Brian Epstein

Originally posted to rec.music.beatles on June 15, 1996; revised March 22, 2004.

On 11 Jun 199620:51:53 -0400, gurzeler@aol.com (Gurzeler) wrote:

>Brian was very doting and protective of the Beatles but how protective

>were the Beatles of Brian? Or was Brian's homosexuality not a "big deal"

>within the social circle he and the Beatles traveled in?

IMHO the Beatles were ambivalent about Brian's sexuality. That it was known to them from almost the start can hardly be doubted; there are many documented incidents of the group (John, in particular) pricking up their ears or making comments that show this to be the case. And John was *certainly* made acutely uncomfortable on those early occasions where he felt Brian had singled him out for special attention. (Generally he reacted harshly, sometimes even reducing Brian to tears. Years later, though, he was more gentle with Brian in his remembrances.)

After some initial awkwardness on both sides, however, a status quo seemed to evolve: blissful ignorance. The Beatles just didn't think about Brian’s sex life or deal with it - except on those occasions where it simply couldn't be ignored. Brian - unfortunately for a man in his social situation - was attracted to what was then called 'rough trade,' and often found himself drawn to the tougher parts of Liverpool at night in search of suitably leather-jacketed companionship. That this was dangerous in the extreme in 1950s Liverpool is evidenced by John Lennon’s vivid recollections years later of Brian many a night having ”the shit beaten out of him in Old Dock Road" and needing to be picked up and put back together. When John said it, it was with a kind of pity.

Brian Epstein's story has many sides, and for someone who many remember as charming, witty, and full of fun, these are often heartrendingly sad. He was the pampered eldest son of a prosperous Jewish family in Liverpool and from an early age evinced a sensitive soul and an artistic temperament. He used to go with his mother Malka (known affectionately as ‘Queenie’) to symphonies as a child, and knew the names of all the actors in the various Liverpool legit theatre companies before he was a teenager. As he matured, however, he also discovered that he was homosexual, and this - besides being illegal in England in the 1950s - branded him permanently as an outsider in the eyes of a tough working North that had no truck with “fairies” and “poofters.” Being Jewish and gay made Brian a double-outsider, in fact, and I personally believe this led the sensitive young man to yearn, as he approached adulthood, for something to do where he could find socially ‘legitimate’ appreciation and acceptance.

It was not quick in coming. After a disastrous stint in the Army during his National Service in the mid-'50s, Brian’s father wanted to bring him into the family furniture-store business. Brian rebelled and insisted he wanted to be an actor instead. With his mother's support he auditioned for, and was accepted at, the prestigious Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London. But he stayed only two years, in the end losing interest. Returning to Liverpool, Harry Epstein put his foot down and this time Brian submitted. But he surprised himself and everyone else by appearing to flourish in the environs of H. Epstein & Sons. It turned out Brian had a flair for selling. He was a born shop manager.

Life at the Epstein shops was fun for Brian but hardly fulfilling. In the next few years he remained restless and creative - and easily bored. When he finally began managing the Beatles it was, you could say, a final lifeline being thrown to him by fate before Brian succumbed to a life of sleepy, middle-class grayness. Managing the Beatles was anything but grey; their world was colorful and exciting. And even in the early “scruffy” days it was a chance for Brian to belong to a “club” where he was accepted (show business) and even valued ("the Manager"). That the Beatles were outsiders in the music business ("So what's from Liverpool?") only further bonded him with them - he, the ultimate outsider. To his great satisfaction, what the group needed at the outset - a polished presentation, a professional attitude, a refined sense of on-stage showmanship - were precisely things that Brian was well-suited to give them. And lastly, as their fame grew, the Beatles became a great personal vindication of Brian; a chance for him to lay to rest the specter of failure and show the world that he was, and always had been, simply too talented and colorful a man for the drab pigeonholes that life had so far offered.

Brian’s attraction to the Beatles, then, was powerful and complex; and he invested himself emotionally in the boys to a depth that, I think, they recognized as deeper than the norm, and appreciated for its loyalty. But it also made them uncomfortable, and was something they had no idea how to requite. They knew he valued them; and they valued him; but the whole subject of ‘feelings’ was too feminine for them, and they preferred to avoid it. So... Brian would fuss and hover over them (wishing perhaps he could say more); and they would make fun of him (hoping he wouldn't). It was a tension that never went away as long as they were together.

