Yeah Yeah Yeah (Beatles/Paul McCartney)

12. The Bigger the Amp

December 1965
Glasgow

Paul

The tour kicked off with a bang. Literally.

"Why did that sound like one of our instruments being run over by a lorry?" I asked after we heard a tremendous thud, followed by a loud crunching sound. We swiveled our heads to peer out the back of the van, but it was impossible to see anything in the dense fog.

"Nell!" John called up to the front. "The fuck was that?"

Our chauffeur, Alfie, pulled the van to the side of the motorway. He and Neil jumped out in a panic, each of them looking like they might break down and weep. A few moments later, Neil came over to the window.

"Well, lads, the bad news is that George's Gretsch is currently in pieces across the motorway," he said.

"What's the fucking good news, then?" George asked, his eyes wide because he loved that bloody guitar more than life itself.

Neil hesitated a moment, scratching his head. "None, really. You're down a guitar, and we're still 30 minutes late to the gig."

We looked at each other, having a silent debate over whether we should have a laugh or sack someone. Finally, John broke the stalemate.

"Hey, Alfie," he called out the open window where the chauffeur was presumably standing, hidden by the fog. "If you can get us there with the rest of our shit intact, then you can have a bonus."

"What's the bonus?" he asked.

"You can have your job back."

We rode in silence for a long while, each of us staring at the foggy motorway. Finally, I broke the silence.

"Think the new amps will work?"

We'd finally listened to the audio recording of the Shea Stadium concert, and it was downright embarrassing. The harmonies were shit, Ringo was several beats behind for most of it, and both John and I were slightly flat on our vocals. So we'd dispatched Mal to America to find more powerful amps to give us a fighting chance of hearing ourselves play.

"Well, you know what they say, Paul: the bigger the amp, the bigger the--" John started to say.

"Does that bit ever get old, Lenny?" George interrupted from the rear seat.

"Nope," John replied with a vigorous shake of his head that caused his specs to fall off into his lap.

We made it to the venue with minutes to spare. The cramped dressing room was a frantic blur of arms, legs, and black suits as we tumbled into our stage clothes. Our instruments were shoved into our hands as we jogged to the stage door.

"And now the fab four you've been waiting for," the compere shouted into the mic. "The Beatles!"

The crowd went mad, and I winced, having forgotten exactly how bloody loud it was. John elbowed me lightly in the ribs. "It's the poppermost of the toppermost!" he shouted, pulling down a pair of shades over his eyes. Adrenaline pumping through my veins, I ran onto the stage with a smile plastered across my face.

"Thank you very much!" I said into the mic, slightly out of breath. I looked over at John, who started to play 'Day Tripper.' We were halfway through the song when I realized that I could very faintly hear myself playing for the first time in two years. The new amps worked! Huzzah! Unfortunately, John didn't notice--or care--because he kept swapping in 'she's a prick teaser' throughout the song.

"Sing the right words, you pillock!" I shouted over to him off-mic. He looked over, gave me a wink, and continued on as before.

The set was short but sweet. At the end, we bowed in unison, the curtains closed, and we ran for our lives.