»Five young lads, almost kids, stood there on this shabby little stage and played Rock ‘n’ Roll like I’d never heard it before.«

Before we get into this scene, let me give you an important hint that many of the younger generations should bear in mind when assessing all of this. The experiences of the World War, which had only ended 15 years earlier, were still very much present at that time. We had experienced fear and threat, the escape from home and hunger. Everything had been destroyed and the world as it once was no longer existed. In the context of these harsh experiences, I was naturally curious about new things and longed for something to change for the better.

At the time, I was studying at the master school in Hamburg and at the same time had my first graphic design jobs for the »Hörzu« (editor’s note: German magazine) and the »Hamburger Abendblatt« (editor’s note: Hamburg daily newspaper). Of course, that was a time when I learnt an incredible amount, from screen printing to etching and much more. In other words, all the techniques, all the tools for a future graphic designer. I was living at my professors’ house in Uhlenhorst (editor’s note: a Hamburg district) and was in a relationship with Astrid Kirchherr, who, like me, was studying photography under the wonderful Reinhart Wolf.

My parents focused exclusively on classical music, but my father gave me the Erroll Garner single »Lover Come Back« when I was young, so I was exposed to jazz at an early age. In my youth, I also had piano lessons with a really great teacher, but I drove her to despair because I just didn’t want to read music. As it turned out later, this was a consequence of my severe dyslexia, which had not yet been diagnosed at the time. So, the affinity for music was in my life from the very beginning.

Yes, but only a little later in 1963, when I spent some time in Tenerife and Silvester Alvarez, who is still a dear friend today, taught me classical guitar. He didn’t speak English or German and I didn’t speak Spanish, but this wonderful man was still able to teach me a lot (smiles).

That was a decision we made together as a family back then. At the time, there was no real pop music in Germany that you could earn money with. Only cheesy German Schlager music was popular, and I didn’t want to have anything to do with that.

The sound went right through me from the start, and I absolutely had to find out who it came from. Five young lads, almost kids, stood there on this shabby little stage and played Rock ‘n’ Roll like I’d never heard it before. John was screaming his head off, Paul was bouncing around like a rubber ball while Pete was hammering away on the drums, and George was grinning his cheeky boy smile under his thick brown mop of hair. Only Stuart didn’t quite fit into this snotty image. He looked cool and sophisticated with his sunglasses and wide flared trousers. But that had its own exotic appeal.

You could say that. What’s more, Astrid’s mum was a chef at the renowned Hotel Vier Jahreszeiten in Hamburg and was naturally able to prepare excellent meals, which was an added bonus (smiles). We shouldn’t forget that the boys were all still very young and often homesick. They were housed in the neighbourhood in mostly inhumane conditions and had to play not just one, but several sets in the night. The evenings at the Kirchherr house were an almost paradisiacal relief and a blessing. We laughed a lot and talked about all kinds of topics.

The guys simply brought such a refreshing openness, cheekiness and inspiring manner with them, which had been lost in Hamburg, no doubt due to the war. Their raw Liverpool Rock ‘n’ Roll flair and our existentialist attitude quickly merged and complemented each other. Each of us was different from the rest of the world in our own way and that also united us.

Absolutely right. But instead of standing and playing on the very small, flat stage myself, I sat on a chair right in front of it and played because I was far too shy. Minutes before, Stuart had simply pressed his bass into my hand and said: “Klaus, now it’s your turn. Go on, play now.” It was already late, the club was no longer full and so it wasn’t a big risk to let me play. You have to remember The Beatles, like many other bands back then, were only hired to simply get the audience dancing.

After the Beatles left Hamburg again, George and I started writing letters to each other. That’s when it all started.

My parents were building a house on Tenerife and my father asked me to spend some time supervising the completion of the work. The boys in London heard about it and suddenly announced their visit to the island. After all, they had just spent quite a lot of time in TV, radio and recording studios (editor’s note: including the recording of the first studio album »Please Please Me« and urgently needed a break. The days with them on the island were wonderful and also very special because it was the last time in their lives that they were able to be in public unrecognised.

George knew about my longing for London and at some point he wrote to me and told me to just come over and move into his flat he shared with Ringo at 57 Green Street. So, I packed my things as quickly as I could and moved to London, where Beatlemania was already in full swing.

Yes, they really appreciated that. With most of the others who crossed their path afterwards, it was of course incredibly difficult to tell how authentic the sympathy actually was.

I did! Above all, the mixture of music, fashion, art and theatre scenes was unique. The concert scene had also developed considerably. You could see people like Ray Charles in real concert halls and not just in ugly halls like the ones I knew from Hamburg. At the Roundhouse, for example, just round the corner from me, I saw a Hamlet performance with Nicol Williamson, Anthony Hopkins and Marianne Faithfull, and a little later I saw the [Rolling] Stones there. That was a very special time.

Yes, I was there, together with Paul and Eric [Clapton]. Hendrix was a unique talent.

