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      Leon Wildes, Immigration Lawyer Who Defended John Lennon, Dies at 90

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      Leon Wildes, a New York immigration lawyer who successfully fought the United States government’s attempt to deport John Lennon, died on Monday in Manhattan. He was 90.His death, at Lenox Hill Hospital, was confirmed by his son Michael.For more than three years, from early 1972 to the fall of 1975, Mr. Wildes (pronounced WY-ulds) doggedly battled the targeting by the Nixon administration and immigration officials of Mr. Lennon, the former Beatle, and his wife, Yoko Ono, marshaling a series of legal arguments that exposed both political chicanery and a hidden U.S. immigration policy.Uncovering secret records through the Freedom of Information Act, he showed that immigration officials, in practice, can exercise wide discretion in whom they choose to deport, a revelation that continues to resonate in immigration law. And he revealed that Mr. Lennon, an antiwar activist and a vocal critic of President Richard M. Nixon, had been singled out by the White House for political reasons.Mr. Wildes was ultimately vindicated by the stinging decision of a federal appeals court in October 1975, which said that “the courts will not condone selective deportation based upon secret political grounds,” and which halted the effort to kick Mr. Lennon out of the country.Mr. Lennon and Mr. Wildes addressing reporters about the case, which centered on Mr. Lennon’s 1968 London conviction for marijuana possession.via Wildes Family ArchivesThe Beatles had broken up in 1970, and Mr. Lennon and Ms. Ono moved to New York the next year. Mr. Lennon had been convicted of marijuana possession in London in 1968; that record would normally have barred him from entry, but he had obtained a waiver. The waiver was coming to an end, and the Lennons received a deportation notice.“It was a very frightening moment,” Ms. Ono said in the 2007 documentary “The U.S. vs. John Lennon.”When the Lennons engaged Mr. Wildes to represent them, he had barely heard of his famous clients. In his book about the case, “John Lennon vs. the USA,” published by the American Bar Association in 2016, he wrote that he was vaguely aware of the Beatles — it was nearly impossible not to be — but that the names of its members had escaped him.“I think it was Jack Lemmon and Yoko Moto,” he recalled telling his wife after meeting them in their apartment on Bank Street in Greenwich Village. She quickly corrected him.In the 2007 film, Mr. Lennon is seen telling reporters about Mr. Wildes: “He’s not a radical lawyer. He’s not William Kunstler.”Mr. Lennon had publicly opposed the Vietnam War — he recorded the antiwar anthem “Give Peace a Chance” in 1969 — and he had been involved in protests on behalf of figures in the New Left movement, which campaigned against the war.Nixon administration officials feared that he had outsize influence among the young, who would be allowed to vote in greater numbers in the 1972 presidential election, the first after the voting age had been lowered to 18 from 21. In the paranoid atmosphere then prevailing in the White House, that was enough for administration officials and their allies, notably the conservative South Carolina senator Strom Thurmond, to go after Mr. Lennon.Their case centered on the London marijuana conviction. But the appellate court judge, Irving Kaufman, ultimately ruled that the crime was insufficient to make Mr. Lennon an “excludable alien.”The real reasons for the quixotic pursuit of Mr. Lennon, Mr. Wildes argued, lay elsewhere, as he was able to show thanks to his relentless digging through records. Early in 1972, Mr. Thurmond had drafted a letter recommending that Mr. Lennon be thrown out of the country, which Attorney General John N. Mitchell forwarded to the Immigration and Naturalization Service, the agency then in charge of visas. Of particular concern was the fact that Mr. Lennon had performed at a rally in support of a New Left figure, the poet John Sinclair, who had been jailed on a marijuana charge.“If Lennon’s visa is terminated it would be a strategic countermeasure,” the South Carolina senator wrote.Ten days later, “a telegram went out to all immigration offices in the United States instructing that the Lennons should not be given any extensions of their time to visit the United States,” Mr. Wildes wrote in his book.For the next three years, the government continued to press its case, in efforts that appeared increasingly ham-fisted as public support for Mr. Lennon and Ms. Ono grew. In letters and testimony, many of the era’s cultural celebrities spoke up for them, including Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Leonard Bernstein, the artist Jasper Johns and the authors John Updike, Joyce Carol Oates and Joseph Heller, as well as Mayor John V. Lindsay of New York.“The sole reason for deporting the Lennons was President Nixon’s desire to remove John and Yoko from the country before the 1972 election and a new, much younger electorate getting the vote,” Mr. Wildes wrote. “To ensure his grip on power, any ‘dirty tricks,’ including the abusive misuse of the immigration process, were acceptable.”Mr. Wildes, seated, consulted with his partner, Steven Weinberg, at their immigration law office in 1983.via Wildes Family ArchivesThe whole time, the F.B.I. was keeping a close watch on Mr. Lennon. “Surveillance reports on him ran to literally hundreds of pages,” Mr. Wildes wrote.When Mr. Lennon learned of the skulduggery, he was infuriated. “They’re even changing their own rules because we’re peaceniks,” he said in a television interview.The 1975 ruling allowed him to remain in the country. He was killed in front of the Dakota, the Upper West Side building where he and Ms. Yoko lived, five years later.In another breakthrough, Mr. Wildes found that immigration officials had the discretion to deport or not, depending on whether there were extenuating circumstances. The revelation of this policy continues to aid immigration lawyers battling the deportation of noncitizens today.“As part of his legal strategy, Wildes conducted groundbreaking research on the ‘nonpriority’ program, and eventually filed an application for ‘nonpriority status’ for Lennon,” the immigration expert Shoba Sivaprasad Wadhia wrote in her 2015 book, “Beyond Deportation.” “Wildes learned that I.N.S. had for many years been granting ‘nonpriority’ status to prevent the deportation of noncitizens with sympathetic cases, but I.N.S. had never publicized the practice.”Throughout what Mr. Wildes acknowledged was the all-consuming job of representing the Lennons, he kept a bemused and friendly eye on his famous clients, sometimes encountering them, as others did, in what he called the “wonderful upright bed” in their Bank Street apartment.“One could meet half the world around that bed,” he wrote — “radical types like Jerry Rubin or Bobby Seale, oddball musicians like David Peel, poets like Allen Ginsberg, actors like Peter Boyle, television personalities like Geraldo Rivera, or even political operatives like the deputy mayor of New York.”Mr. Wildes at his office in 2015. “He’s not a radical lawyer,” John Lennon said. “He’s not William Kunstler.”via Wildes Family ArchivesLeon Wildes was born on March 4, 1933, in Olyphant, Pa., a small coal-mining town near Scranton. His father, Harry, was a clothing and dry goods merchant, and his mother, Sarah (Rudin) Wildes, worked in his store. Mr. Wildes was educated at public schools in Olyphant and earned a bachelor’s degree from Yeshiva University in 1954 and a law degree from New York University in 1958.He quickly gravitated toward immigration law, working for the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society, a refugee aid organization, and helping two Americans who had gone to Israel establish their U.S. citizenship. He founded the immigration law firm Wildes & Weinberg in 1960 and went on to write numerous law review articles on immigration law and to teach at the Benjamin N. Cardozo School of Law at Yeshiva University.In addition to his son Michael, he is survived by another son, Mark; his wife, Alice Goldberg Wiles; eight grandchildren; and five great-grandchildren.Immigration law had “biblical import to him,” Michael Wildes, who is also a lawyer, recalled in a phone interview. “My father drew value from helping others achieve their American dream, as he had done — the golden grail of a green card, or citizenship.” More

