At the weekend, BBC4 (TV) showed again a lengthy two part documentary series on the life of the late Brian Epstein. Though I don't recall the programme actually mentioning it, it brought to (my) mind Brian's 1964 autobiography: "A Cellarful Of Noise".
I read it in hardback soon after publication, but of course, it is now nearly fifty years ago. There was one passage in particular which haunted me...
The book - somewhat surprisingly, in my opinion - is not currently in print. Secondhand copies, even of the later paperback editions, can cost a lot of money. But luckily, it's available as an Amazon download for Kindle.
The passage I remember turns out to be two passages, one relating to the events of 1st January 1962 (the Decca audition, most of the product of which has long been available on bootleg discs) and one relating to the eventual end of the Beatles' Decca saga.
I recommend the book, and the download is probably the best way of getting it. Apart from the obvious value it has for Beatles fans (hello, Warren!), it is also a first-hand record - written within a year or so of the events - of the involvement of Tony Meehan in that story.
I believe I am acting within the limits of fair comment in reproducing the two short passages below.
[January 1962...]
... we secured them an audition at Decca on New Year’s Day 1962. They came to London and stayed at the Royal Hotel, paying 27/- a night for bed and breakfast in Woburn Place. They were poor and I wasn’t rich but we all celebrated with Rum and with Scotch and Coke which was becoming a Beatle drink. ...
At 11 a.m. on January 1st we arrived at Decca in a thin bleak wind, with snow and ice afoot. Mike Smith was late and we were pretty annoyed about the delay. Not only because we were anxious to tape some songs but because we felt we were being treated as people who didn’t matter. We taped several numbers and then returned to Liverpool to wait.
[March 1962...]
I returned to Decca again in March, on invitation for a lunch appointment. I felt pessimistic but tried not to show it when I met Beecher Stevens and Dick Rowe, two important executives. We had coffee, and Mr. Rowe a short plump man said to me: ‘Not to mince words Mr. Epstein, we don’t like your boys’ sound. Groups of guitarists are on the way out.’ I said—masking the cold disappointment which had spread over me: ‘You must be out of your mind. These boys are going to explode. I am completely confident that one day they will be bigger than Elvis Presley.’
The men of Decca took me to a luncheon in another room in the company headquarters. Whether it was the well-being of a good meal or my ceaseless talk of the Beatles’ potential I don’t know, but by the coffee stage there was a tiny crack in their determination not to record the boys. I had paused in a long and probably overstated piece of sales-talk and the two men stared at each other.
Dick Rowe drummed his fingers on the table and nodded knowingly. He turned to me and said: ‘I have an idea that something might be done. You know who might help you? Tony Meehan.’ Meehan, one of the original ‘Shadows’, later to form a successful — though brief — partnership with Jet Harris, was then an A and R man with Decca and it was explained that I would be given the benefit of his experience and the use of a studio on payment of something approaching £100. This annoyed me because I couldn’t see why I should have to pay £100 to make one recording of a group who were going to conquer the entire record world.
But it was stupid (I argued to myself in a frantic inward tussle between enthusiasm and anxiety about money) to turn down the first real concession I had won from Decca. So, the following day I arrived at the Decca studios to meet Meehan. Dick Rowe was with him in the control room listening to a recording session and he nodded to me. After thirty minutes he introduced me to Meehan and said: ‘Tony, take Mr. Epstein out and explain the position.’ We left the room and went into another where there were two chairs facing each other.
The A and R man who, two years later I was to book as a drummer on one of my Prince of Wales bills, looked me straight between the eyes without enthusiasm and said: ‘Mr. Epstein, Mr. Rowe and I are very busy men. We know roughly what you require so will you fix a date for tapes to be made of these Beatles, phone my secretary and make sure that when you want the session, I am available.’
For the third time in three months I walked out of Decca with only the slightest whisper of hope. I was very upset and, I believed, almost at the end of my extended tether. The date was arranged, but later abandoned because I felt that no useful purpose was served. I realized that there was nothing doing with Decca.
Epstein, Brian (2011-05-01). A Cellarful of Noise (Kindle Locations 688-701). Perseus Faber. Kindle Edition.