The gates open, and the long, black limousine I'm riding in moves along a driveway and deposits me in front of a stone staircase that ascends a steep hill. I get out, and a genial, well-dressed security guard informs me, "Mr. Spector would like you to walk up these steps through the front door." I eye the eighty-eight steps and ask, "Is that the only way into the house?" "No," the guard says, "this driveway goes straight up to the back door. But Mr. Spector likes for people to enter through the front on their first visit."

I knew that getting one of Phil Spector's rare interviews would involve hurdles, but I didn't expect them to be physical. With former Beatles business manager Allen Klein serving as intermediary, Spector had agreed to speak about the making of Imagine when the remastered album came out earlier this year. In faxes printed in Gothic type, Spector insisted that the interview be done in person at his lavish home -- which he typically refers to as "the castle" -- in aptly named Alhambra, California, northeast of Los Angeles.

Spector had decided to talk because of his friendship and long working relationship with John Lennon. An inductee into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame himself, Spector had, of course, essentially invented the idea of the producer as auteur, the musical equivalent of the director in film, in the late Fifties and early Sixties. His signature is the monolithic -- with a very definite emphasis on the mono -- Wall of Sound, a grand architecture of guitars, strings, horns, keyboards and percussion that combines breathtaking lyricism with Wagnerian power. Delivered by rapturously emotional singers like Ronnie Spector (with whom Phil would experience a tumultuous marriage and divorce), Darlene Love and Tina Turner, these "little symphonies for the kids" -- like the Ronettes' "Be My Baby," the Crystals' "He's a Rebel" and Turner's "River Deep, Mountain High" - are, to say the absolute least, among the most magnificent singles ever made.

But while Spector's groundbreaking early achievements are universally known, far fewer people are aware of his extensive work with Lennon and the Beatles, who numbered among Spector's most ardent admirers. As Lennon searched for new creative partners in the waning days of the Beatles, he enlisted Spector to produce "Instant Karma! (We All Shine On)," a rhythmically driving single that shot to Number Three in America in 1970. Spector also was on board for Lennon's "Power to the People" a year later. More dramatically, between those two hits, Spector stepped in to assemble the Let It Be album, which had been left in utter disarray as the Beatles splintered, and none of them could face the blood on the tracks.

For Spector and Lennon, however, the end of the Beatles, in 1970, signaled a vital new beginning. In that same year, Spector co-produced Lennon's ravaging solo debut, Plastic Ono Band, with Lennon and Yoko Ono -- it is a stark deconstruction of the Wall of Sound that rubs as frighteningly raw today as it did thirty years ago. The trio also co-produced the much lovelier Imagine, Lennon's most successful solo album, in 1971. Lennon and Ono teamed up with Spector again on Some Time in New York City (1972), and, during Lennon's "lost weekend" separation from Ono, Lennon and Spector collaborated on Rock 'n' Roll (1975), a raucous collection of cover versions of rock classics. (And on top of all that, Spector also worked with George Harrison on his solo debut, All Things Must Pass, as well as The Concert for Bangla Desh.) Also, in a touching echo of A Christmas Gift for You, the legendary album he made in 1963, Spector co-produced "Happy Xmas (War Is Over)" with John and Yoko in 1972.

Tales of mayhem trail Spector -- the rumor persists, for example, that during the drug-and-drink-fueled L.A. sessions for Rock 'n' Roll he fired a gun in the studio. But today, once I have climbed those eighty-eight steps, he is gentle and friendly, surprisingly eager to talk not only about Imagine but also about the rest of his work with Lennon and the Beatles. Dressed in black and playfully aware of his reputation for mystery, Spector takes a seat, looks at me through purple-tinted shades, and smiles. "What would you like to know?"

Can you talk about the genesis of "Imagine"?

We had already done Plastic Ono Band, and it was quite apparent it was time to make a commercial album. Imagine took only six days to make, and one day overdubbing in New York with the strings. We finished the whole album in seven days. Everybody had been saying, "If Spector gets involved, it's going to take six years to finish" [laughs].

