Uber-Beatles insider Neil
Aspinall died in 2008, prompting me to write the piece below for Rock’s Back
Pages.
Neil Aspinall worked for The
Beatles from 1961 until shortly before he died, their longest serving, most
loyal and certainly most tight-lipped retainer. While all and sundry who met
The Beatles only briefly have felt the need to cash in by writing books, Neil,
who was closer to them than anyone really, barring their wives, and certainly
the most well-informed, long-term Beatles insider, resolutely refused ever to
be interviewed. Whatever secrets he knew – and there must have been many – went
with him to the grave.
I had two
encounters with Neil, both meetings to resolve issues between Omnibus Press and
Apple. Certain Beatle-minded friends had told me that meeting Neil Aspinall was
the holy grail of Beatledom. While it was relatively easy to meet The Beatles
themselves if you were a journalist (or a fan determined to find out where they
might be at any time – were this not the case John might be with us today), it
was virtually impossible to scale the wall to meet Neil.
So what was he like? Well, he was a dry old stick, that’s for sure, though there can be absolutely no question that he had The Beatles’ best interests at heart, even if this did mean his first response to every request was to say ‘no’. I guess that’s the way you become when you’ve seen everything and he’d seen absolutely everything, of course; the pre-Ringo Beatles, the wild, unfathomable madness of Beatlemania, the estimated 300,000 who turned out to line their route into Adelaide in 1964, the nastiness in Manila and the burning of Beatles records in the US after John’s ‘bigger than Jesus’ interview, the mind-boggling stupidity of Apple’s early days, the bitter fallings out, the divorces, the millions that were made and squandered and remade, the lawsuits, and the craziness that even now erupts because of the unimagined heights of celebrity that The Beatles lived through. If Neil was well enough he’d have been having a wry old chuckle about the court revelations in the Mucca v Macca saga. “Aah, that Paul – he’ll never learn…”
In 1989 I was summoned to Apple’s offices in Mayfair by the fabulous Derek Taylor to answer a charge that Omnibus was involved in packaging a rip-off Beatles’ ‘product’ (about which I knew absolutely nothing). Derek, whom I knew well, ushered me into Neil’s wood-panelled office. On his desk was a light blue box, about 300x250mm, a couple of inches deep, on the top of which was an embossed Beatles logo with the dropped ‘T’ and, also embossed, the famous image of the Fabs leaping from a stone wall, as used for the first time on the Twist And Shout EP, issued in the summer 1963 at the height of Beatlemania.
So what was he like? Well, he was a dry old stick, that’s for sure, though there can be absolutely no question that he had The Beatles’ best interests at heart, even if this did mean his first response to every request was to say ‘no’. I guess that’s the way you become when you’ve seen everything and he’d seen absolutely everything, of course; the pre-Ringo Beatles, the wild, unfathomable madness of Beatlemania, the estimated 300,000 who turned out to line their route into Adelaide in 1964, the nastiness in Manila and the burning of Beatles records in the US after John’s ‘bigger than Jesus’ interview, the mind-boggling stupidity of Apple’s early days, the bitter fallings out, the divorces, the millions that were made and squandered and remade, the lawsuits, and the craziness that even now erupts because of the unimagined heights of celebrity that The Beatles lived through. If Neil was well enough he’d have been having a wry old chuckle about the court revelations in the Mucca v Macca saga. “Aah, that Paul – he’ll never learn…”
In 1989 I was summoned to Apple’s offices in Mayfair by the fabulous Derek Taylor to answer a charge that Omnibus was involved in packaging a rip-off Beatles’ ‘product’ (about which I knew absolutely nothing). Derek, whom I knew well, ushered me into Neil’s wood-panelled office. On his desk was a light blue box, about 300x250mm, a couple of inches deep, on the top of which was an embossed Beatles logo with the dropped ‘T’ and, also embossed, the famous image of the Fabs leaping from a stone wall, as used for the first time on the Twist And Shout EP, issued in the summer 1963 at the height of Beatlemania.
