Leslie Cavendish

From Beatles Hairdresser Official Site Home page:

Leslie Cavendish left school at 15 years old, without any artistic qualifications to become a hairdresser. He worked for the iconic “’60s” hair stylist Vidal Sassoon. Leslie counted many of the stars of the day among his clients — including Keith Moon, Bee Gees, Dave Clark Five, James Hunt, Terry Stamp, Jane Asher, James Taylor and so many more — but the jewel in his career’s crown was styling perhaps the four most famous heads of hair in history: The Beatles.

In late 1966, through Paul McCartney’s then-girlfriend, Jane Asher who was Leslie’s client, met and began cutting McCartney’s hair at his home in St. John’s Wood on a street ironically called Cavendish Avenue. Eventually, he styled the other three Beatles’ as well and became part of their inner circle, attending Beatles Recording Sessions and joining the band on the Magical Mystery Tour. They even tempted him away from Sassoon’s to open his own salon at their Apple Tailoring boutique in London’s King Rd. Leslie was also in the building at 3 Saville Row for that famous Roof Top Concert.

In September 1966, Leslie Cavendish was working at Vidal Sassoon’s London hair salon. One day, when the salon manager fell behind schedule, Cavendish was asked to attend to Jane Asher, Paul McCartney’s girlfriend at the time. Pleased with the result, Jane invited him to Cavendish Avenue later that day to cut Paul’s hair. The 19-year-old Cavendish, a devoted Beatles fan, eagerly accepted. After the haircut, Paul invited him in for tea and played some of the music he was working on, including his score for “The Family Way” and the song “When I’m Sixty-Four,” which The Beatles would begin recording at the end of December 1966.

“Leslie, that’s just the way I like it […] By the way,” she then added, “do you ever make house calls? My boyfriend needs a haircut. Would you be free this afternoon? He would prefer if you came to our place. It’s in St John’s Wood.”

My boyfriend she had said. Paul McCartney. The Beatle. The Mop-Top. One of the four most famous heads of hair in the world! […] It was the most exciting haircutting gig I could have possibly been offered. […]

As I turned into the street, I realized there was no need to check the house number. Obviously, it was the three-storey Regency townhouse with the gaggle of girls gathered at the front gates. They all seemed to be wearing the teenage uniform of the day: long straight hair, heavy black eye make-up, miniskirts and boots. […] I grabbed the carpet bag I used as my portable haircutting kit, climbed out of the Mini and headed for the big brick house. The Apple Scruffs eyed me with curiosity as I strolled up to the side gate with as casual an air as I could muster. Who is this guy? they must have wondered. And I was wondering the same thing. Who am I to be pressing the bell on Paul McCartney’s intercom?

“Hello?”

It was a female voice, but not Jane’s. An older-sounding woman.

“Hi, umm… it’s… My name is Leslie Cavendish,” I stammered. “I’m here for…”

A buzzer sounded, and the heavy gates opened. […] I waited under the little porch, held up by two white columns, expecting to meet the housekeeper or maid who had picked up the answerphone. But when the door finally opened, there was the man himself, wearing his trademark knitted sleeveless jumper, a welcoming smile spreading across his face.

“Hello, Leslie. Thanks for coming. […] So, Jane tells me you’re quite good at cutting barnets…”

Barnets. That, of course, was rhyming slang. The amusingly cryptic code, peculiar to the British working class, is commonly associated with London, but thrives in fact in many other cities, including, it would seem, Liverpool. […] “barnet”, the word refers to the London borough which includes Burnt Oak, the very place where I’d lived most of my life. Since the nineteenth century, it’s been known for its traditional market, Barnet Fair. And “fair” of course, rhymes with “hair”.

I looked up at Paul and noted his faint smile. Suddenly, I realized who he really was. Not some kind of legendary music star that existed only in newsprint – not a hero, idol or demigod: just a nice chappie from Liverpool in serious need of a haircut. And that’s where I came in.

“Well, I don’t know if I’m that good,” I said, “but I’ll do my Mae West.” […]

I opened up the leather straps of my carpet bag next to the sink and studied Paul’s hair as I always liked to do with a new client, running my hand through his brow to find the natural “break” or parting, the place where it falls into two directions, left and right. As I did so, I made him a promise that I would remember many years later: “You have wonderfully thick hair, just like mine. I can guarantee that you’ll never go bald.” He laughed. “Well, that’s nice to hear.”

Satisfied with my inspection, it was time for me to pop the obligatory question: “So Paul, how would you like it?” I looked at him in the mirror and he looked back, shrugging his shoulders. “Just do it as you see it,” the Beatle said. […]

“So,” I said, getting on with my job. “I hear you’ve stopped touring for now.” It seemed like a safe question. Everyone was talking about it, so it didn’t mark me out as a fawning admirer.