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      7 Great Songs From Great 7th Albums

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      Inspired by Ariana Grande’s return, hear tracks from U2, Sleater-Kinney, Guided by Voices and more.U2’s seventh album, “Achtung Baby,” was a triumph.Evan Agostini/Invision, via Associated PressDear listeners,The music video for “Yes, And?,” Ariana Grande’s first new solo single in more than three years, opens with a tight shot of a ruby-red business card bearing the phrase “ag7.” In modern pop parlance, this is a way of hinting that her seventh album is coming soon.I’ve long felt that the seventh album — if an artist is lucky enough to get that far — is a pivotal moment. Sometimes it’s the perfect time for a sonic and aesthetic reinvention, à la U2’s glammy 1991 album (and my favorite in its discography) “Achtung Baby.” It can also be an opportunity for a pop star to show off newfound maturity, as Madonna did on her great seventh studio album, “Ray of Light.” The seventh album is often when the most brilliant artists shift gears into a level of mastery that seems newly effortless: Consider Bob Dylan’s seventh album, none other than “Blonde on Blonde.”Will Grande’s seventh LP deserve mention among those classics? Who can say? All I know for now is that the thought of one of our major pop stars preparing to join the Septet Club got me thinking about some of my all time favorite seventh albums. Naturally, this called for a seven-track playlist.The aforementioned legends each make an appearance, along with a few of my indie darlings, Guided by Voices and Sleater-Kinney. Plus, one of pop’s reigning superstars, who released a particularly imperial seventh album in 2022 — everybody’s on mute until you guess who.Listen along on Spotify while you read.1. U2: “Until the End of the World”After its polarizing sixth album, “Rattle & Hum,” U2 retreated from ’80s overexposure and re-emerged with a fresh ’90s rebrand on “Achtung Baby,” a Brian Eno-produced triumph that added some needed irony to the band’s outlook and made the Edge’s guitar glisten like a newly invented form of synthetic crystal. It is my professional opinion that this song rules. (Listen on YouTube)2. Madonna: “Nothing Really Matters”Madonna was a new mother about to turn 40 when she released “Ray of Light,” a midcareer commercial smash that got her back on the radio (alongside devotees half her age), and also netted her (somehow) her first Grammy in a music category. “Ray of Light” is a deeper, stranger album than its titular hit suggests; this underappreciated sixth single is more representative of its searching electro-pop sound. (Listen on YouTube)We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber?  More

