Thursday, 13 December 2012

16th January 1967


An interesting synopsis of the creation of Magical Mystery Tour by Hunter Davies. But I wonder. Where did Paul McCartney get the idea for the Mystery Tour meant to be Magical? Was it from here?

International Times, Volume 1, Issue No.6,  16th January 1967. In it is a 3 page interview with Paul McCartney. I'm going to quote a few things from it, but you can have a read of the interview yourself for its entire content. 

Ghosts: 
Miles: In the last few thousand years only the materialistic side of man has developed and built up.

McCartney: The drag about this is that everybody has realised there aren't such things as ghosts, there isn't such a thing as God, and there is no such thing as a soul, and when you die you die.
Rebirth: 
Miles: Are you trying to take anyone with you on it?

McCartney: Yes I'd like to. I'm trying to take people with me of course, I don't want to be shouting to people "Listen Listen I've found it! Listen, this is where it's at!" and everyone going "Oh fuck off, you fucking crank," because I see the potentiality in them as well, not just in myself. I'm not just the great wizard who's going to sort it all out, I'm just one of them. 



Just below the final portion of the interview, is once again the illustrated works of Jeff Nuttall. In this edition, Clifton De Berry, having outlined his intentions for the improvement of cultural affairs in 1967, proceeds on his first plan of action - to take over the "Ultra House", a (sp) pychedelic community in South London, and establish SSASP (South Streatham Abbey of Sanctified Pulp) Britain's first Physiodelic Church.  Look at the content of this comic strip, and the content of McCartney's interview. Nevermind the mystery coach bus that shows up. And remember. This is January 1967. Wizards. Buses. Physiodelic Church? And where is the Ultra House. More importantly WHAT is the Ultra House? 






26th December, 1965 ~ A Long Wait

As told to Barry Miles, in Many Years From Now. 

"I had an accident when I came off a moped in Wirral, near Liverpool. I had a very good friend who lived in London called Tara Browne, a Guinness heir - a nice Irish guy, very sensitive bloke. I'd see him from time to time, and enjoyed being around him. He came up to visit me in Liverpool once when I was there seeing my dad and brother. I had a couple of mopeds on hire, so we hit upon the bright idea of going to my cousin Bett's house.

We were riding along on the mopeds. I was showing Tara the scenery. He was behind me, and it was an incredible full moon; it really was huge. I said something about the moon and he said 'yeah', and I suddenly had a freeze-frame image of myself at that angle to the ground when it's too late to pull back up again: I was still looking at the moon and then I looked at the ground, and it seemed to take a few minutes to think, 'Ah, too bad - I'm going to smack that pavement with my face!' Bang!
There I was, chipped tooth and all. it came through my lip and split it. But I got up and we went along to my cousin's house. When I said, 'Don't worry, Bett, but I've had a bit of an accident,' she thought I was joking. She creased up laughing at first, but then she went 'Holy...!' I'd really given my face a good old smack; it looked like I'd been in the ring with Tyson for a few rounds. So she rang a friend of hers who was a doctor.

He came round on the spot, took a needle out and, after great difficulty threading it, put it in the first half of the wound. He was shaking a bit, but got it all the way through, and then he said, ''Oh, the thread's just come out - I'll have to do it again!' No anaesthetic. I was standing there while he rethreaded it and pulled it through again.

In fact that was why I started to grow a moustache. It was pretty embarrassing, because around that time you knew your pictures would get winged off to teeny-boppery magazines like 16, and it was pretty difficult to have a new picture taken with a big fat lip. So I started to grow a moustache - a sort of Sancho Panza - mainly to cover where my lip had been sewn.

It caught on with the guys in the group: if one of us did something like growing his hair long and we liked the idea, we'd all tend to do it. And then it became seen as a kind of revolutionary idea, that young men of our age definitely ought to grow a moustache! And it all fell in with the Sgt Pepper thing, because he had a droopy moustache. "

Interesting. This is obviously a mixture of the truth and a lie. Why?

"In fact that was why I started to grow a moustache."

If the accident happened on the 26th December, 1965, which it did, then why did this moustache not turn up until the following year? Almost 365 days later. The chipped tooth was kept for 6 months (Dec 1965 until at least late May 1966) - the moustache was not grown until later.

Is this a man losing his memory for things? Is he mixing two stories together accidentally? Following a planned script, or a rehearsed story to cover something else? It seems strange to me that the story of the moustache is even included in this story, or the inclusion of Tara Browne. Neither the accident, nor the moustache coincide as events whatsoever.