On Imagine, we knew what we were going to do -- we knew it was going to be a Beatlelike album. John played me the "Imagine" lick -- he had a piano lick that was very good -- and I said, "Just write it -- it's right." We built it around that.

Both you and John were such strong personalities. What was it like for you to work with him?

We were like brothers. I was concerned because McCartney had had this tremendous success [with the McCartney album] and George had had this tremendous success [with All Things Must Pass], but Plastic Ono Band really hadn't done what we expected. So I was afraid that John would get a little frightened, but he didn't.

You could tell John to change something. You could tell him to redo something. He was completely flexible. After all, I was there to make his life easier, so he wouldn't have to worry about producing. I mean, there's no animosity between us, I don't even know the guy, but George Martin is an arranger. All the Beatles know how to make records -- and John knew how to make records. He just didn't want to be bothered with it.

It's difficult to produce your own records.

I remember when we did Plastic Ono Band, and I had to do the piano solo on "Love." It took twenty takes. I made a million mistakes. I had memorized it; I knew it perfectly. But as soon as John and Yoko were [in the control room], I started hitting wrong notes. John would say, "You don't like being on the other side of the goddamn fookin' glass, do ya?" [Laughs] And it was true. He said, "Now you know what it's like to be an artist." You have to perform.

What John needed was an editor. That's what the Beatles would do -- they'd edit each other. Now they didn't have anybody anymore, so I filled that gap. John couldn't turn to Paul and say, "What do you think here?" They didn't have that family anymore. It was like a divorce. So who's the new cook? Who's taking care of the kids? My job was to take that off them, so they always had somebody to bounce things off. And John did do that - "What do you think of this?" "What do you think of that?" Which meant to me that he was used to asking, that he liked feedback. We worked well that way.

What did you think of the songs John came up with for Imagine?

I was essentially looking for a story to the album -- and hit songs. That's why he had me: He wanted hits. Writing was just part of what he did, but he would write even if there was no music to it. And all that about the Beatles' writing together is a myth. I don't think they wrote together after "I Want to Hold Your Hand" [laughs].

In fact, one time it was John's birthday, and we were in a restaurant. One of the violin players heard John was there, so he sent for the other violinists, and they came up to John's table and as a tribute they played "Yesterday" [laughs]. John was like, "I didn't write that fucking thing. I hate that fucking song." He was pissed off -- you know, "The only thing you done was 'Yesterday' " [from Lennon's attack on McCartney, "How Do You Sleep?"]. But they didn't know -- Lennon-McCartney, that was the myth.

So John wasn't difficult in the studio?

The most grueling sessions we ever had - of course, we were out of control at the time - was when we did the Rock 'n' Roll album with other people's material. When we were running around out here, we could have gotten into a lot of serious trouble. The late Harry Nilsson, I loved him dearly, but there were a lot of drugs going down. I mean, we'd be in a convenience store, a 7-Eleven or whatever, and Harry would say, "Let's try to stick it up, just to see what happens." "What? Are you fucking crazy?" Coke makes you do those kinds of things. We could have gotten killed.

As far as the album is concerned, we didn't really like doing Chuck Berry and Larry Williams. I mean, there was no stamp of personality on it. We even did "Be My Baby." It was ridiculous, because we didn't believe it. The Rock 'n' Roll album was really . . . it was good, but it was a mishmash. It wasn't the best of John Lennon. I think Imagine was the best of John Lennon. Plastic Ono Band was the best of John Lennon.

And John had trouble afterward, coming up with the uniqueness of those songs. He had written his very best on Imagine. The next one, Some Time in New York City, became more tedious. It became more difficult to find subject matter. He'd try to make statements -- "Woman Is the Nigger of the World."

What was it like when you came in to work on Let It Be?

There was a lot of animosity. Nobody, other than George -- and, for some reason, our relationship has become a bit strained over the years -- but George and Ringo were extraordinarily helpful to me. George did have a motive -- he had these eighty songs that had been rejected by the Beatles [laughs]. They would allow him one or two [per album], that's it. That's why [All Things Must Pass] is a triple album. And every song, you could just hear John saying, "I don't like that fucker at all" [laughs].

