“Oh, he got it. And then we started talking about how I never roomed with anyone as a kid, outside of me and my brother—we never had sleepovers—so consequently when I was on tour I would be in a room with a guy who I didn’t really know very well, our drummer, we were getting to know each other intensely, so it was great just seeing how he brushed his teeth, seeing whether like me he washed his socks if they smelled a bit with the soap provided and then rinsed and put them on the radiator, and in the morning they were fresh—silly things like that.”
You really talked about that—washing your socks—at that dinner?
“Yeah. Well, someone said, ‘Is that it?’ so we had to elaborate. I brought out socks and the fact he was an insomniac, because I’d never met anyone who couldn’t sleep.”
There’s something weirdly interesting about men in their 70s discussing how they used to wash their socks when they were young.
“Well, it got smelly on tour. And I only had one pair. There’s something, you know.”
“Yeah, one pair of black socks. Our touring kit was a pair of socks, pair of Beatle boots, a Beatle suit, white shirt, a toothbrush…”
One further issue relating to the Beatles’ early days: A few months ago, Quincy Jones gave two memorable interviews. In one of these, in New York magazine, Jones offered his initial impressions of the Beatles. He said this: “That they were the worst musicians in the world. They were no-playing motherfuckers. Paul was the worst bass player I ever heard.”
When I mention this to McCartney, and remind him of exactly what was said, he starts laughing.
“I love this guy,” he says. “He’s totally out of his tree. But the great thing was, he rang me after this. I’d only heard about it and I’d thought, I’m not sure it’s true. The joke is, I love Quincy, even after this. He’s a crazy motherfucker. But I respect him, he’s done a lot of very good things. So he rang me, and I’m at home on my own. And I’d finished work, so I had a drink, and now I’m grooving at home, I’m cooking, I’ve got a little bit of wine going, I’m in a good mood, and I don’t give a shit. So I get a phone call: ‘Is this Mr. McCartney?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Quincy would like to speak with you.’ Because he’s always worked through security guys. I said, ‘Hey, Quince!’ ‘Paul, how you doing, man?’ ‘I’m doing great—how are you, you motherfucker!’ I’m just jiving with him. ‘Paul, I didn’t really say that thing—I don’t know what happened, man. I never said that. You know I love you guys!’ I said, ‘If you had said that, you know what I would have said? Fuck you, Quincy Jones!’ And he laughed. I said, ‘You know I would say to that: Fuck you, Quincy Jones, you fucking crazy motherfucker!’ So actually we just had a laugh. And he was like, ‘Oh, Paul, you know I love you so much.’ ‘Yeah, I know you do, Quince.’ But he’s an old guy. I don’t know what it was. But I don’t think I’m the worst bass player he’s ever heard. Or maybe he’s never heard bad bass players. He’s talking all of this jazz and musicianship, and he’s an arranger and stuff. This is like Buddy Rich38 saying Ringo couldn’t drum. Because coming from Buddy Rich’s sensibility, Ringo can’t drum. But coming from our sensibility, Buddy Rich is a load of shit. But God bless him.”39
38. Buddy Rich was a legendary—and legendarily obstreperous—jazz drummer. 39. This “Bless him” is, McCartney explains, at least in part a private McCartney family joke. Within McCartney’s extended web of Liverpool relations, there was an actor with a particularly affected way of talking, and on one particular occasion, when someone had badly wronged him and when everyone else was consequently saying to him, “After what he did to you, what a fucking cunt he is, fucking cunt,” the actor simply said, “Bless him.” “So this became the thing,” McCartney explains. “If we ever said, ‘Bless him,’we all knew what you meant. It’s great—if you really hate someone, ‘Bless him.’It was a great euphemism for ‘What a cunt.’ So if you ever hear me say, ‘Bless him’…”
During Quincy Jones’s other recent interview, with GQ, he told me a different Beatles story—that Jones had had dinner with the Beatles at London’s May Fair Hotel very early in their career, and that “one of the nights we were there too we got full of wine, and Paul and John bet me a hundred dollars that the Beatles wouldn’t happen in America.”
When I relate this, McCartney simply shakes his head slowly.
“No, this is what I mean. I think memory is a fragile thing. And there’s a lot of stories about ‘When I met the Beatles…’ By the way, ‘me and John’ could mean ‘John,’ but we never thought we wouldn’t make it in America. We were arrogant/confident.”
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