conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide a description for a book titled Here, There and Everywhere about Beatles, Jarvis, AudioFile with the genre: Arts & Photography, Music.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Beatles' fans still have an unquenchable thirst for everything Beatles: music, books, film--everything. the author weighs in with his years as the engineer on most of the Beatles' hit albums and singles. Narrator Martin Jarvis tells the author's first-person account of working with "the boys" in the famous Abbey Road studios. A British accent makes everything sound better, and, in this case, the voice is perfect. It's great to hear the little pitch of excitement when Jarvis talks about the relationship of the four musicians and the author's unusual studio tricks to help make that special sound. the author is in his 60s now, but Jarvis's youthful presentation captures the heady days of his youth spent with the greatest rock band of all time. M.S. &copy; AudioFile 2006, Portland, Maine-- Copyright &#169; AudioFile, Portland, Maine
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Here, There and Everywhere
  George wasn't about to do either, so he told me to record the section on a clean piece of two-track tape and then chop it into pieces, toss the pieces into the air, and splice them back together. The end result should have been random, but, somehow, when I pieced it back together, it came back nearly the same way it had been in the first place! No one could believe their ears; we were all thoroughly amazed. But by this point, it was very late at night and we were running out of time—and patience—so George had me simply swap over two of the pieces and we flew it into the multitrack master, being careful to fade it out quickly. That's why the solo is so brief, and that's why it sounds almost musical, but not quite. At least it's unrecognizable enough that EMI was never sued by the original copyright holder of the song.
  Looking back, I think one of the reasons I was able to come up with so many innovative sounds on Revolver was the sheer amount of time George Martin spent in the studio working out complex vocal harmonies with John, Paul, and George Harrison. It was a long process, but the results were always spectacular. The four of them would gather around the piano for hours on end, practicing their parts endlessly. Ringo, who rarely sang unless it was his "showpiece" song, would usually pass the time reading a magazine or playing checkers with Mal or Neil.
  During those long rehearsals, I would sit in the control room by myself and have the luxury of thinking. I'd lean back, cigarette in hand, listening to endless playbacks while fiddling about with the controls, trying to achieve the sounds I heard in my head, trying to paint pictures with the Beatles' instruments and voices. With each passing day, I felt as if I were getting closer to my goal. Fortunately, I was blessed to be working with a band equally driven to breaking new ground, and with a producer willing to let me try my ideas.
  We didn't know at the time that we were raising the bar for recorded music, and we had absolutely no inkling that the Beatles were to become even bigger than they already were—that seemed impossible—but we did know that we were doing good work, and we felt confident that the listening public would "get it." I'd go home each night, weary and drained, but filled with pride at all I was achieving, eager to face the next day's challenges.
  Some days, of course, were better than others. There was one especially tedious session where we all wished we had never come up with the concept of backwards sounds. The song was "I'm Only Sleeping," and George Harrison was determined to play a backwards guitar solo on it. At the best of times, he had trouble playing solos all the way through forwards, so it was with great trepidation that we all settled in for what turned out to be an interminable day of listening to the same eight bars played backwards over and over and over again. Phil McDonald told me later that his arms were sore for days afterward from having to repeatedly lift the heavy tape reels off the machine and turn them over. I can still picture George—and later, Paul, who joined him to play the backwards outro in a bizarre duet—hunched over his guitar for hours on end, headphones clamped on, brows furrowed in concentration. George Martin conducted them from the window of the control room, using grease pencil marks I had put on the back of the tape on each beat as a reference. To borrow Ringo's phrase, that nine-hour session certainly was one hard day's night!
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide four more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Ever since the Pepper days, the Beatles would show up late, much later than the scheduled starting time, keeping my assistant and me waiting for hour after hour, and no one ever phoned to let us know they were running behind. Someone must have rung George Martin, because he generally knew roughly when they'd be arriving, but he never bothered to tell me, which was quite annoying. That was a contrast to every other artist, when the session would always start on time. During the making of the White Album, Richard and I would sit in the front reception area, waiting for them to arrive, constantly going to the front door to see if the fans were gathered outside the parking lot. If no one was there, we knew it would be at least another hour before the first Beatle would appear. Perhaps the fans were staking out Paul's house and then they'd walk over when they knew he was on his way, or perhaps they called their mates, spreading the word by phone.
  While we were waiting, we'd chat about the sessions. We always hoped they'd be doing a new song that night instead of running through the same old one over and over again. That was the real highlight for us: hearing a Beatle song being debuted for the first time. John or Paul would come in and play a song on guitar or piano and they'd tell us what it was about and we'd think: Wow, that's great. Then we'd gradually see it changing over a period of time. Sometimes it would get better with all the endless rehearsing. Sometimes it would go downhill.
