Send us a text I’d like to begin, not in Liverpool or Hamburg or Abbey Road, but in an American living room—mine, and millions of others—on a Sunday night in 1964. It’s February 9th. The television is a piece of furniture. The picture is black and white. Ed Sullivan is the gatekeeper of what “really matters.” We’ve heard rumors about four long-haired boys from England. Maybe we’ve seen a little newspaper photo. Maybe a DJ has spun “I Want to Hold Your Hand” and sounded half amused, half alarmed, while the phone lines lit up. And then there they are. John. Paul. George. Ringo. Matching suits. Hair just long enough to scandalize parents without terrifying them. Tight harmonies. Songs that feel simple and impossibly fresh at the same time. Sullivan reading his cards. Teenage girls screaming. Camera cutting to faces in the audience already past language. Seventy-three million people watching at once. Almost 40 percent of the country. Support the show Thank you for experiencing Celebrate Creativity.
