The Lovin’ Spoonful with George Harrison and John Lennon (possibly at the Marquee Club on 18 April 1966)
Mike Stax: So the [Marquee] show went well?
John Sebastian: Yeah. It went very well, and during this show a wonderful publicity man that was working for us at that time explained to my manager that, “You need to immediately call the hotel and rent some kind of space for a party”. Well, it was a very fortuitous thing because that party really had everybody from the press and various bands. Unfortunately, Zally started to get drunker as there got to be more and more important people and more and more heavy scrutiny.
He was great in kind of a moderate crowd, but there was a point where he’d kind of get the willies to get out there or do something. Anyway, he ended up lobbing black olives at John Lennon, going [bad Liverpool accent], “Hey luv! How are you, luv, tonight?” God, Zally! What are you doing? [laughs] I think he and Keith [Moon] really connected, and it was going to be a rave-up. I knew that was going to happen, and at that point, blissfully, George Harrison leans in and says, “Would you like to get a bit of air, go over to Brian Jones’ place? He just got an imported sitar.” I said, “Great! Let’s do it!”
So we go over to Brian’s and sit there smoking some of the most radical hash I’ve ever had in my life. It was the stuff that they levitate mosques with [laughs] – that stuff with the gold seal on it! It was really, really a wonderful evening of hashish high and these brand new sitars.
Stax: So did you play some music together?
Sebastian: Yes, we were sort of droning along with each other. It wasn’t anything epic, but it was a lot of fun!
Stax: Was Brian Jones on your wavelength too, because I know he was a real blues record collector guy like you?
Sebastian: Oh yeah. He was very interested in blues and so on.
Stax: So was that all in the space of one night in 1966?
Sebastian: Yes, it was all in one night in June (sic) 1966 in England. That’s when we did Ready Steady Go and the Tara Browne visit, which was a big deal, and all kinds of stuff…
if i had a lame ass boyfriend i would hype him so much i would make him wait out side so i could go in first and be like get ready here comes the most specialest boy ever if you dont cheer and clap for him ill fucking blow this whole building up
I totally need a fic about Paul’s recent Instagram live interviews but in a different timeline where his husband John keeps bothering him and popping up during the livestream and when Paul shoos him away, popping up in the comments with suggestive remarks, making Paul blush and sigh because he KNOWS it’s John.
AN: I'm so sorry this took forever, anon, but I loved the idea as soon as I read it and now that I'm writing more, I decided to give it a shot today! Really hope y'all love it bc this was so fun to write lol
“It’ll be like one of those face calls, right? TimedFace…FaceTimed?”
“No, I have to go live first, I think,” Paul mutters, brow furrowed in concentration.
Together they peer at the phone held comically far from their faces as they peruse all of Instagram’s options. It’s a far cry from what they once knew, but over the years they have steadily gotten the hang of this modern digital age. Sort of….
“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” John grouses, “what happened to simple telephone interviews?”
“C’mon, love, yer showin’ your age. This is more interactive. Imagine if we’d had this back in our day.”
“Aye, we never would’ve gone nowhere with you stuck under it all day.”
“Please, you’re much worse than me,” Paul contends with a roll of his eyes. “It was for everyone’s good that Twitter suspended you.”
John prickles petulantly. “They haven’t seen the last of me.”
“Oh—! Alright, I’ve got it up now—”
He smiles triumphantly as the screen comes to life with users instantly joining the session.
“It’s facin’ the wrong bloody way,” John says. “Turn it ‘round.”
“I will, gimme a minute to find the button.”
“This one. Ah, there we are!” Astonishingly, John manages not to end the stream and indeed flips the camera front-facing. Adopting a cheeky morning broadcaster persona, he announces to the rapidly growing audience: “Hello, Beatle people, PSA from the Lennon-McCartney’s here, always remember wear a mask an’ wash yer hands, even if it was just a quick trip and you don’t think anything really—”
Smiling, Paul reclaims his phone and nudges his husband out of the frame. “Okay, okay—off with you now.”
John frowns, attempting to peer back at the screen exploding with laughing emoji’s. “You mean I can’t listen?”
“What for? I thought you were gonna be in the garden.”
“Well…what if you have more technical difficulties?”
“I think I’ve got it from here, Johnny,” Paul assures with a gentle smile. “I know how to hold a camera still.”
An eyebrow lifts in hesitation. “Do you?”
“Out!”
Pecking his cheek, John leaves him to the stream. With the office to himself, he finally invites St. Vincent to join, and they ease into a light conversation on music and current projects. The first several minutes of the stream go smoothly, the audio and visual connections giving him less trouble than he presumed. As it turns out, physical interruptions should have been much higher on his radar.