After Derek introduced us, Neil handed me the box. “What’s
all this about then?” he asked, in the manner of an old fashioned bobby. He was
a bit grumpy, bald, with gold-rimmed specs, suited, slightly overweight and he
chain-smoked. He didn’t look a bit like the chap I’d seen in the odd photograph
from the Sixties, ushering his charges onto some stage somewhere or carrying
George’s guitar, but I was definitely intimidated in his presence, knowing what
I did about him. He wasn’t unfriendly but then again, unlike Derek, he wasn’t
friendly either, just very matter of fact.
“I haven’t a clue,” I said. “I’ve never seen this in my
life before.”
“Open it,” said Derek, who was hovering in the background.
I did so. It contained a copy of Dezo Hoffman’s photo book With The Beatles, published by Omnibus
Press, beneath which, inlaid into card, were CDs of Help!, Rubber Soul, and Revolver.
“I have nothing to do with this,” I said. “Where did it
come from?”
“Japan,” said Neil, a man of few words. “How come your
book’s in it?”
I was well aware that Dezo’s book was a bone of contention
between Omnibus Press and Apple. It was first published in 1982 when Dezo was
alive through an arrangement with the photo agency Rex Features, which
represented Dezo, but when he died in 1986 his widow sold the copyrights of all
his Beatles photographs to Apple who guarded them jealously. Now, instead of
paying a royalty on the book to Dezo via Rex, we paid it to Apple but, since it
wasn’t ‘official’ Beatles product, if Apple had their way they would force us
to withdraw it. Legally, however, because the contract was exchanged while Dezo
was alive, Omnibus could continue to publish the book for as long as we kept it
in print (which we have now done for 27 years; indeed, we have no intention of
ever letting it go out of print).
“I don’t know how our book came to be in this box,” I
replied, honestly. “We receive orders for our books all the time from
wholesalers who sell them on to retailers or whoever else. We have world rights
on this book and we sell it to anyone anywhere, and we have no way of knowing
where they will end up.”
Neil looked me in the eye. I didn’t know whether he
believed me or not. “This was on sale in Japan for the equivalent of £200,”
he said. “Some copies of it found their way to America where it was on sale for
about £300. It’s a rip-off.”
He was certainly right there. The Dezo book’s retail price
was about ten quid in those days and the CDs about £12. Wholesale, this would
have set the packager back a fiver for the book and maybe £7-8 each for the
three discs, total outlay, say £27, plus a another quid or so for the box and
inlay. £300 was a huge mark up.
“This one,” said Neil, indicating the box in my lap, “was
on sale in Camden Town market for £350. It was supposed to be a rare Beatles
collectible...”
Derek butted in. “And some bastard is ripping off Beatle
fans and making it look like The Beatles are behind it.”
“Well, it wasn’t us,” I replied, firmly. “And EMI must have
supplied the CDs.”
“Yes, I realise that,” said Neil. “And I think I believe
you. And I also think they made 2,000 of these boxes.”
“Look,” I said. “We are not in the business of selling CDs
and creating things like this. But I can find out if we had an order for 2,000
books in the last year or so. It’s a big
order for an old book so it’ll stand out, and we might be able to find out
where they went. I’d like to help.”
“Thank you,” said Neil, standing up and shaking my hand.
Then he left the room.
I lingered and chatted about this and that with Derek, whom
I’d known since 1970. He believed my story about the Dezo book, and as I was
leaving, strangely, he went over to a cupboard and produced a vinyl copy of Please Please Me, The Beatles’ first LP.
“No one leaves here without a present,” he said, as whimsical as ever. “And I
think if you still have a copy of this, it’ll be very scratched by now, so
here’s a new one.”
He was right about that.
My second encounter with Neil
Aspinall took place about a year after the first, at a time when Mary
McCartney, Paul’s eldest daughter, was working for me as a photo researcher,
not that this in any way influenced Neil’s attitude towards me or Omnibus.
I had received a letter from Apple’s lawyers alleging that
we had breached their copyright by publishing a Beatles book that, again,
contained photographs by Dezo Hoffman. This particular book originated in America and I had bought UK rights, having previously had an assurance
from the US
publishers that they had cleared world rights on all the pictures. Evidently
they were telling porkies and I was the victim.
So I called Derek and requested another meeting to resolve
the issue, and again I was summoned to meet Neil. Again, Derek was present but
this time Neil was on firmer ground and was quick to score points. He had a
copy of the offending book on his desk. It probably didn’t help that on the
front cover The Beatles typeface had the dropped ‘T’.