I would say he was almost childlike in his own way, completely into his music. From what I saw of him, he was a very simple, very sensitive, almost naive person in his own cosmos.

Yes, it came out of nowhere and it was always hard to turn John down. For me, however, this task also meant that I had to dedicate myself to drawing and graphic design again. I had actually already given up on that and it was a real challenge for me to get back into it. First of all, I listened to the tracks, and I can only say that it totally blew my mind. You hadn’t heard anything like it in popular music before, especially not songs like »Tomorrow never knows«.

That’s why I was driven by the idea of using the cover to prepare the fans a little for the music that awaited them on the album. I started off very simply, drawing initial sketches on a large A2 layout pad to develop ideas. I showed these sketches to the guys, and they were enthusiastic. At the final meeting at EMI headquarters, I not only convinced the band, but also the rest of the management.

Well, definitely a Grammy … and a whole £50 fee (smiles). But don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining at all. I was just very proud that my design was well received and perceived as being as innovative as the music on the album.

It was just over two years of regular back and forth between tour and studio. I didn’t always identify 100% with the music myself, but we had seven big hits in those years and couldn’t complain. At some point, Manfred suggested that we take a break for the time being, and we all thought it was a very good idea at the time (laughs). It was also perfect timing because it was just before John called me to join the Plastic Ono Band, which hadn’t even existed before, for the famous Toronto concert.

No, because the idea of the Plastic Ono Band was explicitly not to have a fixed line-up and not to act in a conventional pattern. John liked the spontaneity and rawness. We recorded »Instant Karma!« on just one day in ten takes and a few days later the single was already in the shops and immediately in the charts.

Much less than you might think. I didn’t feel any different from any other musician or person just because I was part of that scene. I was right in the middle of it from day one in London, right next to George and the guys. I didn’t know the perspective from the outside. I was also travelling all the time, had studio recordings, played concerts and had a lot of other things to do. That’s why I only realised the impact of this time later on. Speaking of impact: most people don’t realise how much money flowed from the individual Beatles members and also from Yoko to charity, even beyond such things as the Concert for Bangladesh. They really made a very active contribution without telling the world about it.

Yes, you could actually say that. George had a very precise idea of how to work together in the studio and treat each other with respect anyway. He always started by finding a place in the studio where he would set up a small altar and place incense sticks. He was very keen to make it particularly cosy for himself and the small intimate group of musicians that he trusted. Whether it was the people from the Delaney & Bonnie Band or Garry Wright, who I had recommended to George at the time.

In all my time in the studio, nobody ever told me what to play. Usually, we were given the songs to play on guitar or piano, and then it was, “now let’s hear what you have to offer on bass.”. In addition, the structure of a song changed here and there during the recording process and then you had to reinterpret it, of course.

You really had to think of it as one big family. Everyone knew each other over the years, one helped each other in solidarity without giving it much thought. This collaborative spirit was very special. The recordings for Carly’s album »No Secrets« are a good example. Carly had initially sung the chorus of »You’re so vain« with Harry Nilsson, but when she wasn’t that satisfied with the result, Mick Jagger stepped in at short notice, who was working on something else in the studio next door. That’s how it went back then, very spontaneously, without an agenda. And believe it or not, there wasn’t a single one of the big stars who was unpleasant or aloof. They just didn’t let themselves be blinded by their own PR.

For my part, thankfully not, of course, because I wasn’t a celebrity. I could move around freely and go out on the street without causing a stir, which was not possible for the stars. That’s why the boys had to create their own little world.

A superb LP, great tracks! Back then, they had the wonderful Herbie Flowers on bass who combined the double bass track and the electric bass track that shaped the iconic bass sound of the »Walk on the Wild Side«. The record was almost finished when David Bowie (editor’s note: Bowie co-produced the album with Mick Ronson) called and asked me if I wanted to play bass on three more tracks. That was fun. For example, there was also that spirit I just mentioned. Nobody stood out in particular, quite the opposite. The guitar solo was just as important as the rhythm guitar’s contribution. Lou Reed was exceptionally good on rhythm guitar, by the way!

I have only experienced additional remuneration, beyond the usual hourly rates, when working with Harry Nilsson and Carly Simon. It was Harry himself who approached me and awarded me a share of the income based on my input on his album »Nilsson Schmilsson«. It was thanks to Carly, in turn, that I was able to share in the proceeds after Janet Jackson sampled my bass intro from »You’re so vain« in her song »Son of a Gun«. The record companies would never have thought of actively contacting me in such cases.

What was really interesting about the punk movement was that it was far from the norm, and it wasn’t about what you looked like and what you wore, it was primarily about your attitude. The output was important. Although it wasn’t punk per se, it was the same attitude that we encountered when we met the guys from Trio. I like that attitude.

My counter question to Mick’s enquiry was: “Apart from recording an album, what else do you have planned?” And his answer was: “Well, at least a six-month US tour to establish ourselves.” But I just didn’t feel like doing that anymore. I had just become a father and there were also various other personal reasons to go back to Germany, so I politely declined.

