Telstar: The Joe Meek Story Page #4

What does he want more for?

Don't know, sir. Recording?

- Hello, boys. How's the noise?

- All right?

- Hello, matey.

- Are we off, then?

- Allegedly.

- What?

- About an hour.

- We hope.

Well, what do you think of the whistle, then?

- Very smart.

- He just left it in my room.

- I don't know about that tie, though.

- What about it?

- I don't know, it's a bit, you know. Isn't it, Alan?

- What?

- The tie.

- Oh, yeah.

- What's wrong with it?

- Nothing, it's fine, it's fine.

No, you're right. It's a bit... I'll just go upstairs and change it.

Suit yourself.

Handy living upstairs.

Yeah.

Too f***ing handy.

Soppy as a box of frogs. I wouldn't mind if he could play.

He plays bass like he's wearing boxing gloves.

It's when the valve shorts out. It picks up the guitar amp.

Sorry to bother you. I was listening to the Navy Lark.

It all went funny and fuzzy like that.

And then a high-pitched wheeeee sound, I couldn't believe my ears.

And then it all went quiet, and then suddenly all hell let loose.

I thought, that's not Jon Pertwee.

Right, well, I will have it sounding clear as a bell.

- Afternoon, Joe.

- Oh, look, Father bloody Christmas!

- Ponce.

- Who?

- Change me tie? I haven't been home since Wednesday.

Can't remember the last time I changed my pants.

Blood out of a stone! Patrick, put them in the office and put the kettle on.

Those tapes aren't to be trifled with. They're expensive.

I'm not to be trifled with!

Begging for tapes is not what number one record producers do.

It'll take a while for the revenue from your hits to actually appear.

What am I supposed to do in the meantime, play conkers?

No, but come along, Joe. I want to expand, but one step at a time.

You've got Patrick now as a full-time office assistant.

Oh, well, whoop-de-f***ing-do, Mr Rockefeller(!)

Joe, Joe there's a... Sorry, Major, sir. There's a phone call for you.

- It's Brian Epstein.

- Sh*t.

- About the demos.

- Yeah, yeah, yeah.

He's got this Merseybeat combo. They're rubbish.

Right, you bastards, I'll be back in five minutes. Keep practising.

You, don't go in there.

Major, can I have a word?

Sir, we've got to be in Great Yarmouth by six.

- If we don't head off now, we're buggered.

- That's up to Joe.

- I haven't seen daylight for two days.

- Well, believe me, it hasn't changed much.

He's got this track that don't make sense.

He'll have us banging on until we miss the Billy Fury gig. It's not rational.

He has been terribly moody.

- And after what happened to Billy...

- Greedy little bastard.

No-one gets royalties. You're all on session fees. Seven pounds, six shillings.

Does that include being attacked with scissors and thrown down the stairs?

- I would have chucked him out a window.

- He could have killed him. How do you think Alan feels?

- He's Billy's replacement. What will happen to him?

- Oh, cheers!

Or any of us. Well, except blond rinse upstairs.

Which is another thing. He's treated like Presley and f***ing clueless.

- He don't know a flat from a house.

- Are you quite finished?

Yeah.

Then let me remind you that Joe is your recording manager.

And as such, he will decide when he records and with whom.

And I should think that you could afford yourself a little faith in his judgement.

This whole Merseybeat thing, it's a fad.

But good luck with the demo, and please, send my love to the boys.

Bye now.

Leyton has buggered off to Hollywood, and Joe is still searching for the next hit.

Not just for himself, but for all of us.

So when you're down at the pub or playing darts or whatever it is

you boys do, Joe is working.

Constantly working. The boy's a genius.

So if your feelings are hurt, it is of very little consequence to me.

Do I make myself clear?

Yes.

Good. Carry on, then.

Patrick, if that northern idiot calls back, tell him I'm busy.

- Anything to report?

- Poor Brian.

He's a lovely man, but he don't have a clue what the kids want.

PATRICK!!

Well, I'll be leaving, then. Just thought I'd pop round.

- And spy.

- I just wanted to see where all those tapes were going.

Well, surprise, I'm recording with them.

- Of course you are. Goodbye.

- Joe?

- Call Geoff. I need him here.

- Yes, chief.

- Have you got any of me sweeties? I'm going to finish this track if it kills me.

- You should get some sleep.

- Dexies?

- Take the money out of petty cash.

- I did.

- You said that yesterday.

- Oh, you are good.

- It's nice to have someone I can trust.

- Coffee?

- Oh, lovely.

Right, let's hear it.

- Hear what?

- Oh, don't start. Bum, titty, bum, twang, twang, twang.

Good. Right, keep playing till I say stop.

SHOUTING Right, that's it. Stop. Alan, stop.

- Are you sure?

- Yeah.

DISTORTED REVERBERATION

- Why have you stopped?

- What the f*** was that silly noise?

- Oh, that's just for the intro.

- It's bollocks.

- Why don't you play it?

- I'm going to Yarmouth.

- What?

You've still got the piano or whatever the f*** part it is to put down yet.

- For your information, Geoff is on his way to play the keyboard.

- Geoff?

That daft prat?

How dare you!

All that song from beyond the grave bollocks. It's embarrassing.

Yeah, but it happens to be true.

I'll tell you what is true,

I'm calling this recording session to an end.

Sorry, Joe. I'm not letting everyone cop it because

you've got some silly bollocks idea that sounds like a lump of dog sh*t.

- Oi, gormless, we're going!

- What? Oh, yeah.

You ungrateful bastard!

Right, go on then, f*** off, you fat b*tch!

- And you, you communist c*nt!

- Sorry, strictly speaking,..

- F*** off!

- ..I'm not really a member of...

- F*** off! F*** off!

F*** off! F*** off!

- Oh, you've got your new suit?

- Yeah, do you like it?

- It's lovely.

Yeah, pucker, innit?

- Ta.

- I like that tie. That's a nice touch.

- Yeah?

You must bring an umbrella, it might rain, you must watch your hair.

All right, Mum!

No, you're right, I don't want to get my hair fluffy.

Yeah, all right, then. See you.

Bye.

Bye, guy. Gotta fly.

Don't he look stunning?

Very smart.

- Geoff is on his way.

- Good.

SPACE SOUND EFFECTS

Joe, there's a storm brewing.

A good omen.

SOUND EFFECTS CONTINUE

It's going to rain.

Joe?

Joe?

Joe?

- Geoff, it came to me in a dream.

- What?

The solo slot before Billy Fury comes on.

Those ungrateful Tornado bastards. They just don't understand.

I do. Joe, it's raining, there's a storm.

- Just like when I recorded Johnny.

- Good omen.

So, what's the track called?

- The Theme Of Telstar.

- Ooh. What is it? Telstar?

- I've heard of that.

- It's a satellite. The miracle of science.

It picks up invisible rays from the other side of the world,

then it beams them back to Earth.

- Like the ether.

- Yes, like the ether. But...it's science.

PLAYS A SINGLE NOTE ON THE CLAVIOLINE

Right, so. We lift off.

Do, do, do

Do, do, do, do, do, do.

Then we go up to space.

Do, do, do, do, do, do, do

Do... No.

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