1963,
The Beatles
by Guido Carretto
Is December, 14th 1963 when on the creaking raised wooden plank floor
(calling it a stage would be optimistic) at the Wimbledon Palais in London,
in a lower rank compared to "David Ede & The Rabin Band", without even
a quotation on a sign-board and playbills, a beat band of an alternate
past, a wobbling present and presumably an opaque future, goes on.
They are four
polite boys of Liverpool - John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison
and Ringo Starr - exhibiting in dark suit and tie, well pressed shirt with
rigorous stud collar: the only extravagance, a typical hairdo looking like
the colbacs of the Queen'Guards boiled in a wrong washing. Three of them
are handsome, pinching lightly their guitars and singing with gracious
voices; the fourth one bear a rare ugliness, he beats with rudeness the
different instruments of the drum, and according to someone he is out of
time.
The audience, mostly female, is carried away, even without loosing
their self control: so much that at the end of concert they will line up
with discipline along the bar counter where the four of Liverpool kindly
dispense autographs and smiles while drinking black coffee.
It is the last time. Still few months and those four will becom
the most famous band of the world, in the center of a universal delirium.
And to the few lightnings who lighted their route - october 4, 1962: Love
me do, and in that 1963 Please please me - there will add up
such and as many to make their career the most blazing ever seen in light
music history.
In 1961,
in January, they performed at the Queen's Hall in Aldershot in front of
eighteen persons. John, George and Ringo wished to give up everything,
but Paul convinced them: "If we are professionals then let's show it".
On February 1964 they will land and break out in the U.S.A.. A triumph,
one after the other, till December 30, 1970, when Paul McCartney, just
the one who in the hard days held the group together, he will apply at
London Court asking the group dissolution.
Prehistory
in 1957, when Lennon founded with schoolmates the Quarrymen; in 1957 a
fifteen year old Paul McCartney entry, a little after, George Harrison.
Prehistory were those ill-frequented caves in Hamburg. Prehistory was desertion
of the first drammer Pete Best, fed up in waiting an evermore improbable
fame, end the "go to hell" of a bassist who thronged with them but after
he considered them not reliable for the job.
In the middle,
The
Times declaration as: "The Best English Musicians Ever", and from the
Sunday
Times: "The Greatest Composers After Beethoven". A scandal self-definition
as: "We are more famous than Jesus Christ". The baronets title for all.
Nevertheless theirs hasn't been a true revolution. Lennon was right when
he said: "Us Beatles we haven't starded anything: but at the same time
with us something began in those sixties, that doesn't give any sign to
reach the end. Only that, to see it rise and understand what was rising
were just a few particularly far-sighted.
That December
day, at the Wimbledon Palais, a ballrom, also hosting catch fights, a young
Venetian photographer gathered the audience, fast as a ferret, and watchful
as a cat, who realized in the Beatles the spark expected to ignite the
great fire. And all day long, before, during and after the concert, he
"tormented" them with his lens.
The young
boy was named Gino Begotti, 35 years after, while giving to the press this
precious photographic anthology, he, hesitant, asked me a script, few lines
to accompany that bunch. As an old fan of the Beatles, and as a friend
of him and his estimator, I accepted right away: and here I will answer
to his "thank you", and say that I'm grateful to him.
The Exibition of Wimbledon
seen by Mark Lewisohn