How the Beatles fell into avant garde hell with 1968's unreleased Wide Album.
[26 November 2008]
by Tony Sclafani
Editor's note: Each time an important date in Beatle history rolls
around, stories pour forth about the successes of the Fab Four. This
isn't one of them. Instead, this article chronicles the subterfuge
behind the group's 1968 release The Beatles. Known colloquially as
the White Album, this article looks at its origins as the Wide Album.
No one was willing to go on record and confirm details about this
murky chapter of the band's historya chapter so seemingly
implausible that virtually all esteemed Beatle scholars believe it to
be fictional. Yes, this is satire, just to clear up any confusion.
"Unplayable by Listeners! Unstockable by Stores!" This was the tag
line on promotional materials drawn up by advertising executives at
Apple Records for the upcoming Beatles album in the autumn of 1968.
In today's anything-goes world of pop music, such an announcement
might be considered shrewd marketing. But when the Beatles decided to
use it to promote their impending double LP, all hell broke loose at
EMI Records. Though unbeknownst to the public at the time (and
unreported since), the world's biggest selling group was nearly
dropped from its record label and hauled into court for breaking the
terms stated in their 1962 recording contract.
And all they really wanted to do, say sources, was break new ground.
The idea came about after the group returned from India with a
massive cache of over 30 songs and realized they had too much
material for even a double LP. That's when Beatle John Lennon hit on
the idea of enlarging the size of the record's discs from 12 to 14
inches, in order to fit more music. Beatle scholars agree that Lennon
first brought the idea to his buddy, Apple staff "inventor" Magic
Alex Madras, who confirmed that bigger discs could be manufactured.
Unfortunately, no one would be able to play such discs since they
wouldn't be able to fit on regular phonographs. Undaunted, Lennon
pressed on with the idea, saying the band "already did too much" for
its fans and that he was "going to make sure Paul didn't get more
songs than me on the album even if it means no one hears the bloody tunes".
(Editor's note: Some Beatle scholars believe the old Close-n-Play
record players could have accommodated the larger discs. They also
note that Lennon in 1968 would only listen to records on the kiddie
record players, calling them more "honest" and "authentic", than the
"bourgeois stereo" owned by Paul McCartney.)
Other Beatle-ologists claim Lennon and then-girlfriend Yoko Ono were
just trying to stay one step ahead of the avant-garde. It's also been
claimed that Lennon was being spiteful over the other Beatles'
rejection of his song "Revolution" as the a-side of their "Hey Jude"
single and was deliberately attempting to sabotage the group's career.
"The group's true, conservative nature was exposed when they chose to
relegate John's 'Revolution' to the flip side of that record,"
explains a former Apple Boutique employee. "These days, Paul
McCartney tries to take credit for every innovation the band ever
did, but back then he made June Cleaver look like Eldridge Cleaver."
(Editor's note: Many Beatle scholars dispute the validity of this
quote, claiming instead the staffer referred to Wally Cleaver, not
Whatever the case, it came to pass that Lennon goaded executives at
Apple Records into mastering previously-unheard-of 14-inch test
pressings of the LP late in 1968, while fellow Fab Paul McCartney was
away in America. Upon returning to Britain, the baby-faced Beatle was
purportedly livid, but agreed to stand behind Lennon's ideaat least at first.
"The group was so big at the time they figured people would buy the
record anyway," explains a friend of the group.
The disc would be called the Wide Album, because of its unique width,
Lennon said. At an Apple Records board meeting, the Beatle explained
to a group of employees and Hell's Angels that the disc would herald
a "bold new era". (Editor's note: Several Beatle scholars argue there
were no Hell's Angels in the meeting. They claim that Ringo's wife
had brought along an angel food cake and the details got confused in
the ensuing years.)
By mid-autumn, thousands of copies of the 14-inch LP were rolling off
the presses. Sure, the concept of a record that could not be played
was odd, reasoned many close to the Beatles. But didn't so many of
the group's previous ideas seem strange at first? You know, like long
hair and actually having to listen to the Maharishi? And then one day
a pressing of the LP found its way into the hands of Sir Joseph
Lockwood, president of EMI Records, which distributed Apple.
