Interview for London Express

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They sit primly two by two, Paul and George, Ringo and John, in the back of the bus. In the daylight their faces, set in bonnets of lank hair, look small and, against the mauves, reds, and greens, and polka dots of their clothes, oddly washed out.

On the passing turnpike, cars overtake our “scenicruiser,” and fathers find themselves suddenly surprised by distraught teenage passengers who have incredibly, unbelievably looked into Ringo’s hurt eyes or John’s mocking face.

Yes, all the old adulation of the phenomenal four — now in Toronto — is still there, although there are twice as many riot police around to see that the welcome does not shake the local seismographs.

BUT SOMETHING is lacking on this third “one-night stand’’ slog around the U.S. and Canada — the old don’t-give-a-damn brashness that enslaved the kids and antagonized the parents.

Gone are the days when an influential New York reporter could ask what the Beatles liked least about America and be told brutally by John Lennon: “You.”

They set out at The Cavern to make a few bob but the world went barmy. And here they are, millionaires in search of a future, constantly asking themselves: “What do we do now?”

I have been the only British reporter who has stayed with the Beatles on plane, bus, truck and caravan from the outset of this foray to net L265,-000 (the gross is over L350,090) for nine hours 30 minutes’ work on stage.
And after long conversations with all four I can tell you the Beatles are worried.

THEY TRIED waiting stoically for what they call the downfall, but it never came. On Tuesday they played to 36,-000 people and this, paradoxical as it may seem, is their big worry. In front of these outlandish crowds their performance has fallen off to a shocking pitch.

The pandemonium that greets their in the flesh appearance never abates while they are on view. Even the huge black amplifiers cannot overcome the din and when one Beatle goes off key they find it next to impossible to recover.

GEORGE HARRISON, a careful musician, complained:

“Some nights I’m standing in front of the mike opening my mouth and I’m not even sure myself if anything is coming out.”

Paul McCartney said:

“When we started at The Cavern people listened and we were able to develop, to grow, to create. But when the screaming started the first casualty was the humour we put into our performance. Now of course we are prisoners, with 50 per cent of our act taken over by the audience.”

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