The Answer’s At The End: George Harrison, 1943-2001 An Appreciation: The Art Of Living And The Art Of Dying
There'll come a time II hen all of us must leave here As nothing in this life that I’ve been trying Can equal or surpass the art of dying —George Harrison, 1970, “The Art of Dying”
BY TIMOTHY WHITE “The first song I ever wrote was because I needed a doctor." George Harrison said with a laugh in July of 1992, seated in the kitchen of his Friar Park estate in Henley-on-Thames, England. The former Beatle was reflecting on the creative impetus behind “Don't Bother Me,” his initial attempt in August 1963 at songwriting for the Beatles.
“I had a bug, and I was sick (in a hotel room in Bournemouth, England, with a concert to do that night), and so I was staying in bed all day long.
“So it was the first thing I thought of as a lyric,” he continued with a chuckle. “and I never really thought it was a great song. I just thought. 'I’m going to see if I can write a song, 'cause they’re writing them.' ”
Harrison was referring to the prolific team of John Lennon and Paul McCartney, who had already bestowed hits like “Love Me Do" and “Please Please Me” on the fortunes of the Fab Foursome, whose other member was drummer/vocalist Ringo Starr.
Harrison, Billboard's 1992 Century Award honoree, explained that the maiden composition—with its pointed assertion that “I've got no time for you right now”—was a comment not only on his bout with the flu and the further encumbrance of his doctor's clumsy care (“In those days they had this medicine that had morphine in it—you could buy it over the counter; I'm sure it must've been banned over the years, but I remember he prescribed it”), but it was also a statement about his thwarted creative drive.
The surge of loneliness engendered by Harrison's minor malady in the summer of '63, the too-potent prescription that was sapping his energy, and his frustrating non-writing status all suddenly pushed him into a statement of musical self-assertion.
Thirty years later, he said of his pathbreaking power ballad, “It’s pretty embarrassing stuff, really. But in those days, we didn’t know much about how to put a song over." Perhaps, but the swift rise starting the following week in 1963 of the Beatles’ “She Loves You” single to worldwide No. 1 status—propelled by Harrison’s lead Rickenbacker guitar riffs—indicated that all parties in the band were learning fast.
“Don’t Bother Me” was recorded Sept 11-12,1963, with Latin touches (Paul adding claves and Ringo some bongos) and a fierce guitar solo by George. The restive, resentment-laced track (which first appeared on the November ’63 With the Beatles U.K. album and then on the January '64 Meet the Beatles! U.S. collection) represented a novel detour for the Beatles—away from innocent “yeah, yeah, yeah" pop affirmation and toward a gritty adult depiction of hurt and indignation, followed by a healing process borne of mutual respect and acceptance.
Indeed, the abandoned lover at the center of “Don’t Bother Me” accepts all responsibility for his plight (“It’s not the same/But I'm to blame/It’s plain to see"). The song closes with a mordant dash of the sly wit evident in virtually all of Harrison’s work, the narrator portrayed as a caricature of over-the-top self-pity as he pleads: "But till she’s here please don’t come near/Just stay away/ I’ll let you know when she’s come home/Until that day... ”
T he essence of George Harrison's affecting, often wryly confrontational art was its ability to make real feelings into believable songs with sincere and even unabashed messages, while maintaining a sense of humor, subtlety, and balance about the matter—before, during, and afterward.
As Harrison himself pointed out to this writer during a late-'90s walk around his Friar Park gardens, even a blissful signature song of his like “Something" contained a worldly perspective. The woman in question “attracts me like no other lover”: The confessional lyric is poignant precisely because the storyteller is experienced enough to know how special his beloved has become to him.
While Harrison was thrilled and flattered that Frank Sinatra covered “Something" in an Oct. 29,1970, session in Hollywood, Harrison thought it was hilarious that the Chairman of the Board revamped the gentle advice in the verse at the bridge, turning it into a virtual saloon taunt: “Stick around, Jack, it may show!”
“Jack!” Harrison exclaimed at his memory of first hearing Frank’s rendition. “How did he get in there? Is he a friend of Frank’s? Eh? It sounds like he'd better not stick around, whoever he is!” George Harrison, who was bom at 11: 42 p.m. Feb. 24, 1943, and who died Nov. 29,2001, was a man of wit, candor, and disarming directness. His art of living, of creating, and of dying were all of a cohesive piece. Immediately after his passing, his wife, Olivia, and 23-year-old son, Dhani, issued the statement that "he left the world as he lived in it, conscious of God, fearless of death, and at peace, surrounded by family and friends." In its thoughtful tenderness, the words echoed the poetic card the Harrison family had sent out to many well- wishers at the beginning of 2000, as George was recovering from the near- fatal stabbing that he suffered at Friar Park in December 1999 at the hands of a deranged intruder (his life was saved by Olivia, who struck the maniac with a brass poker after the 34-year-old man broke into the Harrisons’ home):
"Thank you for your kind thoughts, flowers and messa...
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