since we had started working. John's, in particular, was almost completely
gone, so we really had to get it right
first time. John sucked a couple more Zubes, had a bit of a gargle with milk
and away we went." Stripping off his shirt, he stepped up to the
microphone.
The 22-year-old threw back his head and emitted a wail that, half
a century later, still evokes winces of pain along with the involuntary head
bob. "I couldn't sing the damn thing – I was just screaming," he admitted to Rolling Stone in 1970.
"The last song nearly killed me," he said later. "My voice
wasn't the same for a long time after. Every time I swallowed, it was like
sandpaper. I was always bitterly ashamed of it
because I could sing it better than that. But now it doesn't bother me. You can
hear that I'm just a frantic guy doing his best." The utter passion and
total commitment made up for the wavering pitch and occasional cracks, which
add flawed beauty to the song. In solidarity, the other Beatles played with an
intensity that was all the more impressive given the grueling day behind them.
Starr attacked the drums with a primal
fury, while McCartney and Harrison bolstered their flagging singer with
airtight harmonies and encouraging war whoops. "He knew his voice had been
going all day, and he could only give it one or two goes, and it would just
rip it – which it did," said McCartney. "You can hear it on the
record. But it was a pretty cool performance." The final seconds of the
song, which eventually closed the Beatles' debut, capture a joyous
"Hey!" – McCartney's spontaneous salute to his mate.
A second take was briefly attempted,
but there wasn't much point. Lennon gave it all the first time around. "It
was good enough for the record, and it needed that linen-ripping sound,"
said Martin. The Beatles' "Twist and Shout" was released with no
edits, no overdubs, and no second
chances.
10:30–10:45 p.m.: Playback
"At the end of the recording, George Martin looked down from
the control room and said in amazement, 'I don't know how you do it. We've been
here recording all day and the longer you go on, the better you get!'"
McCartney recalled. With 14 songs in the can, there was nothing left to do but
step back and admire their work. At half past 10, the Beatles climbed the
stairs from the studio floor to the control room for the chance to listen to
their debut album for the first time. "Waiting to hear that LP played back
was one of our most worrying experiences," Lennon said in 1963. "We're
perfectionists: If it had come out any old way, we'd have wanted to do it all
over again. As it happens, we were very happy with the result."
McCartney concurred. "This album was one of the main
ambitions in our lives," he said. "We felt that it would be a showcase
for the group, and it was tremendously important for us that it sounded bang on
the button. As it happened, we were pleased. If not, sore throats or not, we'd
have done it all over again. That was the mood we were in. It was break or bust for us."
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