A plaque commemorating The Beatles manager Brian Epstein has been unveiled at his birthplace in Liverpool.
The memorial was erected on 4 Rodney Street where the pop impresario was born in 1934.
It was organised by tour guide Marie Darwin who said it was important to mark the birthplace of a "visionary".
It was unveiled by Watford's Viv Jones, once an employee of Epstein, who said she was "very proud" to honour "the man who made the Beatles".
John Lennon's sister Julia Baird and Jeni Crowley who was secretary of The Beatles fan club were also at the ceremony.
Epstein, born into a family of furniture retailers, yearned for a career in the arts and after failed attempts to become an actor discovered The Beatles.
The name Yoko Ono means different things to different people: To some, she’s one of the foundational members of the Fluxus art movement, which helped inflect early conceptual art of the 1960s with a performance flair; to others — let’s be fair, most others — she’s the fifth column that drove a wedge into the most beloved rock band of all time.
The former is true, the latter likely not fair but, by whatever means, she remains one of the most famous people in the world and the keeper of the flame for her late husband, John Lennon.
The George Harrison Memorial Tree, infamously killed by beetles, will be replanted on Feb. 25 in Griffith Park on what would have been the former Beatle’s 72nd birthday.
Chris Carter, host of the longest-running Beatles radio show “Breakfast With the Beatles,” will MC the event organized by Los Angeles City Councilman Tom LaBonge, in whose district Griffith Park sits.
The ceremony will take place at 4 p.m., north of the Griffith Observatory parking lot. The original tree, a Canary Island Pine Tree dubbed "The George Harrison Tree" on the accompanying bronze memorial plaque, was planted on Harrison's birthday in 2002. “In memory of a great humanitarian, who touched the world as an artist, a musician and a gardener,” the plaque reads.
“Saturday Night Live” celebrated its 40th anniversary with a star-studded and surprisingly inclusive televised gala on Sunday evening. The show’s legacy in comedy, late-night television, edgy and often surrealist content, and influence on the development of “comedy news” shows like those presided over by Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, has been well-documented and is impossible to question.
But what about “SNL’s” effect on popular music? Well, beyond a doubt, that influence has been equally vast. And it all comes down to the “Live” in “SNL.” Yes, for 40 years, the show has offered us warts-and-all performances captured in real time and beamed directly into our living rooms in all their unvarnished glory.
It was where the biggest band of all time cut its teeth. The Star Club in Hamburg, one of the key venues where a little-known four-piece from Liverpool transformed themselves into the Fab Four, is afforded a special status among Beatles fans. Before an audience often more interested in the fleshy delights of Hamburg’s Reeperbahn red light district, the Beatles performed not only their own songs but those of other groups and singers whom they admired.
"That was great — and I don't even like that song!" So proclaimed a thirtyish dude last night as Paul McCartney — Sir Paul, Macca, the Cute One, the One Who Once Was the Dead One But Now Blessedly Is One of the Two Still Alive — treated a crowd of 1,000 or so to a stellar, stirring "And I Love Her."
McCartney invested this minor standard with wistful vigor and urgency. "Bright are the stars that shine/ dark is the sky" has accumulated significance over fifty years. Young Paul's stately wisp of a song about romantic timelessness has snuck into the firmament, now as fixed in our lives as stars and sky, but Old Paul's treatment of it sounds far from settled: Savor those new "oooh"s he eases into on a coda.
A little over 30 years ago, the Japanese photographer Kishin Shinoyama walked through Central Park with one of the most famous couples in the world. It was sunset, autumn; they sat on a bench just in front of the pond, bordered by trees, a sliver of New York skyline visible in the distance, including the building where they lived. He asked them to kiss, and he clicked the shutter. Three months later, on Dec. 8, 1980, John Lennon was fatally shot at the entrance to the Dakota, home to him and his wife, Yoko Ono. Just three weeks prior to Lennon’s death, Shinoyama’s photograph of John and Yoko’s kiss at Central Park Pond had appeared on the cover of what would be their final studio album, “Double Fantasy.”
TOM PETTY PAYS TRIBUTE TO HIS FELLOW TRAVELING WILBURYS BANDMATE AND TOUCHES ON HARRISON'S LASTING INFLUENCE ON POPULAR MUSIC
He never wanted to be the star of anything. But, that's the place fate left him. He thought he was best as a team player. But we all know there was just too much great music in him to be contained by modesty.
When the Beatles ended all he had held inside came flowing out, manifesting itself in the 1970 album All Things Must Pass — a landmark LP that is still stunning by the quality of the songs and its complete originality. Like it or not, he was now the frontman of the band and more and more great music would flow from him the rest of his life.
After a series of jaw-dropping multi-generational match-ups during Grammy night 2015, it took an acoustic performance from Paul McCartney, Rihanna and Kanye West to bring the audience to their feet.
The trio debuted for the first time, a live and surprisingly pared-down performance of their surprise smash hit "FourFiveSeconds." The three, clad in various black outfits, took the stage with little accompaniment and sang a passionate performance of the popular tune, which recently debuted on the Billboard charts at No. 54.
Richard Kreitner and The Almanac
If we are told to remember the Beatles’ arrival in the United States fifty years ago last month as an “invasion,” it is as one that was unopposed. But at least one person wasn’t smiling: In an essay published in the March 3, 1964 issue of The Nation, “No Soul in Beatlesville,” a young Simon & Schuster editor named Alan Rinzler objected to the furor over the Liverpool lads’ music and—correctly, if somewhat myopically—attributed Beatlemania to a massive, premeditated PR campaign. The quivering throngs of teen-aged girls, he believed, said much more about the susceptibility of Americans to fashionable trends than it did about the talent or novelty of the group itself. In 2014, Rinzler wrote in an e-mail about his 1964 review, “There’s nothing in it about the Beatles that I agree with now, except my appreciation of their humor.”