George Harrison: the quiet Beatle my ass! How a mystic's music lives one

I remember the moment the Beatles died. I can’t cite the date or tell you what I read in the paper. I just remember a summer afternoon in my living room being told that this band called the Beatles was no more. Lynn Loveless broke the news to me.

She was probably about five years older than me and was my babysitter that summer. She had been so impressed that this kid, and I’m going to guess I was 9 or 10, knew something about the Beatles. What I knew was what I had heard on my mom’s turntable. Abbey Road and Sgt. Pepper’s and the one with Revolution on it – I think it was just The Beatles. I knew the albums intimately. I even knew when they skipped and for the rest of my life I can never hear "Sun King" without anticipating the skip:

"Once there was a way ----skferivikp[ ---- home."

It doesn’t sound that way on the LP I own, but I always wait for it.  Lynn was so impressed that she called a friend who came over with other Beatles albums. Her name was Lori. And we spent the day spinning them as they told me about the songs and told me things my parents would never have told me about the boys from Liverpool.

By the end of the day I was aware that this band’s gifts transcended anything I could imagine. I hungered to hear more and more and couldn’t wait to hear what their next album would be.

Hold it right there. There wouldn’t be another album. The Beatles broke up in 1970 after Paul announced he was coming out with a solo album. This was all there was.

I was dumbfounded. Why? (If, as I guess, I was about 9 or 10, this would have been about 1973 or 74.) Lori and Lynn couldn’t tell me.

We sat there in silent reflection, wondering what could have been if they’d kept making music. Together, they produced music that will certainly linger beyond my lifetime.

Separate, they were close to being wretched. Ringo would go on to star in some stupid ass "Caveman" movie.  Paul would continue to write and perform drivel that made him millions. Pop.  John would I suppose write some stuff that was for real and unique and worth hearing.  And George. Well it’s hard to forgive him for "My Sweet Lord." Such a dreadful song, and the thought that he might have actually stolen the rhythm. Still, as the world reached to mark his passing recently, they noted that what George gave us all was the music of the world. It was George who pushed the Beatles to discover the music of the East. It was George who turned a generation on to mysticism and the sitar and the world music scene (And, I’ll wager, some truly excellent drugs.)  And when you go back and listen to the tunes of the Beatles that still have power, I find it is often the songs George wrote that I’m most drawn to.   I’m going to struggle to tell you what it is about his sound that’s so appealing. Maybe the easiest way to say it is that it wasn’t Paul and John’s pop bullshit that was so bouncy and fun and catchy and meaningless. It’s like comparing T.S. Eliot’s The Wasteland with a Hallmark card.

My childhood killed the Beatles for me. For a long time, I just couldn’t listen to them, and never dreamed I’d desire to hear a song of theirs again. And I wasn’t alone. The children of my generation completely eschewed the Beatles, and it’s hard to exactly say why.  Perhaps because it had been so overplayed and beaten into our brains. Perhaps because it really wasn’t as masterful as we had imagined.

Slowly as I near 40, I have begun to accumulate a collection of their music again, picking up albums at garage sales here and there. When George died, the instinct was to run out and buy more. Being incredibly poor, I instead went to the library and grabbed all the CDs and albums I could find and started to listen.

I still listen to the BBC recordings. It’s just good rock ‘n’ roll stolen from others. Album after album carries songs with the Lennon/McCartney label on them for the authors. Some are very good. Long ago "Revolution" was my favorite song. But so many…you know where I’m going. Drivel.

I’ve always been told that the White Album was the Beatles’ greatest, but to be honest, I don’t recall ever listening to it. So I plop it onto the turntable.  "Back in the USSR". "Dear Prudence".   OK.  I get it. I’ve heard all this shit too.  Oh fuck, it’s got that "Life Goes On" song on it.  OK, that’s enough for me.

It’s divine justice that McCartney lives on. Someone should make him listen to that Yellow Submarine bullshit for the rest of his life. What the hell was that all about?

In the end, I went through the albums and looked for the ones with (Harrison) after the title. Sure enough, they were the ones I can tolerate after all these years. "Norwegian Wood," "Here Comes the Sun," "The Inner Light," "Old Brown Shoe," "Within You Without You," "Long, Long, Long," "Savoy Truffle," "Piggies," "While My Guitar Gently Weeps."

These are the songs that still hold up over time; songs more concerned with exploring new directions in sound that being a catchy hit. Maybe I’ll make a mixed tape. Still, can we ever forgive George for "My Sweet Love?" All wounds heal with time.

Lynn Loveless is in her 40s now. She was the first person I ever knew who said she wanted to move to California and actually did it.

I wonder if she still listens to the Beatles.

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