Fact #54214

ALLEN KLEIN by Johnny Black (N.B. this feature appeared in Q magazine before Klein died)

The letter was short and to the point. "Dear Sir Joe," wrote John Lennon, "from now on Allen Klein handles all my things."

Lennon's brief epistle to Sir Joseph Lockwood, Chairman of EMI, sounded out across Beatledom like the bugle call of Trumpeter Landfry, the soldier who had signalled the start of the charge of the Light Brigade at Balaclava - into the valley of death. There was now no turning back for The Beatles. Allen Klein, arguably the most notorious music business shark of the era, was in their midst.

Lennon scribbled his note on January 27, 1969, in the Harlequin Suite of London's Dorchester Hotel immediately after meeting Klein for the first time. The purpose of the meeting was simple. Lennon wanted Klein to rescue him from the financial chaos that The Beatles had brought upon themselves in the wake of Brian Epstein's death.

The other three Beatles found out about it the next day, and at 9pm that evening, all four sat down in the Apple HQ, 3 Saville Row, to talk turkey in the same room as Klein. George and Ringo were as impressed as Lennon by Klein's promises to restore their fortunes by extracting them from their existing contractual obligations to NEMS and re-negotiating their recording contract with EMI. Paul McCartney, however, was far from convinced. Klein's arrival sparked the beginning of a division that would tear them apart - and yet none of them really knew anything about him.

Allen Klein first screamed at the world in Newark, New Jersey, USA. on December 18, 1931. Born into an impoverished Jewish family, he spent most of his childhood in an orphanage, because his father could not afford to bring up three children.

Never shy of work, Klein took evening classes to qualify as an accountant, and found himself employed by the company that handled the accounts of rock'n'roll crooner Bobby Darin. He soon switched into publishing, looking after The Shirelles' catalogue, and then into management with Bobby Vinton and Sam Cooke, whose catalogue he still controls.

Getting into his stride in the mid-60s, Klein set his sights on the biggest act of the era – The Beatles. Realising, however, that they could not easily be pried away from Brian Epstein, he set about establishing himself as a manager for as many other British Invasion acts as he could handle, snapping up Herman's Hermits, Donovan, The Animals, Dave Clark Five, The Who, The Kinks, and, most famously at that point, The Rolling Stones.

Never one to slip a credit card into the latch when a sledgehammer could do the same job, Klein's usual approach was to threaten to audit the accounts of major record companies to reveal how much they owed their artists. Given that many companies thrived by screwing their stars, the tactic tended to shake buckets of cash out of the system. Bobby Vinton, for example, got $100,000 in "overlooked royalties".

Some of Klein's protégés from this era still testify that he dramatically improved their fortunes, but others are not so happy. "I never signed a piece of paper with Allen Klein," says Ray Davies of The Kinks, "but I'm sure he can pull one out of a drawer. He was supposed to manufacture records by The Kinks at a certain period in North America but actually he doesn't manufacture and that's against the Trades Description Act."

Similarly, Pete Townshend found out that, unknown to The Who, Klein had bought into their publishing company. "I hate him still," fumes Townshend. "I can't bear the fact that he's a part of my life."

When he was brought in to renegotiate the Stones' Decca contract in 1965, he did so with spectacular success. The resulting $1.25m advance, however, somehow ended up in the coffers of a Klein subsidiary rather than in the Stones' bank account which had been anticipating its arrival.

A lawsuit immediately ensued as the Stones endeavoured to get their cash but they were still tied to Klein as their manager. His ruthless ways, however, served them well in July 1966 when Brian Jones sparked a near riot at the War Memorial Hall in Syracuse, New York. "The band were hot and sweaty and Brian used this flag to wipe the sweat off his face," recalls Larry Tamblyn of support band The Standells. "A bunch of cops were going to arrest him. Allen Klein had to pay all these guys off, like a thousand bucks apiece or something. I've never seen so many cops become unpatriotic so quickly. Otherwise they would have strung Brian up, for sure."

The Beatles, however, remained Klein's ultimate goal. On 13 November 1966, the Sunday Telegraph reported that two Beatles had approached Allen Klein through a third party. Brian Epstein dismissed the story as ridiculous, but sources who were at NEMS in that period confirm that, although it proved totally unfruitful, Klein did indeed meet with emissaries of the company.

A non-drinker, Klein had by now evolved into a virtual workaholic, with no outside interests other than a lasting loyalty to his family. His nephew, Michael Kramer, once described a 'holiday' he took with his uncle in London, saying that every minute was spent working. On the last day, Kramer sneaked away, hired a cab and was shown the sights of London from the back seat – otherwise he'd have seen nothing.

Clive Davis, then President of Columbia Records, characterised Klein as "an alert, hard-working businessman, who has operated quite imaginatively in the record world." In retrospect, 'imaginatively' seems a tad euphemistic. In 1967, for example, he finessed a takeover of Cameo-Parkway Records, then announced that the newly acquired company would be making various purchases (including his own Allen Klein And Company) which sent Cameo shares rocketing. Intriguingly, although less than a quarter of a million shares were available for public sale, more than two million had been traded by February of 1968 – at which point the Securities And Exchange Commission suspended trading.

In the wake of Brian Epstein's death, Paul had assumed leadership of The Beatles, forging ahead with the creation of Apple. It was some months before the others realised that a whole new system had grown up under McCartney's direction. Aggravation, because they didn't really understand how it worked, turned to anger when that system started to fall apart.

Lennon was the first to start looking for a new leader. Like Klein, he had been a virtual orphan, and was an inveterate schoolyard scrapper whose young life was dominated by women. Maybe it's no surprise then that he considered the plain-talking American, "highly sensitive as well as highly intelligent."

McCartney, and not solely because he was about to marry the daughter of the company patriarch, was already leaning towards the law firm Eastman and Eastman who had recently been appointed to look after The Beatles legal affairs. He was drawn to them because the Eastmans were well-connected, literate, elegant and gentlemanly - everything that Klein in his none-too fragrant black polo necked sweaters was not.

It was a losing battle, however. On February 3, 1969, a decision that would in happier times have required the full agreement of all four Beatles was reached by a vote of three to one, and Allen Klein, was given control of The Beatles' financial affairs. The stake had been driven between them.

This decision was reached, unbelievably, in the full knowledge that there were over forty lawsuits outstanding against Klein from disgruntled clients and outraged competitors, and that the Stones had become totally alienated. "We knew it was all over for The Beatles once Epstein died and Klein took over," says Keith Richards.

McCartney's dire forebodings were soon made manifest. "Allen Klein had £5m the first year he managed The Beatles," he noted later. "So I smelled a rat and thought, £5m in one year? How long is it going to take him to get rid of it all?

Klein's post-Beatles career has been marked by continued controversy and seemingly endless lawsuits. As well as ongoing battles with The Beatles, Stones, Arhoolie Records and other music industry stalwarts, he was sued in 1970 by MGM over his dabblings in the film world.

Although few of the lawsuits stuck, Klein did spend two months in jail during 1980 for tax evasion in connection with profits from Harrison's Bangladesh Concerts which, it was also claimed, he had diverted into his own coffers.

These days, silver-haired and noticeably better-dressed than in his prime, Klein concentrates his energies more on the film world and, presumably, still manages the odd sly grin when he recalls that in February of 1981, George Harrison was ordered to pay $587,000 to Klein's company ABKCO, for 'subconscious plagiarism' of The Shirelles' hit He's So Fine in My Sweet Lord.