at ease in the presence of an odoriferous, gored-out floater.
It takes a whole lot of physical trauma for a Liverpool zombie to become a Midpointer, and the vast majority of them are the by-products of horrible accidents, oftentimes involving high levels of heat; e.g., a bomb, a fiery car wreck, or a fall from a great height. Purposefully turning a zombie into a Midpointer is a difficult proposition, and for the transformation to occur, you have to hurt them badly. Very few humans have the strength or wherewithal to produce a Midpointer; thus most Midpointers are created by other zombies.
All of which brings us to Dick Rowe.
A legendary A&R man for Decca Records, Rowe was cited as being responsible for discovering and/or signing such acts as the Rolling Stones, Tom Jones, and Van Morrison’s first band, Them. After seeing the Beatles tear up Cavern both musically and physically, Rowe had Decca invite them into the studio for a New Year’s Eve session that would serve as their audition for the label. John, Paul, George, and Pete laid down a whopping fifteen tunes in an hour, and most Beatles fans justifiably think the quartet sounded damn good. Believing guitar bands were on their way out, and zombie bands would never find their way in, Rowe disagreed, and a couple of weeks after the session, Brian Epstein received the unfortunate verdict.
BRIAN EPSTEIN: The boys felt terrific about their studio performance for Decca, and I knew they’d be heartbroken not to get offered a deal. I decided to deliver the news to John face-to-face, as it’s easier to console somebody in person than over the phone. It was the right thing to do … or, at least, that’s what I thought until I found myself lying on my arse in the middle of the street outside his flat.
JOHN LENNON: Never meant to hurt Eppy. Couldn’t be helped. Strictly reflexes.
BRIAN EPSTEIN: John wanted to speak to Rowe personally, and I thought that was simply an atrocious idea. The English record industry was tiny and insular—everybody knew everybody—and if John went after Rowe, word would get around, and it would make landing a deal even more difficult. I pointed out that we’d already been rejected by almost every label in town, and if he went after Rowe, nobody else would give them an audition, let alone a contract.
He ignored me. He’s a bullheaded one. But that’s what makes John John.
JOHN LENNON: I called Paulie and told him to put on his best gear, because we were gonna have a little palaver with Mr. Rowe.
He said, “Do you think that’s a good idea? I’ve been on the receiving end of your palavers, and I barely survived, and I’m a bloody zombie, y’know.”
I said, “We’re just gonna talk to the man. That’s why I want you to wear your nicest outfit. I dunno about you, but I wouldn’t want to get my finest finery all fooked-up with blood and brains. If we look nice, we’ll be more apt to act nice.”
He said, “What time did you make the appointment for?”
“I didn’t,” I said. “The appointment is when I say it is.”
A nother piece of the Beatles puzzle who I had to sweet-talk into speaking with me on the record, Dick Rowe, is a classic Midpointer: clear skin covered with seeming buckets of fresh-looking blood, incessant floating, eyes overflowing with blue tears. He’s made the best of his undead/dead situation, creating a comfortable, if not solitary, life for himself, a life lived in a small, nondescript London flat, surrounded by tens of thousands of albums, cassette tapes, eight-tracks, and compact discs. The blue tears that dot Dick Rowe’s cheeks mask the fact that he’s a quietly content individual—for a Midpointer, that is.
Rowe rarely enters John Lennon’s or Paul McCartney’s thoughts, but conversely—and perhaps unsurprisingly—Lennon and McCartney are almost always on the former Decca maven’s brain, as he told me in August 2005.
DICK ROWE: Was it a cock-up not to sign them? Yes. Would I do it
It takes a whole lot of physical trauma for a Liverpool zombie to become a Midpointer, and the vast majority of them are the by-products of horrible accidents, oftentimes involving high levels of heat; e.g., a bomb, a fiery car wreck, or a fall from a great height. Purposefully turning a zombie into a Midpointer is a difficult proposition, and for the transformation to occur, you have to hurt them badly. Very few humans have the strength or wherewithal to produce a Midpointer; thus most Midpointers are created by other zombies.
All of which brings us to Dick Rowe.
A legendary A&R man for Decca Records, Rowe was cited as being responsible for discovering and/or signing such acts as the Rolling Stones, Tom Jones, and Van Morrison’s first band, Them. After seeing the Beatles tear up Cavern both musically and physically, Rowe had Decca invite them into the studio for a New Year’s Eve session that would serve as their audition for the label. John, Paul, George, and Pete laid down a whopping fifteen tunes in an hour, and most Beatles fans justifiably think the quartet sounded damn good. Believing guitar bands were on their way out, and zombie bands would never find their way in, Rowe disagreed, and a couple of weeks after the session, Brian Epstein received the unfortunate verdict.
BRIAN EPSTEIN: The boys felt terrific about their studio performance for Decca, and I knew they’d be heartbroken not to get offered a deal. I decided to deliver the news to John face-to-face, as it’s easier to console somebody in person than over the phone. It was the right thing to do … or, at least, that’s what I thought until I found myself lying on my arse in the middle of the street outside his flat.
JOHN LENNON: Never meant to hurt Eppy. Couldn’t be helped. Strictly reflexes.
BRIAN EPSTEIN: John wanted to speak to Rowe personally, and I thought that was simply an atrocious idea. The English record industry was tiny and insular—everybody knew everybody—and if John went after Rowe, word would get around, and it would make landing a deal even more difficult. I pointed out that we’d already been rejected by almost every label in town, and if he went after Rowe, nobody else would give them an audition, let alone a contract.
He ignored me. He’s a bullheaded one. But that’s what makes John John.
JOHN LENNON: I called Paulie and told him to put on his best gear, because we were gonna have a little palaver with Mr. Rowe.
He said, “Do you think that’s a good idea? I’ve been on the receiving end of your palavers, and I barely survived, and I’m a bloody zombie, y’know.”
I said, “We’re just gonna talk to the man. That’s why I want you to wear your nicest outfit. I dunno about you, but I wouldn’t want to get my finest finery all fooked-up with blood and brains. If we look nice, we’ll be more apt to act nice.”
He said, “What time did you make the appointment for?”
“I didn’t,” I said. “The appointment is when I say it is.”
A nother piece of the Beatles puzzle who I had to sweet-talk into speaking with me on the record, Dick Rowe, is a classic Midpointer: clear skin covered with seeming buckets of fresh-looking blood, incessant floating, eyes overflowing with blue tears. He’s made the best of his undead/dead situation, creating a comfortable, if not solitary, life for himself, a life lived in a small, nondescript London flat, surrounded by tens of thousands of albums, cassette tapes, eight-tracks, and compact discs. The blue tears that dot Dick Rowe’s cheeks mask the fact that he’s a quietly content individual—for a Midpointer, that is.
Rowe rarely enters John Lennon’s or Paul McCartney’s thoughts, but conversely—and perhaps unsurprisingly—Lennon and McCartney are almost always on the former Decca maven’s brain, as he told me in August 2005.
DICK ROWE: Was it a cock-up not to sign them? Yes. Would I do it
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