'Kidnappings' and TV wrestlers aside, the band soon made it to Channel 9 in one piece. They were the main act booked on a programme called The Laughter Festival, and an excited assembly of wide-eyed teenagers filed neatly into the stands. The American Beetles waited behind the camera, guitars and sticks at the ready, as the host issued his opening proclamation. Carlos Santino’s cousin was, again, "going nuts". Then the camera turned towards the band. "When she saw it wasn’t Paul McCartney who was coming out from behind the curtain, she started to cry inconsolably" he said. Roberto Monfort, the Channel 9 employee who had been amazed at the first announcement, recalls that disillusionment set in fast. "When they went on air, yes – the people realised that they were not the real Beatles, but the fake Beatles."

"Between indignation and laughter" is how he summarised much of the night’s reception. "There were some people who were having fun. But others were waiting for the real Beatles, and they felt defrauded."

"No, people went crazy! They bought it!", the boss Romay claimed in the Zoo TV interview. Oddly enough, Romay himself was swept by a change of heart before the broadcast aired. "I want no part in this lie to the people. I’ll take a plane and go to Punta del Este [a beach resort]", Romay remembered telling staff. "I don’t want to know a thing about what’s going on." At the same time, though, his new-found conscience hadn’t stopped him reaping the rewards. "We had 63 rating points with The Beetles. I think it was the highest peak in the [channel’s] history."

Counterculture backlash

A country had been conned. But while their Channel 9 appearance had avoided outright hostility, The American Beetles’ later concerts were a different story altogether. "I remember in some of the soccer auditoriums, you had a few guys throwing coins", says Bob, the band’s manager. "Mostly everybody really liked our music and what we were doing. It was usually a certain element of people – jealous guys, you know", remembers Bill. "Sometimes they’d throw coins. Maybe rocks. We’d do a concert and have to get the hell out!"

The South American press were less forgiving. 'They have hair in their vocal cords! They sing bad, but they act worse!' went one headline. 'The Beetles showed that all the talent they have is in their hair!' screamed another. Crónica called the tour 'a farce far greater than their disputed male presence', and devoted column inches throughout the month to their attacks. The American Beetles were 'antimelodic', 'howling songwriters', and drew comparisons to los pelucones, the wig-wearing conservatives of 19th-Century Chile. As for their singing, reporters claimed bluntly, '…they are awful'.