George Harrison, A Life Spent Complaining

The first time photographer Robert Freeman met The Beatles, his impression was that they were like a “four-headed entity.” They spent so much time together, it seemed like they just belonged that way. They shared every part of their lives, including the women they met on tour.

The Beatles knew of no private, individual life in the early 1960s. But that didn’t stop the British press from individualizing each member. They were given distinct, yet general characteristics. Paul was known as the “Cute One,” John as “The Rebel,” Ringo as…Ringo. And George was the “Quiet One.” During press conferences and television appearances, George rarely said anything that wasn’t carefully scripted. Even in elementary school, he was known to many as “that kid sitting by himself in the corner.”

However, one should not be fooled by George’s silence. Being a man like any other, he had things to say. While John was yapping about how The Beatles were bigger than Jesus, Paul was discussing how talented he was, and Ringo was talking about anything that didn’t matter, George let his music do the talking.

And what did he say? Looking back at his career, it is painfully obvious how George Harrison felt about people; he didn’t like them. Whether he was singing about the desire for solitude from crazed fans, the constant bickering of his band mates, or the disillusionment he felt regarding society in general, George was monumentally disappointed in the human race. Was this the result of some deep-seated childhood experience stemming from World War II, or was it years of built up cynicism from having spent a decade at the center of the world’s attention for doing little more than playing a decent guitar? Was there a more mystical element involved? I invite you to join me as we take a biographical look at the Quiet Beatle, whose music spoke volumes.

Perhaps the key to the Harrison puzzle lies within the walls of his childhood home. He grew up at 12 Arnold Grove in Liverpool, a generic looking brick building at the end of an alley. When Harrison died, the city of Liverpool decided to honor his legacy with a plaque beside the entrance-way of his childhood home. However, they forgot to ask permission from the current resident, a grumpy old lady who doesn’t like any kind of graffiti. She was so upset at not being asked permission to display the plaque that she forbade its display. To this day, the city of Liverpool is waiting for this old curmudgeon to die, hoping the next tenant will be a little more pleasant. Certainly, they will remember to ask permission next time.

So, is it possible this house holds some sort of special power that makes its residents grumpy? Despite his potentially haunted boyhood home, Harrison had a very normal childhood until he joined the Quarrymen at Paul McCartney’s suggestion. Paul and George grew up together, having lived only a few blocks apart. Paul was slightly older than George, and the way he bossed George around like an older brother frustrated Harrison to no end. George’s feeling of animosity towards Paul would eventually send him on a song-writing frenzy that would result in the first triple album in rock history. To his death, Harrison never enjoyed Paul’s company. But Paul respected George as a musician, and it was because of that respect that John asked George to join what would soon become The Beatles.

George wrote his first song, “Cry for a Shadow” with John in 1961. At the time, The Beatles were little more than a back-up group for Tony Sheridan. They were riding on his coat-tails, and the momentum created by his wake permitted The Beatles to record several songs, none of which were released for years. “Cry for a Shadow” is an instrumental rip-off of The Shadows, a surf-music group that was popular for about 15 minutes.

In the early days, one of Harrison’s greatest influences was Carl Perkins of Sun Records fame. He admired the twangy sound Perkins created on his guitar, and tried to emulate that sound throughout his career. As a lead guitarist, Harrison appreciated the guitar driven tunes like “Everybody’s Trying to be My Baby” that Perkins wrote, which he covered on The Beatles’ fourth album, “Beatles for Sale.”

During a tour in the early sixties, The Beatles were asked to choose pseudonyms that sounded more glamorous than their given names. The band became Long John and The Silver Beatles, making John “Long John.” Paul became “Paul Ramón,” and Ringo had already changed his name from Richard. As a tribute to Carl Perkins, George dropped his dreary sounding first name for the glitzy attention grabbing name of “Carl Harrison.” And boy did it work. The band came back from the tour with less money than when they’d left, and The Beatles had lost their dignity by selling out for the first of many times.

