More Thoughts on George Harrison: December, 2001

Scroll down for thoughts by Gary Pig Gold, Gary Glauber, Bill Klutho and Nick A. Zaino, III

Dawn Eden's Thoughts on George Harrison

I met George Harrison twice. The first time was in March 1992, when a friend who was a reissue producer got me into one of Harrison's rehearsals for his Royal Albert Hall show . The band included Mac and Katie Kissoon (of "Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep" fame), Andy Fairweather-Low, and Tom Petty, but somehow the other musicians seemed almost invisible next to Harrison. Okay, that may not be surprising with Mac and Katie, or Fairweather-Low (the greatness of "(If Paradise Is) Half as Nice" notwithstanding), but it was strange to see Tom Petty, at the height of his fame, turn into just a blond-haired guy with a guitar.

The producer introduced me to George, who shook my hand, but I didn't get to talk to him. Up close, he looked tense--this was when he had his Charlie Chaplin mustache, which made him look different than one's Beatle-era mental image of him--and perhaps did not like having a stranger in the rehearsal room.

The second time I met George Harrison was in January 1994 at Harry Nilsson's family home, following Nilsson's funeral. As before, he didn't appear to have a bodyguard with him, and he was milling around as anyone else would on such an occasion. The mustache was gone, and he looked great. I tried not to stare at him, and was ultimately unsuccessful, as his eyes met mine.

Once George caught me staring, I realized I had to be friendly and introduce myself. Rather than just saying, "Hi, how are you," I found it easier to say, "Yes, we have met; _______ introduced us at a rehearsal of yours." He seemed happy with this, and I was at a loss for anything else to say. If you've ever met someone famous whom you admire, you know the drill: you have your entire life to think about what you would say to him, and, then, when you meet him, you forget all of it. I wound up babbling to him about how cool he was in "A Hard Day's Night". Pretty embarassing. He was very nice about it, though. The conversation probably lasted a total of about three minutes.

Overall, what struck me about George was the same thing that struck just about everyone else who knew him: his genuineness. He seemed very real, totally unaffected. He also seemed gentle, but not in the sense of being weak. I'm sure "the quiet one" is an accurate moniker for him, but his quietness suggested warmth and depth.

Gary Pig Gold's Thoughts

It was sometime after Remembrance Day, 1963 in Canada.
Just as I was defusing a few post-assassination tantrums
(but only coz JFK coverage had pre-empted the Three Stooges on my local station), a friend's older sister put on a brand new record called "I Saw Her Standing There."

I heard the guitar solo, and the "Star Club" echo the fifth Beatle George had so expertly applied to it from upstairs at Abbey Road Studio Two.

For the first time in my life, little eight-year-old hairs started standing straight up upon the back of my neck.

Come the following February 9th, I'd see the guitarist himself in black-and-white action, hear that solo first-hand, and my archeology texts forever went back on the shelf, replaced by a makeshift Gretsch Tennessean immediately fashioned out of my dad's spare tennis racket.

My first "guitar," and my first (air) guitar solo. And my first guitar hero, lighting the way strong and true towards a future I really have to give him quite alot of heartfelt thanks for.

"And you know what I mean."

God bless you, George.

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Gary Glauber's Thoughts

I'm deeply saddened by the passing of George Harrison, even though I heard this was likely to happen any day now. The Beatles and their respective solo efforts have been a mainstay in my life, a backdrop and reference if you will for all things musical. As such, there's not much profound wisdom for me to contribute here, other than to remind all readers of the marvelous catalog of music he leaves with us as an ongoing legacy. The quiet Beatle often was underrated as a musician and as a composer, but real fans know otherwise.

The only time I met George (and met is a stretch, I suppose), I was a senior in high school. A few friends and I were at City Center in April of 1976 to see Monty Python Live! and sure enough, joining the Python cast on stage at the time for a rousing rendition of "The Lumberjack Song" was George Harrison. Being a passionate Beatles fan, I knew it was my duty to quickly hustle my friends to the stage door at show's end so that I could meet one of my all-time idols. As the various and sundry Python personages came out and moved into the throng that had gathered, it seemed fans were more interested in catching a glimpse of George (lesson: never underestimate the magic and popularity of a Beatle). Sure enough, George emerged with his good friend Eric Idle and we all screamed George's name and they quickly were shuttled into a waiting chauffeured limousine. I was standing right next to the back seat of the car as George H. rolled down the tinted window. This was my opportunity and I had to seize it, my one brush with greatness. "Don't ask a dumb question, don't ask a dumb question," my mind kept reminding me. If only I had heeded my own self-monitor. I opened my mouth and asked George the same question that millions around the world asked him every single day of his life. I said "Do you think there's any chance the Beatles will ever play together again?"

Dumb and obvious, but there it was. My big chance to distinguish myself and I showed him I was just another of the same old curious crowd. George was good-natured about it. He smiled graciously and said "Anything is possible." And then the power window shot up and the limo lurched forward, making its escape. He gave me hope, though, and to this day I'll never forget that tiny moment. As silly and insignificant as the encounter was, it was a dash of excitement for a young fan.

When John's life was taken, I was affected as if I had lost a close friend. Along with all the wash of emotions and feelings at that time, I realized that any remote possibility of a Beatles reunion was over forever. Since that time, I've grown older and have been happy and privileged to see a whole new generation discover the music of the Beatles, both collectively and as solo artists. My best advice on how to deal with this loss? Play the music. Listen to All Things Must Pass or The Concert For Bangladesh or your favorite George or Beatles or Traveling Wilburys CDs. While he has passed on, his spirit and talent lives on in the music. Thank you George, your talent and music continues to enrich our lives forevermore.