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      The Beatles, Taylor Swift and More Pop Stars Mess With the Past

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      Who says hindsight is 20/20?Musicians keep getting tempted to revisit recordings they made long ago, and in 2023, flashbacks from the Beatles and Taylor Swift drew worldwide attention. Some temptations are technological; others have business imperatives. Wielding the latest digital tools, some powered by artificial intelligence, musicians and labels have been busily exploring their vaults and hard drives, many of them thoroughly convinced that they now have a better idea of how their older music is supposed to sound. Do they?Recorded music is many things: an expression, a structure, a physical performance, a series of decisions large and small, an artifact of memory and emotion, a souvenir of a particular time. But all of those aspects end up as a waveform, which can then be treated like any other information. The digital era and its computer-engineering paradigms have made that information infinitely malleable: just a starting point for version 2.0, 3.0 and beyond. A.I. is only going to make things more complicated as it reconfigures all the information available online.But with music, an update isn’t necessarily an improvement. It might be an anachronism or a betrayal instead.One of the hardest decisions for any artist is knowing when something is finished. That choice might be made after endless deliberation, on a deadline, on a whim, under the influence — who knows? In the vinyl era, that decision was usually final, give or take alternate mixes for singles, radio and clubs. Listeners reacted to, and bonded with, the music in its fixed form.Digital loosened things up — at first out of necessity, as vast analog catalogs were transferred to new formats, and then more innovatively, as musicians reveled in the possibilities of vastly expanded multitracking, sampling, editing and even glitching. Remixes, remasters, mash-ups, ghost duets — all kinds of second-guessing ensued, including among musicians themselves who were older but not necessarily wiser as artists. In the streaming era, even an official release date doesn’t make things final; Kanye West, now Ye, kept revising his 2016 LP “The Life of Pablo” — making previous iterations vanish online — well after its initial release.There are obvious commercial incentives for looking back. For many artists, as well as their marketers, it’s easier creative work to revisit sure things than to forge brand-new material. And there’s hardly a more time-tested selling point than claiming that a well-loved product is new and improved.Pop has been busily plumbing its archives since the dawn of the digital era, but 2023 brought some high-profile time-warping. The Beatles empire heralded the release of “Now and Then,” which is billed as the last song that all four members worked on, even asynchronously. It’s built from a John Lennon demo from the late 1970s that the other three Beatles started rearranging in the 1990s. Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr did recording sessions to complete the track in 2022, using recent software that could cleanly separate out Lennon’s vocal.The surviving Beatles tidied up the song, strengthening the beat and jettisoning some of Lennon’s more self-doubting lyrics and lacing it with elements (like vocal harmonies) lifted from other Beatles songs. They were deliberately looking back where the Beatles of the 1960s had determinedly pushed ahead. It’s a 21st-century song, as much “now” as “then.”“Now and Then” arrived as part of the latest Beatles reissues: new, expanded, remixed versions of the anthologies known as the Red and Blue albums, “The Beatles/1962-1966” and “The Beatles/1966-1970” (now also designated “The 2023 Edition”). They are the continuation of the Beatles’ longtime efforts to wring every possible product out of their catalog: concept compilations (“Love Songs,” No. 1 hits on “1”), expanded — and illuminating — reissues that include unreleased session tapes, a “naked” mix of “Let It Be,” a megamix for Cirque du Soleil (“Love”).The Red and Blue albums, originally released in 1973, were many young listeners’ primers on the Beatles: a whirlwind career ruthlessly pared down to what two LPs could hold. The 2023 editions have more songs; they’re now three-LP sets, diluting the canon established by the original compilations. And as with the other painstakingly reworked 21st-century Beatles releases, they fidget with countless sonic details: panning instruments to different places or moving them into the center, separating parts that had been blurred or blended, bringing out new details, crisping things up.The new mixes offer a contemporary mixture of analytical clarity and arbitrary tweaks. But they don’t entirely trust that the groundbreaking 1960s Beatles already knew what they were doing in the first place — and that their artistic achievement was shaped by how the Beatles dealt with the era’s studio technology, limitations and all. People encountering the songs on streaming services may not notice which version they’re getting: the ones all the Beatles chose to release, or the new ones.A different kind of reclamation project continued when Taylor Swift released “1989 (Taylor’s Version),” her remake and expansion of her breakthrough pop album from 2014: nearly note-for-note reconstructions of the previously released songs, plus five other songs “from the vault” that she has said didn’t fit the original album. Swift has impeccable personal reasons for the do-over; she does not own the master recordings she made for the Big Machine label, even though the songs are hers. Meanwhile, her latest fans get a chance to experience a “new” Swift album as though it were being released for the first time.Yet an unimpeachable business statement is different from an artistic one. On “1989” — with the Swedish pop master Max Martin as executive producer — Swift was boldly and indelibly redefining herself. She left behind the country radio format, cranked up the beats and loops and honed her pop concision. The album has a spirit of both discipline and discovery, of kicking old expectations to the curb while flexing new skills.And that’s something the remake can’t recapture. Instead of a breakthrough, it’s more like an assignment or an exercise, diligently revisiting every instrumental layer and vocal inflection. It’s thoroughly, unblinkingly professional, but the stakes are lower. Time-warp paradoxes start with the first track, “Welcome to New York.” Swift sings, “Everybody here wanted something more/Searching for a sound they hadn’t heard before” — as she rebuilds a sound the entire world has now heard before.Of course, there’s an outlier and counterexample — as always in music — to leaving the past alone. In 2023, the Replacements released “Tim: Let It Bleed Edition,” a boxed set including a full-length remix of the band’s 1985 album “Tim” by the longtime producer and engineer Ed Stasium.“Tim” was the Replacements’ fourth album but its first on a major label, at a time when “indie credibility” seemed to matter. That identity crisis was central to the songs Paul Westerberg wrote: “God what a mess/On the ladder of success,” he sang in “Bastards of Young.”“Tim” was produced by Tom Erdelyi of the Ramones, who made it unfriendly to radio play; it’s distant, muted and unnecessarily murky, perhaps to resist any accusations that the Replacements were selling out. Stasium’s remix brings out all kinds of things that were recorded but downplayed in the original production: snappy but untamed drumming, guitars that wrangle and cackle, Westerberg’s heartfelt and rowdy vocals.Even with this mix, “Tim” probably wouldn’t have been an album-radio hit; the band was still too scrappy for mid-1980s gatekeepers. But the remixed “Tim” is the rare case where second thoughts can change things for the better. On streaming services and in the box, the Replacements don’t hide their earlier choices; the past and present versions of the album are both included. At least we can still know which is which.Digital possibilities are only going to scramble things further, untethering artistic products from their original inspirations and proportions. Oil paintings are being remarketed as environments. Albums are getting a new round of spatialized Dolby Atmos remixes. A.I. will be generating countless variations, pastiches and fakes. But amid the flood of new versions, let’s not forget to identify, recognize and celebrate the originals. More

