The Quietest Beatle is a Businessman Now (1976)

 

The Quietest Beatle, George Harrison's a Businessman Now

By Peter Goddard

The Toronto Star

November 20, 1976

    It all started when I met George Harrison in the hallway. My fantasy is one of those deep-rooted, most cherished of Beatles dreams.  A party was being thrown in his honor in one of the hotel ballrooms. So what was he doing here? Was he looking to escape all the record industry hustle?  The old days? That was it!  I thought he was looking for good times past Yeah, yeah, yeah. 

    "Hey, listen, George," I wanted to say, "Why don't you and me head downtown, find a little band someplace and sit in for a couple of hours? I know all the words to "Twist and Shout", and I can hum most of the other stuff. The headlines were already forming in my mind. "Ex-Beatle forms band with mystery, piano player," they would read, "Lennon wants in!" 

    I think he smiled at me. I'm not sure, though. George Harrison disappeared and my fantasy, along with him, into a room full of waiting DJs and record industry executives with two Martini smiles. I promptly forgot all the words to "Twist and Shout". 

    There he was at the reception, a frail-looking figure with a fixed smile. This was business, the so-called Quiet Beatle, the most meditative, religious, and introspective of them all, this being his own best public relations campaign. He knew everyone had come to see a Beatle. So he was delivering the goods.

     He had been ambivalent about money, about the affairs of the world in general. In his first book, written about the Beatles, A Cellar Full of Noise (1964) The Beatles, late manager Brian Epstein explained that Harrison, "though quiet, is curious about money and wants to know how much is coming in."

     In 1966, the year the band stopped touring, the one which saw Harrison's last public appearance before his 1972 concert for Bangladesh [sic], he told a writer bluntly, "I asked to be successful. I never asked to be famous."

     Famous he is, but successful? Like the other ex-Beatles, he is intent on making it on his own, and this means selling records and being available to the executives of his record company. So intent is he that, in fact, he seems quite willing to shed some of his privacy and mystique. Perhaps he has no alternative. When the Beatles went their separate ways in 1970, Harrison was the most immediately successful. Then the problem started in the 1974 concert series with Ravi Shankar. The first major tour by any ex-Beatle saw poorer-than-expected ticket sales. Worse, many of the performances received poor critical notices. 

    The crunches have come quicker and heavier this year. In September, an American federal judge found him guilty of subconsciously plagiarizing the 1962 Johnny Mac tune "He's So Fine" for his own hit, "My Sweet Lord" from the 1970s. In October, he was sued for $10 million by A&M Records in an action that also seeks to dissolve the Dark Horse record label he founded. The suit charges that the guitarist-singer reneged on a 1974 partnership agreement. "I felt really sad when they did that", he said, as he looked at all the gleaming faces around him. "I thought we had a family relationship, but when they said I wanted back all my money, that's crap. I mean, when I was with Capital, I gave up $250,000 just to go to A&M because I thought I'd be treated better. That's why I left A&M to go to Warner Bros. I like the people there."

     His expression never changed. He constantly looked grim. "See, I have to look after my future. I don't like dealing with business at all. I'm an artist, but I have to, I even, I've even been writing songs, "Sue Me Sue You Blues" about lawsuits. "

    He'll be singing his latest lawsuit song called "This Song" tonight when he makes a guest appearance on NBC's Saturday Night show hosted by Paul Simon. The tune is from his newest album, 33 1/3, which is being released next week. The title represents Harrison's age, the speed at which an LP rotates, and, one guesses, the leisurely pace of his career these days. 

    The party, though, was an attempt to fix that aspect of his life. So Harrison stood there obligingly as the assistant-assistant of this and the marketing manager of that were photographed with him. "Tell me, George," asked one executive, "What's harder, being a Beatle or being an ex-Beatle?"  Harrison, his hands thrust into his pockets, pressed his arm tightly along its sides "Being an ex Beatle", he said, evenly.

     When still another local executive explained that Harrison seemed so very human now, like he's one of us, the tone of the reception came clear. With the record company president mumbling and niceties like a road Rotary Club speaker with a promotional firm presentation, with all the talk about markets and projections, this could have been a meeting of a medium-sized Midwest sheet metal firm. All that was missing were cash flow charts. Harrison had been the prize exhibit at the reception, this fall's new line of software. 

    Back in his room, he took charge of himself, if nothing else. Still, he was never completely at ease as he sat on the edge of a chair, his small, compact body rigid. "I understand there was a mixed reaction when I did my last tour. One paper in each city said it was good, and one would say it was bad. People complained that I didn't do enough Beatles songs, but every song I did was something I had sung or written. After all, I never did 'Yesterday' or 'Eleanor Rigby'. I don't have to live up to people's concepts. I am what I am. I'm Popeye the Sailor Man."

     For a moment, there was a flash of the Harrison who, when asked about what he called his haircut, replied, 'Arthur.' But it was only a flash. It was business that mattered right then, even when discussing a possible reunion of the Beatles. The tone was almost like talking about a corporate merger. "When the Beatles were together, well, I could do it without having to consult anybody. As for the others, well, if they were free, if Lennon was free, say, I'd have him on my own Dark Horse label." At the reception, there was a persistent rumor that Harrison had, in fact, asked for a meeting with the rest of the Beatles in early January.

     "I know I sound serious about all this. People have always thought I was serious, but life is serious in a way. We're all stuck in our bodies, so you have to be happy with what you are doing here. That's serious, too. We must learn what our highest goals are. Find them through our work. He looked around steadily. This is my occupation."

     The first Beatle to become seriously involved with Indian philosophy, he is the only one to retain his beliefs. Six years ago, he became the financial guarantor for the central London headquarters of the Sri Radha Krishna sect, and it was his interest that prompted him to include a group of Indian musicians led by Ravi Shankar on his 1972 tour [sic]. It was the addition of the Indian music that drew the tour's heaviest criticism, but Harrison said, "There's no conflict between being in the music business and my beliefs. I mean, I once had a problem with materialism versus spiritualism, but I realized it wasn't owning things that was the problem. It was being attached to things. India influenced me a lot. Indian music influenced me rhythmically. But obviously it wasn't my only influence. I'm not a particularly flashy guitar player. I never used to be, but I've heard a lot of people copying my style."

    " I do like learning new things, though, playing with different musicians. Look, for 15 years of my life, I played with only three other people. I never knew other musicians before them, but there were a lot of things I didn't understand then. I had no understanding of the hysteria when I was young. I just felt something was going to happen." He reached for a Gitane just as he was asked how he reconciled his material success with his spiritual needs, the cigarette went unlit. "I was poor once", he said, quickly. "I wasn't born in a mansion with a Mercedes 600 outside. Every cent I've made, I've earned, in fact, most of it has been given away to record companies. You can walk out of here thinking I'm the biggest s--- in the world, and it wouldn't change me at all. I am when I am." He stopped. His eyes seemed to thunder. "You could think I'm great as well. That, too, won't change me."