But in time it found a balance, and that was enough. And if Brian never expressed himself fully to the Beatles, there are numerous instances in the various Beatle biographies of Brian opening up to others. Without naming sources, Brian was quite jealous, for example, of his position as the Beatles’ public spokesman. Woe be it to the unlucky NEMS publicist who made an announcement to the press when Brian felt it was is prerogative to do so; a screaming fit would ensue that would leave Brian red-faced and disheveled. But his complex love also took other forms. There are stories of the Beatles' early UK tours, where Britain was just starting to going nuts over them, that picture Brian standing off to one side watching the show with tears streaming down his cheeks. That he loved the Beatles is unquestioned. But it's also seldom realized how badly he wanted to be one.

Brian on the TV show “Hullabaloo.”

And Brian’s bond with the Beatles really was unique. In the early days they had a kind of innocent camaraderie that the group never had again with anyone else. The cornerstone was Brian’s tremendous, untiring faith in their future; and his unflagging energy in the face of setbacks. For example, John later remembered how Brian used to take primitive demo tapes of the Beatles on the train with him to London, where he’d persistently make the rounds of all the record companies seeking anyone who would listen. After an inevitable week of defeat he’d return to Liverpool, where the boys would often be waiting hopefully at Lime Street Station. Brian would break the disappointing news as gently as he could, and then then take them all out to dinner to keep their spirits up. The picture of these five young men walking along the damp streets at 10 o’clock of a fall or winter evening, battered shoes clicking on the pavement, dreaming the impossible dream of conquering the world together, is a beautiful part of their story and one that no one else shared. Before the world found the Beatles, Brian did. As George Martin said, “If it weren’t for Brian I would never have known them.”

Youth and tragedy often go hand in hand, however, and the Beatles and Brian were no exception. By late 1965 Brian’s relationship with the band had begun to change dramatically. And it was not for the happier.

The crux of the problem was this: by late 1965 the Beatles were the most successful pop act the world had ever known. As a result, while needing good, solid business advice in the realm of product merchandising, tax shelters and mansion upkeep, they had less need for the kind of traditional management skills that Brian possessed. Brian was marvelous at seeking out bookings and promoting the band to doubtful concert promoters; but who needed skills like that anymore, with the world pounding on their door? Meanwhile, the Beatles had also come to loathe most traditional pop group activities like press conferences, touring, and TV appearances - all Brian’s bailiwick - and longed instead to spend more time in the studio with George Martin. By the summer of 1966 the shift in attitude came to a head. After an unhappy American tour where John’s life was threatened and, following that, a disastrous riot in Manila, the Beatles returned to England in no mood for any more of the mop-top life. They declared unequivocally that they would never perform in public again.

Brian had seen the move coming, and for some time now his response had been to busy himself with other NEMS artists such as Cilla Black and Gerry and the Pacemakers, or with projects like personal radio appearances and even hosting a pop TV program called “Hullaballoo.” But with the end of touring a tremendous hole now opened up in Brian’s life. It was hard to avoid the feeling that, as far as the Beatles were concerned, he had become superfluous.

The Beatles’ own behavior didn’t help. At this juncture - after a well-earned rest, and with a little clear thinking by all concerned - a new and positive arrangement might well have been crafted between Brian and the boys. After all, surely there were many services that the now studio-oriented Beatles would require that Brian would be only to happy to help oversee. Any such arrangement, however, was stillborn given the sour note of resentment that had lately crept into Beatle-Brian relations. The 1966 Beatles - now in their third year of worldwide stardom, with expenses and mansions and tax bills to match - had for some time been learning the details of some of Brian’s past business transactions on their behalf. What they learned did not please them. Whether from naivete or bad advice (or outdated notions of honor), Brian, they thought, had framed one lousy deal for them after another. Particularly hard to swallow were: (1) John and Paul’s song publishing contract with Northern Songs, where Dick James received a large portion of all song royalties in return for what they saw as very little effort; (2) the Beatles’ record contract with EMI, which paid, they thought, a very low royalty rate compared to other groups like the Rolling Stones; (3) the Beatles’ very lucrative UK and American merchandising rights (that is, the right to make Beatle watches and wigs and lunchboxes), which were virtually given away 1963 and 1964 for a pittance; and ultimately, (4) the fact that Brian still collected 25% of all of the Beatles’ earnings even though the group, now with the world at their feet, had for about a year ceased to need the services of a typical manager. Or indeed (they sometimes thought) of any manager-figure at all.

How far the five had come from chilly nights at Lime Street Station and Brian’s humble cheer-up dinners. The Beatles had not entirely abandoned Brian at this point; but it’s fair to say that they were deeply frustrated with him. They felt that many of the contracts that they had signed under his supervision were disasters, and as a result they were now bound to projects they didn’t like, being paid less than what they thought was fair, or being fleeced by men in suits who had long since outlived their usefulness. And no lad from Liverpool, then or now, likes being fleeced.