  It could get incredibly boring and depressing hearing them play the same song for nine or ten hours at a stretch, especially if it was getting worse and worse as they got more drugged and went off into tangents. Interestingly, during those long jam sessions Ringo would most often be the one to take them in new directions—he'd get fed up doing the same beat all the time and he'd change it, which sometimes sparked a musical change from one of the others.
  From up where we sat, we couldn't really see all that well down into Studio Two because of the dim lighting. If they were running through something for a long time and we hadn't heard anything for a while, we'd often be wondering what was going on. Sometimes we wouldn't even know if they were still down there or not; we'd just catch a little glimpse and realize, "Oh, John is still there." In fact, we sometimes wouldn't know that they'd ended a session until Ringo walked through the control room door to say good night. If he saw that we were nodding off, he'd smile and say, "Yep, we're going." Ringo would almost always be the first to go; just as they rarely arrived together these days, they usually didn't leave together.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Reverse the sentences.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: " Ringo would almost always be the first to go; just as they rarely arrived together these days, they usually didn't leave together.. If he saw that we were nodding off, he'd smile and say, "Yep, we're going." In fact, we sometimes wouldn't know that they'd ended a session until Ringo walked through the control room door to say good night. Sometimes we wouldn't even know if they were still down there or not; we'd just catch a little glimpse and realize, "Oh, John is still there. If they were running through something for a long time and we hadn't heard anything for a while, we'd often be wondering what was going on.
  From up where we sat, we couldn't really see all that well down into Studio Two because of the dim lighting. Interestingly, during those long jam sessions Ringo would most often be the one to take them in new directions—he'd get fed up doing the same beat all the time and he'd change it, which sometimes sparked a musical change from one of the others.
  It could get incredibly boring and depressing hearing them play the same song for nine or ten hours at a stretch, especially if it was getting worse and worse as they got more drugged and went off into tangents. Sometimes it would go downhill. Sometimes it would get better with all the endless rehearsing. Then we'd gradually see it changing over a period of time. John or Paul would come in and play a song on guitar or piano and they'd tell us what it was about and we'd think: Wow, that's great. That was the real highlight for us: hearing a Beatle song being debuted for the first time. We always hoped they'd be doing a new song that night instead of running through the same old one over and over again.
  While we were waiting, we'd chat about the sessions. Perhaps the fans were staking out Paul's house and then they'd walk over when they knew he was on his way, or perhaps they called their mates, spreading the word by phone. If no one was there, we knew it would be at least another hour before the first Beatle would appear. During the making of the White Album, Richard and I would sit in the front reception area, waiting for them to arrive, constantly going to the front door to see if the fans were gathered outside the parking lot. That was a contrast to every other artist, when the session would always start on time. Someone must have rung George Martin, because he generally knew roughly when they'd be arriving, but he never bothered to tell me, which was quite annoying.Ever since the Pepper days, the Beatles would show up late, much later than the scheduled starting time, keeping my assistant and me waiting for hour after hour, and no one ever phoned to let us know they were running behind
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: In the last months of Linda's life I worked with Paul on her solo album, Wide Prairie. Sadly, she passed away shortly before we finished it. A few months later, I was listening to the CD test pressings in one of the small editing rooms at Abbey Road. The studio manager had mentioned that Paul was going to be working that day, too, doing another project in Studio One. Paul didn't know I was going to be there, though, and I was a little worried about how he might react if he came in, but during a break he popped his head in to have a listen. Not surprisingly, Paul put on a brave face once again. For a moment or two we listened intently. But then, when he thought no one was looking, he turned to me wordlessly with a tear in his eye. There was no need to say anything. I knew exactly how he felt.
  A few years later, George Harrison left us, too. We hadn't seen each other since the Anthologies days, but I was deeply saddened to hear the news of his passing. Even though we were never close personally, we always got along well professionally, and I always had great respect for his musicianship and his abilities as a producer. Especially after he got interested in Eastern music, George brought a new dimension to Beatles records and his contribution was inestimable.
  I miss him, just as I miss John, Linda, Mal Evans, and all the others who are no longer with us. But life, as George himself said, goes on within you and without you. Today, a little bit older and hopefully a lot wiser, I'm as prone to be tinkering with my photographic equipment at home as I am to be hunched over a console in a recording studio. Watching a gripping new movie is almost as exhilarating to me as hearing a great new record for the first time or mixing an exciting track.
  A very special thank-you goes to Richard Lush, a great assistant and great engineer, who shared good times and bad with me, and to my friends and colleagues Phil McDonald, John Smith, Malcolm Davies, John Kurlander, and Ken Scott, all of whom gave generously of their time to share their recollections of an era long past, but fondly remembered.
  I'd also like to express my gratitude to Norman Smith, George Martin, and Stuart Eltham for taking me under their wing and sharing the depths of their knowledge and creativity, as well as to my long-time assistant at AIR, Peter Henderson, and to Richard Langham for showing me the ropes all those years ago.