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      10 Songs that Explain My Year

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      A playlist of songs from artists including Liz Phair, Drake and John Cale that explain our critic’s year.An interview with John Cale was a pinch-me assignment for our critic, one which also informed her reading list.Chantal Anderson for The New York TimesDear listeners,In my very first installment of this newsletter, I introduced myself and my musical tastes by sharing 10 (or actually 11) songs that explain me. As we wrap up 2023, I thought it would be fun to revisit that format and compile a playlist of songs that explain my year.Some of these represent older songs, musicians or even artists in other disciplines I first connected with in 2023. Others coincide with some personal milestones in my year: weddings, concerts, vacations, assignments and that time when I got stuck in Toronto for three days in July. The only rule was that I could not include anything released this year — you’ve probably read your share of year-end lists at this point, and anyway, I’ve already made an exhaustive playlist of the year’s best songs. (Seriously. It’s over 8 hours long.)But, on a more personal level, not all of the music that will remind us of this year came out in 2023. Maybe the song that will always trigger the most potent memories of this year was an old one you fell back in love with, a new-to-you discovery or a tune forever linked with an important event.I’d love to hear about your year in music, too. Here is a submission form where you can tell me about an older song that explains your 2023. We may use your response in an upcoming edition of The Amplifier.In the meantime, consider today’s playlist — which features songs by Tia Blake, Jacques Dutronc, the Beatles and more — my own 2023 musical travelogue.Listen along on Spotify as you read.1. John Cale: “Graham Greene”I kicked off my year with a total pinch-me assignment: Traveling to Los Angeles to interview John Cale. That’s only part of the reason this track makes the playlist, though. While I was out there, admittedly under the influence of this song, I realized I’d never read any of Graham Greene’s novels. I stocked up on some used copies of his classics at the Last Bookstore and was almost done with “The End of the Affair” by the time I landed back in New York. Greene’s emotionally immersive novels have been a welcome distraction all year; I currently have about 50 pages left in “The Heart of the Matter” but I keep putting off reading them, because I don’t want the book to end. (Listen on YouTube)2. Jeanette: “¿Porqué Te Vas?”I watch a lot of old movies, and when I discover a director, writer or actor I particularly like, I tend to want to binge their entire filmography. I streamed a bunch of movies by the Spanish filmmaker Carlos Saura last year when the Criterion Channel featured an extensive series on him, and when he died this February at age 91, I resumed my binge in memoriam. This also meant revisiting my favorite Saura film, the 1976 drama “Cría Cuervos,” which just may be the best and most visceral movie I’ve ever seen about what it feels like to be a child. This haunting Spanish pop song by the English-born singer Jeanette echoes throughout the film, and I became particularly obsessed with it after my most recent “Cría Cuervos” rewatch. (Listen on YouTube)3. Tia Blake: “Wish I Was a Single Girl Again”I have my dear friend Jenn to thank for introducing me this year to the music of Tia Blake when we were browsing together in a record store, and she spotted a copy of the Georgia-born singer’s 1972 album, “Folksongs & Ballads.” I sought the record out at Jenn’s recommendation and was completely enchanted by Blake’s plaintive voice and the purity of her tone. (Listen on YouTube)4. Liz Phair: “Big Tall Man”Yes, he’s winning! Spinning! This one is in honor of my favorite basketball player and personal role model in good-natured trolling, Joel Embiid, who finally won the N.B.A.’s Most Valuable Player Award this year. I cried alarmingly hard when his little son Arthur trotted out as he accepted the award. Now all he needs to quiet the haters is a championship for the Philadelphia 76ers! (Listen on YouTube)5. The Beatles: “Here, There and Everywhere”With all due respect to the many (many) mixes