The Beatles song Paul McCartney thought never worked live: “The nature of the beast”

When The Beatles start talking about their hits, it’s hard to understand which era of their ten-year domination they’re talking about specifically. Because over the course of the entire 1960s, The Beatles redefined what it truly meant to write a hit.

Their songs were not only artistically universal, unifying crowds in, specifically, a very divided America, but they were commercially successful and creatively engaging. They changed the mould in terms of blending innovation with chart success and as such, are perhaps one of the only artists in the world to amass a fan base that doesn’t collectively buy into one song when heralding their favourite. Every album means something to someone, and every song within it is the same.

Which is why it was a crying shame for the music world that their popularity crushed their touring. After their show at the Candlestick Park in San Francisco in 1966, the band were never seen playing a full live show in front of a crowd again, for the hysteria made it untenable. The sweet sounds of Paul McCartney’s melodies and the intricate delicacy of John Lennon’s vocals meant nothing when a basic PA system was trying to battle the onslaught of screaming fans.

Of course, the hysteria raised several questions for the Liverpudlian boys. What are they really here for? Do they even like the music? Do we even like the music? Of course, the first two questions went hand in hand. The music developed a deeper, more personal love within their fan base, which, to their eye, threatened what was a growing appetite to innovate in the studio.

So when it came to those final few shows and they scribbled their setlists on a piece of paper, they soon realised the problem with following up ‘Twist and Shout’ with the likes of ‘Norwegian Wood’ or ‘Nowhere Man’. But it was another track from Nowhere Man that stuck as out a particular live show dud for the band.

McCartney said, “It’s the obvious thing. Boom, bang, Beatles, Beatles. Then you say, ‘Now we’d like to do some new material.’ Boo! Hiss! I’ve seen the Stones try and do it, and it doesn’t go down that great. That’s a fact of life. Even with the Beatles, new material didn’t always go down that well. It was the older tunes. ‘Baby’s in Black’ never went down nearly as well as ‘I Feel Fine’ or ‘She Loves You.’ That’s just the nature of the beast.”

It’s a sad reality that can only be softened by its role in emphasising the importance of the band’s decision to step back from the stage lights. Had the band soldiered on through the swathe of noise and expectation that awaited them at their live shows, then the likelihood of their innovation would be dampened.

Naturally, all musicians find themselves at the mercy of expectation in the studio, desperately scratching around for that essence that got them on stage in the first place. But without the limitations of what fans might think in a live context and how the production of each song needs to be translated to a show, the band were liberated. And so soon after we got Revolver, the gateway to a new sonic world that would change the course of music history.