There is some dispute as to what prompted George to write his first vocal song. Soulless businessman and Beatle hanger-on Bill Harry claims that “Don’t Bother Me” was George’s response to Harry’s pushing him to write a song. Harrison had been hesitant about it, knowing he’d be going up against the Lennon-McCartney juggernaut that had been at work now for several years. George’s recollection was that he wrote the song while he was sick in bed one day, and the title reflected his general mood regarding visitors and well-wishers. To George, this song was purely experimental; “an exercise to see if I could write a song.” Apparently, he could, and it was recorded in late 1963 and released on The Beatles second album, “With The Beatles.”

Regardless of why he wrote it, “Don’t Bother Me” marked the beginning of a general message George would send time and again: fuck off! It was commonly believed that George hated the fame he earned with The Beatles, but George insisted that he didn’t, and his grumpy disposition was more a result of not wanting to be handled like a dancing monkey.

While The Beatles were given unprecedented creative control in the studio, most of the rest of their lives were run by managers, publishers, and anyone else who had a minimal financial interest in the band. The band wore suits when they didn’t want to, and they played the songs at concerts that manager Brian Epstein wanted them to play. George was the only one who ever put his foot down.

Epstein wanted to kick their second American tour off with a parade through San Francisco. But with Kennedy’s assassination still on the minds of everyone, and with the frenzy witnessed during the first Beatles tour, George was certain he wouldn’t live to see the end of the parade. Management conceded, generously allowing George to keep his life.

But it wasn’t all pissing and moaning for Harrison. He was also known for writing inspired guitar-driven melodies, much like Perkins. “If I Needed Someone” is proof that George was not so much a one-dimensional songwriter as he was a two-dimensional songwriter. George Harrison noted how commonly the D chord was used. “’If I Needed Someone’ is like a million other songs written around the D chord: If you move your finger about, you get various little melodies…That guitar line, or variations on it, is found in many a song and it amazes me that people still find new permutations of the same notes.” Unfortunately for George, he was not one of those people. Showing a tendency to write songs that weren’t entirely his own, George had rewritten a melody belonging to the Byrds. How ironic is it that he ripped-off a group who made a name for themselves by ripping off everyone from Bob Dylan (several times) to Pete Seeger? Poetic justice if ever there was.

Unfortunately, the Byrds’ involvement doesn’t yet end in our little story. There’s only one reason why anybody in the Western world has heard of the sitar, Mantras or any kind of Hindu spirituality. George Harrison introduced this mystical world to us on “Rubber Soul” when he played sitar on “Norwegian Wood,” a Lennon composition that was lacking in depth until George added a unique melody to it. There are several stories credited to Harrison’s so-called awakening. The most unfortunate story is that he was turned on to Indian classical music by David Crosby (playing with the Byrds at the time) during an American tour in 1965. From that experience, Harrison would eventually be sucked into the Hindu lifestyle, taking long vacations in Kashmir, hanging out with Ravi Shankar, and preaching the word of Vishnu every time a microphone was stuck in front of him.

Other sources have it that Harrison was turned on to eastern spiritualism directly through the sitar. During the filming of Help!-The Beatles second feature film-Harrison met a sitar player acting in one of the scenes. The man let Harrison fool around with the instrument and George was interested enough to buy one of his own. Both stories end the same way, with Harrison introducing a mysterious instrument to white people other than the accordion. The Rolling Stones followed The Beatles as usual by using a sitar on “Paint it Black” and “Mother’s Little Helper.” Many hippie “bands” would find uses for the hypnotic twangy sound, and Indian mysticism became a major force in pop culture, with the waves of influence still resonating to this day. Whether we should thank George, or punch him in the nose is for each one of us to decide. Regardless of how you feel about the instrument, “Norwegian Wood” alone is enough reason to catapult George in to the annals of rock history, and he didn’t even write the song.

While George was beginning to discover a spiritual life that would comfort him to the end of his mortal one, he didn’t let the high achieved from transcendental meditation keep him from complaining about life’s inconveniences. “Taxman,” while far from George’s first composition, is thought to be his break-out song. Leading off the 1966 album, “Revolver,” “Taxman” is a not-too-subtle look at life in a European economic system.

While the other three Beatles were simply happy to be making ridiculous amounts of money, Harrison was constantly guarding his fortune. His paranoia would have helped the band four years earlier when they signed recording contracts that would be sucking money from their earnings to this day. Harrison quizzed Epstein about exactly how much money the band had, and where it was going. When he realized just how much tax the band was paying off their earnings (96%), he became enraged and reacted in typical George Harrison fashion, he wrote a song.

