For producer George Martin, who died on March 8 at age 90, the first notes of a pop song were everything. In those early make-or-break moments, a song's success depended on its opening hook. The music had to crash out of jukebox speakers and compel teens to spend money they didn’t have on records they couldn’t live without.
In August 2012, I flew over to the U.K. for the Wall Street Journal to interview Sir George at his country estate in the Cotswolds, about two hours northwest of London. The changeable skies during the drive said almost autumn, but the air was still warm and the light golden. When I pulled up in front of Sir George's 18th-century summer home, he came striding out with his wife, Lady Judy, and Adam Sharp, a founder of CA Management. I handed Lady Judy cookies from Harrods, which turned out to be a good choice, since she loved them.
What struck me immediately about Sir George was his relaxed manner and his eyes. I had never seen eyes that blue. They were a rich royal, almost the color of a swimming pool or kyanite. What also was interesting about his eyes is how they looked at you with curiosity rather than judgment. They were producer's eyes, full of eager expectation about what lay around the corner but also trained to gain control and impose rules on whatever unfolded.
We strolled the grounds for a bit and chatted before deciding to do the interview in a gazebo up a slight hill on his spacious back lawn. Despite the cottony clouds sailing here and there, the sun remained out and the air was soft. For the next two hours, we sat at a table in the wooden structure and talked about Produced by George Martin (Eagle Rock), a new documentary that was due, as well as a host of questions I had for him.
One of the moments I cherish is Sir George taking one of my digital recorders after I turned them on and saying, “Hello, hello, hello, testing one, two three, four." Sir George went to work for EMI's tiny Parlophone label in 1950 and first heard a demo of the Beatles in 1962. At first, the lads from Liverpool were a hot mess. Good songs but uneven execution, which made Sir George wonder about bringing in studio musicians to lend a hand. But the band's confidence and charisma were admirable and Sir George signed them up in June 1962.
By the following year, through hard work, the Beatles became a polished band with musical gifts that exceeded their good looks. Paul McCartney saw to that. But they didn’t know quite how to start a song. Martin found they either weren't aware what was needed or weren't interested. Fortunately, they were good listeners and fast learners, especially after their first U.K. hit, Please, Please Me, in early 1963, with its dipping two-note bass upbeat.
Two years later, in 1965, the Beatles were earning a fortune on the songs Sir George was producing, yet Sir George was still earning a pittance all things considered. Realizing that he would have to leave EMI to start his own production company, Sir George raised cash by starting his own easy-listening orchestra and recorded albums of Beatles songs. After he started Associated Independent Recording (AIR) in 1965, the revenue came in handy.
During our conversation, Sir George tensed up twice. He bristled when I told him how much I loved the Beatles' Magical Mystery Tour and asked what he thought. “Magical Mystery Tour was rubbish," Sir George said, laughing at the audacity of such a thought. “Well, it wasn’t really rubbish, of course, but it wasn’t a complete studio album, as Sgt. Pepper had been."
The second bit of heavy sledding came when I asked about Let It Be, the Beatles' last album and the only one Sir George hadn't produced. He was still pained that John Lennon had turned on him, insisting the Beatles record without overdubbing or any of the common studio techniques used on previous albums. The process was torture and the result was a mess and shelved. Then Lennon took the master reels to Phil Spector, who produced what we hear today. Sir George never quite forgave Lennon.
After the interview, we joined Lady Judy in their home's sun room and had tea while nibbling on her newly acquired cookies. Sadly, Sir George's hearing was pretty far gone from overexposure to blasting monitor speakers in his studio, but had managed to write music on his computer using special software. He played some of it for me, listening to the music I heard by watching the score unfold on the screen. We talked about a range of things, including our mutual fondness for gin martinis.
To this day, I recall every minute of that afternoon in the English countryside talking about the Beatles, Cilla Black, Gerry and the Pacemakers, America, John McLaughlin and so many other artists Sir George produced. What all of their recordings had in common was taste and a restless need to come out of the gate swinging.
Sir George's sense of humor also stands out along with his deep, authoritative laugh. He had a way of combining wisdom and whimsy that put you instantly at ease. After I told Sir George that I enjoyed his instrumental albums of Beatles songs and that I had them all, he seemed surprised anyone knew about them, which turned into mild embarrassment: “I’m glad you like them. You’ve made me feel much better. On the other hand, it shows you’ve got appalling taste." I can still hear his laugh at the end of it.