Lockwood couldn't play the disc on his office turntable. Thinking his
record machine was broken, he asked his secretary to try and play the
record. But the needle kept popping up off the disc and Lockwood
could barely make out the words to a song that sounded like it was
called "Dear Pruneface".
The elderly EMI president was not amused. Perceiving the "pruneface"
song as a personal jab (Lockwood was nearly 80 at the time), he flew
into a rage and hurled the group's soon-to-be-released masterpiece
against a wall. The next day, a more composed Lockwood summoned
Beatles producer George Martin to his office. Martin had taken a
leisurely vacation that fall and had missed many of the album's
sessions, but was about to be re-immersed back into the weird lair of
the Liverpool Lads.
Lockwood demanded the producer bring the rapidly-fragmenting band
together for a high-level meeting. A terrified Martin heeded
At the time, Lennon was dealing with the ramifications of his recent
drug arrest, McCartney was in the studio with English thrush Mary
Hopkin, Harrison was working with guitarist Eric Clapton, and Starr
was in Greece. (Editor's note: Some Beatle scholars claim Ringo was
not in Greece but that he was covering his prematurely-gray hair with
When each of the four band members heard Martin erupt on the
telephone, they sped to EMI for the impromptu get-together. Even the
usually bold Ono made like a shrinking violet and begged off. The
arguments came fast and furious, with Lockwood accusing Lennon of
being "crazy" and "arrogant". Lennon kept his cool, explaining that
the unwieldy album would "make fans think" and "cause them to
question who and what we are."
Guitarist George Harrison and drummer Ringo Starr sat slumped in
corners. Neither had known about Lennon's scheme in the first place.
As the always-articulate Lennon pressed on with his arguments,
Lockwood held up a copy of the band's recording contract, noting the
clause which detailed the specific physical dimensions of albums.
(Editor's note: Some Beatle scholars maintain Lockwood did not hold
up the contract, but merely pointed at it.)
New concepts were all well and good, explained Lockwood, but a record
that could not be listened to did notin his mindqualify as any type
"It's not important to us that fans be able to actually play our
albums," snapped an impatient Lennon. "That's a triviality to us at
"But if they CAN manage to somehow play the LP, they'll get extra
music and better sound," offered a helpful McCartney. (Due to its
larger size, the Wide Album, contained two extra songs, "What's the
New Mary Jane" and "Not Guilty".)
According to newly uncovered EMI documents, Lockwood "threw a hissy
fit". He also threw the band and its crimson-faced producer out of
his office. "Stop acting like spoiled little prats!" he barked. "Come
back when you've made a proper record. And I've never said it before
but that 'Lady Madonna' record was a load of bollocks!"
Where Was George?
As angry as Lockwood was at the band, the brunt of his ire was saved
for Fabs' whipping-boy George Martin. In the passing weeks, Lockwood
not only berated Martin in public, he forced the producer to
personally cough up the cash to have the album re-pressed, since it
was "his oversight that allowed the craziness to happen.
"A producer should run the show," fumed Lockwood. "Here, it looks
like the lunatics have taken over the asylum."
According to yet more Beatle scholars, Martin was furious at his
"betrayal" by both the Beatles and Lockwood. This, say sources, is
the real reason Martin was not present as producer during most of the
Get Back/Let It Be sessions which commenced soon after. According to
newly-discovered documents, the band began to "put out feelers"
(their words) for a new producer. Rolling Stones guitarist Brian
Jones was asked whether Stones producer Jimmy Miller could be
employed. But Jones at the time was a drug-addled mess and claimed
he didn't even know Miller was now producing his band. (Editor's
note: Virtually all the Beatle scholars we talked to said they had
never heard of an alleged band called the "The Rolling Stones".)
Jones snapped into lucidity when told about the band's "Wide Album".
Calling Lennon a "mad genius" he dreamed of the day when he too could
"put out LPs no one can play". When Jones pitched just this idea to
the other Stones a few months later, he was asked to leave the band.
Jones turned up dead weeks later.
Soon, both McCartney and Lennon agreed to "get the LP out as soon as
possible in any way possible". This, it turns out, is why the LP was
issued in a plain white jacket: The Beatles had no time to commission
a proper cover graphic.
