In the years before they signed with Parlophone, the band had performed incessantly throughout the Merseyside area. Once they had a contract, they undertook a series of gruelling national tours with newly recruited drummer Ringo Starr and little by little, their records began to sell in Britain. They continued to tour throughout 1963, at the same time inundating the British radio and television airwaves with interviews, special performances and publicity stunts. As 1964 began, Capitol Records agreed to distribute their records in the US and waged a huge promotional campaign. By the time they appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show on 9 Febraury, success in America was a foregone conclusion.

With the American market firmly in hand, the Beatles' success spread across the world with a speed and intensity so fierce that there seemed to be nothing they couldn't achieve. Their wit impressed the knowledgeable, their charm won over the sceptics and their music made people listen who had never considered popular music worthy of their attention. Each new record topped the charts and critics agreed that it was better than the last. By 1965 their concerts, invariably sold out, were no longer held in theatres and concert halls, but in sports arenas, where writhing masses of teenagers gathered to scream in ecstasy as the Beatles, inaudible, played behind rows of police officers. Their movies, first A Hard Day's Night and Help! and later Yellow Submarine, were inevitably hailed as innovations in entertainment.

But there was a downside to this phenomenal rise to fame. While the Beatles were on tour, they were confined to their hotel rooms, only to have fans climb up drainpipes to get into their windows. When they were in London, they were mobbed in the streets and fans would sneak into their homes to steal their personal items. Paternity suits mounted and jealous boyfriends of female fans took pot shots at them. Their every word was repeated, interpreted, misquoted and often misunderstood. Reporters bombarded them with personal, insulting or just plain stupid questions.

Everyone, it seemed, wanted a piece of the action. Fans expressed their adoration, businessmen sought their endorsement for products and musicians imitated their haircuts. The Beatles found themselves at the centre of a cynical bid for political support. On 26 October, 1965, each Beatle was awarded the prestigious MBE (Member of the British Empire), an honour usually reserved for war heroes. The fans were delighted, the Beatles embarrassed. Several prominent MBE holders returned their medals in protest. What had begun as a teenage whim, a chance to dress up in leather and sing favourite songs in front of a dancing, sweating crowd, had in many ways become a cage.