John Lennon, Mal Evans and Paul McCartney backstage at Munich’s Circus-Krone-Bau, 1966.Photo:Robert Whitaker
Robert Whitaker
In addition to busting myths about the final days of the Fab Four and providing an intimate glimpse into one of the most beloved musical partnerships of the modern era,Peter Jackson’s 2021 docuseriesGet Backintroduced fair weatherBeatlesfans to Mal Evans. Whether having the time of his lifetaking an anvil soloon early rehearsals of “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer,”distracting the London bobbies trying to bust up the infamous rooftop gig, lugging guitars or deliveringendless cups of tea, thenattily dressed, shaggy-haired gentbecame one of the breakout stars of the eight-hour epic, lightening tense moments with hisgood-natured grin and the mischievous twinklebehind his horned-rimmed glasses. His moment at center stage was long overdue, since he spent most of his life on the very edge of the Beatles’ white hot spotlight.
As their ever-present road manager, protector, fixer and trusted confidant, he’s one of the very few who can make a legitimate claim to Fifth Beatle status. (Though we’d probably place him at eighth…) Combing through photos of the Fabs throughout their career becomes like a game of rock ‘n’ roll Where’s Waldo. Whether on tour, in the studio, or even at play, you’ll inevitably find Evans in the background, his sturdysix-foot-three frame towering above everyone else. A gentle-giant, his ability to both liftPaul McCartney’s heavy bass amp and wordlessly persuade the most unruly of fans to step aside made him a welcome addition to the band’s one-person entourage back in 1963. From that moment on, Evans dedicated his life to their service. Even after the Beatles' breakup in 1970, he remained one of the most loyal friends the band ever had — and their biggest fan.
Mal Evans outside Abbey Road Studios in London, circa 1970.Malcolm Frederick Evans Archives
Malcolm Frederick Evans Archives
It’s a testament to the Beatles' love of “Big Mal” that the famously private foursome all granted him permission to pen his memoirs. Their individual approval letters are printed in Womack’s bio, and they’re all uniquely hilarious. “Sure, you can do your book,” writes McCartney, “as long as you tell them how lovely I am.” John Lennon’s note is characteristically more cheeky. “Good luck with the book. And heaven help us all! I’ve been dying to read your diary for the last thousand years! Make a buck, but don’t f— it [up]…” Lennon had a right to be mildly concerned, as Evans was then — and, arguably, now — the most intimate band insider to share their complete story. (Harrison’s slightI Me Minenotwithstanding.) He quite literally saw it all because he wasthere,from Liverpool onward.
Evans had a favorite phrase: “To serve is to rule.” There are many tales of his devotion.Living the Beatles Legendopens with a famous anecdote from one of his first nights working with the band, shuttling them up the 200-mile route from London to Liverpool in January 1963. A pebble hit the windshield early in their journey, sending it splintering into shards of glass. Undeterred, Evans put his hat over his fist and punched out the remainder of the windshield and drove on, with nothing between him and the subzero temperatures of Britain’s coldest winter in 150 years. No job was too painful, and no task was beneath him. Womack quotes McCartney’s friend Barry Miles, who “once overheard John mutter ‘Socks, Mal!’ and an hour later Mal appeared in the studio with a dozen different pairs of brightly colored socks. Where Mal found them in the middle of the night is a mystery.”
Living the Beatles Legendfeatures Evans' own insights on the group’s final days and ultimate split — an experience that left him traumatized and struggling to find his own identity. Yet he remained close to all the former Fabs prior to his death, and even relocated to Los Angeles with Lennon in 1973. The ex-Beatle was in the midst of his infamous 18-month separation from wifeYoko Ono, forever known as“The Lost Weekend.”The estrangement inadvertently set the stage for a musical reunion with McCartney, who joined him in the studio on March 28, 1974 for their only known post-Beatles recording session. Unfortunately, the results were a drugged up shambles, but Evans couldn’t care less. His heroes were together again.
Cover of Ken Womack’s upcoming book ‘Living The Beatles Legend, The Untold Story of Mal Evans’.
What John would later describe as his Lost Weekend—a nod to the 1945 Billy Wilder film noir classic of the same name—began in the summer months of 1973. Yoko had kicked John out of the Dakota, their fortress-like apartment building on Central Park West, after his drinking and public debauchery grew out of control. During the Lost Weekend, “I was just insane,” John admitted. “I’ve never drunk so much in my life, and I’ve been drinking since I was 15. But I really tried to drown myself in the bottle, and it took an awful lot. I don’t seem strong physically that much, but it just seems to take an amazing lot to put me down. And I was with the heaviest drinkers in the industry.” Those drinkers grew to include the likes of Ringo Starr, Harry Nilsson, Keith Moon, Alice Cooper . . . and Mal.
