Today’s challenge comes from Blair Leggatt “ The possible rebirth of Beatlemania”…
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It had been a hard day’s night and John, Paul, George, and Ringo had all been working like dogs. They were, of course, aging dogs now, Macca and Ringo were well over sixty-four. Lennon and Harrison did not have to worry about aging much nowadays though, as technology had found a way of reuniting the fab four, and it promised to ensure that they never broke up again.
Sure they were clones, but they were as good as the real thing. The new John had as loud a mouth as the man his DNA was harvested from. He’d been running his mouth off from talk-show to tweet about everything. About how music had gone downhill so much in his absence. Calling our corrupt politicians, spatting with the Kardashian’s for their “vapid, lack of depth”. And, he had got himself into a war of words with the Daily Mail. Sure, he didn’t cause the kind of stink he ever did when they were more popular than Jesus. But, he was rarely off the front pages.
Tonight was not unlike any night in the first Beatles tour since 1966. They had wowed a mixed-aged crowd in another packed stadium. The audiences screamed just like they did back then, but these days, the PA could scream louder. Nobody was drowned out.
A faint chant from the auditorium could be heard through the soundproofed walls. There were stomping and shouting, and even the closing refrain of ‘Hey Jude’ being sung by a few hundred voices.
As Lennon stepped back into his dressing room, Macca pushed in behind him shouting.
“You’re not even the real John, so don’t be throwing yourself around”.
“What do you expect me to be, eh? I am what I am. I may not ‘ave been born right, or even been me fifty-odd years ago. But I am me now. And I’m here. And you need to thank me ‘cos it’s not like your career was doing much’.
“Wasn’t doing much?” Macca spluttered.
Just as he was about to start a rant about working hard over the last few decades, Ringo charged in. “What the hell was that out there John?”.
“Oh, give over Ringo. When you can play in time, I’ll stop hogging the limelight”.
Lennon took off his glasses. Frozen at forty, he was now the youngest in the band, and he certainly looked it.
“We’re a band John. This isn’t your Plastic Ono shit now.” Macca quipped as he picked walked back toward the door. “They’re ready for more now. Let’s get the encore done and call it a night”.
“I’m not going on!” John replied.
“Come on John” Ringo pleaded.
“It’s fine, me you and George will go on. We’ll go on without you, just like we shoulda done fifty years ago” Macca opened the door.
“Bunch of old farts” John laughed. “People want to see us as we were, not Geriatric and The Pacemakers!”
“I wish we’d have got a grown-up version of you John”. Macca and Ringo slammed the door as they headed for the stage.
As they strode down the corridor, George came from a side room and joined them. “No John?”
“No John” They both replied.
George stopped in his tracks.
“I know I’m not the real deal guys, but is this really worth it? Who are you doing this for? Is it for yourselves? Cos it sure doesn’t seem to be the best from where I’m looking. And if it’s for the fans, sure they want us back. But just let it be. They can be happy with the memory. Let’s stop ruining it. We’re a Beatles covers band. We’re a mishmash of who we were and from different times. It’s time to call it a night.”
That night, the final encore played. The lights came down on the fab four for the last time. There would never, and should never be another Beatlemania.