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Bill Klutho's Thoughts

I was 11 years old when I first heard The Beatles. I had an older sister and brother whose musical taste didn’t fully prepare me for this British onslaught. Somehow, Johnny and the Hurricanes’ Red River Rock didn’t really set my heart on fire and Crash Craddock was simply a cool name with zero musical appeal. Elvis, Buddy Holly, Chuck Berry…not my siblings. But then regionally important AM radio personality, Johnny Rabbit, (KXOK, St. Louis) started playing this music from England by a group called The Beatles.

My first Beatles album started my lifelong distrust of record companies. It was called Meeting The Beatles by The Hollyridge Strings. How was an 11-year-old kid supposed to know the difference? It said The Beatles on the cover, had all of the songs I heard on the radio, a similar looking cover and two bucks less the ‘real’ Meet The Beatles. You have to remember that records at the time listed for $3.98 or $4.98. That meant the local department store, Famous-Barr, sold the record for $3.59 or $4.59. The Hollyridge version was a buck-49 at the Woolworth’s.

Anyway, this experience didn’t dissuade me from purchasing authentic rock records. But because of my Beatle experience, Midnight Ride by Paul Revere and the Raiders won the distinction as my first purchase. In hindsight, the much cooler choice would have been ‘Meet the Beatles’.

Soon, all possible Beatles records were an essential part of my burgeoning record collection. It was always intriguing to listen for the George Harrison songs because you knew they would be good and probably something not played to death on radio. Taxman, While My Guitar Gently Weeps, Don’t Bother Me, If I Needed Someone, Here Comes The Sun, Within You Without You. You could name a Harrisong in three notes.

I always identified with George because I too was the youngest. I wanted to do things my own way. The easier path would have been to simply follow your older siblings - my brother for me, Lennon-McCartney for George. That’s why ‘All Things Must Pass’ was such a stunner. It was equivalent to writing ‘War and Peace’ after only being allowed to write special features for the local newspaper. And after it was released, he could get back to playing what he liked, releasing music on his terms, having fun. He was a man at peace. A man comfortable in his life, his religion, his family, his music and, in the end, his death.

As the months pass, we’ll probably go back to only hearing ‘My Sweet Lord’ from our classic rock radio stations. If you would though, please do me a favor. Schedule a meeting for next April on your Palm Pilot and, when it rings, pull out your George Harrison music. Make it on one of the first warm, sunny days of spring. Open your windows and heart and let George’s music float around your home and fill it with love.

Give him peace and it will return to you.

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Nick A. Zaino, III's Thoughts

So Glad You Came Here, Won’t Be the Same Now Without You…
A Quiet Influence

I was sitting in a booth at Souper! Salad in Houston two days after the death of George Harrison when the first strains of “End of the Line” by the Traveling Wilburies came over the loudspeaker. A few days earlier, a radio station had reported George Harrison hadn’t been feeling well, and followed it by playing “My Sweet Lord”. The line “I really wanna see you, lord, and it won’t take long” ran through my head.

I had started to become mildly offended in both instances, wondering if the music programmers just had no clue what they were playing, or if they were attempting some sort of lame tribute. Then it occurred to me, after thinking about the timing, that Harrison probably would have loved it. After all, this was the man who copyrighted his last known recorded work under the name “R.I.P. Ltd, 2001”. The man who gave financial backing to Monty Python’s Life of Brian, which, among other gags that push the boundaries of bad taste, features a big musical finale with everyone nailed to crosses. The man who appeared on an episode of Saturday Night Live, trying to shake down Lorne Michaels for his fourth of the money Michaels had offered for a Beatles reunion on the show. The man had a sense of humor - about himself, about his career, and even about his death.

There will be countless tributes to Harrison in the media, and he will be remembered in all of those macabre end of the year “Here’s who we lost this year” columns. And Harrison deserves every last accolade any writer can wring from his name. Even more so because he would not have given one half of one shit about any of it. He did what he wanted to do, he satisfied himself as an artist and as a spiritual man, and that was it. He was the first Beatle to release a solo album (the soundtrack Wonderwall). If he wanted to release a triple album like All Things Must Pass, that’s what he would do. If he wanted to get preachy about social causes, fine. If he wanted to be a sarcastic bastard, that was his prerogative. It was his muse, and thank Krishna for the rest of us, he followed it how he damn well pleased.

Mike Myers once said, in reference to Harrison’s friend Peter Sellers, that being a good comedian includes about one percent judgment. And if Sellers made a few clinkers like After the Fox and The Fiendish Plot of Dr. Fu Manchu, he more than made up for it with his divinely inspired performances in the Pink Panther movies and Dr. Stranglelove. So play that twenty-minute sitar solo, George. Knock yourself out. You wrote “Something”. You wrote “Taxman”. You wrote “Old Brown Shoe”. You deserve it.

George Harrison’s musical success will be written about with more thoroughness and depth than I can probably manage here. Once Greil Marcus or Anthony DeCurtis start writing, a lot of other pieces will start to seem redundant. So I’ll leave the history and analysis to them, for now.

I’ll just leave it at Harrison’s own words. “So glad you came here, won’t be the same now without you.”

Thanks, George.

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