I compiled for The Amplifier this year, the most important playlist I made in 2023 was the one my sister Chelsea and her now-husband Andrew asked me to make for their wedding party. I was beyond honored, and if I do say so myself, my most ingenious move was including my own parents’ wedding song, “Here, There and Everywhere.” That’s what you get when you call upon a professional playlister. (Listen on YouTube)6. Taylor Swift: “My Tears Ricochet”Ah, 2023: The Year of the Eras Tour. I went in May with my friend Lauren; not to brag, but we have been besties for even longer than Taylor and Abigail have. This is one of those songs I reached for this year when I was really going through it, emotionally speaking, and I needed a little therapeutic wallowing. When she played it live, I hollered along until I was hoarse. (Listen on YouTube)7. Drake: “Know Yourself”In July, I went to Toronto on assignment, pulled an all-nighter to file a story, and then arrived at the airport only to be told that all the flights from Toronto to New York had been canceled … for the next three days. If you flew anywhere at all this summer, you might also recognize this experience as being “very 2023.” So for about 72 strange, liminal hours, I found myself, quite literally, runnin’ through the Six with my woes. This became my personal theme song: I am now convinced it is about walking the length of Spadina Avenue while on hold with an airline. (Listen on YouTube)8. Jacques Dutronc: “Et Moi, et Moi, et Moi”The first rule of travel, at least for Amplifier readers: Always listen to the local radio stations. While on vacation in Belgium this fall, my boyfriend and I found a Brussels station that we played constantly in our hotel. It featured a mix of standard American “classic rock” and whatever the French-speaking version of that format is. Among our discoveries were Laurent Voulzy’s bonkers, bilingual “Rockollection” and this bouncy, absolutely infectious 1966 bop by the French singer Jacques Dutronc. Now every time I want to remember how much fun we had in Belgium, I listen to this song. (Listen on YouTube)9. Elvis Costello & The Attractions: “Every Day I Write the Book”Call the title of this song an … aspirational mantra for my year. I’m currently working on the manuscript of my first book, and man, is it difficult to carve out the time to write a book while working full-time. Or doing, like, anything else in your life. Hats off to any and all who have pulled it off — I look forward to being among your ranks soon. But this was a phrase I sometimes hummed to myself on the many days when I wasn’t able to sit down and work on the book in a more traditional sense. I know every day I’m subconsciously working on it, too: Mulling over research, collecting unexpected bits of inspiration, making connections that will someday emerge on the page. Oh yeah, and I caught one of Elvis Costello’s shows when he played a residency at the Gramercy Theater this February, too. That was awesome. (Listen on YouTube)10. The Marvelettes: “Please Mr. Postman”Deliver the (news)letter, the sooner the better! Hey, you know what else happened in 2023? I started writing The Amplifier. Thanks to each one of you for reading, listening and helping to create such a vibrant community of music lovers. Here’s to 2024. (Listen on YouTube)I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace,LindsayThe Amplifier PlaylistListen on Spotify. We update this playlist with each new newsletter.“10 Songs that Explain My Year” track listTrack 1: John Cale, “Graham Greene”Track 2: Jeanette, “¿Porqué Te Vas?”Track 3: Tia Blake, “Wish I Was a Single Girl Again”Track 4: Liz Phair, “Big Tall Man”Track 5: The Beatles, “Here, There and Everywhere”Track 6: Taylor Swift, “My Tears Ricochet”Track 7: Drake, “Know Yourself”Track 8: Jacques Dutronc, “Et Moi, et Moi, et Moi”Track 9: Elvis Costello & The Attractions, “Every Day I Write the Book”Track 10: The Marvelettes, “Please Mr. Postman”Bonus TracksBack for a moment to music released in 2023: Jon Pareles and I joined Jon Caramanica to get philosophical (and a little silly) about our songs of the year lists. It was the most fun I’ve had on Popcast in a long time. Listen to our conversation here. More

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      Beatles Biographer Grapples With the ‘Paradox’ of George Harrison

