You know that screech? That raw, throat-shredding vocal John Lennon rips out at the end of Please Please Me? It’s iconic. It’s arguably the most famous moment in early 1960s rock and roll. But if you think The Beatles wrote that song, you're mistaken. Honestly, most people do. They assume because the Fab Four owned it so completely, they must have penned it in a hotel room somewhere between Liverpool and Hamburg.
The truth is much more "Brill Building" than "Merseybeat."
Who wrote Twist and Shout isn't just a trivia question; it's a look into the high-pressure world of New York City songwriting in the early sixties. The song was actually written by Phil Medley and Bert Berns (originally credited as Bert Russell). These weren't guys in a garage. They were professionals. Bert Berns, in particular, was a force of nature—a man who lived with a literal ticking clock due to a damaged heart from rheumatic fever and wrote like his life depended on it. Because it did.
The Brill Building Connection and Bert Berns
Back in 1961, songwriting was a factory business. You didn't wait for "inspiration" to strike while walking through a field of sunflowers. You went to an office, sat at a piano, and cranked out hits for other people to sing. Phil Medley had the initial seed for the song, but it was Bert Berns who turned it into the juggernaut we recognize today.
Berns is one of those names that casual fans don't know, but music nerds worship. He’s the guy behind "Piece of My Heart" and "Hang On Sloopy." He had this incredible knack for Latin rhythms—specifically the guajira—which is why "Twist and Shout" has that infectious, swaying beat that feels more like a party in Havana than a club in London.
The song's structure is deceptively simple. It’s a three-chord wonder.
- D major.
- G major.
- A major.
That’s basically it. But the magic isn't in the complexity of the notes; it's in the build-up. That "Ah, ah, ah, ah!" vocal climb? That was pure Berns. He knew how to manufacture tension and then release it in a sonic explosion.
It Wasn't Always a Hit: The Top Notes Failure
Before John Lennon nearly coughed up a lung recording it, "Twist and Shout" was a massive flop. This is the part of the story that kills me. In 1961, a group called The Top Notes recorded the very first version.
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Guess who produced it? Phil Spector.
Yeah, the "Wall of Sound" guy. You’d think a Spector-produced version of a Berns song would be gold. It wasn't. Spector totally missed the point. He recorded it with this weird, frantic energy that stripped away the soul of the track. Bert Berns actually sat in the observation room during the session and watched Spector "ruin" his song. He told Spector he was blowing it. Spector, being Spector, didn't listen.
The Top Notes version disappeared without a trace. It was thin. It lacked the "shout." If history had stopped there, we wouldn't be talking about this today.
The Isley Brothers Save the Day
Berns was furious about the Top Notes disaster. He was convinced the song was a smash, so he decided to produce it himself with The Isley Brothers in 1962. This is the version that provided the blueprint for everything that followed.
Ronald Isley’s vocals brought the gospel-inflected grit that the song desperately needed. Berns added the horns. He kept the tempo steady. He made sure that the "shake it up, baby" refrain felt like an invitation to a riot. It hit the Billboard Top 20, and suddenly, the songwriting duo of Medley and Berns were the talk of the industry.
It’s interesting to note that while Phil Medley co-wrote the tune, his career didn't skyrocket in the same way Berns’ did. Medley was a talented songwriter—he also wrote "A Million to One"—but Berns became a legendary producer and label owner (Bang Records).
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The Beatles and the One-Take Wonder
When the Beatles covered it in February 1963, they weren't trying to reinvent the wheel. They were playing a song they’d been performing in clubs for years. They loved the Isley Brothers.
The story of the recording session is legendary. It was the end of a 12-hour marathon session for their debut album. Everyone was exhausted. Lennon had a brutal cold and was sucking on milk and throat lozenges just to keep his voice from giving out. Producer George Martin knew they only had one shot at it because Lennon’s voice was going to be shredded afterward.
They did it in one take.
If you listen closely to the Beatles' version, you can hear the physical pain in Lennon’s throat. That’s not a vocal "effect." That’s a man literally tearing his vocal cords for the sake of the track. When they tried a second take, Lennon couldn't do it. He was done. But that first take? It was lightning in a bottle. It turned a great R&B track into a global rock anthem.
Why the Credits Sometimes Confuse People
You might see names like "Russell" on old vinyl pressings. Don't let that trip you up. Bert Berns used "Bert Russell" as a pseudonym early in his career. It was a common practice back then for various legal and contractual reasons that are honestly too boring to get into, involving publishing rights and BMI/ASCAP splits.
Also, because the song has been covered by everyone from The Who to Salt-N-Pepa, and famously used in the Ferris Bueller's Day Off parade scene, it’s become part of the public consciousness. When a song becomes that big, the original authors often get overshadowed by the performers.
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The Legacy of Medley and Berns
Phil Medley passed away in 1997, and Bert Berns died tragically young in 1967 at just 38 years old. His heart finally gave out, just as he always feared it would. He didn't live to see how "Twist and Shout" would eventually become a permanent fixture of pop culture, played at every wedding and stadium across the globe.
It’s a bit sad, really. These guys wrote the DNA of rock and roll, but if you asked a random person on the street "who wrote Twist and Shout," nine out of ten would say Lennon and McCartney.
But now you know. It was a kid from the Bronx with a bad heart and a songwriter from the soul circuit who caught lightning.
How to Truly Appreciate the Song's History
If you want to understand the evolution of this track, do yourself a favor and listen to these three versions in order:
- The Top Notes (1961): Listen for how wrong it sounds when the "Wall of Sound" tries to force it.
- The Isley Brothers (1962): This is where the soul lives. Pay attention to the brass section.
- The Beatles (1963): Listen to the sheer desperation in Lennon’s voice.
Comparing these isn't just a history lesson; it's a masterclass in how arrangement and performance can change the destiny of a piece of writing. Bert Berns and Phil Medley provided the bones, but it took three different tries to find the soul.
To dig deeper into the world of 60s songwriting, look up the documentary Bang! The Bert Berns Story. It’s a wild ride through the mafia-linked, high-stakes music world of NYC that explains why his songs sounded so urgent. You should also check out the songwriting credits on your favorite "British Invasion" hits—you’ll be surprised how many of them actually started in a small office in Manhattan.
Next time you hear that famous crescendo, remember Bert Berns. He knew he didn't have much time, so he made sure his music screamed loud enough to last forever.
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