The genius of “Taxman” doesn’t lie in the lyrics, but in the heavy guitar riff and distorted instrumentation. A simple guitar line builds up to a wall of rising electronic sound that must have made Phil Specter blush. Led Zeppelin is often credited as being the inventors of heavy metal, and rightfully so. But inspiration burns like a wildfire, and the initial spark was supplied by “Taxman.”

Even though “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” was the most influential album of all time, George Harrison had bad memories of the recording sessions. The concept of the album was Paul’s idea, and his ego was starting to get away from him. Unlike previous albums when the band recorded the primary instruments simultaneously, and added extra instrumentation afterwards, Paul insisted on recording each track of “Sgt. Pepper” individually. Down-time for those not deeply involved in production (George and Ringo) lasted for hours. George recalled spending most of his time standing around waiting to do something. Ringo claims he got to be very good at chess, but nobody’s buying it.

George’s one consolation was recording his most overtly Hindu-influenced song, “Within You, Without You.” The lyrics were taken from a conversation had with longtime Beatle lackey, Klaus Voorman. Voorman designed the cover art for “Revolver” and befriended the band along with his artsy-fartsy, existentialist friends in Hamburg, getting them uppers and fashioning the trademark haircuts The Beatles would later popularize.

“Within You, Without You” touches on many aspects of Hindu belief, releasing the need for material goods, pitying those living spiritually bereft lives, and accepting the continuum of time before birth and after death. Before recording “Sgt. Pepper,” Harrison spent the summer in Kashmir with Ravi Shankar. They led a simple life of meditation and sitar lessons, forgetting all that happened west of India. It could be said the summer of 1966 was the summer George Harrison left The Beatles. He’d become so enamored of the Hindu life that he was incapable of concentrating on anything else. He turned into a raving loony, preaching Vishnu to his friends and family, and forcing them to join him at Maharishi Mahesh Yogi’s summer retreat in Bangor. Whatever kind of tea they gave him in Kashmir worked. He had gone fishin’ and wasn’t coming back.

After finishing “Sgt. Pepper,” the band took a small vacation. George heard about the summer of love in California, and wanted to see it for himself. He arrived expecting to see a communal society, sharing in the benefits of mind-expansion, discussing philosophy, basically doing anything unproductive. But, surprisingly, the Hippies in Los Angeles were even more worthless than he’d imagined. Instead of seeing a brilliant community producing art and living life according to each one’s abilities and means, Harrison stumbled into a nightmare where high school dropouts and Hell’s Angels were getting stoned, passing out in parks, and complaining about The Man while not being able to give a coherent definition of who “The Man” was.

It was this disillusionment that led George to write “Blue Jay Way” for the “Magical Mystery Tour.” Blue Jay Way is the street that Harrison lived on while in Los Angeles and the lyrics are about him waiting for some friends to show up for dinner. But the metaphoric intent of the song was to voice disgust at the Hippie culture, and how the utopia once envisioned by people like Abby Hoffman and Jack Kerouac had dissipated to a mindless gathering of wandering vagrants.

George would return from Los Angeles a new man. He gave up LSD, not liking its effect on an entire culture of people, and he fully immersed himself in transcendental meditation.

As time went by and George’s songwriting skills grew stronger, The Beatles were slowly breaking up. It’s hard to say exactly when the beginning of the end was. John felt that Brian Epstein’s death in 1967 lit the fuse. He was their guy when it came to business, and his passing left their financial affairs in shambles. They had no idea what to do or who to trust. All of the sudden they were businessmen when it was likely that none of the four knew how to pay a gas bill.

George felt the day the music died was in 1966 at the end of their last tour. After all, what kind of a band doesn’t play live shows? After the last show at Candlestick Park in San Francisco, George proclaimed, almost with a sigh of relief, that he was no longer a Beatle. By 1967, Paul was the only one trying to keep the band together. “Sgt. Pepper” “The Magical Mystery Tour” and “Let it Be” were all his ideas. The other three had pretty much moved on to other interests. Even Ringo found a niche in the world of motion pictures, starring in “The Magic Christian” alongside Peter Sellers.

