Here’s an excerpt from Geoff Emerick’s book, Here, There and Everywhere: My Life Recording the Music of the Beatles, where he talks about replacing their longtime sound engineer Norman Smith, who had left to produce Pink Floyd.
Emerick was only eighteen years old at the time and was apprehensive that the Fab Four might not accept the change. On his first day on the job, he assumed that George Martin had already informed the quartet about the switch. He was to quickly discover that his assumption was wrong.
I assumed, naturally enough, that the four Beatles knew that Norman Smith was out and that I was to be their new engineer, and I wondered how they felt about the switch. Lennon and Harrison were the two that I feared the most; John because he could be caustic, even downright nasty, and George because of his sarcastic tongue and furtive nature. Ringo was generally bland, just one of the lads, really, though he had a strange sense of humor and was actually the most cynical of the four. Paul, on the other hand, was usually friendly and amiable, though assertive when he needed to be. He and I had established the closest relationship since I’d first started working with the band back in 1962.
My quiet contemplation was interrupted by George Martin opening the control room door, cup of tea in hand. “Everything ready to go?” he asked me.
“Yes, Phil is standing by and all the mics are up and working,” I answered dutifully.
His response floored me. “Well, I suppose I better go out there and tell them the news.” George carefully placed his cup of tea on the small producer’s table beside the mixing console and walked out.
Tell them the news?? My jaw dropped. They didn’t know after all! My God, why had I ever agreed to do this? I looked out through the glass window that separated the control room from the studio. Lennon and Harrison were tuning their guitars, while Paul and Ringo were clowning around at the piano. Through the open microphones, I could hear the conversation as George Martin entered the room.
“Afternoon, ’enry,” said Lennon in his flat, nasal voice. Because there were two Georges involved in the recording sessions—Harrison and Martin—George Martin was usually referred to as “George H,” since his middle name was Henry. It was an arrangement I always found a little odd, since George Harrison was also a George H. John was the only one of the four who was actually cheeky enough to call the schoolmasterly Martin solely by his middle name, which he tended to do when he was especially exuberant…or especially irritated. Paul and Ringo greeted their producer with a much more respectful “Hello, George H, how have you been?” As the pleasantries were exchanged, I started to feel a sense of relief—at least everyone seemed to be in a good mood.
Everyone, that is, except George Harrison. Peering sullenly over his guitar, he dispensed with the niceties and spat out two words that shot like an arrow through my heart.
“Where’s Norman?” he demanded.
All four pairs of eyes turned to George Martin. The brief pause that followed seemed like an eternity to me. Perched on the edge of my chair in the control room, I stopped breathing.
“Well, boys, I have a bit of news,” Martin replied after a beat or two. “Norman’s out, and Geoff’s going to be carrying on in his place.”
That was it. No further explanation, no words of encouragement, no praise for my abilities. Just the facts, plain and unadorned. I thought I could see George Harrison scowling. John and Ringo appeared clearly apprehensive.
But Paul didn’t seem fazed at all. “Oh, well then,” he said with a grin. “We’ll be all right with Geoff; he’s a good lad.”
Another pause, this one a bit longer. I allowed myself to breathe again, but I could hear my heart pounding.
Then, just as abruptly, it was over. John shrugged his shoulders, turned his back on the others and continued tuning his guitar; Ringo returned his attention to the piano. With an ominous glare, George Harrison muttered something I couldn’t quite make out but then joined Lennon at the guitar amplifiers. Paul got up and began walking toward the drum kit, looking quite pleased with himself. In fact, with the passage of time I’ve almost convinced myself that he and George Martin exchanged winks.
Looking back all these years later, it seems to me that the change in engineering seats was probably done with Paul’s advance knowledge and tacit approval. Perhaps it was even done at his instigation. It’s hard to imagine that George Martin would have made that kind of momentous decision without discussing it with any of the group, and he seemed to have the closest relationship with Paul, who was always the most concerned about getting the sound right in the studio. And while I’d like to believe that Paul had fostered a friendship with me since our earliest years of working together because he liked me, it’s also possible that he had an ulterior motive, that he was scouting me out as a possible replacement for Norman.
There were certainly other engineers at EMI more experienced and qualified than I was, but they were almost Norman Smith’s age. Perhaps Paul simply wanted someone a bit younger, someone closer in both age and outlook, especially since the band was growing by leaps and bounds musically and starting to experiment more. John, Ringo, and George Harrison didn’t care about details like that the way that Paul did, so I could see how George Martin opted to avoid controversy by keeping it secret from them for as long as possible.
But sitting in that control room, waiting to see how I would be received, I wasn’t thinking about that. I was simply a jumble of emotions: filled with nervous excitement, worried that I would screw up, horrified that George Martin was springing this on them at the last moment…and fearful that the group would reject me out of hand.
What I like about that passage is it echos something that’s been happening to me as I write about things in my distant past. Although he didn’t realize it at the time, he came to realize that most likely George Martin and Paul McCartney had discussed the switch ahead of time before informing the rest of the group.
In a similar vein as I look back on events in my past, I’m sometimes able to see connections and make inferences about what might have been going on, things I didn’t realize at the time. I can’t be certain, of course, that my inferences are correct.