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How The Beatles (Almost) Destroyed My Sanity

Sunday, February 12, 2017

Plans to marry George. Playing in an all-girl Beatle band. Touring the northeast with a faux George. "Beatles obsession" is putting it mildly.

In the beginning, I’m just like any other teenage girl…

Mid-January 1964: Somebody at school mentions a band called The Beatles. Yuuch. They sound like bugs.

Our January 31, 1964 Life Magazine issue is delivered to our house in Queens, NY. Their pictures are on the cover. “First England fell…” the copy reads. I hoard the magazine and stare at their pictures all week. Can’t wait for Ed Sullivan. Four more days.

Sunday night, my brother, mother and I sit down to watch. My father, who feels that any music written after Debussy is crap (and he is somewhat ambivalent about Debussy), paces, refusing to sit down with us.

The Beatles take the stage. “Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you…” Endorphin surge. George. The lead guitar player. Him. We could play music together. He’s mine. After the show, I go upstairs and close the door to my room. Tears on my fretboard.

The obsession takes over. I have an advantage. I’m a musician from a family of professional musicians. I have a chance.

I get their record. My acoustic nylon string Goya ain’t gonna make it. My brother, who’s already a guitar whiz, helps me choose a Gibson electric and an Ampeg amp from a music shop on Union Turnpike.

I’m going to marry George. Once he sees what a great girl guitar player I am, he won’t be able to resist. So far, that’s the plan. I sit in the basement and learn every single song from Meet The Beatles!. The chords. The guitar solos. The words. All the harmonies. OK – this takes some time, but I’ve got about three of them down in the first week.

By: Elizabeth Rose

Source: The Good Men Project

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