“Yeah, you know,” he sighed. “We’re pretty tired of all the travelling, the concerts, the hotels… We needed a break.” […] “We had Vox build special speakers for us. The biggest they could make. And it still wasn’t enough. So, you know, it wasn’t about the music any more. No one cared about the songs. What was the point?”

Paul told me they were taking a three-month holiday, and each of them was doing their own thing. John was shooting a film in Germany and Spain, and George was off to India with his wife, to take sitar lessons.

“I just want to spend a bit of time at home with Jane and Martha,” he told me. “Write a bit of music, have my hair cut, that sort of thing.”

I smiled.

[I asked] if he was composing any new songs. As he described his work for the soundtrack of a movie, The Family Way, I concentrated on his hair, brushing it upwards with my fingers, as I had done with Jane. […] Happy with my performance, I asked Paul for a broom to sweep up the mess in the bathroom.

“Of course, I’ll just pop down and ask Mrs Kelly for one,” he said. And then he added, “Do you fancy a cup of tea? I’ll ask her to make some. And I could play you some of the stuff I was telling you about, if you’ve got time…” […] “Sure, Paul,” I said, hiding my excitement with a showy scrutiny of the job to be done on the bathroom floor. “That would be lovely.”

A few minutes later, we took our tea downstairs. Paul then sat at the upright piano and showed me a few of the melodies he’d been tinkering with for his movie soundtrack. At one point, he suddenly interrupted himself, in the middle of a song.

“Come to think of it, Leslie,” he said, with an amused grin. “Here’s something just for you. It’s one of the first songs I ever wrote, when I was still at school. But I was thinking of proposing it for our next album.”

Paul’s hands began to bounce around the piano, playing a cheerful, music-hall sort of rhythm, and then, after a short introduction, he began to sing along: “When I get older, losing my hair…”

I thought he had to be taking the mickey. The old-fashioned ragtime sounded nothing like a Beatles song. It might have been featured on the Perry Como Show. So I laughed along chummily at what I thought was a great joke, suggested by my comment in the upstairs bathroom.

“Sounds great, Paul,” I said, when it was over. “Pity you won’t be losing your hair.”

“Yeah,” he said, passing his hand over his thick, freshly cut hair. “Maybe I should change the lyrics…” […]

Leslie Cavendish – The Beatles’ hairdresser – From “The Cutting Edge” by Leslie Cavendish, 2017

After our subdued styling session, [Paul McCartney and I] settled down in the music room for a cup of tea and a smoke.

“Leslie, listen,” he said at one point, passing me his spliff.

“I’ve been turning an idea around in my head these past few days, l think we all need to get away from London for a bit, you know, do something different, forget about everything. Not just the band, but Mal, and Neil, and all the others.”

“That sounds like a really good idea, Paul.” I took my first drag. “Like a retreat or something?“

“Yeah, in a way. I was thinking we could all just get into a coach and drive off.“

“Where would you go?” I asked, melting into my armchair as the cannabis kicked in. I could almost feel the music wrapping its tendrils around my body.

“Actually, the idea I had in mind wasn’t about going anywhere in particular. It was more the idea of the coach trip itself. We could just travel around and see what happens – spontaneously, you know. And get it all on film, for a kind of Beatles road-trip movie. We’re inviting a few actors along as well. So… we’re
going to need a hairdresser for the cast and crew.“

Leslie Cavendish – The Beatles’ 24-year-old hairdresser – From “The Cutting Edge” by Leslie Cavendish, 2017

Leslie Cavendish remains Paul McCartney’s hairdresser until 1973, when him and Linda spent most of their time in Sussex rather than London.

In March 1973, [Wings] held a charity concert at London’s newly opened Hard Rock Cafe, for the launch of their album Red Rose Speedway. When my client invited me to this event, I was finally able to see Paul McCartney on stage, for the first time since that early Pigalle Club concert. I was delighted to find that he was back in top form, and didn’t doubt for a second that Wings would be a success – which it eventually was.

Shortly afterwards, however, Paul and Linda moved to their new home in Peasmarsh, in East Sussex. Though Paul kept the house in St John’s Wood, the couple didn’t visit London that often, so I finally lost touch with the McCartneys, as Ernie did with Martha.

Leslie Cavendish – The Beatles’ 24-year-old hairdresser – From “The Cutting Edge” by Leslie Cavendish, 2017

John Lennon is likely to go bald, says Beatle hairdresser Leslie Cavendish

ONE DAY three years ago one of Leslie Cavendish’s clients asked him if he would cut her boyfriend’s hair. She was Jane Asher, he was Paul McCartney, and Leslie was a stylist at Vidal Sassoon in London’s Park Street. Paul wanted his hair cut on Saturday afternoon, which was when Leslie always went to watch football.

“I’d never cut anyone’s hair on Saturday afternoon,” recalls Leslie indignantly. “So I went to watch Chelsea, and then went round to cut his hair afterwards.”