In the middle of recounting the rapport in the studio on his latest album, the door carelessly bursts open. “Paul? Just thought you’d fancy some—oh!” With a mug of tea in hand and feigned surprise on his face, John pauses in the doorway. “Oh my, I had no idea you were on a call.”
Unconvinced, he shakes his head. “Funny, ‘cos I just reminded you.”
“‘M afraid these ears just don’t work like they used to,” he dramatically laments. “Ms. St., love, how are you?”
“Hello there, John,” she laughs. “I’m wonderful. And yourself?”
“Oh, just fab.” Placing the mugs on the desk, he makes himself comfortable on Paul’s lap as though this were in fact a casual FaceTime call with their kids and not an interview streamed to thousands. “Y’know, I thought of doin’ one of these streamy things meself, but Paul says no one wants to see cats and bread for two hours.”
At the proposal of poorly filmed streams on every domestic, elderly hobby of his, the chat raves its support. John beams, emphasizing, “Aye, see? The people approve!”
For a moment, the bliss of sitting so openly with his longtime partner in front of their loyal audience has Paul relishing this life of theirs. He wouldn’t trade it for anything. Even so, professionalism beckons.
Out of view from the camera, he pinches John’s thigh impatiently.
“Alright, alright, I’m outta yer hair,” he yields with far less discretion. “So testy, you are.”
“Love you!”
Eyes narrowed behind his round specs, he points an authoritative finger. “Right, don’t go spreadin’ any lies about me now.”
“Never,” Paul vows with a wide grin as John reluctantly sees himself out.
Assuming the worst of the distractions over, they mentally regroup and delve further into the subjects of music-making and early Beatle life. Having dealt with John’s interview antics for decades now, Paul fancies himself an expert on overcoming those hurdles. And the anecdotes recounted throughout their conversation only sees him fondly remembering those days together.
In the middle of a fresh question, he squints at one Instagram account that stands out amongst the rest flying by in the chat. The first time, it loses itself so thoroughly in the sea that Paul thinks it a hallucination. But the messages become more insistent, until he knows exactly whose blurry profile picture that is.
“Ahh, seems like there’s a spy in the camp,” Paul grudgingly interrupts St. Vincent to say. “You forgot to switch accounts, John, love.”
Undeterred, the spam continues: What about my book then?
“Is it John again?” she laughs, patient as a saint, aptly enough. “Does he want to say something?”
WAT ABOOUT MY BOOOK THEN!!11
“Oh, is he writing a book?”
“No, he isn’t,” Paul sighs. Peering into the tiny lens, he addresses his needy husband once more, “Oi, you’ll get yours soon enough.”
Just as Paul begins to ignore him and move on with it, another blue check mark catches his eye. “Oh bloody hell, Ringo’s—” and yet before he can finish his sentence, the signature “Peace and Love” slogan appears like a Bloody Mary conjuring with a slew of colorfully incoherent emoji’s tacked onto it.
It appears that the gang has caught wind of the interview—though Paul can’t possibly fathom who clued them in—and steadily joins the insanity one by one. That is, until another message from John appears: George won’t play with us :(
Admittedly, that one coaxes a light chuckle from Paul as he splits his focus between friends and co-streamer. Possessing enough decency to lay off the barrage for a while, John leaves him to a few moments of peace. It feels too quiet, like a calm before the storm. And sure enough, another message commences the wave of a new approach to distraction.
Unabashed flirtation.
Blue is your colour ;)
Heart emojis of every shape and color flood the chat feature, and Paul’s train of thought fumbles over every beat of them. As he attempts to restore control to the situation and persevere through the interview, more suggestive asides catch his eye from the verified John Lennon account. Ur doing great deary; they keep typing daddy and frankly i agree; it was ur arse that won me over not ur playing.
By the end of it, Paul doesn’t know whether to laugh or scream.
When they finally say their goodbyes, however, St. Vincent extends one to John as well, and he figures that all parties involved got quite the show out of it—their fans in particular. With a fond shake of his head, Paul places his phone on the desk and enters the living room. There he finds John with his glasses perched on the tip of his nose and long hair tucked behind his ears as he types away on a stream that, unbeknownst to him, has already ended.
“So how’d it go?” he asks innocently when he notices Paul adoringly watching.
Arms crossed, he joins him on the sofa. “I think you know very well how it went.”
With a cheeky grin, John folds a hand over his knee. “I didn’t throw yer concentration, did I, love?”
“Oh no, not at all.” He leans in for a kiss but stops himself before their lips graze. “Let’s just say that the next interview you take is gonna be absolute hell.”
His breath tickles Paul’s scruffy face as he chuckles, “Lookin’ forward to it.”