Music Recording Equipments

It’s always of interest to me when someone who hadn’t lived through

the Swingin’ Sixties attempts to do an historical expose on the proceedings thereof. As a Beatles fanatic, with the emphasis on fanatic, Beatles music is as much a part of me as my own physiology. As a child of the ’60s, forgotten or otherwise swept aside facts and anecdotes by later generations of journalists are still within my memory. The price of Here, There and Everywhere; My Life Recording the Music of the Beatles is not prohibitive,so I’ll probably pick it up, but I’m predisposed to taking the narrative with more than a grain of salt. When McCartney gets into his

St. Pauli pose(as the title would imply, one of Paul’s lovely ballads),

He reminds me of Jerry Lewis’ posthumous documentary of the Martin & Lewis

Years and their aftermath; It could have been subtitled, “It Wasn’t My Fault,” Buy the book, but use a more reliable tome like Michael Lewissohn’s magnificent diary of all the Beatles’ recording sessions.
Rating: 3 / 5

This is a fine book but a book that’s almost fatally compromised by bias. It’s great that Emerick worshipped Paul McCartney, adored him, fawned over him and lapped up any tiny amount of attention Macca paid to him. It’s Geoff’s right to have had a favorite Beatle (hey, most of us do). But I object most strenuously to the character assassination of George Harrison, which weaves in and out of the narrative like a bad acid trip.

I’ve read hundreds of books about the Beatles, many of which were written by insiders. Dislike of George is nowhere to be found in all these other accounts, and “dislike” is the correct word to apply regarding Geoff’s feelings for Harrison. The reader is repeatedly treated to Emerick’s constant derision for George’s “ham-fisted guitar playing,” or his “agonizingly bad attempt at a solo.” He mentions this at least 30 times in the book. He registers total surprise on the two occasions when George is able to whip out a 4-bar solo without flubbing it. He depicts George as a torturously inept guitarist and makes plain that Paul’s guitar work was vastly superior. He also bends over backwards to let the reader know that George and John’s occasional attempts to play bass (Paul’s instrument), were anemic at best.

I agree that Paul was a better guitarist than George and obviously the songwriting team of Lennon-McCartney eclipsed anything Harrison could come up with. A gentle reminder of these facts would have sufficed. Instead Emerick takes a sledgehammer to batter us with constant references to Harrison’s musical ineptitude. It becomes quite tedious after a few hundred pages. We get the message!

Emerick also makes many nasty asides about George as a human being: he was sullen, mean, caustic, unfunny and an extremely untalented songwriter. The “I hate George” refrain becomes a drag after awhile. Geoff calls many of George’s songs “dirges” and makes plain that neither he, George Martin, nor the rest of the Beatles could keep their eyes open whenever George rehearsed one of his songs.

Geoff’s distaste for Ringo is almost as prominent, and he dismisses Ringo as “stupid,” “dim-witted” and a lug who sits behind his drum kit reading comic books, contributing virtually nothing to the group. He claims that Ringo was a terrible singer who “could barely sing a note.” Whenever Ringo produces brilliance on the drums, Geoff takes all the credit because he placed a spot mike by Ringo’s high hat, or because he stuffed towels into the bass drum to achieve a muffled effect. Incredibly, he makes these judgment calls after admitting he never once had a conversation with the tactiturn drummer.

John Lennon comes off a wee bit better, though there’s no affection there either. Geoff is almost grudging in his praise of “Strawberry Fields,” and if you can’t muster praise for that song, it’s pretty hopeless. He despised “Revolution” and trashes “I am the Walrus” at every opportunity. He goes into rhapsodies over Paul songs like “Blackbird” or “A Fool on the Hill” and dismisses “Walrus” in a single paragraph brimming with criticism.

All of the love is poured in copious amounts upon the adorable head of Paul, who is unbearably talented, sweet, kind, a better musician that the other three combined. Emerick insists Paul knew more about conducting an orchestra than George Martin himself. According to Emerick, Paul was the real leader of the Beatles, the only one who cared about music and most importantly, the only Beatle who ever gave him the time of day. It’s obvious this last point is the salient one for Geoff.

Perhaps the biggest inaccuracy is that Emerick believes that the Beatles really were only a vehicle for Paul (and to a lesser extent, John), to show their genius. He openly states that George and Ringo were pawns, utterly unimportant in the scheme of things, and session musicians could easily have filled their place. It’s amazing that someone who worked so closely with the group could make such a demonstrably assinine, ill-informed remark.

Despite all the negativity in the book, it’s a plethora of new, exciting details about the Beatles making music. There’s no doubt that this is an incredibly important primary account, far better than George Martin’s writings about the boys. Emerick’s chapters on Revolver and Sgt. Pepper are the highlight of the book. He spends several pages on the making of “A Day in The Life” which is worth the price of the book alone. His insights into the stuffy and button-down George Martin are also funny and insightful. On the few occasions that Martin was absent, the Beatles were able to goof around and let loose on fun songs like “Yellow Submarine” or “All Together Now.”

Emerick could have delved more into drug use by the Beatles, but aside from telling a few dreary stories about John using acid, there’s not much there. His character portraits of the Beatles are also minimal. A reader knowing nothing about the group would come away despising Harrison, thinking Ringo was a cretin, Paul a genius and John an eccentric hanger-oner. Yoko flits in and out, but Emerick’s stories about her contain nothing new or especially interesting.

It’s essential reading for any Beatles fan, but the hateful tone towards George and the pandering to Paul makes it a sometimes uncomfy read.
Rating: 4 / 5