Is Mclennon Real?

#78

"On March 29, 1967, around two p.m., John lennon came to Paul Mc- Cartney's house in London, and they headed up to Paul's workroom, a narrow, rectangular space full of instruments and amps and modern art. The day before, they'd started a new song, meant for Ringo Starr to sing. Today, they intended to finish it off. Hunter Davies, a columnist with the Sunday Times, was on hand, and his account offers a rare window onto how John and Paul worked.
John took up his guitar, and Paul started noodling at the piano "for a couple of hours," Davies wrote, "they both banged away. Each seemed to be in a trance until the other came up with something good, then he would pluck it out of a mass of noises and try it himself."
"Are you afraid when you turn out the light?" John offered.
Paul repeated the line and nodded. They could begin each of the verses with a question, John suggested, and he gave another one.
"Do you believe in love at first sight?"
He interrupted himself. "It hasn't got the right number of syllables."
He tried breaking the line between believe and in love, putting in a pause long enough to create the right rhythm. It didn't work.
"How about," Paul said, "Do you believe in a love at first sight?"
John sang it and instantly added another line "Yes, I'm certain it happens all the time."
They switched the order of the lines and sang them over and over again.
It was now five o'clock. John's wife came by with a friend. They talked about the lines to the song so far, and, in the midst of the chatter, John said — almost to himself — in answer to what's seen when the light is out: "I know it's mine." someone said it sounded smutty.
They chatted some more. Paul started improvising on the piano before breaking into "Can't Buy Me love." John joined in, shouting and laughing. Then they both began to play "Tequila," a 1958 hit by the Champs.
"Remember in Germany?" John said. "We used to shout out anything." They did the song again, with John throwing in new words at the cres- cendo of each line: "knickers" and "Duke of Edinburgh" and "tit" and "Hitler".
"They both stopped all the shouting and larking around as suddenly as they'd begun it," Davies wrote. "They went back, very quietly, to the song they were supposed to be working on." John sang a slight modification of the line they'd agreed on. "What do you see when you turn out the light?" Then he answered the question. "I can't tell you, but I know it's mine."
Paul said it would do and he wrote the lines on a piece of exercise paper. Then he wandered around the room. outside the window, the eyes and foreheads of six girls could be seen as they jumped up and down on the sidewalk on Cavendish avenue, trying to catch a glimpse over the front wall into Paul's property. John began to play a hymn on the piano.
After playing with his sitar, Paul went to his guitar, where, Davies wrote, he "started to sing and play a very slow, beautiful song about a foolish man sitting on the hill. John listened to it quietly, staring blankly out of the window." Paul sang the song over and over again. "It was the first time Paul had played it for John," Davies wrote. "There was no discussion."
It was now about seven o'clock. They were due soon around the corner at the EMI studios on Abbey Road. They lit a joint and passed it between them. They decided to call Ringo and tell him they would do the song that night."— Powers of Two: Finding the essence of innovation in creative pairs - Joshua Wolf Shenk

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