There can’t be many people who put football first and Beatles second, but three years later Leslie is still the Beatles’ hairdresser and established by them in his own shop in London’s King’s Road. He treats them like any other head of hair with a professional indifference that they admire. And through cutting their hair and remaining unstarstruck, Leslie has got to know them well — especially Paul and George. He is the only person outside the music business to sit in on their recording sessions. He went down to Cornwall with them for “Magical Mystery Tour,” and he and Paul have a longstanding arrangement to visit Bloom’s, the Jewish restaurant in Whitechapel.

Although the famous fringed mops were the most talked about feature of the Beatles from the beginning, Leslie says they are all quite indifferent about their hair.

“As long as they can wash it and brush it and just leave it at that, they’re happy. People thought they purposely came on the scene with long hair, but it wasn’t true. It was very short at first. The record came out and they never had time to get to the hairdressers. It was round the time of ‘Sergeant Pepper’ that John started growing his hair, and they started growing moustaches. They realised what hair could do to you, and how much it can change you.”

As for the hair itself — it goes in the dustbin with the rest. Leslie has been inundated with offers from fans asking for snippings, and organisations (especially American) who want to raffle it and put it as a prize in competitions.

But in hair as in everything else, the Beatles are four individual individuals. And here’s a hairdresser’s view head by head.

PAUL

“I PROBABLY know him the best, since I’ve been doing his hair the longest. He has it cut every four weeks, and I go to his house in St. John’s Wood to do it.

“After the second time I cut his hair I thought I’d never be doing it again. He was going on safari to Nairobi and didn’t want to be recognised, so as a joke I said ‘How about having it cut to a quarter of an inch all over?’ and he said O.K. After the first few snips I thought ‘This is it, I’ve ruined it’—it was very long at the time.

“But I carried on and when I’d finished there was nothing left, it was as if he’d just been called up to go to Vietnam. Paul couldn’t believe it either. It was only after he’d gone and I read in the newspapers he wasn’t recognised that I got any satisfaction.

“I went round to his house to cut all their hair last week. For the first time in three years Paul turned round and asked Linda how she liked it—‘Do you want it any shorter here and there?’

“I’ve never heard him do that before—I thought uh-huh. Then I cut her hair and Heather’s. She’s an unbelievable little girl, she’ll say ‘Hey Paul, that’s a groovy record you’ve put on,’ and she can’t believe all the girls waiting outside the house.

“Paul’s got good thick hair that he’s wearing off his face at the moment. He’s got a fascination for ears—he thinks ears should be shown.”

JOHN

“HIS last words to me, about a year ago were ‘I’m going to let my hair grow down to my waist.’ I haven’t cut his hair since—and I don’t think anyone else has either. But if he lets his hair grow it will get to a certain point and it’ll just break off.

“He’s got very thin hair anyway, and the way he carries on with it, if he doesn’t have it cut it’ll break off at the ends and get very weak. Out of the four he’s the most likely to go bald, and he could unless he’s careful. I told Paul this, and Paul just said ‘Oh I expect he’ll have it cut.’

“I was more nervous of John than anyone else at first. But after a while he was just very nice. He never interfered with me cutting his hair. As far as music is concerned nobody interferes with him and if he wants his hair done he won’t interfere with me.

“I know why he’s growing his hair — he wants to see what happens if you let nature be nature. But he should be careful. If he goes out in the sun it will dry up, and his hair’s very dry anyway.”

GEORGE

“I DIDN’T really meet George until this last year. He’s got the thickest head of hair I think I know — there’s no danger of him going bald. He rang me up one day and said he’d found a bloke — Jackie Lomax — and he wanted me to go down to the studios and design a hair style for him. We tried all sorts of things, but in the end decided to leave it long. After all that’s Jackie isn’t it? And anything else wouldn’t have been.

“I did George’s hair when he was in hospital recently, and that’s when we decided to have it off his face.

“He called into the shop the other day to have it cut again, but usually I go round to the Apple offices to do his hair. He asked me to take Pattie to a film a couple of weeks ago when he couldn’t go.”

RINGO

“I HAVEN’T done his hair since he got married, because his wife Maureen is a hairdresser I think. I got to know him on ‘Magical Mystery Tour.’ One evening we went to a pub owned by Spencer Davis’ road manager and at about one o’clock we were all having a big sing-song with Paul playing ‘Knees Up Mother Brown’ on a piano, and Ringo plucking away at an old mandolin with only one string. After about two hours he said ‘Hey do you know, I think I’ve worn my thumb away,’ and it was pouring blood.

“Ringo’s hair is nearly grey—he’s got a superb grey streak down one side. Funnily enough I’ve got a small part in his film ‘The Magic Christian’ as a mad hairdresser.”

From Disc And Music Echo – April 26, 1969

Recording sessions Leslie Cavendish participated in