Harrison was Hoarse but No one Seemed Bothered

 

Harrison was Hoarse but No One Seemed Bothered

By Scott Cain

The Atlanta Journal

November 29, 1974

    What can you do when a musical legend who is a beautiful human being comes to town, gives a show that is meticulously produced, and tells you that he loves you between every song? Well, it's not easy to take offense, so you might as well enjoy it. 

    The only people who could really complain about George Harrison are the critics whose sting he tried to remove by pointing out that their reviews were sure to say that he was hoarse and that he was upstaged by Billy Preston. 

    In fact, Harrison was hoarse.

    Indeed, he was upstaged by Billy Preston. 

    This didn't make much difference. The people who were attracted to him when he was a Beatle admired his modesty, his vulnerability, and his sensitivity. Lennon and McCartney were the spark plugs burdened with enormous talent. Ringo was the amiable oath. Harrison was the tender one.

     The Thanksgiving performance at the Omni, attended by 32,000 people, was called George Harrison and Friends. He has fine friends. Preston, who is a performing firecracker, had the greatest impact and single-handedly lifted the concert to new levels of excitement in both halves of the show. He's one of the best boogie keyboardmen and singers of the day. 

    Ravi Shankar, the sitarist, gave a sampler of his work accompanied by a large ensemble. Shankar is placed in an awkward position at these enormous Occidental events because he has to try to please huge audiences, largely unfamiliar with his whole musical sphere. 

    Harrison's own band was splendid, two other guitarists, three hornmen, two drummers, a percussionist, and Preston on keyboards. The star did most of his own best known hits, "My Sweet Lord", was the inevitable encore. His throat trouble was particularly noticeable in "Something," which he did in a jazz rendition that virtually ruined the song's lovely melodic line.

     But the evening was a warm one. Harrison told the multitude that he could feel their generous vibrations and that he adored everybody for making him feel welcome. He was skinny as ever, wearing a t-shirt from a local radio station and a well-cut blue jean suit that had his own record label emblem on the back. 

    He kept up the patented Harrison dance step, which consists mostly of a stiff leg, shuffled from foot to foot. He trotted out an assortment of guitars and worked hard. His between song, chatter, and antics were friendly and witty. For a brief moment, he looked frightened when a moron suddenly bolted on stage and snapped a photo right in his face, but the audience was ecstatic by that time, and he carried on. The last half hour was one of the finest of any rock and roll shows.