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      Philip Norman, the author of books about Paul McCartney, John Lennon and the Beatles as a group, discovers that Harrison was, among other things, a puzzle.In a new biography, Philip Norman writes about the “paradox” of George Harrison, a man who was “unprecedentedly, ludicrously, suffocatingly famous while at the same time undervalued, overlooked and struggling for recognition.”This was the central contradiction that made Harrison, the composer of classics like “Here Comes the Sun,” and “Taxman,” a fascinating figure, both as a Beatle and after the band broke up, as Norman explores in his book “George Harrison: The Reluctant Beatle.” Norman tackled his latest subject after writing celebrated biographies of Paul McCartney and John Lennon, as well as “Shout!: The Beatles in Their Generation,” a book that Harrison was critical of.Harrison lived several separate lives. He was a rock star. A follower of Hinduism. A prolific film producer who came close to financial ruin. A philanderer who had an affair with a former bandmate’s wife and once had a guitar duel with Eric Clapton (also the subject of a Norman biography) over Pattie Boyd, Harrison’s first wife, whom Clapton fancied and later married.Scribner“The complexity of his character was something that hadn’t really been noticed before,” Norman said, adding, “Actually taking the whole elusive man, a bundle of different personalities, that was what was fascinating.”Norman discussed his approach to Harrison in a recent interview.This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber?  More

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      Robert H. Precht, Producer of ‘The Ed Sullivan Show,’ Dies at 93

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      Among the highlights of his long tenure were supervising the Beatles’ appearances and telling the comedian Jackie Mason he was fired.Robert H. Precht, who for more than a decade produced “The Ed Sullivan Show,” the Sunday night variety extravaganza that for 23 years brought singers, comedians, rock bands, jugglers, animal acts and the Italian mouse puppet Topo Gigio into the living rooms of millions of viewers, died on Nov. 26 at his home in Missoula, Mont. He was 93.His death was confirmed by his daughter Margo Precht Speciale, the producer of a forthcoming documentary about Mr. Sullivan.Mr. Precht joined the Sullivan show as its associate producer in 1958, 10 years after the program made its debut as “The Toast of the Town.” He became producer two years later, replacing Marlo Lewis, and was eventually named executive producer.Mr. Precht arrived too late for Elvis Presley’s electrifying appearances in 1956 and 1957. But he was in charge when the Beatles performed on the show in 1964, first in New York and then in Florida. And when the Beatles performed at Shea Stadium in Queens in August 1965, Mr. Precht filmed the concert for a documentary for Mr. Sullivan’s production company.“This is probably the most fantastic television operation I’ve gotten into,” he told The Daily News of New York a day before the concert. “We’ll have 11 cameras in the ballpark, but there’ll be no chance for rehearsal or for checking our sound system. And with 55,000 people liable to do anything, we don’t know what will happen.”Mr. Precht and Ed Sullivan at Shea Stadium in Queens in August 1965, when the Beatles performed there for 55,000 fans. Mr. Precht filmed the concert for a documentary for Mr. Sullivan’s production company.George E. Joseph/MPTV imagesThe Beatles were the most important act on the Sullivan show during Mr. Precht’s tenure. But as the producer, he knew that he could not rely on the rare megastar to fill an hour every week, and that he had to cast widely for talent, famous and obscure, to keep the masses watching.“It would be easy to book the show without ever leaving the office,” he wrote in an article for The Democrat and Chronicle of Rochester, N.Y., in 1961. But, he said, members of his staff saw every Broadway show and went to nightclubs, concerts and films in search of acts to book.