"They wasted so much time with their bloody idea," a former EMI
engineer explains, "that they had to quickly assemble a cover in
order to have the album ready by the Christmas rush. In effect, there
was no cover!"
To save face, Lennon dreamed up the idea of calling the
re-constituted LP by the similar name of the White Album, because of
its blank jacket. "People had already been saying Wide Album so
(they) thought up a name that sounded close enough," says a source.
Two songs were pulled from the disc's lineup so the contents of the
LP fit onto two standard 12-inch vinyl discs. EMI lubed up its
presses for another run of LPs.
"The whole incident shows what can happen when egos get out of
control," offers a New Jersey-based rock critic and self-professed
Beatles fanatic who wished not to be identified. "I'm glad all of
this is finally being brought to light, because it hurt George
(Martin) emotionally as well as professionally." (Editor's note:
Several Beatle scholars contend this critic is not a critic at all,
but a convenience store employee who likes to read music magazines.)
Indeed, the occurrence was considered such a professional
embarrassment, it prompted a furious Lockwood to issue a memo to all
EMI staffers, producers and bands to "keep quiet about it, or risk
losing all earnings and your reputation within the industry." To
distract fans from the would-be scandal (and to secure their
financial futures) the two head Beatles would both impulsively marry
well-to-do women in the coming months.
"They can ruin us professionally," said Lennon at the time. "But they
can't ruin us personally. We're more than capable of that."
Although Martin would re-unite with the Beatles for their swan song,
"Abbey Road", the events in the fall of 1968 traumatized him so much
that he vowed "never to work with rock acts again". After a long
search for "the most boring group in the world," he "discovered" soft
rockers America and purportedly produced many of their discs while
asleep in a hammock in the back of his Bentley, which was parked a
block away from the studio.
'England's lamest cover band'
The outcome of the Wide Album incident hit the Beatles hard. No
longer were they the "golden boys" who could "do no wrong" for
EMI. Instead, they felt like cogs in the wheelanother meal ticket
for the stuffed-shirt executives.
Dispirited, the group reconvened in January of 1969 to start work on
an album comprised of safe-as-milk oldies, a move engineered to mock
Lockwood's bland tastes. If Mr. EMI wanted the Best Band in the Word
to make like milquetoast, well, that's exactly what they would do.
"Look out Herman's Hermits!" they joked. "We're going steal your
mantle of being England's lamest cover band!"
Sadly, that plan was realized in spades.
Drugged, depressed, and dispirited, the band slogged through
ear-wrenching, tuneless renditions of numbers they once loved.
Originally called Sloppy Seconds by Lennon (who named it as such
because the band couldn't make it through more than a few seconds of
each tune), it was later re-titled Get Back. For a few weeks it was
called Octopus' Garbage (at Harrison's bequest), then accidentally
named Nancy Wilson Sings the Standards by a novice tape-op who wasn't
At one point during the sessions, a smartly-dressed Keith Richards
dropped by with then-paramour Anita Pallenberg. Hoisting a guitar,
he attempted to jam with the band, but found he could not get in tune
with any given band member at any given time. Dazed, he walked out of
the session saying he "could not believe what he heard." Later that
night he allegedly drove with Pallenberg to the worst section of
London and scored heroin for the first time. "If that's the way the
best band in the world sounds," he slurred, "then there's no point in music."
Lennon took the rejection of the Wide Album particularly hard. He
decided to "turn his back on pop music as we know it" and take up
more substantial causes. (Editor's note: Many Beatle scholars say
they never felt Lennon's causes were really all that substantial, at
least not in the scheme of record collecting.)
As the history books show, the band members decided to go their
separate ways in Aug. 1969. Solo careers were launched, but the
memory of the Wide Album would not go away. In 1974, Beatle roadie
Mal Evans, then on the verge of bankruptcy, threatened to sell his
memoirsreplete with an account of the "Wide Album" incident. One
week later, Evans turned up dead.
Six years later, Lennon did an interview with Playboy magazine writer
David Sheff, where he touched on all points of the group's
careerincluding the Wide Album. The discovery of the story was
considered a major "coup" for the then-struggling scribe. But when
Sheff went back to transcribe the tape the next day, the segment of
the tape that covered the debacleall 13 minutes of ithad been
Lennon was murdered less than a week later.