In their resentment, the Beatles were cold to Brian. What they could not know, of course, was how Brian would interpret that coldness. For them it was a sulky withdrawal from “Mister Epstein” while they considered their options for the coming year. For Brian, it was more a life-crises of the first order.

Brian entered 1967 with a mounting sense of anxiety. For the past five years his main source of identity and self-worth had been the Beatles; now that was in danger of being taken away. A stronger, more resilient soul might have weathered the storm, but here Brian’s sensitive nature betrayed him. He began to be bedeviled by self-doubt and fear - a state of mind surely not helped by a drug habit that had lately escalated into full-blown addiction. Brian was a heavy user of uppers, downers, hallucinogens, and all manner of other pills; as a result he spent much of his last year in a kind of addled, agitated dream, blundering from lost weekend to lost weekend, perpetually haunted by the growing conviction that the Beatles would not renew his contract when it lapsed in October 1967. The sad fact is, had Brian lived, it probably would have been renewed - but almost certainly on greatly changed terms. In his slow self-destruction, however, Brian couldn’t comprehend such fine distinctions. He was losing hope.

With the arrival of the Summer of Love Brian’s life was teetering very near disaster. His weeks were a cycle of sporadic business activity, then an oblivion of heavy drug use and prolonged sexual escapades. For a few days here or there he would wrench himself back to normal, but then inevitably lapse again. It was a dangerous time and, in retrospect, probably a classic ”cry for help.” Sadly, no one appeared to be listening. Brian’s brother Clive and his mother Queenie were kept at arm’s length from Brian’s private life; George Martin and he weren’t that close; his associates at NEMS felt powerless to intervene; and the Beatles - who might have offered the most effective (and insightful) aid to an old friend bedeviled by new problems - not to mention a little plain friendship to warm the heart - were, for all the reasons mentioned above, not overly disposed to be kind (and in fact probably weren’t even aware of what was happening).

And so what followed is sad and predictable. There were two incidents in the summer of 1967 when Brian overdosed and had to receive emergency medical attention. Then, on the night of August 26, Brian retired to his bedroom and (it appears) accidentally took pills which, in his befuddled state, he failed to remember were lethal when combined. Those who knew Brian best at the time are of the opinion It wasn’t a planned suicide (as many have since called it), for the simple reason that Brian wasn’t “in crisis” that weekend - he was quite cheerful, in fact, and had made appointments for the coming days. But whatever the intent, the result was tragic: fatal self-poisoning. And with it, the end of a man who for much of the previous year had been deeply confused and unhappy.

Brian’s body was discovered the next day - August 27, 1967. For most of the world it was a shock. For those who had known him closely, though, it was possibly also a relief.

Film footage exists of the Beatles’ reaction to the news. They were at Bangor University in Wales at the time, visiting with the Maharishi, and there the press converged. It’s obvious from the newsreels that the group are unusually subdued and sad. Perhaps, with resentment suddenly swept away, they were also already beginning to sense the sheer magnitude of this blow to their fortunes. For Brian, even with all his faults, had erected an efficient barrier between the Beatles and the real world, and now that this barrier was gone they would have to fend for themselves. The result? An immediate one-two punch of disasters - Magical Mystery Tour and, in 1968, the launch of Apple. That is almost certainly no coincidence.

As John later said, “I had no illusions about our ability to carry on alone. When I found out about Brian’s death I thought, ‘That’s it, we’ve fuckin’ had it.’”

>And lastly, what did Brian Epstein mean when he suggested the Sgt. Pepper

>album be wrapped in a brown paper bag (or something like that)?

This is a measure of how out of touch Brian was with the Beatles by mid-1967.

The Beatles' decision to make the Sgt. Pepper album a reflection and expression of their lately drug-drenched lives terrified Brian. Remember, Paul had been raked over the coals that same spring for admitting he'd taken LSD (it was front-page news around the world and the backlash was so strong that Brian, protectively, announced that he'd 'dropped acid' too). Mindful of this, Brian was afraid that the drug-culture theme of Pepper might be an unmitigated disaster. And so, at one point, he scrawled on one of his innumerable pieces of paper, "Brown paper bags for Sgt. Pepper." But the suggestion was never taken seriously by the Beatles. If, indeed, they ever heard it at all.

Sadly, Brian must have known it was a feeble gesture. By 1967 he no longer had any serious influence over the Beatles’ music or career.