This is, of course, somewhat towards the tail of their amazing career, part of their infamous Mad Day Out, at the end of July 1968. The lads invited a handful of photographers to photograph them in various places around London. They needed new photos, as artists of their stature do occasionally, but more than that, they needed to get out of the recording studio; they were working on The Beatles and, brilliant as The White Album is to listen to, it's clear it wasn't always a ton of fun to work on. (cf "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da.")
And yet. You look at this shot and, as a viewing or seventeen of A Hard Day's Night or Help! will make plain, none of them—no, not even Ringo, and certainly not George—were nearly good enough actors to fake the kind of deep affection that's on display here. That's the kind of bond that's forged through hundreds of trips in a freezing van through the middle of winter, trying to get back home from yet another terrible gig, the kind of bond that was bruised as hell but was never able to be entirely broken.
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