After a bit of small talk about Mary he came straight to
the point. “This book is full of pictures that we own and I want you to take it
off the market immediately,” he said. He opened the book. “These are pictures
by Dezo Hoffman as I’m sure you know since they’re in the other book.”
“I know and I’m sorry,” I said. “We bought the rights to
this book from a publisher in America
and they told me they’d cleared the rights.”
“Well they hadn’t.”
The book in question was entitled The Beatles Compleat and consisted of the editorial matter from a
previously published, cased, two-volume songbook. It was a large format book, a
sort of compendium containing chapters on many aspects of The Beatles, most of
them written by eminent US
music writers including Dave Marsh, Lester Bangs and Lenny Kaye. There were
interviews with John, Paul, George Martin and Mersey Beat publisher Bill Harry, and also various lists, including
one huge one of cover versions of Beatles songs. All in all it was a
celebration of The Beatles, a flattering book about how terrific they were. It
was all about their music, with absolutely nothing at all that might be
construed as controversial or negative - no drugs, no sex, no money, no
fallings out, no personal stuff at all.
I decided that if I couldn’t defend the use of Dezo’s
pictures I would defend the book.
“Neil,” I said, rapidly assembling my argument, “This is a
lovely book for fans. There’s nothing in it that anyone would object to.”
“That doesn’t matter. We own those pictures.”
“Derek,” I said, turning to the Beatles’ former PR who was
sat alongside me, “surely you can see my point here. Last year Albert Goldman’s
dreadful book on John suggested he might have been a murderer and that he was a
junkie and a bad father to Julian and Sean. There was a book by Chet Flippo on
Paul that seemed to imply he was the meanest man alive and had no real friends.
Magazines report that Ringo is a drunk who beats up his wife, and most people
think George is bonkers, that he talks to trees and believes in levitation. You
can’t do anything about these negative books and stuff and they’re out there on
the shelves of bookshops and newsagents yet here you are trying to stop my
positive book which might redress the balance a bit. Surely this is an own
goal.”
There was a moment’s silence before Derek spoke. “Chris has
got a point Neil,” he said. “He’s on our side really. He’s one of the good
guys.”
“Absolutely,” I said. “I love The Beatles. And this is a
lovely Beatles book. We wouldn’t publish any of this crap about them. I
wouldn’t do anything to hurt them or their reputation. This book just says how
great they are... the best. It’s all about their music, nothing dodgy at all.”
“OK,” said Neal. “We won’t stop the book, but we want a
royalty on it.”
“How much?” I asked.
“I’ll talk to our lawyers. You’ll be hearing from them.”
And that was that, really. Neil left the office. Derek
didn’t give me another LP (I was rather hoping for a replacement With The Beatles this time) and I bid
him farewell, not knowing in fact that it would be the last time I would ever
see him. (I spoke to him on the phone about once a year after that, the last
time a few weeks before he died in 1997. This was an odd conversation – he’d
rang to get someone’s phone number from me, but he sounded very ill and when I
remarked on this he told me about his cancer. I got the distinct impression
that Derek had really called me to say goodbye, and that the phone number he
requested was an excuse for the call. I still wonder whether any other casual
friends of his received a similar call around the same time. He was a lovely
man.)
In the fullness of time I did hear from Apple’s lawyers who
demanded a royalty that, together with the royalty I already paid to the US
publisher, made it financially unviable for Omnibus to continue publishing the
book, so Neil did effectively get it withdrawn after all.
I still thought it was an own goal, though.
1 comment:
I had a couple of 'run ins' with Neil whose ability to climb up walls and walk across ceilings when angry was legendary. They concerned my Company's (LFI) acquisition, from Cooper's Son, Adam, of the out-takes of the photographs from the Sergeant Pepper Sleeve together with the photographic documentation of the actual shoot taken by a second photographer. Amazingly EMI had produced an original paid invoice from NEMS proving, unequivocally, that they, not Apple, ultimately owned the rights in these snaps - my Company and Adam shared a shed load of money from selling rights in these pictures until 'heavy' lawyers got involved and, unable to afford the fight, we were forced to back off - Neil won in the end - always did! JH
Post a Comment