By Rolling Stone. I first heard of the Beatles when I was nine years old. I spent most of my holidays on Merseyside then, and a local girl gave me a bad publicity shot of them with their names scrawled on the back. The funny thing is that parents and all their friends from Liverpool were also curious and proud about this local group.
Prior to that, the people in show business from the north of England had all been comedians. The Beatles even recorded for Parlophone, which was a comedy label, as if they believed they might be a passing novelty act.
I was exactly the right age to be hit by them full-on. My experience — seizing on every picture, saving money for singles and EPs, catching them on a local news show — was repeated over and over again around the world.
Every record was a shock. They had already absorbed Buddy Holly, the Everly Brothers and Chuck Berry, but they were also writing their own songs.
They made writing your own material expected, rather than exceptional. Most important, they always fit right into the arrangement. Ringo Starr played the drums with an incredibly unique feel that nobody can really copy, although many fine drummers have tried and failed. Most of all, John and Paul were fantastic singers.
