Conference press in Melbourne

This interview remains the property of the respective copyright owner, and no implication of ownership by us is intended or should be inferred. Any copyright owner who wants something removed should contact us and we will do so immediately.

See Five Beatles Press Conference & Interview: Melbourne 6/14/1964 – Beatles Interviews Database

From Meet the Beatles for Real: It’s Trying Talking to the Beatles in a Crowded Room:

It’s Trying Talking to the Beatles in a Crowded Room 

By Marie Knuckey

Sydney Morning Herald

June 14, 1964

    Meeting the Beatles at their Sydney press conference was almost like being caught in the thick of a football match, but it wasn’t the Beatles’ fault.

     While surging groups carried one backward to be holed in the spine by a camera, a rush forward meant being jabbed in the face by four or five microphones, and every so often, one came face to face with a pair of photographers, feet perched on a table previously in among the glass of beer.

     The Beatles seemed almost the only amiable and reasonable beings present, and they retained their unruffled amiability to the end. They are attractive, quietly spoken, sensible, and intelligent young men. Too quietly spoken for a press conference like Thursdays, where as soon as you got near a Beatle, the microphones did a war dance between you and your Beatle and a camera looked over your shoulder.

     Not that the radio men ever misjudged their distance, but it took time to acquire faith in their judgment as the sneaky black mics shot from mouth to mouth so swiftly. 

     To start, the Beatles were enthroned on a semicircle of purple seats on a dais, with all frontal access to them cut off by a table bristling with mics. The first 10 minutes were given over exclusively to the photographers. After that, the journalists were supposed to have their turn, and finally, the radio men. But when the 10 minutes ended, the football match began in earnest, and everybody charged their nearest Beatle.  Faces and notebooks pushed through the four semis bodies leaned at excruciating angles over the backs of the purple padded seats, and I discovered everyone in the room was taller, broader or heavier than I.

     Only a very small percentage could speak to the Beatles, and not many more could hear the words of Beatle wisdom being uttered in reply. I had just gotten within speaking distance of Beatle George when someone demanded a replacement, and John and George had changed places. John had no sooner reached us than it would be decided it would be better if the Beatles moved out into the crowd. So we all started from scratch again, surging toward the nearest Beatle.

     I never did get to talk to George. I was within inches of it several times, but each time, someone whirled him around to face a camera or a microphone shot between us, and like the waves of the sea, the crowd surged into the gap. However, I was imprisoned beside Beatle John for some time, and once in grave danger of knocking him over when there was a violent push from behind.

     I also got to talk face-to-face with Beatle Paul.  In the intervals, I caught snatches of conversation disembodied answers that floated through the smoke haze from different corners of the room.

     I gathered that John doesn’t like being away from his wife. A fortnight’s all right, but he couldn’t stand more than a month away at a time. That Jimmie Nicol couldn’t live on 36 pounds a week, that John sometimes worried if there would be anything left over after he paid his income tax, that Paul used to read plays, and that Juliet Greco is one of his favorite film stars.  That John had no intention of deserting England for America. He liked America, but he likes England better. America was exciting, probably too exciting to live in. 

    But George, well, all I know about George is what I’ve read in the newspapers. However, someone luckier than I, who did talk to him, said George is a poetical Beatle. 

    “What is your financial position at the moment?” They asked John. “I asked my accountant just before I left London, and he said to me, ‘Doan’t Vorry,’ replied John. Paul was asked if he would like to be a promoter when the Beatle craze died down. He said “no,” but he would do something connected with show business. “Wouldn’t you like to be an Epstein?” called someone. “No,” said Paul, “I’m no good at sculpting”  Nobody laughed. “I made a joke.,” said Paul sadly. When he thought about an answer, he usually put his finger to his mouth. He wears two watches, one showing Greenwich Mean Time and one showing the time of the place he is in. Sometimes, he took time off to make funny faces at the thrusting microphones.

     Occasionally, a broadcaster thrusts his own face toward the mic to reel off his network, usually a string of stations as resounding as a Beatle fan yell and stretching from here to Perth. “Give us a message for your  fans in Perth.” “Paul, a message for Australia.”  Paul smilingly obliged. Paul said he intended to buy a car. “What kind?” asked a reporter? But didn’t wait for the answer. Patiently, Paul tried to tell what kind of car he wanted to buy. Then he gave up, announcing, determinedly, “I’ve got a joke. What’s red and comes out of the ground at 100 miles an hour? An E-type carrot!” This time, he got his laugh, but mostly, it was a grim business.