But that was a very tumultuous time. McCartney leaving; his lawyers. Allen [Klein] coming in; those lawyers. It was a war zone.

What was John and Yoko's relationship like at that time?

They really loved each other. They loved each other's friendship. They were like school kids. I became best friends with John, but I always knew his best friend was Yoko. That was it. If you had told John, "You're giving the Beatles up for Yoko," he would have said, "I don't care. It's worth it." He was happy. It's preposterous what Yoko has taken all these years. She had about as much to do with the breakup of the Beatles as Elvis Presley did. She was somebody to pick on, somebody to blame. Those were the best years of John's life, without question. They were buddies. I felt like the Three Musketeers with them.

Can you explain how John and George differed in their work habits?

I don't want George to read this and say, "Ah, he's fucking putting me down." But to give you an idea, the Imagine album took seven days, OK? Plastic Ono Band took a little longer, only because it was grueling to get John to perform. It was like psychoanalysis -- a lot of screaming and crying. That album was not only his life and Yoko's, it was mine. "Isolation" -- I still live that way: "We're afraid of everyone/Afraid of the sun." That tore me to pieces. "Mother, you had me, but I never had you" -- I started thinking about my dad, who took his own life. It was "To Know Him Is to Love Him" [the epitaph on the gravestone of Spector's father, and the title of one of Spector's earliest songs] all over again. It was therapeutic, but very painful. And that's what took so long.

But George [for All Things Must Pass] -- six, seven months. I mean, we did the solo on "My Sweet Lord" maybe fifty, sixty different ways. It was just an insecurity he had, and I think it came from being the third kid on the block -- not the hero, not the number one or two. He had an immense amount of material, but he wouldn't move one step forward until he was absolutely sure it was safe and right and finished. So we remixed and remixed and remixed.

And in the end, we'd always go back to what we did originally. When I make a record, I don't want to tell musicians, "Well, it's eventually going to sound like this - you're going to be in more echo." No, put it on now. You can't take the echo off "Be My Baby." You can't take the echo off "River Deep, Mountain High" -- it's on Tina Turner forever. That's my art. That's what I do better than anyone. But George was very hesitant about it.

Did John ever talk about the impact your early work had on him?

John was very aware of everything I did, and he was a little intimidated -- how would I react to his voice? When we went into the studio to do "Instant Karma!," John was afraid to sing. He loved Ronnie's voice, and he wanted to be able to do that. He wanted the tremolo -- he wanted all that stuff. When he came in [the control room], and I put the tape on, he said, "It's just like Sun Records." That relaxed me. From that point on, he knew that I knew how to record his voice. Also, the whole thing about "Happy Xmas" was [mimics John's accent], "I wanted to make one Christmas record with you, Phil, because it would've fucking killed me not to."

Before you worked with them, what kind of impact did the Beatles have on you?

They had a major impact, because there would be ten Top Ten records, and they would have eight of them [laughs]. You couldn't very well ignore that. I was very impressed with their writing. I heard a lot of Cole Porter, a lot of Gershwin, a lot of brilliant things.

But -- and I told this to John - they were still second to Elvis to me. Elvis still was the King. My idea was to bring Elvis and John together -- that would have been an incredible meeting. And then Elvis passed on. And then in 1980, John was gone. It never materialized, obviously, and we never got to work together again. But we would have.

Where were you when you heard that John had been killed?

I was at home. I got a call. That was something that never should have happened. John didn't believe in any kind of security. I don't know whether it was New York, or just not being a Beatle and not being under scrutiny anymore, but I guess in his last years he became much more trusting, much more carefree.

He'd stop and talk to people, and a lot of them were like the nut who killed him -- "You wrote that song about me." Who wants to talk to those people? But it kind of shows you, while they hated being the Beatles, they also missed it. They missed the adoration. John missed that rapport.

When you think about John now...

And I do every day. Every day. I miss him so much. It was just a very loving, wonderful part of my life. I'm very glad that I know Yoko, and I'm very glad that I knew John.

[From Issue 853 — November 9, 2000]