Peter Malz, a great photographer, and I gave the Casio together as a gift. So, the song »Da Da Da« didn’t even exist when the band sent us their demos. But the material convinced us, and we went to Trio’s next live gig, which really blew us away. We were able to hear all the other songs that ended up on the first LP and signed the band. One of the great things about Trio was that they juggled so wonderfully between German and English. When they wanted to be a bit more relaxed, they sang in English and when they wanted to be more snappy, they sang their lyrics in German. That was a joy!

Before I discovered Trio, I came across Joachim Witt, who I liked right from the start. That was »Neue Deutsche Welle« (editor’s note: Germany’s post-punk pop-music era in the early 80s) as it should be. The music scene in Germany had finally found a way to express itself authentically, although the beginnings could already be heard in bands like Tangerine Dream and Kraftwerk.

The motivation actually came from a Genesis Publications request for the book »Hamburg Days«, in which the Beatles’ Hamburg period was to be presented in a very special way. They wanted to use Astrid Kirchherr’s photos and also my artistic input. But this had to be defined first. And, in my opinion, in a photorealistic style. That’s why I decided to learn this technique and immerse myself in it. I visited artists such as Gottfried Helnwein, Alfons Kiefer and Renato Casaro. He was the one who taught me a lot about technique, which was great! He didn’t speak German or English, but somehow we managed to communicate well (smiles). He showed me his technique in detail and made a lot of effort with me, which of course helped me a lot.

I was confident from the start that I could do it. I also like learning new things and if need be, I can be very hard on myself (laughs). It was a tough process, but in the end I was very satisfied and happy with the result.

Yes, of course, that was my idea. I got the enquiry from Apple [Apple Corps Ltd. aka Apple Records founded by The Beatles in 1968], but I also knew that there were seven other artists who had been requested at the same time. The aim of this project was to visually capture the 10-year period of the Beatles and adapt it for various cover formats. After a while, I flew to London with some ideas and sketches to hold an initial meeting with the Apple management. At the end of the meeting, I was informed that all the other seven artists were out of the game and that I could now get down to the real work.

… well, I had successfully sold the billboard idea itself to Apple in London, but the realisation as an actual photorealistically painted picture still had to be pushed through. After all, it took some time and money. I once calculated that Alfons Kiefer, with whom I did it together, and I spent around a thousand hours working on the picture, which was two metres long.

The idea originally came from my wife, who first had to persuade me. I don’t really like being in the limelight myself. To be honest, I didn’t like the project at first, but then I made it mine and when we were able to integrate the charity idea for the Lakota Reservation, I felt much better. At the same time, an external producer made a documentary in which I was accompanied to visit old companions like Carly Simon. This was also supposed to include recordings for the album, but unfortunately, as was the case with Carly, the sound man on site failed and the recordings were not usable at all for the CD. When we realised this, we hired our own film team to be on the safe side.

Dr. John was my great idol. His musical range was incredibly broad, multi-layered and certainly not limited to the New Orleans Style that you automatically associate with him. We worked closely together for Harry Nilsson and quickly realised that we harmonised extremely well.

That’s right. For me personally, this enquiry was actually “the tip of the iceberg”, especially from this colleague, whom I hold in such high regard. That was as good as it got. But a short time later, when the project failed to materialise, I came to a completely different realisation. Although I was at the height of my creative powers and I was very flattered by the request from Mac (editor’s note: Malcolm „Mac“ John Rebennack Jr. aka Dr. John), I ultimately realised that I no longer wanted to be part of this cosmos. Being on tour forever and spending my life between the dressing room, stage, tour bus and studio slowly but surely no longer seemed like the ideal future.

Unfortunately, I’m not someone who actively cultivates friendships. That’s a big disadvantage in this case, because we still like each other, of course. But we should not forget that each of us now lives in our own bubble and our lives rarely run in parallel. When we do see each other again from time to time, we’re happy of course, but they’re no longer a regular part of my daily life. But that’s completely fine.

I’m into Bach or Stravinsky, but right now I’m listening to Albert King and B.B. King, the earthy, original blues. I like James Blake, some rap tracks and even a few German rap bands like Fatoni. I still think Eminem is great and everything Dr Dre does anyway. What I also like to go back to are all the tracks that producer and arranger Willie Mitchell has done, such as »I can’t stand the Rain« for Ann Peebles or the tracks for Al Green.

Of course, creative work in the studio sometimes led to ideas of mine changing and shaping the structures or arrangements of songs. But then only partially and not as a whole. Once, however, I actually once wrote the track »Salmon Falls« for Harry Nilsson for his »Duit On Mon Dei« album.

It’s the Plastic Ono Band LP with tracks like »Mother«, »God« and »I found out«, where John and Yoko came into the studio very joyfully, wrote the tracks and we recorded them immediately, even if they contained one or two mistakes (laughs). That was a very unique experience and a very special moment in my career.