“Because there’s no type of act we won’t use,” Mr. Precht added, “there’s no place we won’t scout for talent.”In 1964, Mr. Sullivan accused the comedian Jackie Mason of making an obscene gesture on camera during his monologue. Mr. Mason said he was reacting to Mr. Sullivan, who was standing out of camera range holding up two fingers and then one to indicate how many minutes were left for his routine. Upset, Mr. Mason held up his own fingers and told the audience, “Here’s a finger for you, and a finger for you, and a finger for you.”Mr. Sulivan was convinced that one of those gestures was obscene. He canceled Mr. Mason’s six-show, $45,000 contract and refused to pay him for the performance. Mr. Precht confronted Mr. Mason as he left the stage to tell him that he was fired.Mr. Mason sued Mr. Sullivan and Mr. Precht for $3 million in damages in New York State Supreme Court; an appellate judge ruled that Mr. Mason’s gestures had not been obscene. In 1966, Mr. Mason returned as a guest.Mr. Precht recognized that “The Ed Sullivan Show” stood out among all the other variety shows on television.“I don’t know if another variety show will ever have the appeal and impact of the Sullivan show,” he told The Missoulian, a newspaper in Missoula, in 1990, almost two decades after the show had left the air. “It’s hard for me to think of someone dying to get home on a Sunday night to watch a variety show.”Robert Henry Precht Jr. was born on May 12, 1930, in Douglas, Ariz., and moved with his parents to San Diego when he was about 12. His father was an ironworker. His mother, Agnes (Branagh) Precht, was a homemaker and a Red Cross volunteer.Mr. Precht made news in 1949 when, as a sophomore at the University of California, Los Angeles, he was voted a “great lover” by his fellow students, which earned him the right to escort Elizabeth Taylor to the school’s junior prom. It was part of the promotion for the Bob Hope film “The Great Lover.”When he was a sophomore at the University of California, Los Angeles, Mr. Precht won a contest whose prize was the chance to escort Elizabeth Taylor to the junior prom.Harold P. Matosian/Associated PressAfter transferring to the University of California, Berkeley, Mr. Precht received a bachelor’s degree in international relations in 1952. That same year, he married Elizabeth Sullivan, known as Betty. She died in 2014.He spent four years in the Navy after graduating and then began working in television — first as an assistant producer of the children’s show “Winky Dink and You” and then as an associate producer of “The Verdict Is Yours,” which presented dramatized versions of real trials.In 1959, shortly after he began working for his father-in-law, Mr. Precht produced “Ed Sullivan’s Invitation to Moscow,” a special that brought the Sunday night vaudeville formula to the Soviet Union. That program, which coincided with the Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev’s visit to the United States, won a Peabody Award.Andrew Solt, whose company, Sofa Entertainment, acquired the Sullivan archive, containing more than 1,000 hours of programming, from the family in 1990, said that Mr. Precht had modernized the show.“He brought the perspective of a new generation; he focused on the music, and the bookings were top notch,” Mr. Solt said in a phone interview. “One of the reasons it was so easy to watch was that they never had the same set twice. He made it state of the art.”A Sullivan family portrait from 1954. From left: Sylvia and Ed Sullivan and Betty and Robert Precht, with their son Robert.CBS, via Getty Images“The Ed Sullivan Show” was canceled in 1971. Mr. Precht spent the next 20 years largely producing music and awards shows, including the 50th- and 60th-anniversary celebrations of the Grand Ole Opry and the annual Country Music Association Awards.He had begun buying cable television systems with Mr. Sullivan in 1967. After Mr. Sullivan’s death in 1974, he also began to acquire TV stations.In addition to his daughter Ms. Speciale, Mr. Precht is survived by another daughter, Carla Precht; two sons, Robert and Vincent; and six grandchildren. His son Andrew died in 1995.The success of the Beatles and other rock groups on the Sullivan show created a problem for Mr. Precht, The New York Times reported in late 1964: too many screaming teenagers in the audience, who created “an hourlong din that distracts other performers and mars the audio portion of the show.”In one instance, the comedian Alan King appeared to be annoyed during his routine by the screeching that carried over from a performance by the Dave Clark Five.Mr. Precht told The Times that the “whole show is being colored by the kids’ reaction,” and that he was trying to find out how so many teenagers got tickets to the theater. One measure to change the audio mix, he said, was to “turn down the microphones that pick up audience reaction in order to reduce the din going out on the air.” More