Ringo likened the break-up to a divorce. They never happen quickly, but rather take several years to play out. If this is true, “Let it Be” is that point where the couple isn’t even trying to hide their disdain anymore. They’re staying together for no other reason than to keep the kids happy, and will probably bail on each other the first chance they get. Not one person involved in the recording of “Let it Be” has a fond memory of making that album and film (Except perhaps Billy Preston who was suddenly thrust to international stardom simply by playing keyboards on the album). George even briefly quit the band, citing Paul’s condescension as unbearable. He was later coaxed back on the condition that they finish the album and call it quits, though they would eventually record one more. All the trouble during both the White Album, and “Let it Be” inspired George to write “I Me Mine,” a blatant reference to the selfishness of his band-mates. This insult was probably not lost on either Paul or John, neither of whom passed up an opportunity to make fun of the song’s dark lyrics. “I Me Mine” could have been either a blow below the belt to his longtime comrades, or a simple stating of the obvious released after years of frustration due to oppression by those who were supposed to be his friends. But if ever there was a sign that Harrison was unhappy, this was it. The toothpaste was out of the tube.

George was certainly no saint. He had a financial stake like the other three, and didn’t want to lose his fortune. When Paul threatened to release his first solo album on a separate label, his Beatle brethren went insane at the thought of Apple disbanding. George, in a not-so-passive aggressive tone that betrayed his spiritual beliefs, argued with Paul on the phone, concluding “you’ll stay on this fucking label! Hare Krishna!”

With “Something,” George once again took someone else’s piece of work, and made it his own. One of Apple Records’ more successful acts was James Taylor. This was before he gained international fame for writing those soft adult contemporary hits that are so great for a rainy afternoon. The singer/songwriter/wife-beater’s first album was produced by George. One of Taylor’s more popular songs, “Something in the Way She Moves” appealed to George so much that he took the title for a song of his own.

Despite the fact that “Something” wasn’t the most original song ever written, it became an instant classic and has been praised by many as the greatest love song of all time. Frank Sinatra said as much, showing his vast knowledge of the music world by claiming the song to be his favorite Lennon/McCartney composition. “Something” became The Beatles best selling single, and led John to claim that George’s songs were becoming as good as his and Paul’s. This is especially impressive considering John was an insecure egomaniac.

But as George’s first solo album would so brazenly claim, all things must pass. George would go on to record rock’s first triple album, making Dylan’s “Blond on Blond” and The Beatle’s own White Album seem barely like EPs, if not singles. Most of the songs performed were ones he’d written while with The Beatles, but had been unable to release. George claimed it was like getting over a five-year case of constipation. Renowned psychotic producer Phil Specter produced the album, giving it that “wall of sound” feeling he’d been so successful with.

Along with the release of “All Things Must Pass,” George started his own record label (Darkhorse Records), and a film production company (Handmade Films), to go along with it. He discovered Monty Python, and mercilessly unleashed them on the rest of the world. But all his activities were blunted by a lawsuit he would fight over “My Sweet Lord.”

At first look, the song is just another preachy tribute to Hinduism, with a splash of Christianity thrown in for good measure. It’s a simple song, and while it’s well executed, there’s nothing really special about it. But that didn’t matter to the owner of The Chiffons’ song, “He’s So Fine.” Any idiot can see they’re practically the same song, but George must have thought he could get away with it.

Allen Klein was the manager of The Beatles in their final days. With Apple Corp. sinking to death, and the entire Beatle franchise in jeopardy, John was desperate to find someone to do his dirty work for him. He put word out that The Beatles needed a new manager, and the beggars came a knockin’. Klein was the smart one, though. He treated Yoko like a human being, something her own mother wasn’t willing to do, and it won over John’s heart.

He made a name for himself as an auditor for pop groups in the late fifties and early sixties. When Sam Cooke was in financial trouble, Klein guaranteed that he could find Cooke $100,000 owed to him without Cooke having to do anything. Klein kept his word, and Cooke offered him a job as a full-time manager. When Cooke died, Klein bounced around with several bands, including The Rolling Stones. They all said the same thing: he’s a total bastard, but he’ll find you money that you didn’t know you had. He had a way of going through even the most disorganized records, and making sense of it. This talent led to a few too many jokes at the expense of the Jews.