Here's one of my favorite clips of Sir George, on his way to Brian Wilson's house in Los Angeles to chat about Brian's God Only Knows...
In August 2012, I flew over to the U.K. for the Wall Street Journal to interview Sir George at his country estate in the Cotswolds, about two hours northwest of London. The changeable skies during the drive said almost autumn, but the air was still warm and the light golden. When I pulled up in front of Sir George's 18th-century summer home, he came striding out with his wife, Lady Judy, and Adam Sharp, a founder of CA Management. I handed Lady Judy cookies from Harrods, which turned out to be a good choice, since she loved them.
What struck me immediately about Sir George was his relaxed manner and his eyes. I had never seen eyes that blue. They were a rich royal, almost the color of a swimming pool or kyanite. What also was interesting about his eyes is how they looked at you with curiosity rather than judgment. They were producer's eyes, full of eager expectation about what lay around the corner but also trained to gain control and impose rules on whatever unfolded.
We strolled the grounds for a bit and chatted before deciding to do the interview in a gazebo up a slight hill on his spacious back lawn. Despite the cottony clouds sailing here and there, the sun remained out and the air was soft. For the next two hours, we sat at a table in the wooden structure and talked about Produced by George Martin (Eagle Rock), a new documentary that was due, as well as a host of questions I had for him.
One of the moments I cherish is Sir George taking one of my digital recorders after I turned them on and saying, “Hello, hello, hello, testing one, two three, four." Sir George went to work for EMI's tiny Parlophone label in 1950 and first heard a demo of the Beatles in 1962. At first, the lads from Liverpool were a hot mess. Good songs but uneven execution, which made Sir George wonder about bringing in studio musicians to lend a hand. But the band's confidence and charisma were admirable and Sir George signed them up in June 1962.
By the following year, through hard work, the Beatles became a polished band with musical gifts that exceeded their good looks. Paul McCartney saw to that. But they didn’t know quite how to start a song. Martin found they either weren't aware what was needed or weren't interested. Fortunately, they were good listeners and fast learners, especially after their first U.K. hit, Please, Please Me, in early 1963, with its dipping two-note bass upbeat.
Two years later, in 1965, the Beatles were earning a fortune on the songs Sir George was producing, yet Sir George was still earning a pittance all things considered. Realizing that he would have to leave EMI to start his own production company, Sir George raised cash by starting his own easy-listening orchestra and recorded albums of Beatles songs. After he started Associated Independent Recording (AIR) in 1965, the revenue came in handy.
During our conversation, Sir George tensed up twice. He bristled when I told him how much I loved the Beatles' Magical Mystery Tour and asked what he thought. “Magical Mystery Tour was rubbish," Sir George said, laughing at the audacity of such a thought. “Well, it wasn’t really rubbish, of course, but it wasn’t a complete studio album, as Sgt. Pepper had been."
The second bit of heavy sledding came when I asked about Let It Be, the Beatles' last album and the only one Sir George hadn't produced. He was still pained that John Lennon had turned on him, insisting the Beatles record without overdubbing or any of the common studio techniques used on previous albums. The process was torture and the result was a mess and shelved. Then Lennon took the master reels to Phil Spector, who produced what we hear today. Sir George never quite forgave Lennon.
After the interview, we joined Lady Judy in their home's sun room and had tea while nibbling on her newly acquired cookies. Sadly, Sir George's hearing was pretty far gone from overexposure to blasting monitor speakers in his studio, but had managed to write music on his computer using special software. He played some of it for me, listening to the music I heard by watching the score unfold on the screen. We talked about a range of things, including our mutual fondness for gin martinis.
To this day, I recall every minute of that afternoon in the English countryside talking about the Beatles, Cilla Black, Gerry and the Pacemakers, America, John McLaughlin and so many other artists Sir George produced. What all of their recordings had in common was taste and a restless need to come out of the gate swinging.
Sir George's sense of humor also stands out along with his deep, authoritative laugh. He had a way of combining wisdom and whimsy that put you instantly at ease. After I told Sir George that I enjoyed his instrumental albums of Beatles songs and that I had them all, he seemed surprised anyone knew about them, which turned into mild embarrassment: “I’m glad you like them. You’ve made me feel much better. On the other hand, it shows you’ve got appalling taste." I can still hear his laugh at the end of it.
Here's one of my favorite clips of Sir George, on his way to Brian Wilson's house in Los Angeles to chat about Brian's God Only Knows...
This story appears courtesy of JazzWax by Marc Myers.
Copyright © 2025. All rights reserved.
