It was a brave, or perhaps simply naive, show of stubbornness for a group of young, inexperienced provincials, who couldn’t even read or write music, to tell the highly knowledgeable and powerful George Martin that they knew better than he did.
‘I told them they were turning down a hit. It was their funeral, but if they were going to be so obstinate, then they had better produce something better themselves. They were very self-opinionated in those days. They haven’t changed one bit.
‘They did produce something better, “Please Please Me”, which knocked me out.’
But he was right about ‘How Do You Do It’. He eventually gave that instead to another Brian Epstein group, Gerry and the Pacemakers, who made it number one.
The Beatles’ second record, ‘Please Please Me’, was recorded on 26 November 1962, but not released till January of 1963. They came back from Hamburg to do it, then went off again, this time just for a couple of weeks, for their fifth and final session in the Hamburg clubs.
At the end of the year, the New Musical Express did their usual popularity poll. The Springfields were voted top of the British Vocal Group department with 21,843 votes. The Beatles were way down with 3,906 votes, presumably all sent in from Liverpool. But they were in. They existed, though there was still little sign that they might be the group that George Martin and Parlophone so desperately needed.
Dick James is the only traditional show-business man who has ever got into the Beatles’ circle, either professionally or as a friend. He entered just after George Martin and, like him, he was desperately looking for the Beatles to turn up.
Dick James has always been around in the business. He’s from the sort of London Jewish background where you grow up with all the agents and band leaders of the future, the boys who will always help you. Dick James has a lot of schmalz, but it’s all genuine. He’s a sort of cuddly, Boy’s Own Tin Pan Alley man. They all love Dick James. They tease him about loving ballads. They know that a good corny, ‘When I’m Sixty-four’ song is going to make Dick James very happy. Dick James is very happy anyway. He’s probably the luckiest man in their whole circle. From being a one-man music publisher, when he met them, he now runs a large music-publishing corporation. He’s a millionaire, not just thanks to them, but to his own hard work.
He was born Richard Leon Vapnick in 1920 in London’s East End. His father, a butcher, came from Poland in 1910, around the time that the Epstein family also came from Poland.
At 17 he was a professional singer, appearing with Al Berlin (now an agent) and his band at the Cricklewood Palais. During the war he was in the Medical Corps, not doing anything medical, but playing in the Medical Corps Band. This was when he learned to read music. After the war he joined Geraldo, who immediately changed Dick Vapnick’s name to Dick James. For many years, he appeared with most of the big bands of the time, and then went on to become a solo singer.
‘I never got to the pinnacle. Nobody ever got hysterical when I came on, the way they did with Donald Peers and David Whitfield.’
But he made a good living. He did a lot of records, though nothing startling. His first was in 1942, during an army leave, when he did a singalong with Primo Scala’s Accordion Band. He was with Decca for a while, but didn’t make much money for them. In 1952 he ended up with Parlophone. They had a bright-looking young A and R man called George Martin, who was willing to work hard on any popular singer. In 1955, under George Martin, Dick James did his best-ever record and the only one he is now remembered by. This was ‘Robin Hood’, the theme song for the TV series. It got to number nine in the charts, the highest either had ever done. It led to Dick James’s own 15-minute spot on Radio Luxembourg, produced by another bright young man called Philip Jones.
But despite the success of ‘Robin Hood’, Dick James knew there wasn’t much future for him as a singer, not the way the business was going, with rock and skiffle and all these young lads coming on. ‘I felt there was going to be a revolution and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.’ He was still in his early 30s, but he’d been wearing a toupee for some years. ‘Just for stage work of course. Not in my private life. That would have been cheating.’
He continued singing until 1959, but by then only part-time, and only in the London area, as he wanted to be near his wife and son. As a sideline, he’d taken up music publishing. He became an unpaid assistant to Sid Bron, father of the actress, Eleanor Bron. (She appeared in the Beatles’ second film, Help.)
In September 1961 he opened his own music-publishing firm in two rooms in the Charing Cross Road. He’d got the company going by the summer of 1962, but hadn’t discovered any hits.
Through contacts, the son of a friend came to see him one day, with a song he hadn’t managed to sell to any other music publisher. This song was called ‘How Do You Do It.’ He rushed round to George Martin, his old friend at Parlophone. The reason why George Martin was so keen to get the Beatles to record this song now becomes clearer.
‘I told George it was brilliant. He said it might do for this new group he’d got, from Liverpool. “Liverpool?” I said. “You’re joking. So what’s from Liverpool?”’
George Martin knew it was a good commercial song, and persuaded Dick James to let him keep it for a while. Dick was very excited, convinced at last he’d got the hit he was waiting for. But in November 1962, George rang Dick to tell him that the Beatles had written their own follow-up song, ‘Please Please Me’, which he said was excellent.
That seemed to be it, as far as Dick James was concerned. But George Martin said he had Brian Epstein in his office. He didn’t know anyone in London, perhaps Dick could help him. On the phone Dick James said he would. He also asked if he could publish ‘Please Please Me’, as George had said it was so excellent.
Brian had already arranged to see another music publisher first thing in the morning, but he told Dick James he would come to him afterwards and see what he thought. ‘I was in my office at 10.30 next morning, when Brian walked in, half an hour earlier than arranged. He said he’d been to this other music publisher. He’d waited 25 minutes but only an office boy turned up. He said I could have first option instead.
‘He played it to me and I said it was the most exciting song I’d heard for years. Could I have it?’
Brian Epstein was fresh out of Liverpool, but he wasn’t all that green. He said that if Dick James could get them some promotion, he could have the song. Dick James picked up the phone and rang one of his old contacts. This was Philip Jones, who’d produced his old Radio Luxembourg singsongs. He had just taken over a new TV pop programme, Thank Your Lucky Stars.
‘Over the phone, there and then, I fixed it up. I played “Please Please Me” to Philip and he said he liked it. He’d fit them into a show.’
In five minutes, Dick James had arranged the Beatles’ first London TV appearance — the Granada one in Manchester had been only in the North. Brian Epstein was naturally very impressed. Over lunch, Dick James became the Beatles’ music publisher. A music publisher can do pretty well, if he has the right composers writing for him. All copyright fees are shared 50–50 between publisher and composer.
Dick James in many ways had made a wrong choice, way back in the 1950s, when he’d decided to try to be a music publisher rather than a singer. He might have been safer as an agent, which was something else he thought of at the time. Music publishers had for decades existed on the sales of sheet music. Once the record boom started and people stopped playing the piano at home, sheet music had had its day. But by meeting the Beatles, Dick James’s day was just about to begin.