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      Popcast (Deluxe): Mailbag! The Beatles, Taylor Swift and More

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      Subscribe to Popcast!Apple Podcasts | Spotify | Amazon Music | YouTubeThis week’s episode of Popcast (Deluxe), the weekly culture roundup show on YouTube hosted by Jon Caramanica and Joe Coscarelli, includes segments on:The new song from the Beatles, “Now and Then,” which deploys technological advancements to build an original recording from pre-existing parts, and the implications of artificial intelligence for restoring or re-enacting works by dead musiciansA recent Taylor Swift academic conferenceThe potential rise of minimalism in pop musicThe costume of rural authenticity in Americana and roots-adjacent pop music, in both musical and sartorial choicesHow the legacies of less-critically-acclaimed musicians are shaped following their deaths, as encapsulated by the recent posthumous coverage of Jimmy Buffett and Steve Harwell of Smash MouthSnack of the weekConnect With Popcast. Become a part of the Popcast community: Join the show’s Facebook group and Discord channel. We want to hear from you! Tune in, and tell us what you think at popcast@nytimes.com. Follow our host, Jon Caramanica, on Twitter: @joncaramanica. More

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      Book Review: ‘Living the Beatles Legend,’ by Kenneth Womack

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      A new biography resuscitates the colorful, tragic life of Mal Evans: roadie, confidant, procurer, cowbell player.LIVING THE BEATLES LEGEND: The Untold Story of Mal Evans, by Kenneth WomackHe was a “gentle giant.” A “teddy bear” who once posed with a koala. A “lovable, cuddly guy.” Of all the people in the Beatles’ entourage, Mal Evans was indisputably the most Muppet-like.You may have seen the 6-foot-3 Evans looming over shoulders in “Get Back,” Peter Jackson’s blockbuster 2021 documentary. That was him in a green, suede, fringed jacket, helping Paul McCartney puzzle out “The Long and Winding Road,” and banging an anvil on “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” with boyish joy in his bespectacled eyes.He was with the band almost from the beginning — first as a bouncer at the Cavern Club in Liverpool, and then as their driver, roadie and general guy Friday — and all the way to the very bitter end. He was rarely called the fifth Beatle, as was his comrade in factotum-dom, Neil Aspinall, but certainly could have qualified as the sixth or seventh.Unlike Aspinall and so many other Beatles associates, however, Evans did not receive an obituary in The New York Times when he died at 40 on Jan. 5, 1976. Nor was there a news story about the sensational cause: a fusillade of bullets from the police, summoned after he, who idolized cowboys as well as rock stars, brandished a loaded Winchester rifle in his girlfriend’s Los Angeles apartment.At the time, Evans was under contract from Grosset & Dunlap to write a long-planned (and Beatles-authorized) memoir about his time with the group, originally called “200 Miles to Go” after the night he punched out a dangerously cracked windscreen and chauffeured his charges for hours through the freezing cold. Almost 50 years later, after the manuscript and other materials were discovered languishing in a storage basement by a publishing temp and returned to Evans’s family with Yoko Ono’s help, Kenneth Womack has finished the job, with rigor and care if not a sparkling prose style. (In his pages, emotions are always reaching a “fever pitch” and the “winds of change” can actually be glimpsed.) A practiced Beatlesologist, he cleans the floors nicely, but doesn’t dance with the mop.“Living the Beatles Legend,” its wan title taken with perhaps too much respect from a later iteration of the Evans project, is an interesting case study of two matters: the collateral damage of fame and the difficult process of life writing. Reprinted journal entries and previously unseen (at least by me) snapshots, like of McCartney sunning himself on a car in the Rocky Mountains, offer the voyeuristic excitement of leafing through a private scrapbook, though many of the stories are standards.Born in 1935, Evans was a little older and posher than the Fab Four. His family waited out the Blitz in Wales; he was issued a Mickey Mouse gas mask. Nicknamed “Hippo” during a shyness-plagued school career — “I didn’t mind,” he wrote, “because it always seemed to be a fairly amiable, vegetarian type of animal, not doing anybody any harm” — he already had a wife, toddler and respectable position as a telecommunications engineer for the General Post Office when he began visiting the Cavern.There, he’d request Elvis covers that the Beatles would dedicate teasingly — and cruelly, in retrospect — to “Malcontent,” “Malfunctioning” or “Malodorous,” before hiring him for 25 pounds per week, not all expenses paid.Evans would both revel in and chafe at his subordinate role, devoting himself completely to the whims of these infantilized musicians; John Lennon need only yell “Apples, Mal” at 3 a.m., for example, and a box of Golden Delicious would materialize from Covent Garden.George Harrison, who also gets a new biography this season, once recalled Evans — a determined athlete who was chased by a stingray and risked hypothermia playing Channel Swimmer in “Help!” — leaping from a boat to buy a “groovy-looking cloak” off the back of a fan. He’d go to spectacular lengths to recover Harrison’s treasured red guitar, “Lucy,” from a thief.Evans’s reward, and ultimate punishment, for loyal service to the Beatles was sharing in their sybaritic habits. In their orbit he met scores of celebrities: Marlene Dietrich, exposing her pubic hair; Burt Lancaster, whose swim trunks he borrowed; a trouserless Keith Moon. His responsibilities included occasionally spraying overzealous fans with a garden hose and tossing them over his shoulder before ejection and — more consistently — procuring women and drugs, of which he also partook.Like a Mary Poppins of vice, Evans came to carry around a doctor’s bag filled with plectra, cigarettes, condoms, snacks and aspirin. The gentle giant was also, Womack makes plain, a clumsy compartmentalizer. His long-suffering wife, Lily, would find notes (and sometimes knickers) from groupies in his suitcases. Their children once overheard him being fellated by his girlfriend after he sent a birthday message to one of them on recycled cassette tape. An illegitimate son he sired with a fan was given up for adoption. More than the other underlings, and irritatingly to some, he insinuated himself into public photographs. He became a fan favorite. “Everybody knew Mal,” Heart’s Ann Wilson, one of Womack’s many supplemental interviewees, observed of the roar when he came onstage to set up at a Seattle concert.Increasingly, he angled for recognition and promotion. Sometimes, he was cheated of credit, as in his contributions to “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band”; sometimes, he overreached, claiming that he helped arrange songs on the debut album of the Iveys, later Badfinger. One of the great sadnesses of Evans — along with his oft-abandoned family — is that he longed to perform himself. “Road manager for the Beatles was, for me, the next best thing,” he wrote. Like the Will Ferrell character in the deservedly famous “Saturday Night Live” sketch about Blue Öyster Cult, he did get the chance to play cowbell, on “With a Little Help From My Friends.”There’s a poignant stiffness to the diaries Evans kept, possibly for posterity, and the poetry he attempted. An ordinary man who took an extraordinary ride that ended with a terrible crash — aspiring toward honor but submitting to appetites — he is here dusted off and given a proper salute, a place on the groaning shelf of Beatles books.Though tellingly, even if by accident, his name is left off the spine.LIVING THE BEATLES LEGEND: The Untold Story of Mal Evans | More