As Mal soon discovered, working with John during this period would prove to be a chore—incomparable, in fact, totheir touring years together, when the Beatles were often confined to the relative safety of a hotel suite. When he was in L.A., John could often be found at the Sunset Strip’s Rainbow Bar and Grill, which had emerged as his de facto headquarters during the Lost Weekend. With musicians like John, Harry, Ringo, Moonie, Alice Cooper, and Micky Dolenz adopting the Rainbow as their regular watering hole, they had taken to calling themselves the Hollywood Vampires, a nickname that evoked the night hours they spent guzzling hooch in the bar’s loft space.
Things began innocently enough after John and Phil completed their Dec. 11 session at the Record Plant West, where they took a pass at Chuck Berry’s “You Can’t Catch Me.” As Mal looked on, the two men, drunk to the gills, were horsing around. In a nod to the early days of Beatlemania, John decided to hop onto Mal’s back for a piggyback ride. Unfortunately, Phil opted to get in on the act, too. Mal’s physical dexterity in late 1973 was a far cry from that of the early 1960s, and he had difficulty sustaining the weight of two men atop his aching back. As always, Mal observed, “Phil goes a little too far,” and in the ensuing ruckus, “he karate-chopped me on the nose, my spectacles went flying, and I got tears in my eyes I can tell you. I turned around with a real temper and told Phil, ‘Don’t ever lay another finger on me, man.’”
And that’s when Phil, “maybe to reestablish himself in his own eyes,” Mal thought, pulled out a handgun. To the roadie’s surprise, the producer “fired it off under our noses, deafening us both, the bullet ricocheting around the room and landing between my feet.”
John was understandably incensed, exclaiming to Phil, “If you’re gonna kill me, kill me, but don’t take away my hearing—it’s me living!”
Until that moment, Mal and John had believed that Spector’s handgun was a toy. At one point earlier in the evening, Phil had cocked the trigger and aimed the weapon at John’s head. As a result of the incident, “John’s fear of guns generally was doubled.” For his part, Mal vowed to stay clear of Phil. He would attend the recording sessions in deference to John, but that was it.
When it came time to move into the rented house, John and May took the master bedroom for themselves, with Lennon quipping “so this is where they did it,” referring to Kennedy and Monroe’s seaside assignations.The other bedrooms at the estate were allotted to Harry, Keith Moon, and Klaus Voormann, with the estate’s library—complete with President Kennedy’s portrait on the wall—converted into a bedroom for Ringo, who was in town to escape his failing marriage. For the purposes of recordingStrange Pussies, RCA Records had blocked off studio time for John and Harry at the Record Plant.
Mal Evans with Harry Nilsson, mid ’70s.Malcolm Frederick Evans Archives
Newly unearthed photo taken of John Lennon and Paul McCartney together on March 29, 1974.Malcolm Frederick Evans Archives
A week after taking the historic photo, Evans returned to the Santa Monica beach house on April 6, 1974, to have one of the most difficult conversations of his life. After dedicating himself body and soul to the Beatles for more than a decade, he was about to tender his resignation. It was the only way to forge his own path as a budding producer, songwriter, and talent scout. Thankfully, three of the Fab Four were in residence at the beach house that day, so he could say his farewells in person.
Without missing a beat, John piped up, saying, “It’s about time, Mal. I was wondering when you would come to it. You’re certainly capable of standing on your own two feet now, and I wish you all the luck in the world. If you ever need me, I’ll be there,” he continued, “and I know your songwriting will develop into a career for you.”
As it happened, Ringo’s reaction was more difficult to gauge. In Mal’s memory, the two old friends “sat together at the bottom of the garden, just lying back in the sunshine.” When Mal informed the drummer of his decision, Ringo went quiet. By contrast, Paul proved to be eminently more receptive, taking Mal in a warm embrace and saying, “Good on you, lad. I know you’ll be very successful—you deserve to be.”
That Sunday evening, [Mal] joined John, May, and a bevy of other friends for a seafood dinner at the Crab Shell, a bistro on Venice Beach. Harry was there, of course. He confided in Mal that Ringo had stayed up with him drinking well into the night and weeping as he took in the full measure of Mal’s decision. “Now that Mal’s left,” Ringo had cried to Harry, “the Beatles are really over.”
source: people.com