John was so insistent on bringing in Klein that he strong-armed George and Ringo into signing on with him. Paul, who had just married Linda Eastman, was pushing her father, Lee Eastman for the job of Beatle manager. It was a three-on-one situation that split a rift in the band never to be repaired. All three in the Klein camp tried to persuade Paul to change his mind, but he wouldn’t budge.

The band would eventually split with, and sue Klein for damages, but one can’t deny his expertise. In the two years he represented them, Klein made more money for The Beatles than they’d made the previous eight.

When George was sued by the owners of “He’s So Fine,” Klein was still representing him. But in a classic back-stabbing move, Klein purchased the rights to the catalogue that included the Chiffons hit, and continued the lawsuit at full speed. The judge ruled that George had subconsciously plagiarized The Chiffons, and had to pay the royalties and back royalties for “My Sweet Lord.” He eventually bought the rights to “He’s So Fine” himself.

Several years later, Harrison would release “This Song,” a biographical look at his lawsuit that bemoaned the absurdity of explaining to a judge how a song was written. Thankfully, it didn’t bare a striking resemblance to any other song.

George endured a rocky solo career following “All Things Must Pass.” He produced music videos where he came off as uncomfortable in front of the camera, and his music fell victim to new electric technology of the 1980s. In “That’s the Way it Goes,” George ruins a great song by adding all kinds of fake instrumentation (including fake clapping) and losing a beautiful melody in the midst of bells and whistles.

Lyrically, “That’s the Way it Goes” is very good compared to his other preachy songs. He takes a different tack here, accepting the fact that anything we hold true to our hearts will be exploited by greedy people, giving several examples. His reply to this exploitation (a resigned “that’s the way it goes”) is almost matter-of-fact, as if it’s always been this way and nothing would change that. O George! What made you so jaded?

Just as the “My Sweet Lord” lawsuit was coming to an end, George released “Give Me Love (Give Me Peace on Earth),” opening himself up to another lawsuit. The melody was the same as Bob Dylan’s “I Want You,” but without the brilliant lyrics. Finding himself in a bind, George found no other solution than to befriend Dylan. The two started hanging out and even played on each other’s albums. While John showed more of an affinity with Dylan in the early days, it was George’s complacent attitude and disdain for public attention that won Bob over in the late 1960s. Years later, they formed the Traveling Wilburys with Tom Petty, Roy Orbison and Jeff Lynne.

The group took on pseudonyms, and played their respective roles. George and Bob would play the older, wise men. Orbison was the older, but too cool for school, Fonzie-type. Petty was the wannabe who just didn’t belong, and would spend his career trying to be like his elders, though never quite getting there. Jeff Lynne was just happy to be in the group. They needed someone to play bass.

George would get over his fascination with flashy technology and go back to the basics with simple rock songs like “Handle With Care.” The Wilburys put one more album out after Roy Orbison died, but it didn’t capture the magic of the first effort, and they decided to call it quits after that (though rumors of a reunion circulated until Harrison’s death in 2001).

Despite the Cynicism conveyed in these notes, George Harrison was arguably the most popular Beatle throughout the years, and is certainly the most likable one. Ringo may have been the nicest, but Ringo can’t hold a torch to George when it comes to making a record.

Even his fanatic religious beliefs were tolerable. One has to appreciate that his beliefs were more about self-fulfillment, loving nature, and bringing oneself to a greater understanding of life as we humans know it. He never claimed anyone would go to hell (publicly) and while he pushed his beliefs on others, those beliefs were open- mindedness, and understanding.

George also had the most successful solo career. All four of The Beatles had one great solo album each (in Johns case, it’s more like he had four great quarter albums), but George’s was a triple album. Doesn’t that make him three times as good? His love of nature has carried on through the years, and music fans young and old can appreciate him as one of the last true Hippies. Whether George’s songs will remain popular or turn stale is for even-handed father-Time to sort out. Regardless, this young writer will never complain, look down on someone, or feel generally superior without thinking of the righteousness of George Harrison. After all, doesn’t he deserve to feel righteous? He was The Quiet One.